“Yes, I’m trying to overcome my fear by being out here.”
She shook her head. “Look, I’m really sorry I have to go this fast, but Mark is in danger. Don’t you care?”
He was stung by her question, but he didn’t answer her. She turned back to the ocean ahead and sped up the boat as much as she dare.
“I’m sorry, but I know what Dierdra is capable of doing, and I don’t want Mark to—” She stopped speaking abruptly and tears started rolling down her face, but her expression didn’t change.
Stewart was surprised by the tears and wondered if he might be wrong about her after all. “How do you know where they’re going?” he asked.
She didn’t turn around but pulled a crumpled note out of her pocket, the one Mark had given her with the latitude and longitude. She flashed it at him and said simply, “GPS.”
Holding his stomach, Stewart headed back down to the cabin.
***
Mark finally came down to the pilothouse where Dierdra was sitting on the sofa.
“I’m going to dive now,” he spoke without looking at her. He walked past her to go down the stairs.
“Mark—” she waited for him to turn around “—sorry, I can’t let you do that.” She said it with a smile, but she had a gun pointed directly at him.
Chapter 6
Great occasions do not make heroes or cowards; they simply
unveil them to the eyes of men. — Bishop Westcott
~
Ashlyn saw the yacht before she was close enough for the boat motor to be heard. The wind was blowing hard now, and the rocky waves had turned into substantial swells that were going to make it difficult to get close to the other vessel.
She maneuvered her craft as close as she dared, and then turned off the motor. The waves weren’t working in her favor; collision was a possibility. However, the noise of the wind might mask her approach.
“Stewart, get up here,” she commanded.
I’m starting to wish that Dierdra had just killed me. At least then, I wouldn’t be on this tiny boat. He was so sea sick that he could hardly raise his head without being overwhelmed with nausea. He didn’t respond.
“Stewart—” she hissed “—get up here now!”
He glared at her, but forced himself to go up on the deck. Staring at the moving waves in the bobbing boat, he felt as if he might collapse—up—down—up—down, it wouldn’t stopped.
She focused on his pale face for a moment, but said, “Stewart, I know you are suffering”—she took him gently by the shoulders—“and I want to help, really, but right now I have to get on that yacht before Mark …” She didn’t finish as she turned to look across the water.
He followed her gaze and for the first time realized that they had found the yacht. A wave of relief washed over him. Maybe this torment will finally end.
“I need you to take the wheel. Wait until I’m on the yacht; give me five minutes, and then start the motor—get as close as you can, and then drop the anchor—” she glanced across the water “—and, please try not to hit the yacht, okay?”
“How are you going to get over there?” he asked, bewildered.
She stared at the fifty feet of swelling-ocean that separated the two vessels, and then back at Stewart. “Swim.”
***
Mark studied Dierdra as she stood there, gun in hand. I ruined my relationship with my best friend for this. He felt sick.
“Why are you doing this, Ashlyn?”
Dierdra didn’t bother correcting the name. “You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and some people are not happy with you.”
“Who—” he threw up his hands “—what are you talking about? I haven’t been doing anything, to anyone.”
“At least you haven’t put it all together. That’s good, but I will probably still have to kill you.”
Her voice was as cold as if she were choosing between hash browns and toast. How can this be Ashlyn? She had seemed so different, so caring. This woman was as cold as ice. It occurred to him that Stewart might not have sent that note willingly.
“What did you do to Stewart?” Mark demanded an answer, ignoring the gun.
Dierdra rubbed her neck and gave him a half smile. “He’s dead.”
Sudden waves of nausea hit him, but it wasn’t from the movement of the sea or the pitching of the boat. He sat down on the stairs leading down to the aft deck, his back to her. All of this was his fault. He didn’t care anymore. She might as well get it over with and kill him.
“Mark,” she spoke his name.
He didn’t turn around. He just sat there for a second, and then stood up and walked down the stairs.
She didn’t shoot him because the curve of the staircase had blocked him before she realized what he was doing.
“There’s nowhere to go”—she called out to him—“so why don’t you come back up here, and make it easier on yourself?”
“No”—he was resigned—“I don’t want the blood to make a mess in my pilothouse.”
“You’re right”—she began moving silently toward him—“I might as well keep this boat and make you walk the plank. Kind of poetic, don’t you think?”
“Might be a problem”—he moved quietly toward the rear of the boat—“since I don’t have a plank.”
She laughed. “I can improvise. Besides, you will make a satisfying snack for a shark.”
“I’m a pretty good swimmer,” he responded.
“Nobody is that good,” she stated flatly.
Staring out at the water on the back of the aft deck, with the boat bobbing up and down in the swells just off the starboard side of his yacht, he heard something. He listened for a moment. It sounded like coughing. He walked further toward the steps and looked down.
Ashlyn was clinging to the back of the aft deck, still in the water. That’s impossible. He turned to look up behind him, and then back at her. She was trying to grasp the ladder as she fought against the jostling waves. She lifted a hand while trying not to lose her balance, and made a shushing motion with her finger.
He hesitated only for a moment, and then quietly climbed down the stairs to help her up.
She leaned into him, and whispered, “She’s going to try to kill you.”
He glanced behind himself quickly. “She already has, and she has a gun. Why does she want to kill me?”
“I’ll explain later”—she gave him a meaningful look—“right now I need you to hide.”
“But—”
She shushed him by putting her hand over his mouth. “Mark, I love you, now hide.” He tried to respond, but she silenced him with her repeated demand, “Hide!”
Dierdra was coming down the stairs. Ashlyn listened for movement, and then she made a wild gesture with her arm for him to duck.
There was no way for Dierdra to see them because of the sofa that blocked the end of the aft deck, and they were still down on the lower landing.
They crouched lower. Ashlyn kept her voice low, and spoke into his ear, “I’m hoping she will think you went the other way.”
He considered that for just a second and then nodded his head in agreement.
“As soon as she is past the salon, I want you to go up to the pilothouse. No, wait, she’ll hear you. Go into the closet at the bottom of the stairs.”
They must be identical twins. Mark didn’t like this plan; he wasn’t going to hide. Surely, Ashlyn was in danger too, and he doubted that she would be protected by family loyalty. He was relieved to find out that the woman he had fallen in love with had not turned into the cold-hearted bitch up the stairs, he was not going to let Ashlyn get hurt protecting him.
“I’m not going to hide while you’re in danger,” he contested resolutely.
She studied him; brow furrowed, and glanced over at the smaller boat. Stewart was supposed to start the motor up at any moment to get closer to the yacht, but now it was clear that he wouldn’t need to—the drift had done it for him.
; She pointed to the boat so that Mark would know where it was. While his attention was diverted, she hastily shoved him into the water. The wind covered the sound.
He went under for only a few seconds, and then came up shaking his head. Apparently, she isn’t going to let me help. Treading water, he glanced over at the yacht. Maybe I can help more from there anyway. He swam for the boat.
There were no weapons on the yacht; at least none that Mark had access to, and he had no strategic advantage there. Possibly, he could find something on the littler craft that could help. At the very least, it would be faster if they needed a quick getaway.
He planned to align the boats, and then jump back on the yacht and save Ashlyn. He traversed the short distance. His plan sounded weak, even to him, but he didn’t have a better one. He found the ladder easily enough. Thankfully, it was on the side facing him.
He climbed up and over the side. He froze when he saw Stewart standing there, beaten and bruised—from the look of it, sick as a dog, and couldn’t help himself; Mark ran the couple of steps that was between them and threw his arms around his friend—a big bear hug.
Embarrassed by his display of emotions, he released Stewart, and said, “I thought you were dead!”
He smiled weakly. “I thought you were too,” he said, and then ran to the side of the boat and heaved.
Mark wished he could help, but there was no time right now. He ran to the helm, trying to determine how best to maneuver the boat into place without being noticed. It was going to be extraordinarily difficult with the pitching of the two vessels. He cursed under his breath, wishing that it were a calmer day.
***
Ashlyn had flown up the stairs to the aft deck, and then had run across it without being seen. Dierdra’s back had been turned, but any sound would most certainly send her racing up the stairs. Ashlyn was shoeless and dripping wet, being chased by someone with a gun, and all she had was a knife. The only thing she had in her favor was that Dierdra would think she was Mark. At least that would buy her a second or two of surprise.
She heard Dierdra call out, “Mark, I thought you wanted to keep the blood out of your pilothouse?”
Ashlyn cringed at that. She glanced around the pilothouse but saw nothing more dangerous than a few throw pillows on the sofa. An idea struck and she ran up onto the flybridge, locking the door behind her. Mark was on the boat with Stewart, and she waved to him.
When Mark saw her waving, he was relieved that she was all right, but couldn’t shake the nagging fear that she wasn’t Ashlyn. He tossed the idea out, she was still sopping wet. He had thrown out the rope again, for the third time, finally catching it on the yacht hook he had been aiming for. He tethered the two crafts together, and then pulled the boat as gently as possible. Even with so much care taken, there was still a small thud when it touched the yacht.
Dierdra was in the pilothouse trying to get the door open when the boats touched. She looked around warily, not sure of what she felt. “What are you up to?” she called, but there was no answer.
There was an outside walkway starting at the middle section of the yacht, running up to the bow. Ashlyn was trying to climb over the edge of the flybridge to get to the same place where Mark and Stewart were trying to climb aboard.
Dierdra assessed her options, and then she walked down the stairs, tiring of the game. She inspected the aft deck, which was empty. As she went through the glass sliding doors into the salon, she spotted the small boat tethered to the starboard side of the yacht. It was too short to be seen from the aft deck.
“Ashlyn,” Dierdra mumbled angrily, teeth clenched. She heard a noise, turned her head, and saw the men. She clinched her jaw angrily and spoke to Stewart, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“If you’re expecting an apology or something—” he sneered “—I’m fresh out.”
She took a step toward him, and said, “Don’t think you can get away from—”
Ashlyn grabbed her around the neck from behind. Simultaneously, she knocked the gun from Dierdra’s hand. Ashlyn had Dierdra in a chokehold, but Dierdra broke out of it with a full body jerk downward, flipping Ashlyn over in one smooth motion. She landed hard on the floor, but rolled over onto her stomach, and instantly reached for the gun. Dierdra jumped her before she could get to it, but Ashlyn managed to twist around and throw Dierdra headlong into the glass coffee table, shattering it as she landed.
By then, Mark had traversed the few yards between them to where the gun had landed on the floor. He grabbed it and pointed it at Dierdra, who had somehow managed to get to her feet.
“Stop,” he commanded.
Dierdra was bleeding from the wounds she had sustained on her impact with the coffee table, but she wasn’t about to give up. She ran through the open glass door and flung herself over the half-wall of the starboard side of the aft deck, and into the water.
That took all of them by surprise. Stewart collapsed onto the sofa—he simply couldn’t take anymore. They could chase Dierdra if they wanted, but he was happy to be on the bigger boat. Maybe now the nausea would subside.
Ashlyn ran to Mark. “Give me the gun.”
When he didn’t move, she shouted at him, “She’s going to take the boat! Give me the gun.”
Before he had a chance to react, he heard the boat motor start next to them. She must have gone up that ladder fast to have started the boat so quickly. He ran to the double doors and through them to the outside walkway. She had chopped the tether line with an ax. He still had the gun, but he didn’t shoot.
Dierdra just smirked at him while pulling away. She yelled through the wind at Mark, a menacing smile on her face, “See you soon.”
Ashlyn was there beside him, “Why didn’t you shoot her?”
He gawked at her. He hadn’t even considered doing that.
“I told you to give me the gun.” She grabbed it out of his hand, and shot at Dierdra, but with the boats pitching, there was already too much distance between them.
He followed Ashlyn back to the aft deck where they watched the boat shrink into oblivion. “I couldn’t kill her. I’ve never killed anyone.”
They stood there in silence. Finally, she said, “I’m not mad at you, I just want her dead!”
Mark winced at Ashlyn’s coldness, “But she’s your sister?”
She stared at him, mouth open, and then insisted, “She is not my sister!—” Ashlyn closed her eyes, and when she opened them again said “—She’s not my sister, she’s my clone.”
Chapter 7
The best relationships—friendship and otherwise—tend to be
those where you ‘can say’ anything to the other person but you ‘don’t say’ everything. — Audrey Beth Stein
~
“What—” Mark asked “—how is that even possible?”
The wind was still blowing, and their voices had been hushed until that question. Stewart had not heard what she had said, but he heard Mark’s alarmed voice clearly over the ambient noise, and sat up suddenly.
Stewart forced his battered body off the couch, and limped over to where the others were standing. An incredulous look still covered Mark’s face.
“What’s going on?” Stewart was holding his stomach, and he looked worse than ever—his strength entirely gone.
They didn’t answer him.
Ashlyn was preoccupied with watching Mark’s reaction. “You had an easier time believing in time travel?”
Mark stared at his feet. “It’s not that I don’t believe it’s possible—” he glanced back up at her, a troubled expression contorting his face and then he gazed out at the water and shook his head slightly “—I just hoped that no one would do it.”
He met her eyes; clearly, she was not happy about it either. He turned to Stewart as if seeing him for the first time. Ashlyn followed Mark’s gaze, and for the first time, fully took in Stewart’s miserable appearance.
“Hey guys”—Stewart looked as if he might pass out—“what’s going on?”
>
Mark started to answer, but then realized that he never gotten a name. He turned to Ashlyn, “What’s her name?”
“It’s Dierdra”—Stewart interjected—“what’s going on?”
Mark was surprised that Stewart already knew, but then remembered that the two had spent plenty of time together. Of course, she would have told him.
“Dierdra is—” Mark hesitated “—well …She is Ashlyn’s clone.”
Mark wouldn’t have believed it possible, but Stewart suddenly looked worse than he already had, and his mouth dropped.
“What—” Stewart asked, sounding drugged “—how?”
Ashlyn turned to him, stepped closer, and touched his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you taken care of, we can talk later.”
Too overwhelmed to argue, he followed her down to his room, and then she went up into the galley. She mixed up a concoction, poured it into a glass, and took it to him.
“Drink this,” she prompted, and helped him to sit up.
It was green and looked disgusting. He studied her imploringly, “Do I have to?” He sounded like a child.
“Yes Stewart”—she answered gently—“it will make you feel better, I promise.”
“What’s in it?”
She cringed almost imperceptively. “You really don’t want to know. Just trust me, okay?”
He nodded his acquiescence, and closed his eyes as he poured the liquid down his throat as if not seeing it might make it taste better. She redressed his wounds, and then sat there with him for a few moments stroking his hair softly.
“I am so sorry Stewart. It’s my fault that you got left behind on Bimini.”
His eyes had been closed, but at her revelation, he opened them, and looked at her. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“You were right about some things. Meeting Mark was no accident, but I wasn’t trying to hurt him or get anything from him, and I didn’t think they would hurt you. Why don’t you sleep for now, and when you feel better I will answer all of your questions?”
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