Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)

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Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2) Page 27

by Jayden Hunter

“Let me go with you, then. I want to help.”

  “No. I don’t want you involved. You’re a nerd, Ben. I love you, but you’re a soft, cuddly, nerd.”

  Ben pouted and thought about it. She was right in too many ways. He’d do anything for her, but even though one of their hobbies was shooting guns, he’d never hunted something that was alive. He shot targets at the range and played shooting video games, but he’d never pointed a real gun and a human being. He helped people by tutoring them, giving them advice, not by going on stake outs or threatening the proverbial beating. He wasn’t the adrenaline freak, she was. Besides, she had a boyfriend who carried a gun for a living; let him save her.

  “I worry about you. That’s all I’m going to say. Be careful, please.” He gave her a pleading look that masked the fear he felt.

  “I will. But, I’m going to get that bastard, I’m not going to let him off the hook.”

  Ben believed her. She was the strongest person he knew.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  He is polite; the perfect gentleman at first. Yet she knows his kindness is an act he performs for himself to justify what he’s about to do.

  ~ Carla H. Krueger

  I once read that modern prostitutes service vice cops at a rate of about three percent of their tricks. I’m sure they fucked up that research, but maybe San Diego is different. The problem with arresting prostitutes is that it’s like giving out tickets to jaywalkers. If we lock up pimps, we are guaranteeing street violence, so the attempted cure becomes worse than the disease. Someday the moral police will realize the destruction they’ve caused by using whips and chains as a means to control human behaviors they don’t approve of.

  ~ Officer William K. Dawson

  ...................

  Ryan packed his weekend bag, kissed Jessica, and left his house. It was a Friday evening with great weather, so he had big plans for the weekend. He drove to his favorite bar and ordered an Arrogant Bastard.

  He watched the coeds drink, and he eavesdropped on their inane conversations. They discussed sports, school, who was sleeping with who, who was breaking up, who had found a new boyfriend, and who in the room seemed like potential fuck later that evening. Young men hit on new arrivals, flirted with familiar faces, and drank too much alcohol. Young women did one of two things: some orbited their men, the lesser ones practically pissed on the legs of their man, and others huddled around a group of unattached females, occasionally sending out scouts and comparing reports.

  He didn’t approach anyone. Nobody spoke to him except the bartender.

  At eleven thirty he followed a tall, slender blonde into the parking lot. She’d apparently had an argument with her boyfriend, and while texting as she walked, she bumped into two people and then nearly tripped on the curb, before leaving the bar. Ryan waited until she put her phone into her purse before he approached her. She was lighting a cigarette, which gave him the opening he needed.

  “Do you mind?” he asked. He pointed to the cigarette in her mouth. “I could use one of those.”

  She looked at him, glanced back towards the entrance to the bar, and then handed him her pack of cigarettes.

  Ryan accepted her lighter. As he lit his borrowed cigarette, he checked to see if they were alone. They were, relatively speaking. The bouncer sat inside and was out of their line of sight. Nobody else was smoking at the moment, but that could change.

  Ryan was always patient. Always careful. Always.

  The woman got another text message and walked back towards the bar.

  “Thanks for the smoke,” he said, but she ignored him.

  He ground the half-smoked cigarette under his foot and considered his next move.

  He went back to the bar. Another hour passed. He watched as two women walked past him towards the woman’s restroom.

  One was a brunette and the other a light strawberry blonde. He liked her immediately, the strawberry blonde. She was small in stature with tiny breasts, no ass to speak of, and her hair was pulled back into a single ponytail. His desire to fuck her was similar to a techno nerd who wanted to see the latest Star Wars movie for the third time.

  Separating two women was tough, however, and it was outside of his protocol to be seen in public with a date of this nature. He’d wait. The Good Lord rewards those who are patient. All in good time, it was no different than fishing: troll, chum, move the boat, use different bait, and eventually you’d catch a fish.

  After another hour had passed, and it was getting close to last call, he tipped the bartender and chatted with the bouncer. He assumed that the bar had security cameras, there were electronic eyes everywhere, but it was still good protocol to make sure that he was remembered as being in the bar, his bar, where everyone will arrive home safely that night, until after closing time.

  He walked briskly to his car and drove towards the downtown bars. If he didn’t find a perfect woman alone, he’d call it a night, not every fishing trip was a successful one. As he cruised Broadway, Market, and the Gaslamp Quarter, trolling for a two-legged fish, he noticed a car had been behind him at the same distance for some time. It reminded him of his police tail, so while it was probably nothing, he slowed and observed. The car behind him slowed as well, matched his speed, and stayed behind him.

  He pulled into a side street suddenly, stopped hard, and looked out the rear window. Sure enough, the other car turned abruptly and stopped.

  The other driver turned and went back the same way they had been originally driving. It had to be her. Nosy bitch.

  He made a three-point turn and continued, heading towards the marina, until he approached the car that had been following him. It was a sports car, a Charger or maybe a Mustang, it didn’t matter; it was a stupid choice for a stake out car. It stuck out like a forehead pimple. He stayed far enough back, in his thinking, to not be seen. He followed casually as if he’d been trained to do this when the cops had followed him.

  She was heading towards the marina. She had some nerve, didn’t she?

  Ryan lowered his speed, he’d understood her intention easily enough, she was going to set up a stakeout near the boat. She’d called the police on him before, and she would do it again. Restraining order or no, she hadn’t given up. This time, she’d have a better plan: call anonymously, use a burner cell phone, disguise her voice. There was no doubt she was a clever bitch, too clever in his opinion, but he was even more clever.

  Who does that fucking cunt think she’s dealing with?

  ...................

  Ryan pulled into his parking spot at the marina a half an hour after losing Drew. He’d picked up an old friend, Amber, and he opened the door for her as if she was a lady on a date and not a crack whore he had once fucked a long time ago when he hadn’t been so discerning.

  “You like boats?” he asked.

  “I like anything that pays the bills, honey.” Amber smiled and tripped.

  He reached out, grabbed her arm, and kept her from falling over. “This way, sexy.”

  “A dirty talker. I like that.”

  They made it the boat, and he had to help her climb aboard. “Don’t trip.”

  “I’m already tripping.” She laughed at herself.

  “I’m going to pour a drink. What are you drinking tonight?”

  “Jager.”

  “Coming up.”

  She was a cheap hooker with shitty taste, but her blonde hair extensions were perfect for tonight’s plans.

  “What’ll cost me extra to pick you up like a caveman over my shoulder?” he asked.

  “Hell, honey, that’s part of the service. As long as you don’t drop me. If you drop me, that’s extra.” She laughed again and then coughed like a smoker with the flu.

  She’d have to pay me to fuck her, Ryan thought. A lot. He poured her another drink. “Listen, can we play a little game?”

  “Sure, babe, it’s your dime.” She slurred her words when she talked and coughed occasionally.

  “I’d like you to stand up an
d slap me across the face. Then walk towards the stern. That’s the back, honey. Are you listening?”

  “Yes. Slap you. Walk towards that-a-way.” She pointed to the stern.

  Ryan nodded. “Perfect. When you get to the very back, I’m going to grab you. Roughly, but I promise to be good. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t drop you, but I’m going to carry you back into the galley. That’s the inside, okay?”

  “You won’t drop me?”

  “Nope.”

  “You have to wear a condom.”

  “No sex tonight, Amber. I’ll pay your full rate. I’ll even throw in a bonus if your acting is good.”

  “Whatta you? Some kind of freak?”

  “Yeah. I’m just a freak. But I promise not to hurt you.”

  “Okay. It’s your money. Honey. Bunny. Sonny. Can I have another drink?”

  “After. Now stand up and slap me.”

  Amber stood. She was shaky, but didn’t fall, and she slapped Ryan in the face. “Are you—”

  “I’m fine, now walk away,” he whispered.

  She had trouble walking in a straight line, but she moved quickly. Ryan caught her before she made an effort to pretend she was climbing off the boat. He hoisted her over his shoulder, looked right and left, then took her into the galley. After pulling the curtains closed, he poured her another drink.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “Whatcha got?”

  “Microwave burritos or peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Boats have microwaves?”

  ...................

  It took thirty-seven minutes for the San Diego Police Department to arrive.

  “May we come aboard?” The officer with the flashlight knocking on the door to the galley was shouting.

  Ryan opened the door. “It appears you have already.”

  “Sir, we have a witness who claims a woman was abducted.”

  “Officer. Officer. Officer. This harassment has got to end. Come inside.”

  The officer and his partner entered the galley, which made it uncomfortably crowded.

  Amber was watching a Three’s Company episode on the small flat screen television and barely acknowledged the presence of the police.

  “Ma’am?”

  She looked up. “Officer Bill?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Are you working?” Officer Bill put his hands on his hips.

  “Not me, Officer Bill. This is my boyfriend. I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  Officer Bill looked at Ryan, then at his partner, then back at Amber. “Amber, honey, you’re here on your own will? Nobody forced you to come here?”

  “Of course not. I’m a grown woman. I ain’t done nothing wrong.” She turned up the volume

  “Shit. Okay, sir. We are sorry to bother you.”

  “No worries, Officer Bill.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  There are two kinds of idiots - those who don't take action because they have received a threat, and those who think they are taking action because they have issued a threat.

  ~ Paulo Coelho

  If all our choices were black and white, binary, and distinctly divided between ethical and unethical, life would be like floating downstream on a raft. Instead, choices are a myriad of hiking trails in a forest, some mapped, some not, spidering out into the unknown.

  ~ Randy Hawkins

  ...................

  Hawkins could tell that Ryan was agitated. He couldn’t sit still, and he ran his finger along the edge of his coffee cup in an endless circle. Because saying the wrong thing could be a trigger that shut down the client-counselor relationship, Hawkins waited patiently in silence. He hoped for openness, trust, and movement towards healing.

  “I’m having a hard time with all the publicity,” Ryan said.

  “I can imagine.”

  “My wife is being so kind. I feel guilty about that.”

  “Go on,” the therapist said. He spoke with a soft, gentle voice, being non-confronting was an art form he’d mastered, it was a key to getting those that had guilt and shame crushing them to still have the courage to talk.

  “She is so supportive and trusting. When I’m with her...”

  Randy waited. He watched Ryan, who was visibly shaken and nervous, with a calm demeanor; he could wait silently for ten or fifteen minutes if that was what a patient needed to get their resolve up enough to share.

  Finally, Ryan spoke to him. “When I’m with Jessica nothing is wrong in the world. I’m a good husband. I never had a past. My father didn’t exist. I never hurt anyone. I have no memories,” he said. He spoke these details like facts, not opinions, feelings, or thoughts, but as he’d read them off a page.

  “You disassociate?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yes, I believe that’s the case. It’s not like I have multiple personalities—but maybe—is that possible?”

  “We don’t use that term anymore. It’s misleading. There isn’t a psychological term Multiple Personality Disorder anymore. There used to be, some years ago. The reality is that everyone disassociates, it’s only a small percentage who have had such terrible trauma that it becomes a medical and therapeutic issue. We call that Dissociative Identity Disorder. There’s a lot of misinformation out there about all of it.”

  “So what’s that mean for me?”

  “We use the term dissociation, and it simply means that the mind can compartmentalize things. Every human does this on some level, some of the time. Of course, it is possible that you could be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. However, I wouldn’t be able to address that possibility today. I’m speaking, of course, in very loose laymen terms here, but basically dissociation means that you can put things out of your mind when in one situation, say being with your wife while bringing them to the forefront in other circumstances. In many ways, it’s healthy behavior. You act one way when you’re with your wife, and another when you’re with the guys. Especially if you’re doing something competitive or dangerous.”

  “What’s that mean for me now? What should I do? I’m feeling lost again.”

  “One of the goals of treatment is to help you become whole and fully integrated; able to control how you behave in different situations, especially stressful ones. Everyone has some degree of dissociation in their life, even the most healthy of us. We use a variety of things, from daydreaming, gambling, and romance novels, to television and overspending to drown out the world. Sex, without much doubt, is one of the most powerful things people use to dissociate, it’s right up there with illicit drugs; in fact, it’s nearly identical to drugs in how it chemically affects the brain. Violence and control are similar.

  “Ryan, I believe we are making progress. Can you tell me how you feel right now when you are talking about your wife, and how you care for her, while at the same time broaching the issues with other women that are causing you guilt and pain?”

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  He remained silent for about a minute and then started telling a story. “This is sort of like a hypothetical, just imagine a situation where someone hurt a woman, really badly, and he felt terrible about it. And this woman knew it was him, but she had no proof, so she couldn’t get him in trouble. That made her try to get revenge. It’s not right, to get revenge. Is it?”

  “Go on, please,” Hawkins said. He opened his palm and gestured.

  “I feel like she’s not willing to let it go and put it in the past, even though she should. She wants to punish me—the other night—the other night, last Friday, she followed me. I caught her spying on me.”

  “How did that make you feel?” Hawkins asked.

  “Angry. Upset. Frustrated. I wanted to hurt her back, but I didn’t. Instead, I outsmarted her. She thinks she’s so special. So perfect. But she’s not, she’s a cunt, a horrible vicious cunt.”

  “That sounds more like your dad speaking than you; do you honestly feel that strongly about her?”

  “Yes. I hate her.” He he
sitated and wrung his hands.

  “You actually hate this woman?” Hawkins looked him in the eyes. “Consider your genuine feelings and describe them.”

  “Yes. No, I guess not. I hate what she did, but I wish we could be friends. I tried to be friendly, but it went to shit. She thinks she’s too good for me. She thinks she’s better than me. I do hate that about her. I’m upset that she’s following me at night. Like she’s going to catch me doing something wrong. Like I’m that stupid.”

  “Are you?”

  “Stupid?”

  “No. Are you doing something wrong that you’re worried she’ll catch you doing?”

  “NO!”

  “Alright.”

  “Okay. I’m tempted. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m tempted. I’m trying not to get caught up in doing evil things.”

  “What’s an evil thing to you?”

  “Lying. Stealing. Sex with other women.”

  “Sex with women other than your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are these women consenting adults?”

  “Yes. I mean, yes, they are adults.”

  “But not consenting?” Hawkins asked.

  “No, not always. Sometimes. I’m not sure what I can say here. I don’t want you calling the authorities on me.”

  “I cannot call them unless we fall under the guidelines I’ve made clear to you. Shall we go over them again?”

  “No. I remember what they are.”

  “So, Ryan. Can you tell me about the other night? You don’t have to use names or be specific. Just tell me how you were feeling and what you were thinking.”

  “You mean about being followed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. I was out drinking and flirting with women. I had told Jessica I’d be out all weekend fishing. But I went to a bar first. I wanted to find someone who would go hang out with me on the boat, but I didn’t have any luck. So I went cruising a bit; I was restless. Then I saw her following me.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, I guess I can say. It’s not like you don’t know from the television news already. I know you’re not stupid, Dr. Hawkins. It’s that model, the one in the papers all the time for lying about people. Drew Stirling. She’s the one who accused me. Falsely accused me, of abducting her.”

 

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