Chapter V
Damn, he was getting low on funds. Jonathan counted the wrinkled bills - the colorful green and yellow, and coral and blue Bahamian currency, some with renditions of fish and other ocean life, and likenesses of Queen Elizabeth at various stages of her rule - and a sinking feeling started in the pit of his stomach. After paying for this room for two nights, would he still have enough to pay for a plane ride to Florida? If he could get on a plane at all. He didn't know what was going on right now. Hadn't been able to watch the news. He sat on the thin mattress, covered with the threadbare blue striped bedspread, and arranged the bills into a neat stack, from the hundreds to the ones, smoothed them out, and slipped them back into his billfold, then he reached behind him and slid it into his back pocket of his khaki shorts. He patted his passport, feeling it a great stroke of good luck that he had, on a sudden whim that afternoon, stuck it in his pocket, thinking that he needed to keep his options open during the argument with Kristin, in case he'd had to leave quickly.
He scooted his long frame up on onto the mattress, and rested his head on the wall behind the bed, feeling lucky to have found this little bar with the room in the back, tucked away in the city of Lucaya. No one had seemed to notice anything odd about him at the bar, so he assumed that his picture had not yet been on the news, and that fact made him slightly uneasy. If that were the case, then Sullivan didn't want the police to find him, he wanted to find him on his own, or rather, have one of his men find him, and complete the task of finishing him off. He wondered what had happened to the kidnapper. Jonathan imagined that Sullivan was bereft over his daughter's disappearance. Even a crook can have a soft heart when it comes to family, he snorted, looking up at the cracked ceiling. He ran his hand through his short beard and got up, walking the few steps to the bathroom, with its rusty toilet and even rustier, white pedestal sink. He peered at himself in the dirty mirror over the sink, turning his head from side to side, noticing some white hairs in his beard along his jaw, then looked into his dull hazel eyes, seeing the redness from lack of sleep, not enough to eat, and too much running. He looked back up as he ran his hand over his bald head, feeling a bit of fuzz. He'd shaved his head the second night after he'd found a small hotel room - took him a long time, considering that his hair had been shoulder length. Kristin had encouraged him to let it grow after they'd moved from Brussels to Nassau the year before, saying that he needed to get into the island vibe. Seeing a couple of others in the Sullivan Institute with long hair, he had complied, and had grown to like his long, sun-streaked, light brown hair, keeping it pulled back in a low ponytail for work, and wearing it long on the beach. The beard, however, was a product of four days on the run, and he'd decided that he was less recognizable with half his face covered, and newly bald on top of that. He stepped back and eyed his navy blue polo shirt, and decided that it didn't look too bad. If he found a cheap flight when he got to the airport the next day, he would buy another shirt at least, in one of the local stores. He knew that he had already lost a few pounds, just since he'd run out of the apartment that day - Wednesday - after the gunman had grabbed Kristin. Running the nine miles to the airport, finally finding a small company that would fly him over to the next island - northeast of New Providence - to an area called Sandy Point. Then running and hitch-hiking up to Marsh Harbor, and over to the west, where he'd found a fisherman to take him to Grand Bahama Island. Then, continuing on his trek, heading toward Freeport first, and finding this small room in Lucaya. He pulled the razor out of his pocket and slid it along his scalp. He was exhausted - couldn't sleep - that day in their apartment had been a nightmare in its truest sense. He laid the razor down and surveyed his handiwork, and satisfied, capped the razor and slid it back into his pocket. He walked back into the room, and held the blue curtain aside just enough to see out onto the street, lined with pastel-colored colonial homes, and small eateries and bars. Not a bad area of town. He thought he was safe here, for another night, and then he'd be out of the Bahamas for good, if everything went according to plan. It would be too hard to find a flight on a busy weekend with the influx of tourists. He had decided to wait until Monday night to head to the airport. Better on a weekday and more cover at night. He turned and walked back to the bed, tripping over a piece of peeled-up tan linoleum. He cursed under his breath, then looked down and smiled to himself, remembering the day, what, two years ago now, when he had gone to look at the lake house on Lake Saint Catherine with Phyl. The run-down kitchen, bathroom, and foyer, had all had tile very similar to this. He had hated the area and house, but knew she had loved it from the moment she saw that window with the lake view. He knew he had lost her to that remote area of Vermont that same day as they'd stood on the pier and she'd told the realtor to make an offer on the property. No, he'd lost her months before that, he just wouldn't admit it to himself. Maybe, he'd never had her at all. She'd kept her plans from him for a year, hadn't she? Knowing all along that she would be leaving him to start a new life for herself in Vermont. He knew he had been right about one thing at least. It had been about her parents' deaths in that crash in 'eighty-two. Even though he had tried his best to help her out during that awful time, he could tell that she had changed - becoming even more introspective than before. He took a deep breath and laid back on the bed, resting his head on the wall, and wondered if she'd gotten his messages. Using a pay phone to call was not the best option, but it had been all he could do. His parents had never gotten a machine, so Phyl was his next best choice. She'd always been more serious than he was, personality-wise, anyway, he thought, drifting back to analyze their relationship. All he wanted was to be made a partner at the firm - that was his main goal in life, that, and having a great apartment, and, yes, he knew he was materialistic, but they had stayed together three years, hadn't they? Despite their differences. And then he had felt her pulling away from him. They just wanted different things in life it had turned out. And he'd let her go to that veterinarian, Thad. They had gotten married awfully quickly, he thought, within months, considering that she had been with him for three years. She had liked, what was its name - Bear - the dog he had brought her, though, and he had been glad of that. He remembered how her face had lit up that night as she stood at the front door of her new blue and white cottage in the cold November air, and he had walked toward her, the brown dog at the end of the leash. Bringing her Bear had made him feel really good. He had made her happy. Come to think of it, the only times he could remember that he had really made her happy, if he was honest with himself, was when he'd helped her move to the lake house, and when he'd brought her Bear.
He snorted. His parents had been never-ending with their 'Jonathan - you snooze, you lose' schpeel - and it had been even worse that Thanksgiving in 'eighty-four. They had not been subtle in the least, raising their eyebrows at him at the dinner table, then slanting their eyes over at Phyl. They didn't understand that he was reluctant for many reasons. He and Phyl were just too different to have stayed together - that's why he had always been reluctant to take the next step and propose marriage. He closed his eyes - well, that and he had always liked flirty girls, and Kristin had been flirty - always coming back at him with a witty retort. Phyl had never been flirtatious - too direct, and serious. She had never been one to play games. He had really become attracted to Kristin on that business trip to the Bahamas - he had to admit - when Phyl had been snowed in by that blizzard - with the vet. And the fact that Kristin was the daughter of the founder and CEO of the Sullivan Institute didn't hurt either. He really couldn't stand her father, a tall, blustery man with short blond hair and blue eyes like Kristin's and a bad temper- had detested the man when he was his client back with his old law firm in Manhattan. He'd had him following him all over the world for his business trips, but when the opportunity arose to take a full-time job as the Institute's legal advisor in the office in Brussels, he'd jumped at the opportunity. Especially after Phyl had shot down his idea of taking the job in Bennington, not far from Lake Saint Catherine. He rem
embered her staring at him as if he were crazy when he told her his idea over lunch that day in Manhattan. He wasn't really sure now why he'd even thought of that idea - probably because Kristin's boyfriend at the time had wanted to get back with her, and he'd felt at loose ends, not really sure of himself, at that point.
He ran his hand over his lids, feeling very tired, and he kept his eyes closed, letting his thoughts stay on Kristin. He couldn't believe she was gone. Was she still alive? Was she worth more to them alive? He remembered how they'd gotten back together in late March of 'eight-five, he thought, after he'd gotten that phone call from Phyl telling him not to go to the job interview in Bennington, and he knew for sure that they were through. Not long after that, he'd accidentally met Kristin's boyfriend, Tony, a stockbroker, after going over to her apartment one afternoon without calling first. He'd decided immediately that he didn't like the short, dark-haired man, sensing his condescending, almost callous treatment of Kristin during the time he was standing at her door, listening to them arguing, before making a quick exit. Tony's temper had reminded him a little of Kristin's father, and that wasn't a good thing. Jonathan knew that he and Kristin held many of the same hopes for their futures, especially the all-important need to get ahead in their careers, and make names for themselves in the competitive law field. After he'd have several long discussions with her, Kristin had decided to break off with Tony, and she and Jonathan had become a couple.
Jonathan sighed, reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the cardboard box holding what was left of the lunch he'd gotten at the bar earlier. He picked up the ham and cheese sandwich and took a bite, leaning his head back as he chewed. All he had was time on his hands right now, and all he could do was think of the past. He swallowed, and closed his eyes. He hadn't been in love with Kristin, he knew that, and she hadn't been in love with him. They just seemed to be traveling the same path together because it made sense at the time. He wasn't even sure if he was capable of the kind of enduring relationship that his parents seemed to have. He and Kristin had gotten along okay. Sometimes he had gotten irritated at her unbelievable obsession with clothes and especially, designer shoes. He liked to dress well, but it was only to present a professional appearance at his job. That was one thing about Phyl, he realized. She was not superficial in that way, and he could see the difference now. But, he wasn't even sure if he'd loved her, even though they were together for three years. The relationship was probably more one-sided in that respect. He took another bite of the sandwich. Phyl deserved more than he could give her, and he guessed that he was happy for her now. What was odd was that he knew he could trust her. Even now that she was married - she would do the right thing for him, he had no doubt of that.
As he chewed the last of the sandwich, his mind drifted back to the day Kristin had been kidnapped. They had eaten an early lunch in their second floor apartment, and he had decided to tell her what he'd found out. There wasn't much time, in his opinion. As he'd told her the unpleasant news, her eyes had widened, then narrowed with suspicion clearly evident in her eyes.
"Jonathan, just tell daddy." She was exasperated with him, he could tell, as she had squinted her blue eyes at him. "He'll find out who is responsible, and fire them, I'm sure, or call the authorities on them."
He couldn't believe her naiveté. "Kristin, don't you understand? Your father already knows." She was being stubborn - bull-headed. "He started it. It's his operation." He couldn't believe that she refused to believe that her father could be involved in something so despicable. Maybe, thinking back, he should have just walked out before that, after he'd stumbled across the papers that clearly implicated her father, and not even told her in the first place. The papers should be, by now, in what he felt was a pretty safe location. He wasn't sure if he should share that information with anyone or not. He didn't want to drag anyone down with him, but he guessed, really, that he already had. Calling Phyl - his parents would surely know by now, and he didn't know if anyone had come to the islands on his behalf or not. And, of course, Kristin.
They had been standing at the kitchen counter, and suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen the figure on the balcony. They had just been out on the balcony, so he knew the sliding door was unlocked. Then, everything seemed to happen in a split second. The gunman pulling open the door into their apartment, Kristin screaming. He had yanked her toward the front door as the man, dressed in a casual, red tank top and white shorts, his face covered with a black bandanna, walked toward them. Jonathan had reached the front door, opened it, and had tried to push her out when he heard the phff-fft of the bullet, and then the gunman had grabbed Kristin, and he'd had to run for his life. That bullet had been meant for him, he knew, and he had run down the short hallway - glancing back to see the gunman emerge into the hall, and he had taken the only exit available - the front stairway - leaping down the steps two at a time, frantically opening the front door, his eyes skittering around him as he stood in the front yard. He decided to head north - toward the airport, and he took off, darting behind the colorful houses, crouching behind bushes to check behind him. He saw Kristin thrown into the blue van, then, because he had no choice, he continued running. After about twenty minutes of running and looking behind him every minute, he finally paused to catch his breath, and hung his head, sweat dripping from his face and hair. He pulled out his wallet and counted the bills, then felt for his passport. He had grabbed it out of his dresser that morning out of an abundance of caution before he had told Kristin. Decision time. Should he head to the Embassy? To the Nassau police? He looked around at the neatly manicured lawns and noticed that his breathing had returned to normal. No - Kristin's father had a lot of connections on the island, and who knew how far his influence reached. Now that he knew the true nature of his business, there was no way the man could have gotten away with it, not without help from the inside. Someone had been turning a blind eye to the goings-on at the Sullivan Institute. Jonathan knew he was on his own, and obviously, Kristin's father was now out for his head. He could imagine that now, with his daughter having been kidnapped, that he would increase the number of men looking for him. How were the kidnappers connected with Sullivan, though? That was a question he couldn't figure out. He couldn't trust anyone. That was what it boiled down to. He didn't trust the legal system any more than the embassy or the police. He'd have to call someone back in the states, and get off this island. Jonathan tossed the empty box toward the plastic trash can on the other side of the room, and missed, then leaned his head back on the wall and fell into an uneasy sleep.
A Pale Paradise Page 15