Time for Superman next. I stepped back ten feet, then ran at the door and rammed it with my shoulder, yelling “yaahh!” as I'd seen done in the movies. I heard a splintering sound, but couldn't be sure if it were the door or my shoulder. What I was sure of was that the door didn't open--and that a searing pain shot down my arm. Either I was too weak, or Tracey had wedged the door shut, or both. I heard as much as felt the fire singe my lower leg. Damn, that hurt! I stepped back, and batted down my blazing pants.
The flames were spreading. No time for shoulder or leg pain. I retreated to find breathable air, and to think. There were no exit doors in the back corridor. I'd checked while I was searching for the dicta-pen. Clearly, the only way out was a window. I went to one near the door. It wasn't a window. It was a porthole, and it wasn't made to be opened.
No time for plan C. I grabbed a chair, which fortunately had a metal frame, and whacked the window with all my might. Success! The glass shattered, letting in some cold but fresh air. I used the chair legs to clear out as many glass shards as possible, then looked back at Paula. She was sitting up against a wall. “Stay there, Paula. I'm going out, but I'll be right back to get you.”
She gestured with a hand, and grunted something I couldn't make out. I put my arms and then my head through the porthole, then launched myself through it, as if diving. For once, my skinniness worked to my advantage. I made it through!--until my belt got caught, that is.
Now that I was hanging halfway out I could see that some areas on the deck were on fire, too. I reached back to free my belt, then wriggled the lower half of my body through the porthole. Glass cuts were inevitable but irrelevant. I tried to tumble into a flame-free area.
I scrambled to my feet and went to the door. A bench was wedged against it. I shoved the bench out of the way and opened the door, accepting a burnt hand as a price worth paying. Running through the flames to Paula was next. She was standing, though wobbly, waiting for me. I put my arm around her waist. She put her arm around my shoulders, and we ran/hobbled out the door.
Success! We were out of the room of death, and alive. Where was Tracey? Not in sight, and no time to look for her. Singer's boat was going up in flames. We had to get off immediately. We could dive into the water, but I wasn't sure that Paula would survive that.
We should escape on Haydock's boat, of course. In fact, where the hell was he? The smoke clouded and stung my eyes, but I quickly found Haydock's boat with my flashlight, just a few feet away, where we'd left it.
I pointed at it and shouted “over there!” to Paula, but I don't think she heard. I'd never realized how noisy a fire is when it's all around you. I heard sirens in the distance. Fire engines! Rescue was near at hand! If only we could survive just a little longer.
Paula and I did our version of a three-legged race to reach Haydock's boat. The rope tying the two boats together was in tatters, but the two boats were still touching. “Haydock!” I screamed, but there was no answer. He couldn't be drunk, could he? No time to figure it out. And there was also no alternative to what I had to do next.
I hoisted Paula over the railing, and dumped her onto Haydock's boat. “Oww!!” That scream I heard. Sorry, Paula. You'll thank me later. I hoisted myself next, and tumbled onto Haydock's deck, alongside Paula. Something exploded from inside Singer's boat, just as in a James Bond movie.
“Are you all right, Paula?” There I went again with that question.
She covered her ear. “I can hear you, David.” She was right. It was quieter away from the fire. “Let's just get out of here.”
“Where the hell is Haydock?” I asked as I stood up. “I'm going to look for him.”
Haydock's boat was much smaller than Singer's, so when I pulled out the flashlight, turned it on, and scanned the deck, I quickly found him. He was in his chair where we'd left him, but he wasn’t rocking. What was going on? Why hadn't he made a move to help us? I acted without thinking, and walked up to him to investigate. Even in the dark I could see by the light of my flashlight that his mouth was hanging open, his eyes were staring blankly, and his chest was a big bloody mess. My stomach lurched, and my head began to swim. I reached for the top of Haydock's chair to steady myself, but my hand found only his cold, dead, shoulder.
“Counting on him, were you?” Tracey Shanley stepped into my sight, spookily illuminated by light cast from the fire on Singer's boat. She stood a mere ten feet away, aiming a gun squarely at my heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
I swung my flashlight around, trying to blind Tracey, but-
Bam! The flashlight rocketed out of my hand, giving me a kick as if it were a gun I'd fired.
“David!!”
Now it was my turn to say “I'm all right” to Paula.” I shook my still stinging hand.
“Tsk, tsk, David,” Tracey said. “It's not nice to cross me. As our friend the captain found out. I've seen him before, right? With the Green Panthers?”
“Yes. But why did you have to-”
“He made a mistake. A fatal mistake. He chose loyalty to you over cooperation with me.”
“How did he know-”
“He was suspicious from the start. When I didn’t find you in Jonathan’s house I looked out back. I spotted this boat. Since it had clearly brought you here I decided to check it first. I crossed Jonathan's boat, but when I boarded this one, my sweet talk didn’t fool our fine captain here. He apparently realized that if the two of you didn't want company, anyone showing up couldn't be trusted.”
“Too smart for his own good,” I muttered. My respect for Haydock rose once again.
“Exactly,” Tracey chuckled. “Why don't people know enough to conform to their stereotypes?”
Her every word stoked my rage.
“So when my friendly act didn't work,” she continued, “I tried a more forceful form of persuasion.” She patted her gun. “I guess I have to work on my threats. The broken rib I gave Paula didn't discourage her, either. In the end, though, his boat was very cooperative, providing gasoline and matches. So all's well-”
“You might as well give up,” I said, my anger graduating to revulsion. “Do you hear-”
“Ooh, I'm so scared. The posse has me surrounded? It's nice of you to be concerned for me, but it'll be easy for me to frame our unfortunate boat captain. Shame to ruin his reputation, but, you know...”
While she spoke I forced myself to calm down, at least enough to figure out an exit strategy. I was too far away to even attempt to jump her. Paula didn't look at all well, huddled on the floor.
We were in relative darkness, but I saw something metallic on the floor glinting in the dark near my feet. I bent as surreptitiously as I could, picked it up, and held it behind my back. It was a tool of some sort, maybe a wrench. Keep talking, David. “Powder burns will make it obvious that Haydock didn't do it,” I said.
“After I burn down this boat, too? Come on, you can do better than that. After all, you had me figured for fixing the Singers, père et fils. Didn't you?”
“Yes-”
“Well, it wasn't so hard for anyone with half a brain. Who else but me stood to benefit?”
“There was also your e-mail mistake.”
“Oh?”
“You forgot that Jonathan Singer uses large fonts.”
“Shit. His vision, of course. We see each other every day at the Institute, never communicated by e-mail. And I was so proud of myself for stealing Jonathan's and Mitchell's passwords. They're so gullible.” She sighed. “No one's perfect, I guess. But I'll bet it wasn't the police who figured it out. Still-”
“Why did you delete the e-mails later?” I asked, interrupting her.
“What? Why would I do that? I did do a good job at not leaving any physical evidence, though.”
Were we still a step ahead of her, regarding the dicta-pen? That would be very gratifying--if we got out alive, that is.
“Until Andrea told me about the stupid dicta-pen,” she said.
“Damn!'
> “Was that your last little hope? Well, sorry about that. I told you I’m persuasive. Everyone around here's easy except for Dame Judith. She's smart, she's trouble, and I can't figure out what she's thinking. When I'm The Empress I'll banish her.”
Paula startled both of us by speaking. “How could you do it? Don't you care about Dr. Singer?”
“So you're still alive. At least for now. Yes, of course I did. We loved each other once. It wasn't like with his other bimbos. We could have been a team for life.”
She sighed. “He knew what he had, what we had. But he threw it all away. He decided that one woman's worship wasn't enough for him. And when I found out that he was cutting me out in favor of his here today, gone tomorrow, son...”
I hit my forehead with my palm. “Damn. I just realized when you did it. Mitchell returned from his meeting with his father on the deck. You pretended that Jonathan was missing, and you pretended to go look for him. In reality, that was your appointment with him, and that's when you did it.”
“Yeah. Cute touch, wasn't it?”
The fire trucks had reached Singer's boat. We all turned, and saw water spraying onto the fire.
“Give me the dicta-pen, David. Now.”
“I didn’t find it,” I said, thinking quickly. “But when I do-”
“Stop lying!” she said, pointing her gun at me. “You’re making me angry.”
I looked around me in desperation, hoping to see a deus ex machina.
“This has gone far enough. I might as well just shoot you. I tried the friendly approach with you, too, at first, because I didn't know where the dicta-pen was. Threats might not have convinced you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Tracey was right about that. No reason to give away our only leverage.
“But that's all changed,” she said. “That is the dicta-pen you're holding behind you. Isn't it?”
“Don't do it, Tracey,” Paula said. “You won't get away with it.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tracey said. When I saw her turn toward Paula I seized what might be my only opportunity. I threw the wrench at her, with all my force. In the instant while cocking my arm I considered aiming at her gun, then at her head. But those targets were too small and it was too dark; I'd probably miss. So I aimed at her chest.
Tracey's “oomph!” and her clutching her midsection were my rewards. But she remained standing, and I heard only one clatter on the deck. Presumably the wrench, not the gun. My fastball was evidently no match for Nolan Ryan's.
But we had gained a tiny window of opportunity. “Dive!!” I screamed in Paula's direction, and followed my own advice.
Fear coursed through me as a gunshot whizzed somewhere by me, while I was airborne. But when I hit the water I relaxed. The murky darkness, which would normally be forbidding, was a cloak of invisibility. And the wetness, which seeped immediately through my clothes, felt like bullet-proof armor. Tracey would never get me while I was protected by my water-shield, even if she did manage to find my flashlight--which her bullet had probably disabled, anyway.
My dive had distracted Tracey enough, I hoped, to give Paula her chance to escape, too. She was wounded, but surely her dog paddle could take her as far as the shore. I had no idea where Paula was now, however, since we’d dived off opposite sides of the boat.
The sound of Haydock's boat's engine turning on startled me. What was Tracey's plan? I'd begun to swim around the boats toward the shore, but when Haydock’s boat moved I had to back up and tread water. I hoped that Paula was well out of her path.
Tracey steered Haydock’s boat toward land, away from Singer's property. She was full of unexpected talents. Shooting a gun. Piloting a boat. Where do people find the time to learn such things? While I waited for her to chart her course, the water, initially comforting due to providing a semblance of safety, soaked my clothes and sent a profound chill through me.
I had to find Paula. My search was hopeless if she were in the water, because it was much too dark. Time to seek help on land.
I swam ashore, skirting Singer’s burning boat. “Paula!” I screamed, but there was no response. Firefighters were deployed on Singer's property, adjacent to his dock. I ran to them, waving my arms and shouting for help.
I managed to drag one firefighter's attention away from the fire by begging him to have the water scoured for Paula. He readily agreed, but ran off when I told him that I wasn’t sure if Paula or Tracey was still on board ship. Before I could ask him to call the police. Damn!
What next? My dripping clothes and hair made me shiver as my thoughts raced. I couldn't help Paula where I was. The firefighters would take care of searching the water and the shore, far better than I could. And how should I proceed if she'd reached land before me?
I heard another explosion, in the distance. Tongues of flame shot up from Haydock's boat. Firefighters would be telling their grandchildren about this night.
A solitary light in Singer's living room caught my attention. Maybe Paula was inside for some reason. At the very least I could call the police from there. What if the house's doors were locked? What would I do then? I fought off the uneasy feeling Paula’s absence was creating in me.
The back doorknob opened when I turned it. I remembered that Tracey had made her way through the house on her way to Singer's boat. She must have left the door unlocked. When I opened the door I heard the telephone ring. My heartbeat picked up again. I froze. Something told me that this call wasn't from someone selling a magazine subscription.
I ran to a side-table in the living room and picked up the telephone receiver. “Hello,” I said, my mouth dry, all moisture having apparently been transferred to my palms.
“Finally,” a woman's voice said. “I figured that since you have no cell phone, you’d use Jonathan’s house phone to call the police. But what took you so long?”
“Who is this?” I knew very well who it was--Tracey Shanley. My excuses for my question were the pounding of my heart, traffic noises in the caller's background...and an intense desire to put off the inevitable.
“Stop playing games, David. We don't have time. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We can talk freely. Listen carefully. I have Paula with me.” I was finding it hard to breathe. “Are you still there?” she asked.
“Yes,” I croaked.
“The poor thing was slowed down by her recent injuries. I was able to catch her before she could follow you into the water. Probably saved her life. And her cell phone.”
Damn it! Another emotion re-emerged in me, competing with my fear for Paula’s safety. Rage. I wanted to wring Tracey's neck.
“She's driving us now,” Tracey continued. “And she was kind enough to lend me her cell phone so I could call you. Would you believe the batteries in mine ran out? Sorry for ringing up the minutes on her bill, but it's your fault for swimming so slowly.”
Tracey's sarcasm decided my internal contest. Rage overwhelmed fear. Was she enjoying this situation? I put the receiver down before I could smash it against the wall. I took a deep breath, but it didn't help. “What...do...you...want?” I asked.
“You're not collapsing over there, I hope. I need you to hang together just a little bit more. For Paula's sake.”
I didn’t respond, too busy struggling to get my emotions under control.
“Are you still listening?” Tracey asked.
“Yes,” I spat out.
“No need to be snippy, David. Wouldn't want me to take out my anger on Paula, would we? So listen. I want you to go straight to your car, and drive straight to the hotel. Then go straight to the hotel gym. No need to change into your gym clothes, though. You and Paula and I will have a romantic tête à tête à tête. With me so far?”
“Yes. But just one thing.” I couldn't believe what I was about to say.
“Oh?”
“I want you to prove to me that you have Paula, and that she's still alive.”
“I'm hurt, David. After all we've
been through you still don't trust me.” Every word was like a dentist's drill. “Say something witty, Paula,” Tracey said.
“Don't do it, David! Go to the police!”
Paula's last word was less audible to me, Tracey having obviously pulled the cell phone back to herself. “Something told me not to let her talk,” Tracey said. “But fortunately, you're more reasonable, I'm sure. The good news is that she reminded me to give you the usual disclaimer. Come straight to the hotel gym. Do not pass go. Do not talk to anyone. Especially the police. Remember to bring the dicta-pen with you. And one last thing--or else.” The receiver in my hand went dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
I dropped the telephone receiver on the table, and fingered the dicta-pen in my pocket. The pen seemed securely enclosed in the plastic wrap. I remembered that Paula had “drowned” her cell phone a couple of times, and hoped that the dicta-pen had avoided that fate during my swim to the shore. Not a problem now. I just hoped that, if damaged, it wouldn't be needed for evidence later.
The telephone began to make the annoying buzzing sound it makes when it's off its base. I reached to hang it up, but decided against it. I was afraid to disobey Tracey by talking to the police or by leaving a note for them. I also wanted to follow Paula without delay. But maybe some smart person could trace Paula's cell phone, thence Paula’s location, through Singer's phone. I had no idea if my reasoning made any sense, but I was much too frantic for further deliberation.
The drive to the hotel took twenty minutes, but it felt like an hour. The pristine black starry night reminded me of the skies over my “native” Centreville. How could the same beauty preside over both joy and tragedy? I tried to use the time to plot a brilliant strategy to overwhelm and overcome Tracey, but fear and rage made it impossible for me to focus my mind. I wanted to smash Tracey's head against a wall, but suspected that she wouldn't cooperate with that. A gun in my hand would have been nice...maybe in my next life I wouldn't be a pacifist.
And then I was at the hotel. I ran inside. It was eerily empty, as if people had scattered in Tracey's wake. Please let Paula be OK. I ran down a corridor, then realized that I wasn't sure where the gym was. I consulted a sign on the wall, readjusted my route, and found the gym.
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