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 30

by Jayden Hunter


  Detective Turner put his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Man, you’ve got to sit down. Take a deep breath. She’s a smart woman. She’s dealt with this guy before. There’s still a chance.”

  Rick felt he was being patronized, but he didn’t respond. He paced. He wiped his eyes. Think, God damn it.

  “Does SDPD have a chopper up?”

  “Yes, but it can’t do long range out to sea. That’s the Coast Guard. We’d be searching for a specific grain of sand —”

  “Okay, I get it. Fuck!”

  “It’s probably better that nobody finds them. Think it through. If a boat approaches him, he’ll see it on radar. If a helicopter gets close, he’ll hear it. In either case, he’s going to panic. He’s only got one exit option: dump her and come up with a good reason why his car is at a bar and her car is where ever he had her dump it. The case against him would then be circumstantial and without direct physical evidence. He’s a monster, but he’s not stupid. Hell, he’s a math professor and probably has an IQ of 160. You know the type.”

  “So you’re already thinking about what kind of case you’re handing off to the DA? We aren’t doing a rescue mission here are we?”

  “I’m a cynic, Rick. But...”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve seen stranger shit. She’s got a chance. She got lucky before.”

  “It was more than luck.”

  “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Grief is a hone to a hard mind.

  ~J.R.R. Tolkien

  Abusing a healthy child causes them harm. Abusing a psychopath is training.

  ~ Randy Hawkins

  ...................

  Drew woke. She felt unmolested, rested, and alone. She got up, used the head, found an unopened travel toothbrush, and brushed her teeth. The boat wasn’t moving; it was after dawn, but still early. She sat on the bed, rubbed her ankle, stretched, and wondered what to expect next.

  Ryan brought a tray with food and coffee.

  “Room service?” Drew asked.

  “Yes. Good morning. I hope you slept well?”

  “Apparently. Where are we?”

  “Not far from Catalina.”

  “You drove all night?”

  “Pretty much. This thing can push eighteen knots pretty easy coming up this direction. We had favorable conditions last night, so we probably did nineteen knots, give or take. Smooth seas.”

  “You were up all night?”

  “Of course. Someone has to be the captain. You wouldn’t want to run into a sail boat or something would you?”

  “I guess not. You must be tired.”

  “I’m alright. Here,” he said handing her the tray. “Coffee, eggs. Eat.”

  Drew took the tray. There was no reason not to be alert and have all her strength. She ate her breakfast and asked for a second cup of coffee.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Drew assessed her situation. The last time she was a hostage on this boat his plan had been to keep her alive until Sunday night, so she had time to come up with a strategy to escape. A plan. Hope.

  “More coffee,” he said when he walked back down into the stateroom. He handed Drew the cup and watched her drink.

  Her skin felt like it was covered with microscopic crawling organisms that were aroused by his stare and she shuttered.

  “Too hot?”

  “No. No, it’s perfect.”

  “Good. I want you to be comfortable.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  “You tricked me last time.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I was scared. I’m sorry.”

  “I won’t be tricked again, Drew. I want you to know that. I’m not a stupid man.”

  “I know you’re not. You’re a well-respected intelligent professor.”

  “You are wondering why I’m... How I’m... Why we’re here...”

  “The question had crossed my mind.”

  “It’s a long story,” he said.

  “I have time. I’m all tied up.” Drew forced a laugh. She looked at him and willed herself to smile, just like a long day on a photo shoot. Smile. Smile. Turn. Eyes bright. She could act, after all.

  Ryan sat.

  “I’m not a bad person. I just have two sides. I’m not always myself. I have needs that manifest in... Anti-social ways. I have a therapist.”

  “I always thought therapy was a waste.”

  “No. No, it’s really helpful.”

  “I can see that,” she said. She motioned with her hands.

  “You’re making a joke.”

  “If you’re in therapy, why are we here?”

  “You could have dropped it, you know?”

  “And you’d hurt someone else.”

  “No. My therapist was helping me.”

  “I find that—”

  “No, really. I reacted to you following me around. This is really your fault,” he said. He looked around the room, his eyes briefly landing on her restraint. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if you’d left me alone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, it’s done. I hope you’ll play along for the rest of the weekend. What do you have to lose?”

  “Tell me more about your therapy. How does it work?”

  “I go once a week. I have for years. Twice a week when things are really bad. Like recently. We were making progress. I had a tough childhood.”

  Drew relaxed her body language and tried to act interested, empathetic, and non-threatening. What would it hurt to listen? She prompted him to continue.

  “My father wasn’t a nice man. I’m not blaming him for all that I’ve done. No. But, still, I’d be a different person if it wasn’t for his cruelty. I see that now very clearly. It’s kind of why I—we—never had children. I couldn’t imagine it. I would never have been a good father. I had nothing to base it on. No mentorship. No role model. It’s a vicious circle to keep having children when you know your own childhood was fucked up and brutal. The government should make people get licensed to have kids. I mean that. I know, people would scream. They’d start complaining that it was a fascist policy, or racist, or against God. Or they’d bring up Hitler or some other stupid argument. But it would be a good policy, I mean we make people get licenses to give a haircut, for fuck’s sake. You need a license to open a taco cart, but to have a child, to bring another human being into existence, you just fuck someone and nobody cares. Like barn animals. How stupid is that? No children without passing a test. A goodness test. Why not? What do you think?”

  “It’s a good idea. But, neither of us would be here, would we?” Drew asked.

  “Your father was a monster too?”

  “Not was. Is.”

  “Really? But you seem so—so—well adjusted. Well bred. Your mother?”

  “She’s the saving grace. Ah, my dad’s not so bad. He’s not really a monster, so much. Just clueless about how to love anyone but himself.” Drew spoke with detached conviction. Her father wasn’t all bad, he’d never physically hurt anyone, he was a good provider.

  “I last saw my mom when I was a kid. I don’t know if she’s even alive anymore. I doubt it. She had a thing for bad men.”

  “You think you’d be different if your mom stuck around?”

  “If she’d been a good person she’d have gotten an abortion.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Sure. I hate her worse than the old man. He was a sadist, and she left me with him.”

  “Okay. Tell me why you think you couldn’t overcome your abuse.”

  “It’s complicated. I haven’t done this before. Not this bad.” He looked down and rubbed his temples. His voice changed. “No. I don’t need to lie to you, do I?”

  “I guess not.”

  “There were others. Three. Four. I’d feel guilty for months. Years. I’d hate myself. I once sat on the stern.” He stopped talking and rubbed his eyes. “I once sat on the stern and thought about following a—a woman—barely a w
oman, I guess. I was going to tie an anchor and a chain around myself and jump. I wanted it to end. I really did. I came back inside to write a note. To tell Jessica, I was sorry. I really was sorry. Anyway, I couldn’t write a note. I smoked some weed and called it a day.”

  “Don’t you ever think about the families? People loved these women.”

  “They weren’t people at that point. Once they were gone, they weren’t people anymore. I put it out of my mind. I’m not an evil person; I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Can we go home?”

  “You’re trying to trick me.”

  “No. I want you to get some help. You can talk to your therapist.”

  “No, you’re lying. You’re another lying cunt. My father was right about women like you. Tricky. Manipulative. Evil. Selfish. Cold. I don’t want to talk to you about my past anymore. I don’t want you in my head. I want to have some fun. Get undressed.”

  “It’s early in the morning. I don’t have sex in the morning. You’ll have to wait.”

  Ryan backhanded her across the face. The sound echoed in the stateroom. Drew fell to the bed and cried. She was going to die. She knew it.

  “Quit crying. It’s not attractive. We’ll wait. I’m not in the mood to fuck now anyway. I’m too tired. I’m going to the upstairs bunk to sleep. Don’t try anything stupid.”

  Drew watched him leave and slipped into hopelessness.

  ...................

  Drew tried not to panic. She rested but didn’t sleep. Hours had passed before she heard him stirring. She panicked. She stood and kicked as hard as she could. The cord held tight to her leg. She kicked again and again. Nothing. It held tight.

  “Lunch will be right down,” he said from the galley.

  She kicked harder. She could hear him working in the galley. She pulled, kicked, and twisted, but the cord held fast to her leg. She quit trying when she heard him coming. He was talking to himself about sandwiches and beer. Maybe he was talking to her, but she wasn’t listening. Her heart pounded.

  “Lunch. Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

  He dropped a sandwich and a Diet Coke on the bed. She looked up at him, but he looked away and left the room. Drew was ravenously hungry and thirsty, so she ate. She got up to pee and brush her teeth. Habits. She thought about the light bulb, the glass. It was a chance.

  She opened the plastic cover and took out the bulb. It was small, but it was something. She broke it using the seat of the toilet and began using the sharpest piece she could find to cut the zip tie around her ankle. She sawed. She pushed. She cursed. It wasn’t sharp enough. God, there must be something. She searched.

  The small drawer held toiletries but nothing sharp. She sat on the toilet. It’s a head on a boat she thought to herself. Use your head on the head. She laughed to herself. “It’s not a time to be a fucking comedian,” she whispered. “Think.”

  Drew opened the door from the head to the stateroom and saw the Diet Coke. The can. She plunged the piece of glass into the middle of the can and sliced it open. She worked the can back and forth. It opened eventually, and she started sawing at the cable tie. Break, Goddammit. She made progress. She sliced herself but continued cutting the cable, the blood creating a lubricant for the sharp metal edge. Maybe she was only making a mess, she thought, but she was doing something, trying, and it seemed like she was making progress at breaking her bonds.

  The nylon cable tie snapped.

  Freedom, at least from the leash, at least for the moment.

  She heard his voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He was coming back down towards her; she could hear that.

  Drew wrapped the cord around her ankle and placed herself on the bed as if she was napping. She covered herself with a blanket. It was time to act, and she pretended that she was waking and not fully alert.

  Ryan was naked and erect. He walked towards her without saying a word.

  “Let me please you,” she said.

  “Shut up and roll over onto your knees. I don’t want to hear you yapping about anything.”

  “Please. I realize how much I wanted you from the start.”

  “You’re trying to deceive me again.”

  “No. No, I’m not. Did I tell you about the time I was with Kyle? On his boat?”

  “Why would I care about that?”

  “Because he was so lousy and clumsy in bed. Not like you. He wasn’t a man, more like a boy.”

  “And you’re saying you enjoyed being with me? Last time?”

  “Yes. Yes. I like a strong, rough man. I like playing rough. It’s a thing I like. You read about me in the papers. I like playing the whore. You said it yourself.”

  “Okay, then shut the fuck up and roll over.”

  “No. Please. Let me feel you. You look so hard. So strong. Let me show how good I can make you feel.”

  He stopped at the edge of the bed. His look softened. “You’re not doing this right.”

  “Please, let me show you.”

  Drew moved towards him in slow, graceful movements. She took off her top. She swayed and moved on her knees towards him. She avoided eye contact and moved close enough to touch him. He had stopped at the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t do it like this. I never have. I—”

  “No, let me show you. Let me please you.” Drew reached out and placed her hand between his legs and cupped him gently. She kissed him.

  His erection became stronger, he placed his hands on her head.

  “Drew, you’re a goddess.”

  She bit him as if she was a rabid dog. She clamped her jaw shut and shook her head like a terrier killing a snake.

  He screamed.

  She twisted and shook until a chunk of flesh tore free from his body. Blood sprayed and primal screams filled the room.

  As the sounds of his anguish and pain echoed off the walls, Drew ran.

  She entered the galley and turned to look back. He hadn’t followed her up the stairs. But he would. She had to decide if she wanted to jump overboard or not. It didn’t seem prudent; she had barely survived the last time she was in the open ocean. She could hunt for a radio, but that was hardly going to save her life. She moved towards the stern and tripped over an anchor and chain. The fucking bastard.

  Amongst the poles and tackle were a fish bat and a gaff. Weapons. She held the wooden handle of the gaff like an ancient Polynesian warrior, the kind of warrior that fought tribal battles that would end with no survivors on the losing side; their bodies cannibalized by the victors.

  “You cunt!”

  He walked towards her. He held one hand in his crotch, trying to suppress his blood loss. With his other hand, he steadied himself. His face was pale. He stumbled towards Drew and left a trail of blood behind him.

  “Are you going to kill me now? Is that what you think is going to happen here? Stupid, stupid, fucking woman. You are all alike. Manipulative. Hateful. Cruel.”

  He picked up the anchor and walked towards Drew dragging the chain along the deck behind him. He lunged at her. He swung the anchor towards her, and when he missed, Drew stuck the gaff into his face.

  He screamed.

  As he reached to pull the giant hook out of his flesh, Drew struck him in the head with the fish bat. It thudded on his skull.

  He dropped to his knees.

  Drew backed up.

  He followed her. Slowly and methodically he backed her into the corner of the stern. Port side. He slipped on the blood.

  Drew swung the bat at him.

  He leaned to the right and the bat bounced off his left shoulder. He growled like a dying animal but kept moving towards her.

  She backed up until she was at the stern rail. She was trapped in a corner. Behind her was the sea.

  It was mid-day. Or early afternoon. The skies were clear, and there was a gentle breeze. She turned to look into the distance. She wanted to gauge how far it would be to swim to Catalina.

  He lunged at her.

  She jumped
.

  He went over the edge.

  She watched him fall into the water.

  He surfaced and yelled out to her, “Help me, Drew. Please. Throw me a life preserver. I’m bleeding. Please, Drew, I won’t last long. Please.” He sounded like a child. Afraid. Alone, as if he’d awakened from a bad dream and realized he had been abandoned.

  He cried like a child.

  Drew watched him.

  He was using both of his hands to tread water. Nothing stemmed the flow of blood which clouded around him.

  She watched him but didn’t listen to him. She picked up the anchor and chain he had swung at her and walked to the edge of the boat.

  “Here,” Drew said. “I’ll help you. Hold on to this.”

  She lowered the chain to him.

  “Make sure you have a good grip on it.”

  She watched him gather the chain. He wrapped it around his forearms and held on with both hands.

  “Thank you, Drew,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she said as she tossed the anchor.

  She watched the spot where he’d sank for ten minutes.

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  To those who say there is no God, you must seek to find Him.

  ~ Felix Wantang

  I prayed many times to God; whether deaf or mute, I cannot say. His answers and His replies, written in the corpses of my victims, speak of His character, not mine. He cannot exist except as the sadistic creation of broken men unless we acknowledge that He Himself is the very Devil we loath.

  ~ Chip

 

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