At dawn she spotted a freighter way off the stern, a good sign, as they ran north and south. She adjusted the wheel a bit, tweaking it to point to land. Maybe. Another bucket of water. Her shoulders ached and sweat mixed with blood dripped in her eyes. She went to the head and waded in, the water up to her knees, and looked in the mirror. A monster looked back, black hair stringing down to her shoulders, clumps of it stuck to the dried blood on her scalp. Blood trickled down the right side of her forehead, and she remembered pulling her hair out of the scab. She cleaned it up a bit and covered it with a bandage.
The water covered the top of the toilet. How much more time? She kept bailing, each bucket stalling the inevitable.
The sun rose against a clear blue sky and Kim once again adjusted the boat toward it. At least now she knew she was headed east. Trip after trip she hauled the water and dumped it. A few hours later she spotted land over the horizon, and tears of hope welled in her eyes.
“I am going to make it. I will sail this boat all the way to Harbor Springs,” she said aloud. With renewed energy she shuttled the buckets of water.
After a dozen more she stopped, exhausted. Rooting around, she found a couple of energy bars and wolfed them down. But the steady flow of water drove her back to work. The water now filled the galley ankle deep. She picked the bucket up again for… what, the three hundredth time?
The sun shone straight overhead and Kim wiped the sweat from her eyes. Her mouth dry, she looked for a drink.
She found a bottle of wine, but the thought of Doug drugging and abducting her made it look disgusting. She looked at the bottle. Message in a bottle. What if I don’t make it? She rooted around and found a corkscrew, opened the wine and dumped it overboard. Next she found a pencil and paper. She composed the note, including enough evidence to send Doug Newman away for the rest of his life. She inserted the note and corked the bottle, started to throw it overboard, then relented. Might as well wait until the boat sinks and is closer to shore. She set it on the seat in the stern and remembered her thirst.
In a lower drawer she found a bottle of soda and opened it, drinking deeply. Ugh, lukewarm. Perhaps the caffeine would help. She burped out loud and laughed, the Kellogg heiress belching. Carrying the bottle to the upper deck, she looked to the land. It appeared just as far away as an hour ago. The sails billowed a bit, then hung loose. Looking over the side she saw the boat creeping through the water, just a bit below the gunwales.
“I’m not going to make it.” She stated. She tossed the empty bottle into the lake. It would end up there anyway. Looking at the sun, she guessed it to be about six p.m. Great. I’ll be swimming in the dark. She sat at the bench and rubbed her aching feet. Doug brought her barefoot, so the trips over the wet carpet took their toll. An idea struck and she waded into the galley area to find some socks, then remembered the Aqua Socks. She found them floating near the stove, the water halfway up the door. Tossing the socks on the bench, she put the rubber foot protectors on her feet. Too big, but much better. With renewed frenzy, she bailed the water, mitigating her time swimming in the water. The sails looked lackluster, and the boat crawled along with its heavy load of water. Everything floated on the water below decks: flip flops, the lighter, plastic bottles, broken drawer pieces.
After the sun set, Kim’s spirit sagged with the emerging darkness. The boat, without power, emitted no light and the lake turned inky black, and would have melted into the sky but for the stars. A few lights from ships glowed in the distance behind her. She saw lights ahead and steered toward a grouping of them. It wouldn’t be long, the water submerging the upper deck. Kim found a life jacket and changed into socks.
What to wear… or not wear. The life jacket, for sure. Swimming naked seemed best for speed and nothing to weigh her down, but she settled on bra and panties. She undressed and retrieved the table leg. Evidence. Wrapping the metal leg in a life jacket, she worried it would break loose. But how to hold it? Looking around, she grabbed a light line and tied the jacket to it, then tied it to her ankle. Should she take the leg? It became difficult to think clearly. The move reminded her of Tom Hanks in that movie where he got stuck on a deserted island with a volleyball. “Wilson!”
No, bringing the leg made sense.
Wait until the last minute before abandoning ship? Perhaps she should get in the water now, in case the rigging or mast swung around, or perhaps it would form a whirlpool of some sort and suck her down. No. She bailed more water, now much easier as she didn’t have to carry the bucket across the deck.
The boat filled in… what? Twenty-four hours? Yet when the water came over the gunwale it sank in a matter of seconds. Kim saw it spill over, the boat tilted to starboard as she dove away from it. As she cleared the side, the life jacket holding the table leg caught on the cleat and pulled her under. NO! She pulled at it, but it held fast, dragging her down. She knew she needed to swim toward the sinking boat. She swung around, but the boat fell faster than she could swim. Water built up in her ears. She cleared them, then pulled the rope until she felt the cleat and pulled the rope away. The life preservers rushed her to air, her lungs about to explode. Stay calm. She learned that in diving. She swam steady and upward until she burst into air and gasped. “Oh, thank God.” She lay on her back until regaining her breath.
Debris from the boat floated around her, nothing that looked useful. Then she saw a couch cushion, bobbing.
Kim swam to it and used it for a paddle board. More evidence, too. Her shoulders ached from the bailing and now she must swim? She rolled over onto her back and worked the cushion under her shoulders. The stars shone brightly, with Orion, the Big Dipper, and the North Star twinkling in the sky. Now I know, for sure, which way is east. She kicked her legs and arms. The table leg, wrapped in its life jacket, bounced along behind her. Take my time and pace myself. I’ve got a long way to go.
For no logical reason, a peace settled over her. She paddled easily on her back and stared at the expanse of sky, jammed with stars. With no ambient light, the stars gleamed like diamonds against black velvet. Her thoughts swung from, “I’m going to survive this, meet a wonderful man, and have kids,” to “I am going to find Doug, hunt him down, and kill him.” Okay, not kill him, but see that justice is served. Maybe.
The night wore on. She shivered from the cold water and air. No more floating, better keep moving or I’ll freeze. An occasional plane flew overhead. Far behind her feet, a freighter passed. Might as well be on the moon. She rolled over to swim with the cushion as a paddle board and noticed it sat lower in the water and was becoming waterlogged. She screamed into the darkness. “Does everything have to sink? Why? Why would Doug do this to me?” I need to get hold of myself. I’m still floating, the life jacket’s work—Do life jackets ever get waterlogged?
She decided to shake it off and focus on swimming. She peered at her goal. The shore looked no closer. Could it be a current? Her imagination? No matter, she wept at her plight. The couch cushion felt heavy and sodden, so she pushed it away.
Thinking back to a television show, she knew that the curvature of the earth would hide the shoreline at around five miles, so she must be four or less. How long would it take to swim that far? Honestly, though, this wasn’t swimming, but floating in a direction. Exhaustion overtook her and she stopped swimming and rolled onto her back. Her biceps burned from rubbing the life vest.
And what about currents? With its immense size, Lake Michigan currents could carry something—or someone—miles away. Or out to sea. What if she took off the life jacket and just quit? She shook her head. No. Stupid thinking. She wanted to live. If for nothing else, to see Doug pay for his crimes.
Her mind wandered. Whose boat did he just sink? Did they have insurance? Would Doug have to pay for it? From prison? Why would he do this to me?
She knew that answer. Greed. He always demanded more money. More cars, bikes, boats, and clothes. ‘Investments’ like a ranch, apple orchard, and bike shop. She must have been in den
ial. He wasn’t entrepreneurial, just greedy.
The night eased away and the sun appeared. Kim swam on, but her kicks seemed as listless as the sails on the doomed boat. Was she doomed, too? She looked toward the land. Closer, for sure, but a long way to go. She thought she could make out houses.
Her stomach cramped. When did she last eat? The power bars, hours ago. Should have found more food. Right. Like the couch cushions or something. At least she swam in fresh water. A person at sea would be dead by now, if not from the elements, then by sharks. And being summer, the water and air weren’t too cold. The chafing of her skin caused her movements to become smaller.
Kim found a house and determined to swim toward it. With her arms kept at her sides, she paddled her feet almost imperceptibly. Keep going. The sun bore down, straight overhead. Her skin looked bright red. Should have worn clothes for sunburn protection.
~
Ben and Alice enjoyed their iced tea every day—when the weather permitted—on the deck overlooking the lake. Alice read on her Kindle and Ben studied his laptop. Then he scanned the landscape and stood. “What the heck is that?” He pointed.
Alice came beside him. “It’s a girl.”
A woman wearing a life jacket crawled up on the beach, red and sunburned. Another life jacket floated in the shallow water. They ran and stopped beside her, noticing now that she was in only a bra, panties, and socks. Two cuts slashed across her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
“Help me.”
They pulled her to her feet, but between the sunburns on her feet and exhaustion, she sat back on the beach. “Just… let me get a bit of strength.”
“You need something to eat? Or drink?” Alice wrung her hands.
“Uh… yes… energy bar or something, energy drink… anything.”
Alice trotted to the house while Ben sat beside her. “What happened?”
“I, uh, was shipwrecked.”
Shipwrecked! It sounded like something from the nineteenth century. No wind for weeks, how could she? Was she delirious? “What’s your name?”
“Kim. Kim Newman.”
Alice appeared with drinks and candy bars. “I brought these, too.” She held out moccasins, furry on the inside.
“Thank you.”
They escorted her to the house and Alice left her to get cleaned up. She walked into the family room and sat next to Ben on the couch. “Wow, that girl is burned all over.”
“She going to be okay?”
“She’s soaking in a cool tub. Then I’ll rub her down with aloe vera.”
“What in the world happened to her?”
“She won’t say. Just borrowed my phone and called someone named Darla and asked her to come pick her up.” Alice laced her fingers. “But here’s the weird part. I tried not to listen, but you know… Anyway, she’s in Harbor Springs.”
“That’s 250 miles away.”
~
Darla Johnson rang the bell.
“Hello. I’m here to see… Kim Kellogg Newman.”
Ben gasped. “Kellogg Newman. She just said her name was Kim Newman. Oh, sorry. Come in.”
Darla let out a cry as she beheld her friend, her hair wet and disheveled, her skin burned a deep red, her forehead scarred. She wore a man’s sweat shirt and jeans, rolled up at the ankles, burned too. And moccasins. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, but you look awful.”
“You should have seen me before the shower and clothes. But I’m alive. And thanks to Ben and Alice, I’m much better.”
~
“So what are we doing now?” Darla shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. They fixed Kim up with sunburn cream and salve for her chafing.
“How far from Harbor Springs are we?”
“Kim, this is the third time I’ve told you. We’re in Holland. Are you okay?”
“How long ’til we get there?”
“Around four hours. Three if I drive like an idiot.”
“I am going to kill Doug.”
“Um, not a good idea.”
“Let’s stop and get some breakfast.”
“Dinner.”
“Right. I’ll fill you in on the whole story.” She stared out the window, not taking in anything. “How do I look?”
Darla flipped down her visor.
She stared at the red face and two sets of stitches across her forehead. “I look like a barbed wire fence.”
Darla laughed. “You’re okay.”
“I am going to kill Doug Newman.”
~
After their meal, they headed north, the weather sunny and warm. Kim stared out the side window.
“I am going to kill Doug Newman.”
Darla took a deep breath. “Listen, you’ve said that a number of times. You’ve also asked how far we are from Harbor Springs often, so if you actually did kill him, I suppose I could testify that you were a victim of some kind of head trauma or something. You can afford a great lawyer, so I suppose you might—might get off, but I still think it’s a bad idea.”
“It’s a colloquialism. Like when your kids act up and you say you’re going to kill them.”
“Okay,” she nodded, “but if he were to turn up dead, I’m just saying…”
“I’m going to kill Doug Newman.”
Darla sighed and focused on the road.
“It hurts to sit.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It hurts to stand, to lie down, to soak in the tub…” Kim sat up to ease the rubbing on her shoulders. “Darla, call him.”
“What?”
She turned from the side window and faced her. “Call Doug. Tell him you’ve been calling my cell and haven’t been able to reach me. You’re worried.”
“And?”
“Let’s see what he says. See if you can figure out where he is, too.”
“This sounds like a bad idea.” Darla called up the car cell. “Call Doug Newman.” As the phone rang, she muttered to Kim, “Don’t say a word.” Kim held a finger to her lips and gave the Boy Scout sign. It rang three times before he answered.
“Darla?”
“Hey, what’s up, Doug?” she kept it sounding chipper.
“Nothing. Hanging at the house.” Darla and Kim looked at one another, got their answer.
“Hey, I’ve been calling Kim since yesterday and it goes to voice mail. Where is she?”
“She’s gone to her mother’s. Her vacation place at Sault St. Marie.”
“Okay. Well, don’t they have cell service there?”
“It’s spotty.”
Then they heard a faint tittering laugh in the background. The girls looked at one another.
“Okay. Well, if you talk to her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
“Will do.” He clicked off and Darla finished the call. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. He’s at our house. My house. And Laura is with him.”
“Now what?”
“I am going to kill Doug Newman.”
~
They drove by Kim’s house, all the windows dark. “Keep going.” She pointed to the side of the road, two doors down. “Park there.”
Darla shut off the car. “I don’t like this.”
“Wait here.” Kim limped out and made her way to the garage and peered through the window. Inside it sat Doug’s Maserati, her car, and a cream colored Lexus. She stole over to the house, tipped over a plant pot, retrieved the key, and struggled back to the car, indicating Darla should roll down the window. “Pop the trunk.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Just do it. Trust me on this one. Two phone calls. I’ll wait until the cops get here and wake him up. I just want to see his face and tell him a few things before they arrest him.”
She tapped the wheel. “It’s your party, sister.”
Kim walked to the back of the car and retrieved the chrome table leg. She walked to the front and trudged up the stairs to her house. At the door, she turned and made
a ‘make those phone calls’ signal to Darla. She held the phone so Kim could see and punched 911. “I need to report an attempted murder.”
Kim punched the alarm code and tiptoed through the house. She crept up the stairs and eased open the door to the master bedroom. Peeking inside, she saw Doug, naked, the sheets twisted around his legs. Next to him lay Laura. The nerve of this guy! A siren sounded in the distance. Gotta hurry. She tiptoed to the side of the bed, raised the leg, and crashed it down on his nose. “That’s for replacing me with her.” The loud ‘thwack’ woke Laura, but put Doug out.
She sat up, then covered herself. “Kim. I thought you were…”
“Hello, Laura.” The sirens grew louder. “Listen, he’s pretty big so you better help me turn him or he’ll choke to death on his blood.”
She recoiled at the blood splattered over the sheets and herself.
“Do it,” Kim commanded.
Laura struggled to help, still holding the sheet over herself.
“Listen, sweetie. The cops are here, and you’re staying with us. And no, you’re not getting dressed. I need you for evidence.” She lifted the table leg. “This, too.”
Cops burst through the door, guns pointed at Kim. “Drop your weapon and put your hands up.”
She complied, looking as submissive and humble as possible. One came over and pulled her arms behind her, and her shoulders sent electric shocks of pain through her body.
They marched her out and stood her at the back of a police car. Thank God it was early morning or the paparazzi would be swarming this place.
The chief of police stepped up. “Kimberly Kellogg Newman, you are under arrest for the attem—”
“Stop! Right now.” Tonya, the family attorney arrived, looking disheveled. “Have you lost your mind?”
“She tried to kill her husband. If it wasn’t for a tip called in, she would’ve done it, too.”
She shook her head. “No, Doug tried to kill her. That was the tip.”
He looked at the blood spattered on her red hands. “Counsellor, I don’t think so.” He read Kim her rights and a cop put her in the back seat of the car. Tonya scolded them both and threatened lawsuit, sanctions, and all kinds of legal threats. After hammering him, the cop opened the back door so Tonya could talk to her client.
50 Stories in 50 States: Tales Inspired by a Motorcycle Journey Across the USA Vol 1, Great Lakes & N.E. Page 9