Obsessed

by Jenn Faulk

  I take it.

  I lunge for his legs and manage to knock him down.

  ~Peter~

  Maggie has stopped screaming, but I hear voices. I slip quietly into the cabin, glad that I’m not sloshing too much. I’m also glad that I’m wearing dark boxers, not something whiter. Or tighter.

  I follow the sounds of voices through a living area filled with overstuffed white leather couches and hardwood floors, and—just ahead in the next room—I can see Maggie, knocking Neil off his feet.

  Go Maggie, I think, impressed and proud that she doesn’t need me to fight her battles. Maybe I could go back out and dive around for my clothes before helping her finish this off . . .

  Except that just as fast as Maggie takes him down, Neil is suddenly on top of her, holding the gun to the middle of her forehead.

  “You,” he says, pressing it hard into her flesh and speaking through gritted teeth, “are nothing but an ungrateful b—”

  But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Maggie sees me, even though I’ve frozen in my tracks at the sight of that gun to her head. Then Neil turns his head, and he sees me, too.

  Maggie uses this brief moment that he’s distracted to knee him right in the groin with a satisfied cry.

  I’m not sure who winces more, me or Neil. Either way he’s momentarily stunned enough that he loses his grip on the gun, and it clatters to the ground, right by Maggie’s head, and I lunge for it. No one is more surprised when I come up with it than me, and Neil acts as if he almost expected this, to find himself at the wrong end of his own gun. I’m relieved as he holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Well done,” he says quietly, a little smile playing across his lips. “Well—”

  But once again, he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because suddenly Maggie hauls off and punches him right in the face.

  Wow.

  “Maggie,” he groans, holding his hands to his nose now. “Why?”

  But Maggie isn’t answering him. Not yet, at least. She’s standing up, slowly but surely, her eyes still firmly fixed on Neil, and she’s holding the fist that she used to hit him as if she’s hurt.

  He shoots her a glare from behind his hands, which are now catching the blood from his nose. Just as I think he’s about to reach out for her to pay her back for what she’s done, she kicks him in the face.

  Mental note: Don’t upset Maggie.

  “Oww!” he yells, closing his eyes and bending over as his nose bleeds even more. “Why did you kick me?!”

  “Because I hurt my fist on your face,” she says. “But my feet are okay.”

  Better than okay. I don’t think Neil’s going to try anything now.

  I keep the gun pointed at him, though. Just in case.

  Maggie takes a breath, then glances my way. Her eyes trail over me and a puzzled look crosses her face. But only for a moment, before the puzzlement is replaced by gratitude and tears, once again. “You’re okay, Peter. You’re really here. You’re really okay.”

  “Are you okay, Maggie?” I ask worriedly. There is a mark on her jaw, and I reach out to touch it. “He hit you . . .”

  She holds my hand there for a minute. “It hurts, but it’ll heal.” She wipes her eyes. “Do you think Emma’s okay? Crystal knows what to do, right?”

  Before I can answer her, she glances back over at Neil. “Peter, we have to tie him up or something. He’s . . . well, he’s not going to just sit here, even with a gun pointed at him.”

  “Um, okay,” I say, even though Neil doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to do much of anything anytime soon. “There’s got to be something around here . . .”

  “Hang on,” Maggie says, and she disappears, leaving me alone with Neil Palmiter. I look at him, and I really hope he doesn’t come at me because I don’t have a clue how to use this gun. I don’t know if the safety is on or if it has any bullets left in it or anything. Fortunately, Neil is pretty busy trying to recover from Maggie’s earlier onslaught, and she’s not gone long.

  “Zip ties,” she says, holding several up in the air for me to see. “In the toolbox under the captain’s seat,” she says, biting off the word captain. Then she looks at Neil, “Good thing you stocked the place before we took off . . . with sippy cups and zip ties and everything.”

  She cinches his hands and feet together, so tightly that I’m pretty sure he’s going to lose circulation. Then—when he won’t quit cursing at her and asking her why she’s doing this to him—she finds some duct tape and slaps—quite literally— a piece of that across his mouth. When she’s satisfied that he isn’t going anywhere, she looks back at me.

  “You think that’ll hold him?” she asks. “Or do I need to find a chain and attach him to the front of the yacht?”

  I smile at her. “I think you’ve got it, Maggie,” I say. “You did great.”

  “And Emma?” she asks, standing to her feet. “Was she okay? Do you think she . . .” She swallows and glances back over at Neil. “She didn’t get hit did she? He didn’t manage to shoot her, right?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so,” I say, although I can’t promise her such a thing. “When . . . when I found her in that house . . . she was screaming then just like she was today, and she was absolutely fine . . .”

  I look at her, and she presses her lips together, her eyes filling with tears before giving me a nod.

  “Okay,” she whispers. I notice that her hands are shaking. She’s in shock likely, just like any normal person would be after what she’s been through.

  “I just,” she says, looking over at Neil again, then to me. “I just . . .” And then, she has her arms around my waist and her head on my shoulder. “Hard day. Really, really hard day.”

  Understatement.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I promise, wrapping my arms around her.

  She looks up at me and, still in that shocked daze she’s been in, asks, “Why are you naked?”

  ~Maggie~

  “I, uh, I couldn’t swim with all my clothes and shoes on,” he explains. “And I’m not naked . . .”

  He may not be completely naked, but he almost is. And he’s trembling, too. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s wet and cold or if it’s because of everything that’s happened. Either way, I have an idea . . .

  I kiss him on the right cheek then the left and let go of him, even as he continues pointing the gun at Neil. Smiling to myself, I walk over to the closet full of clothes that Neil brought onboard for us. I take down his robe and bring it over to Peter, looking Neil straight in the eyes as I hand it to him.

  “Here,” I say. “Put this on. I’ll take the gun.”

  I take the gun from Peter as he takes the robe from me and puts it on. After he’s put it on, he doesn’t make any move to take the gun back, but instead looks at Neil carefully.

  “Do you have your phone?” Peter asks. “We should probably try to call the Coast Guard or Detective Meyer or someone . . .”

  “He took it,” I say, nodding at Neil, never taking the gun off him as he glares at me. “I don’t know where he put it. We could probably find it, but . . . Peter, I don’t want you to leave me alone with him.”

  He’s taped up and tied down for now, but I’m still scared. I’m not moving from where I am, I’m not letting go of the gun, and I’m not letting Peter out of my sight.

  “Well,” he says. “Mine is kind of at the bottom of the gulf right now,” he says. “Maybe we should go up there and try to figure out how to drive this thing?”

  “What are we going to do with him, though?” I ask.

  He looks at Neil for a moment and furrows his brow. “I have an idea,” he finally says.

  We’re standing upstairs, right where I dropped Emma into the water earlier, where Peter dove down and saved her, where he did more than that.

  Where he swam underneath the yacht, snuck onboard, and came to get me.

  He told me the details as we worked together to drag Neil upstairs. I might have been
careless a few times, letting Neil’s head bang into the walls he’d touched so lovingly before, as he was bragging about all that he’d done for “us.” Every bump was another muffled exclamation from him and another smile from Peter.

  As horrible as today has been, it’s done something for Peter and me.

  We’re a team now. A real team.

  Now as we stand at the railing and look out over the water with Neil bound and gagged on the deck, I ask him how it all happened.

  “I kept praying that you’d find me somehow,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t think it was possible, though, because the cell phone was off, I’d hung up on you . . .”

  There were a lot of barriers. But here he is.

  “How did you do it?” I ask.

  He glances uneasily at Neil.

  “Is it okay if I tell you later?” he asks. “When we’re . . . when we’re alone?”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling a little.

  “Hey,” he says, looking out across the water. “Look at that!”

  “What?” I ask, squinting. I can’t see anything. “What do you see?”

  “Hang on,” he says, leaving me for just a moment and heading to the helm. I can still see him, and he can see me. He can see Neil. He can still make sure that the duct tape and zip ties are doing their job. After a short period of time, he returns with a pair of binoculars, and he holds them up to his eyes, focusing where he was just pointing.

  “Look,” he encourages, handing them to me. “Look who that is.”

  I put the binoculars to my eyes and look in the direction he’s pointing. I can feel him lean into me, right over my shoulder, adjusting the angle that I’m pointing, then putting his arms around me, pulling me back into his chest.

  I see water. I don’t see anything but water . . . except there, so far away.

  Is that a boat?

  I adjust the binoculars, trying to get a better view.

  I can make out a boat. And a person onboard.

  Crystal. It’s Crystal.

  And she’s holding Emma in her arms.

  Emma’s safe. Secure.

  Okay.

  She’s okay.

  I feel like the world has been lifted from my shoulders. I lean back into Peter, lowering the binoculars just as my vision becomes blurry from all the tears.

  “Why do you think she stopped there?” I ask Peter.

  “She got far enough away that she couldn’t get shot,” he says, and I can feel him shrug. “Her phone’s probably working . . . she called the police and she’s waiting there for them. She kept us in sight in case he took off . . . so she could tell them where he went.”

  I consider this for a long moment. “Why would she do that for us?” I ask. “For me? For Emma?”

  “I told you she’s not so bad once you get to know her,” he says, and I feel him shrug again. “Aren’t you more concerned with figuring out how to drive this thing so we can get over there and see Emma?”

  I smile up at him and tug the collar of his bathrobe down so that I can kiss his lips.

  “Yes,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  ~Peter~

  The best part of the day is when Maggie climbs down into the boat and takes Emma from Crystal’s arms.

  “Thank you,” she says to Crystal, over Emma’s head. “I . . . just . . .” She swallows visibly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Crystal replies softly. “She’s a sweet little girl. She . . .” Crystal glances at me and bites her lip. Then she looks back to Maggie and finishes her sentence. “She’s going to be a wonderful big sister.”

  Maggie says nothing for a long moment, curiosity in her eyes. She glances over at me with a little smile.

  She’s going to be a wonderful big sister.

  I close my eyes, silently thanking God for those words. When I open them again, Maggie’s still looking at me, and something on my face must tell her that Crystal wasn’t talking about any future children Maggie might have. She gasps, looking back at Crystal.

  “Oh!” she says. “I thought you meant that one day . . . well, she’ll be a big sister one day, but . . . now, with you and Brandon . . .” She tears up again. “I’m so sorry. Congratulations. I . . .” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say, Crystal. Did . . . did Brandon know?”

  “Yeah.” She nods. “It was actually the last thing I told him before . . .”

  Her voice trails off.

  Maggie nods. Then, she opens her mouth hesitantly. “I’m sorry for your loss. And I know . . . he must have been thrilled. Probably some of the best news of his life. Honestly.”

  “Thank you,” Crystal says, as Emma tugs at Maggie’s hair.

  “Mommy,” she says. “Mommy?”

  “Yes?” Maggie says, beaming at her.

  “Go home?” Emma asks. “Home?”

  Maggie looks over at me and smiles. “Peter, what do you think? Is it time to go home?”

  “Yes,” I say, because this is definitely a decision that even I can make. “It’s time to go home.”

  ~Maggie~

  My apartment is quieter than it’s been in days.

  When Peter and I came back from the police station on the day that he rescued me from Neil, this place was swarming with people. The community had really rallied around finding Emma, stepping up security, and coming together. Imagine their shock and delight when Peter and I pulled up in a squad car with Emma in my arms.

  We’ve spent the few days since just being together. All of us — Emma, Tanner, my parents, Peter, his brother, and the two of us, everyone so thankful that this story had a happy ending after all.

  I don’t know what will happen to Neil. The police assure me that I don’t have to worry about him coming anywhere near us again, but I still find myself struggling to put Emma down to bed at night or even leaving a room that she’s in. My mother, who has fully embraced the role of grandmother, told me that it never changes, being concerned for your baby, even as she and Seth kissed me goodbye, said they’d be in touch, and went back home earlier today.

  I don’t suppose it will change, no matter how old Emma gets, no matter how many other children Peter and I have one day.

  It won’t change anytime soon, at least, I think, as even now, with Peter’s arms around me as we sit on the couch in my apartment, I look toward Emma’s room, thinking that I should check on her one more time since putting her down for the night.

  “You think she’s okay?” I ask, for about the tenth time since Peter convinced me to just relax.

  “Yes,” he says quietly, giving me a little squeeze. “But if you want to check on her, it’s okay.”

  I shake my head. “It’s just silly, especially with this thing.” I point to the video monitor sitting next to us on the coffee table. Peter picked it up for me a couple of days ago, and when I put Emma to bed, I watch it like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.

  There she is, with Mr. Snuffles in a headlock, her mouth slightly open, and her chest rising and falling.

  “She’s fine,” I say, reassuring myself. “She’s fine.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “I think she’s fine. And I think she’s going to be fine. You’re a good mom, and you’re going to take good care of her.” He pauses before adding, “But I know it’s hard not to worry.”

  He gives me another little squeeze, and I lean back further into his arms. I feel safe here, secure. Not because I need Peter to protect us or take care of us, but because for the first time, I know I have someone who isn’t going anywhere, who will do anything to find me, and who won’t let anyone get in between us. I take a breath and pull his arms around me tighter, tilting my head up and around just so I can lean up and kiss him.

  “I love you,” I say very simply, communicating more than just that simple sentiment with the words.

  “I love you, too,” he says, smiling down at me. “I love you so much. You’ll never know how much I love you.” And we kiss again.
/>
  After we’ve pulled apart and are smiling at each other again, I mention something that’s been on my mind. “You never told me how you found me.”

  This obviously surprises him, and the smile drops off his face.

  “Oh,” he says. “Uh, well, uh . . .”

  “What?” I ask moving from his arms so that I can turn around and face him. I put my legs in his lap and grin at him. “Don’t start getting nervous around me now, Peter. We’re way past that.” I nudge him a little to show him that I’m joking.

  “Well, um,” he hesitates, obviously nervous in spite of my telling him not to be. “I, uh . . .”

  “Come on,” I say, leaning up and kissing the right side of his jaw softly. Then, the left side. “You can tell me anything.”

  He looks at me for a moment and then takes a deep breath, obviously resolving to tell me whatever it is. He lets the breath out slowly and then speaks.

  “I couldn’t figure out where he bought the yacht,” Peter begins. “I mean, I knew when he bought it because I could see a huge movement of money, but he probably used a cashier’s check or something. It was all definitely traceable—it’s something that we could have figured out eventually—but it would have taken time. Way too much time . . .” His voice trails off.

  I nod at him, putting my hand in his. “It’s okay,” I say, trying to be comforting.

  “I knew you weren’t too far off the coast yet,” he continues. “But I also knew that if too much time went by, you were going to be impossible to find. I couldn’t find anything in his search history that would let me know where he was planning on taking you. The panhandle . . . Louisiana . . . Texas . . . Mexico . . . the Keys . . . Cuba . . . the Bahamas . . . really, he could have gone anywhere . . . just anywhere.”

  And he chokes on that word, unable to go on.

  “Hey,” I say, turning his face toward me and keeping my hand there on his cheek. “He could’ve, but he didn’t. Because you showed up when you did.”

  He closes his eyes and swallows hard. When he opens them again, he looks back at me and says, “I had nothing left. I knew he was putting you on that boat and taking you away, and I knew that for every second that ticked by it was going to be harder and harder to find you, and I had absolutely nothing left. There was no computer program I was going to be able to use to find you. There was nothing I could do to find you . . .”