by Dana Feldman
“What a tragic story,” Gabe says, playing the part of the devastated victim in a cruel, mocking tone. “And then what happened? Tell me the end of the story and make it good.”
“Her guilt consumed her and unable to live with herself, she came back out here on this same boat and committed suicide,” Bryer says.
“I love it. Happy endings are so overrated,” Gabe says. “Anyways, Ella,” he says, motioning for us all to follow him back to the stern of the boat, so that we can all sit and have some breakfast while we discuss a few things.
Dr. Bryer looks so different now. Usually in slacks and a button-down shirt or a sweater, he’s now in jeans and a T-shirt. His hair, which can run wild with waves and curls, is now tucked neatly beneath a baseball cap. I try to make eye contact with him but have no luck as he puts sunglasses on.
Peter comes back up with a fresh pot of coffee in one hand and a coffee mug for me in the other.
“Here you go,” he says casually, handing me coffee. He’s acting as if this is just another day with family and friends sailing. I try to catch his eye, as well. When I finally manage to look at him and catch his stare, even though it’s just for a moment, I see nothing in there of the Peter that I thought I knew.
I’m met with vacant eyes that show me not even a sliver of the love I saw in them just hours ago.
“Ella, please join us,” Gabe says, patting the cushion on the seat just beside him. It’s truly one against three here, this I now know. I’m on my own more so than I’ve ever been before.
I walk over to the table and sit beside Gabe. Dr. Bryer is sitting across the table from us and Peter sits beside him.
“So, where do we go from here, Ella?” Gabe asks. “It seems that we have ourselves quite the predicament. And the way that I tend to handle predicaments is to extricate myself from the situation. And in so doing I must leave no stone unturned. Peter, I do hope that you’re paying attention here because this is the crux of what we have to do. Self-preservation is team-preservation. You understand, don’t you, Son?”
“Yes, Dad, I do,” Peter replies.
“I don’t think that we’ve had the chance yet to tell you that we’ve welcomed Peter into our little family,” Gabe says, staring at me, waiting for my reaction.
“Congratulations,” I say dryly to Peter.
“We’ve unfortunately had to kill off several of our colleagues,” Bryer adds. “Now it’s just the three of us.”
“Yes, a bunch of dead weights,” Gabe replies. “All wishy-washy bastards. So, starting today, Peter will officially be one of us.”
I watch in disgust as the three click coffee mugs in a celebratory toast.
“You must be very proud of your son,” I say to Gabe.
“Extremely so,” he says, smiling at the son he’s just now getting to know.
As I sit here, I cannot help but wonder how it is that Peter could possibly have joined alliances with the father that he’s hated his entire life for killing his mother. How could he possibly have forgiven Gabe? It’s just then that I feel as his foot taps mine under the table, and I know that he hasn’t.
“Ok, so Son, tell me, what’s the best way for us to handle this situation?”
“We have to kill her,” Peter says, not looking at me.
“And how do you propose that we do this?”
“I have a better idea,” I interrupt, and the three of them each look at me waiting to hear what I have to say. “Gabe, you and I each have life insurance policies that together are worth millions. Why not fake my death, the way you did yours, and we can split the money four ways and agree to never see one another again?”
He laughs robustly at me. “And why would I ever want to do that?”
“Because you don’t have to kill me. We have all gotten our hands dirty at this point. We can all walk away, never look back. Take the money, and just start over.”
“She has a point, Dad,” Peters says, and I watch as Gabe’s face softens as his son addresses him that way.
“Son, she’s a loose end. You know that. She knows too much. We don’t ever leave loose ends. That’s rule number one. But even more importantly, she betrayed me. She has to die. There’s no other way around it.”
“I’ll do it,” Peter says finally.
“We watch,” Gabe replies.
“Fine,” Peter says, his foot now touching mine under the table again.
I start to hyperventilate, an attempt to buy some time.
“Give us a minute here,” Peter says to Gabe and Bryer. “Look, we have a history, and I’d like to just have a few words with her. We’ll be right here. Dad, you have to trust me,” he adds. I watch as Gabe’s face softens.
“Just give us a few minutes,” Peter begs.
Bryer and Gabe look to one another and seem to agree that this is fine.
“Five minutes. We’ll be back up then,” Gabe says, getting up from the table. Bryer follows him and they head down to the cabin.
“You need to trust me,” Peter says under his breath so that only I can hear him. “Follow my lead.”
We get up and walk to the farthest end of the stern and lean on the rail, facing away from the cabin as we talk.
“So, it’s true, you bugged my phone?”
“No, a recording of Evelyn and you talking was sent to me in a text. I knew that Chris had heard me listening to it. I figured you thought I’d done something to your phone, but I didn’t.”
“Your father sent it to you?” I ask.
“Please don’t call him that. Gabe sent it, yes. Look, I had to let him think that I was on his side. It was the only way. But I didn’t come here to kill you. I came here to kill him. And that’s what I’m going to do. You just have to do as I say and trust me.”
Just then Gabe and Bryer come back up. Gabe hands Peter a gun and a knife and tells him to choose. Beads of sweat form at Peter’s brow. His hands are shaking.
“It’s ok. Son, you can do this. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
Peter picks the gun. Just as he does, Gabe grabs me from behind and with his hands on my shoulders, he tells Peter to do it.
“I’m holding her still. You have a clear shot,” he says, standing directly behind me. He’s significantly taller than me so I’m waiting for Peter to raise the gun and shoot him but the gun remains at my eye level.
I keep replaying his words over and over again in my head. He’s told me to trust him, and I’m trying to do so, but with each passing second I’m second-guessing him.
“It’ll be quick. She won’t feel a thing,” Bryer says, standing just off to the side. “You’re making her suffer now by making her wait.”
I can see from the corner of my eye as Bryer raises his gun at me. If Peter doesn’t shoot me, he will. Peter and I both know that Gabe is also armed, so I’m not quite sure what the plan is.
Flashes of memories flicker through my head at a pace too rapid to keep up with. I see myself younger, free and happy. I’m laughing as someone takes my picture. Then I’m meeting Gabe for the first time. Then Peter. Flashes of moments that have come and gone pass before me.
And then I hear it. The gun firing, the loud boom. I can smell the gunpowder; a strong whiff of it hits me. And I wait. I wait for the burning pain that never comes.
Instead I feel Gabe’s hands release me, and he falls backwards. I’m at first taken off balance, but I quickly regain my footing. I’m looking forward, at Peter. I watch as he turns the gun on Bryer.
“Get down,” Peter yells at me as I duck for cover. There’s an exchange of gunfire between the two men. Now down on the ground, I look at Gabe. A red bullet hole just between his eyes, perfectly centered, oozes bright red blood down across his face as he lays dead before me.
His eyes stare at me widely. His face is frozen in a look of shock that his own flesh and blood could turn on him like this. Quite the hypocrite even in death, the man had turned on so many that I think: How dare you look so surprised!
Sc
reams from Peter shock me back into reality. He’s telling me to stay down. I look up and cannot see Bryer anywhere. Peter comes towards me and kneels down low.
“I need you to take this,” he says, pulling the gun from Gabe’s holster. “You know how to use this. I need you to shoot Bryer if you see him. Understand?”
I nod my head. “If he’s down in the cabin, we’re as good as dead. He can see us up here,” I say, realizing how far out in the ocean we are. I haven’t seen another boat in hours. “We’re like sitting ducks.”
“I know. I also know that Bryer has always been very loyal to Gabe, but he’s also been a weak link. He’s not a killer. I have to try and talk to him.”
I learned from Gabe that to control your enemy you sometimes have to get down to their level. “I think I know of a way,” I say, and Peter agrees with my idea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
OVERBOARD
“Dr. Bryer,” I yell, holding the gun in my hand to Peter’s head as he kneels before me. “I think that you and I can work something out here.” I wait. At first there’s no response but I can sense him, and I know that he’s watching us. “Look, I know that Gabe had you under his thumb for years. You had to do everything he said. And I know how much that bothered you. Now you’re free of him.”
I wait. Seconds later he emerges from the cabin below. He’s holding his gun out towards me, aiming it straight for my head. Mine is still cocked and aimed at Peter’s head. We stand like this for a few moments, each of us trying to outguess the other.
“I’m listening,” Bryer finally says.
“We were both under his control. Now we’re both free. And that’s because of Peter here. We can all walk away from this.”
“Loose ends are never an option,” he says.
“Peter isn’t a loose end. He killed his father. He’s not talking to anyone.”
“You’re the loose end, Ella. You’re still innocent. You haven’t killed anyone. How do I know that you won’t talk?”
“I’d say trust, but I know that’s gone. I guess I’ll have to kill someone. Then it’ll be even. We’ll both be guilty. We’ll have that on one another. We walk away and never see each other again.”
“You don’t have it in you, Ella. You could no more kill him than you ever could’ve killed Gabe.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “Get up,” I order Peter. He quickly stands. He’ll have no time to reach for his weapon so this is on me. I have no time to think or react. I have a split second to act.
As we discussed, Peter stands in front of me. We position ourselves so that he’s beside Bryer, facing me. My gun remains aimed at Peter’s head.
“So, what are you waiting for?” Bryer asks. He’s looking at me. His gun remains pointed in my direction.
There are moments in life that define us, that change us forever. This is one of those moments for me. My hand is on the trigger. I pull my finger back in the very instant that I swing my arm from the direction of Peter’s head to Bryer’s, and I fire.
At the same moment, Peter pushes Bryer’s arm away from me and as the bullet from the gun in my hand tears through Bryer’s skull, shattering it into bits of bone, brain matter and blood that splatter the white boat red and gray, Bryer’s gun goes off sending a bullet up into the sky.
As Bryer falls to the ground, Peter lunges forward and grabs me, holding me tightly in his arms. I’m shaking and screaming. I’ve just killed a man. Peter was right when he told me that it would change me forever.
No matter the fact that it was a means of my survival and Peter’s, as well, I’ve taken a life. I feel the weight of it course through the entirety of my body as my knees give way, and I fall to the ground in a puddle of blood.
“It’s ok,” Peter says, now on the ground with me rocking me back and forth in his arms. “I’m here, Ella. It’s going to be ok.”
And then we get busy. We have a lot to clean up.
“We need to get them both overboard,” he tells me. I’m numb as I nod my head. I understand how this looks. Not even Evelyn will be able to help me out of this mess.
As if reading my mind, Peter suggests that I contact Evelyn to let her know we’re ok so that she doesn’t worry. I agree, and call her quickly.
Then, after we’ve gotten rid of the bodies and cleaned the blood up with bleach, we devise a plan to get rid of the boat.
As we get closer to Catalina Island Peter wipes the entire boat clean of our prints. I watch as he goes over every single inch with a cloth, and I do as I’m told and put on gloves. It’s thankfully cold and windy so I don’t stand out in a thick coat with my head covered in a sailor’s cap.
“Oh my God,” I say, just as we pull in close to the docks.
“What?” he asks, looking at me with a renewed panic. I’m looking down at my jeans, which are stained dark from the knees down, in blood.
“And my shoes,” I say. “I can’t go out there like this.”
He runs down to the cabin and comes back up with a pair of scissors. Before I can stop him he’s cutting the jeans into shorts.
“It’s a little cold for shorts,” I say. “Don’t you think people will notice? We’re supposed to blend in.”
“You’re right. Hold on a minute.” He goes back down and comes up with a pair of black sweatpants. I quickly slide out of my now jean shorts and put the sweats and new shoes on.
“Umm,” I say, as we both notice that the sweats are about a foot too long on me. He cuts the bottoms so they come to my ankles. He takes my jeans, the cut off legs from them, the bottoms of the sweats, and my old shoes and throws them into his backpack.
We pull into the dock, and he anchors the boat. People mill about and we both look at one another.
We check that both of our heads are completely covered by the caps in case anyone notices us. They won’t be able to identify us by hair color at least.
“Remember, we need to make sure that we have everything from the boat that could identify any of us,” he says, as we both do a final walkthrough to make sure we’ve taken care of everything.
“Ok, final check,” he says. “All dishes, coffee mugs, coffee maker, anything we used went overboard?”
“Yes,” I answer. “And all of their suitcases and clothing, as well,” I say.
“And you have all that you came with?” I nod my head. He confirms that he has everything of his, as well.
Before anyone who works at the docks has the chance to come up to the boat, we’re off and amongst the crowd of pedestrians. Hand in hand, we walk towards a local restaurant and join a crowd of people enjoying a pleasant day on the island.
As agreed, we don’t make eye contact or engage in conversation with anyone. We wait for the next ferry out, in quiet. When it comes fifteen minutes later, we get on and leave our pasts behind us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE PAST ALWAYS CATCHES UP WITH YOU
Two Weeks Later…
Our plan to disappear and start our lives anew was quickly curtailed by the realization that if we simply vanished, we’d be suspect in the disappearance of my therapist and quite possibly, even Gabe, if information about his past were to ever get out. I’d managed to further explain my twenty-four hour disappearance to Evelyn by telling her that we’d gotten lucky and hitched a ride with some passersby that were parked on the street. Since the parking garage gates were locked shut, there’s no way she’d have believed any other story. I told her that we ended up in the Hollywood Hills and had stayed the night at a hotel there. She believed me but questioned how her guys could’ve lost us. I blamed it on the chaos of the night.
We’d returned to the marina and acted as if that day had never happened. Every day, every second if I’m to be honest, I’ve waited for the call that I’m now getting.
“Evelyn,” I answer on the first ring.
“Hi, Ella,” she says. “Are you somewhere that you can talk?”
“Yes, I’m just at home,” I reply. I’m staring out my
kitchen window pretending that the world is still the same as it ever was.
“You’ll never believe this,” she starts, and a lump forms in my throat as my heart palpitates wildly in my chest. “Gabe’s boat was just found off the coast of Catalina.”
I don’t say anything at first. I want to hear everything that she has to say before I ask any questions. I feel enormous guilt lying to her, but I remind myself that this is self-preservation. I also don’t want to ever compromise her in her job. The less she knows, I remind myself, the better it is for her sake.
“Apparently, it had been there for a few weeks. Remember I told you that it sold at auction shortly after Gabe went missing?”
“Yes,” I say, waiting for what’s coming next.
“We were able to confirm that it had been purchased by an Eddie McDonald. But we couldn’t find this guy. He was a virtual ghost. Perhaps Gabe?”
“Oh my God,” I say. “And were you able to find any prints? Or DNA?”
“No, and I’m not surprised. It was wiped clean, as expected,” she says, sounding frustrated. “I hate to do this, but I need you to come down to the station. Today.”
I pull the phone away from me for a moment and breathe in a deep lungful and slowly let it out.
“Sure,” I say. “Umm, does early afternoon work?”
“That’s perfect. How’s two o’clock for you?”
“That works. Evelyn, may I ask why I need to come all the way downtown when you’ve already told me all that I need to know?”
“I’m sorry to do this to you, El. I really am. Do you remember just after you were injured that night when you met with Detective Adams and Sergeant Thomas? They were the ones that came to the hospital and interviewed you at your bedside. I hadn’t met you yet.”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course. I remember them.”
“Well it seems that the two of them have been working the case unbeknownst to me, and they have a few questions for you.”
“Ok,” I say nervously. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”