Sara Thacker's Blog: Red Skhye In Morning, page 14
May 17, 2011
Chapter 5: Part 1
Amazingly, the little yellow raft she'd lived on for the past few days hadn't flipped over during the storm. Relief had come. Well it had been a tiny amount of relief with a half bottle of drinking water collected.
It had been a miracle. Somehow a tubular leaf had floated past just before the storm. The improvised rain collection device had surprised her. Now she had more water and more will to live.
She'd live for another day, maybe a week if it rained again. That is if the raft didn't flip.
Of course all the hell that she had been through over the last few days made her question if living really was worth the pain she endured with every breath sucked into her lungs and every quiver of her aching muscles.
The sun had baked her body to a crisp. High in the sky, the fat yellow disk sat, mocking her with its cheery glow. Before this week she had loved the sun. Now she fantasized of places like foggy London, and dreary Seattle.
She wished for the dark of the night when cool relief would come. Even though the black ocean at night scared the heck out of her, she still craved it. Just thinking about the sharks and other creepy things below made her skin crawl. She curled up in the center of the raft, hugging the bottles of water to her chest.
Two bottles of clear salt free water was all that kept her on this side of death. Two days at the most. If she drank sparingly, maybe she could survive three days but for what. Her skin felt like peeling paint. She'd taken for granted the luxuries of her former life.
Skin cream.
That's what she wanted. If she could, she would bathe in moisturizer, letting it squish between her toes and run down her back. Shampoo too. Maybe a nice day at a spa would be her first stop. She could treat herself with a body wrap and a massage. Maybe she could stay for a weekend or a week. Hell, a month of pampering would help to set her right. What was that spa in Durham North Carolina she'd been at? Soothing Waters, or was it Healing Waters? She wished she could be there now.
God, if she made it back to civilization she'd never go to the beach again or for that matter on a boat. She'd never go on a date either. That was the problem. No wisdom or thought had ever been extended to her dating life. She hadn't though going out on a harmless date would have been a problem, but it had been. She'd lost her life. Well, not yet but she'd be dead in a matter of days if she didn't receive a huge miracle.
The sky was empty. She couldn't believe that no planes had flown overhead. Thousands of planes took to the sky every day, why couldn't one of those planes cross her path. Trouble was, if a jet flew over it would be too high. She needed some weekend warrior learning to fly to come close enough to see her raft.
Or maybe a fisherman. Couldn't some big game fisher be out here trying to angle a shark? She hadn't joined PETA, but she hated the way those fishermen caught sharks and other big fish just for trophies. Now, she would give anything to have one of those guys out here hunting down a hammerhead shark. Even if he killed one in front of her eyes she wouldn't care, anything to be rescued.
She sat up, searching the horizon. Was that an island off in the distance? With cupped hands she shielded her eyes. She saw something, maybe a big building, but she couldn't tell.
Her mind was playing tricks. Dehydration was taking its toll. There was no building. No hope of being found.
She couldn't even cry because all the tears had dried up. The ache in her head had reached her heart. The only thing she could do was sleep. Maybe God would be merciful and let her die in her sleep tonight. Then she wouldn't have to face another day in the burning hot sun.
"God, why am I still alive. Let me die." Amanda took two sips of water, twisted the lid on tight and curled into a ball.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
It had been a miracle. Somehow a tubular leaf had floated past just before the storm. The improvised rain collection device had surprised her. Now she had more water and more will to live.
She'd live for another day, maybe a week if it rained again. That is if the raft didn't flip.
Of course all the hell that she had been through over the last few days made her question if living really was worth the pain she endured with every breath sucked into her lungs and every quiver of her aching muscles.
The sun had baked her body to a crisp. High in the sky, the fat yellow disk sat, mocking her with its cheery glow. Before this week she had loved the sun. Now she fantasized of places like foggy London, and dreary Seattle.
She wished for the dark of the night when cool relief would come. Even though the black ocean at night scared the heck out of her, she still craved it. Just thinking about the sharks and other creepy things below made her skin crawl. She curled up in the center of the raft, hugging the bottles of water to her chest.
Two bottles of clear salt free water was all that kept her on this side of death. Two days at the most. If she drank sparingly, maybe she could survive three days but for what. Her skin felt like peeling paint. She'd taken for granted the luxuries of her former life.
Skin cream.
That's what she wanted. If she could, she would bathe in moisturizer, letting it squish between her toes and run down her back. Shampoo too. Maybe a nice day at a spa would be her first stop. She could treat herself with a body wrap and a massage. Maybe she could stay for a weekend or a week. Hell, a month of pampering would help to set her right. What was that spa in Durham North Carolina she'd been at? Soothing Waters, or was it Healing Waters? She wished she could be there now.
God, if she made it back to civilization she'd never go to the beach again or for that matter on a boat. She'd never go on a date either. That was the problem. No wisdom or thought had ever been extended to her dating life. She hadn't though going out on a harmless date would have been a problem, but it had been. She'd lost her life. Well, not yet but she'd be dead in a matter of days if she didn't receive a huge miracle.
The sky was empty. She couldn't believe that no planes had flown overhead. Thousands of planes took to the sky every day, why couldn't one of those planes cross her path. Trouble was, if a jet flew over it would be too high. She needed some weekend warrior learning to fly to come close enough to see her raft.
Or maybe a fisherman. Couldn't some big game fisher be out here trying to angle a shark? She hadn't joined PETA, but she hated the way those fishermen caught sharks and other big fish just for trophies. Now, she would give anything to have one of those guys out here hunting down a hammerhead shark. Even if he killed one in front of her eyes she wouldn't care, anything to be rescued.
She sat up, searching the horizon. Was that an island off in the distance? With cupped hands she shielded her eyes. She saw something, maybe a big building, but she couldn't tell.
Her mind was playing tricks. Dehydration was taking its toll. There was no building. No hope of being found.
She couldn't even cry because all the tears had dried up. The ache in her head had reached her heart. The only thing she could do was sleep. Maybe God would be merciful and let her die in her sleep tonight. Then she wouldn't have to face another day in the burning hot sun.
"God, why am I still alive. Let me die." Amanda took two sips of water, twisted the lid on tight and curled into a ball.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 16, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 6
With ten steps to go the rain let loose, soaking both Delanie and her companion. Lightning turned the sky bright as thundered rumbled over the land. Wind lashed Delanie's hair, pulling at her ponytail.
They ran into the house through the French doors bringing palm leaves with them. She looked at the mess on the floor and then turned to the man with her. Why couldn't she remember his name? Maybe it was the stress. It would come to her.
"I need to close all the windows."
"You got shutters?" He asked.
"I didn't even think of those."
"It's raining hard. Wind too. I'll take care of them," he said.
"You'll get too wet."
"But you might lose a window."
"Damn, it's too much to ask. You'll get soaked."
The guy shrugged. "Only with water."
"Okay, I'll get the windows, you get the shutters."
Delanie raced through the rooms, making sure all the windows were closed. In the spare bedroom she pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt out of the dresser. They might be a bit big, but they should fit her mystery guest.
A shutter banged loud against the side of the house. She looked up and screamed. It was only her sopping wet helper. If only she could remember his name. She'd have to ask. This wasn't a situation where she could just plug away and pretend to know the guys name just to ask her assistant later. Not that she hadn't been listening when he told her his name, she had. But why couldn't she recall what he said.
Delanie grabbed a change of clothes for herself and four towels. Just as she entered the den the man burst into the room. His clothes looked spray painted on, detailing every sculpted angle and bulging muscle.
"I only closed the shutters on the side where the wind was the worst."
Delanie moved towards the guy, aware of every movement of his body. He grabbed a towel from her and started scrubbing at his hair. She swallowed over the lump forming in her throat.
Shake out of it. He's just a guy.
"Thanks, bit wet out there."
She tore her gaze away from his chest, "I'm sorry, but I forgot your name."
He looked up, catching her off guard with the intensity of his glare. "Haven't had that happen too many times. I'm Samuel Taylor. Call me Sam."
Delanie felt heat creeping up her neck. She busied herself with throwing the extra towels down on the floor and moping up the mess.
Sam bent to his knees, his head level with hers. "Here, let me help."
For a moment, Delanie felt as though she were in the middle of a bad romantic drama. They only needed to have the sweeping music cued up. She felt ridiculous.
A crack of thunder made Delanie jump and bump into Sam sending him tumbling to the ground. His hand snaked out, grasping for a hold. It latched onto her shirt and pulled her with him.
Suddenly she was on top of him, her breasts squished against his chest. Their eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to transmit some primitive desire that two wet bodies couldn't help but send out. Maybe it was the rain, or the beach, or maybe it was the fact that she hadn't slept with a man in almost a year.
Sure, she'd dated Rhye Hamilton and everyone thought they were in the sack from day one, but not true. Delanie had been willing but Rhye held her off. Then when he was ready, she'd decided waiting was best.
Ultimately he couldn't put off raging hormones, his description of how he ended up in bed with another. For a nano-second Delanie felt like boffing this practical stranger would be the best revenge, but her brain went into overdrive weighing all the potential problems. Besides, she wasn't like that.
She pushed off his rock hard chest, noticing the way his eyes followed her every move. Her breath hitched and his gaze shot up to hers. If this were a movie, Delanie knew that the next cut scene would be the two of them in bed. Real life was different. She barely knew the guy. He could be some deranged lunatic for all she knew.
"I have clothes for you." Delanie turned to the chair where she had tossed the shirt and shorts. "They should come close to fitting."
"Husband's stuff?"
Delanie swung back around, wondering if they guy knew whom she was? "No, I'm not married."
His right eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. "Got a bathroom to change in."
Her throat was dry, stealing her voice. "Sure, down the hall, first door on the left."
Delanie finished mopping up the floor and took the towels back to the washing machine. She had yet to run the thing and wondered if starting a load in the middle a storm was a wise idea. After too many seconds thinking about Sam and how solid his muscles had felt under her, she tossed the towels onto the top of the machine and vowed to do laundry in the morning.
"They fit." Sam stood in the hallway, his face in the shadows, his hulking form taking up most of the space. The house was lovely, but the hall leading back to the washroom could best be described as tiny. Sam almost had to duck so he didn't rub his head against the ceiling.
"I'll wash your clothes once the storm stops. I'm not sure there is enough power to run them now." He gave her a quizzical look, and she felt the need to explain. "Solar power."
"Ahh, so you live out here long?"
"What? No, I don't live here. Just needed a break from real life."
"Know what you mean."
"Really?" Delanie knew the man's body was hot, but she'd never seen him in any of the ads or on a catwalk. He didn't have that insecure, yet false confidence male actors and models wore like a second skin.
"So, I can pay you back, but I would love to have some beef."
"No need to pay. Let me see what I've got."
Sam followed her into the kitchen and stood off to the side. "Could you check the pantry for rice? I think I have a sirloin."
He looked a little uncomfortable, like he hadn't been in a kitchen for a while. She stared as he read the back of the rice box.
"You cook much?"
"Not until recently. Now I cook everything for myself. But everything is really just fish I catch off the back of my boat."
"Fish is good. I've tried to learn cooking. I don't get much of a chance to practice though. This week has been fun. I do have to admit to burning a few dishes."
"I've had to throw a few overly chard fish back into the sea. Got the hang of it now."
"Want to help?"
"Sure, though don't expect miracles."
"No problem."
Delanie felt a companionship with this stranger that she'd never felt with Rhye. They moved around the kitchen in harmony. She needed the salt and he was there, saltshaker in hand. Their movements were graceful, no bumping into each other, but there were moments when he slid close to her and his arm rubbed up against hers. Or she had to squeeze by and her body pressed into his, leaving her wondering if she should go lock herself in her room for his safety and not come out until he was gone.
* * * *
Sam sat at the table, surveying the remains of their late dinner. He'd been amazed at the amount of food they had both consumed. Of course he ate twice as much as she, but she hadn't been shy. He liked that. The steak, rice, and potatoes had been such a welcome difference from fish caught from the sea that he'd stuffed his belly.
"Ahh, I made a pig of myself," he said.
"No more than I."
"I almost forgot that the storm raged outside."
"It sounds like it's almost over."
"Yeah, I guess I should help you clean the place up and then go down to my boat. If you don't mind, I'll spend the night in the lagoon."
"No." Her face turned a beautiful shade of pink. "I mean–- it's okay if you sleep with me." Her face went from pink to red. "Goodness, that's not what I meant. I would like for you to stay here. It's still raining out, and I haven't cleaned your clothes." She jumped up from the table and began stacking dishes.
"It's too much to ask. I don't want you to feel obligated."
"Okay, stay for me please. I'm used to having people around. I wanted to have a fun vacation where I could relax. Don't get me wrong, I like the privacy, but I need to talk to someone, especially tonight."
"Really?"
"The storm and all."
"I guess I can't say no."
Delanie ran a sink of water and washed the dishes in silence. She dipped the last plate into the soapy water, rinsing all the bubbles away. She spent a long time rinsing the last dish, glancing up at him as she worked. "I'm surprised you haven't said anything."
"About what?"
"You really don't know who I am?"
"No, and you don't know who I am?"
She squinted, sizing him up. No recognition showed on her face. "No clue."
He smiled, this might just be the best experience he had with a woman since he started making money at the age of twelve. "How about you keep your identity secret, and I'll do the same with mine."
"You already know my name, and my identity isn't a total secret, but I'm game if you are."
"Well, Ms. Delanie, I would love to spend the evening with you, as long as we don't talk about who we were or who knows us."
She giggled, "This could be the best date I've ever had."
"How about cards. You play cards, right?"
"I know poker."
Thoughts of her stripping off her clothes as she lost made his blood strike hot. "What are we playing for?"
"Pretzels."
A second of disappointment shocked his system. "That would be safe."
"Ha, don't think I didn't know what you were thinking."
"I'm not thinking anything inappropriate."
"Sure. Help me find the cards. Just open any drawers in here. If we don't find any cards I'm sure we'll find something else interesting to do."
Sam watched her open one drawer after another. She was thinking about sex too. He wouldn't push it though. It was refreshing to find a woman who didn't want to jump in the sack with him the moment they met.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
They ran into the house through the French doors bringing palm leaves with them. She looked at the mess on the floor and then turned to the man with her. Why couldn't she remember his name? Maybe it was the stress. It would come to her.
"I need to close all the windows."
"You got shutters?" He asked.
"I didn't even think of those."
"It's raining hard. Wind too. I'll take care of them," he said.
"You'll get too wet."
"But you might lose a window."
"Damn, it's too much to ask. You'll get soaked."
The guy shrugged. "Only with water."
"Okay, I'll get the windows, you get the shutters."
Delanie raced through the rooms, making sure all the windows were closed. In the spare bedroom she pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt out of the dresser. They might be a bit big, but they should fit her mystery guest.
A shutter banged loud against the side of the house. She looked up and screamed. It was only her sopping wet helper. If only she could remember his name. She'd have to ask. This wasn't a situation where she could just plug away and pretend to know the guys name just to ask her assistant later. Not that she hadn't been listening when he told her his name, she had. But why couldn't she recall what he said.
Delanie grabbed a change of clothes for herself and four towels. Just as she entered the den the man burst into the room. His clothes looked spray painted on, detailing every sculpted angle and bulging muscle.
"I only closed the shutters on the side where the wind was the worst."
Delanie moved towards the guy, aware of every movement of his body. He grabbed a towel from her and started scrubbing at his hair. She swallowed over the lump forming in her throat.
Shake out of it. He's just a guy.
"Thanks, bit wet out there."
She tore her gaze away from his chest, "I'm sorry, but I forgot your name."
He looked up, catching her off guard with the intensity of his glare. "Haven't had that happen too many times. I'm Samuel Taylor. Call me Sam."
Delanie felt heat creeping up her neck. She busied herself with throwing the extra towels down on the floor and moping up the mess.
Sam bent to his knees, his head level with hers. "Here, let me help."
For a moment, Delanie felt as though she were in the middle of a bad romantic drama. They only needed to have the sweeping music cued up. She felt ridiculous.
A crack of thunder made Delanie jump and bump into Sam sending him tumbling to the ground. His hand snaked out, grasping for a hold. It latched onto her shirt and pulled her with him.
Suddenly she was on top of him, her breasts squished against his chest. Their eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to transmit some primitive desire that two wet bodies couldn't help but send out. Maybe it was the rain, or the beach, or maybe it was the fact that she hadn't slept with a man in almost a year.
Sure, she'd dated Rhye Hamilton and everyone thought they were in the sack from day one, but not true. Delanie had been willing but Rhye held her off. Then when he was ready, she'd decided waiting was best.
Ultimately he couldn't put off raging hormones, his description of how he ended up in bed with another. For a nano-second Delanie felt like boffing this practical stranger would be the best revenge, but her brain went into overdrive weighing all the potential problems. Besides, she wasn't like that.
She pushed off his rock hard chest, noticing the way his eyes followed her every move. Her breath hitched and his gaze shot up to hers. If this were a movie, Delanie knew that the next cut scene would be the two of them in bed. Real life was different. She barely knew the guy. He could be some deranged lunatic for all she knew.
"I have clothes for you." Delanie turned to the chair where she had tossed the shirt and shorts. "They should come close to fitting."
"Husband's stuff?"
Delanie swung back around, wondering if they guy knew whom she was? "No, I'm not married."
His right eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. "Got a bathroom to change in."
Her throat was dry, stealing her voice. "Sure, down the hall, first door on the left."
Delanie finished mopping up the floor and took the towels back to the washing machine. She had yet to run the thing and wondered if starting a load in the middle a storm was a wise idea. After too many seconds thinking about Sam and how solid his muscles had felt under her, she tossed the towels onto the top of the machine and vowed to do laundry in the morning.
"They fit." Sam stood in the hallway, his face in the shadows, his hulking form taking up most of the space. The house was lovely, but the hall leading back to the washroom could best be described as tiny. Sam almost had to duck so he didn't rub his head against the ceiling.
"I'll wash your clothes once the storm stops. I'm not sure there is enough power to run them now." He gave her a quizzical look, and she felt the need to explain. "Solar power."
"Ahh, so you live out here long?"
"What? No, I don't live here. Just needed a break from real life."
"Know what you mean."
"Really?" Delanie knew the man's body was hot, but she'd never seen him in any of the ads or on a catwalk. He didn't have that insecure, yet false confidence male actors and models wore like a second skin.
"So, I can pay you back, but I would love to have some beef."
"No need to pay. Let me see what I've got."
Sam followed her into the kitchen and stood off to the side. "Could you check the pantry for rice? I think I have a sirloin."
He looked a little uncomfortable, like he hadn't been in a kitchen for a while. She stared as he read the back of the rice box.
"You cook much?"
"Not until recently. Now I cook everything for myself. But everything is really just fish I catch off the back of my boat."
"Fish is good. I've tried to learn cooking. I don't get much of a chance to practice though. This week has been fun. I do have to admit to burning a few dishes."
"I've had to throw a few overly chard fish back into the sea. Got the hang of it now."
"Want to help?"
"Sure, though don't expect miracles."
"No problem."
Delanie felt a companionship with this stranger that she'd never felt with Rhye. They moved around the kitchen in harmony. She needed the salt and he was there, saltshaker in hand. Their movements were graceful, no bumping into each other, but there were moments when he slid close to her and his arm rubbed up against hers. Or she had to squeeze by and her body pressed into his, leaving her wondering if she should go lock herself in her room for his safety and not come out until he was gone.
* * * *
Sam sat at the table, surveying the remains of their late dinner. He'd been amazed at the amount of food they had both consumed. Of course he ate twice as much as she, but she hadn't been shy. He liked that. The steak, rice, and potatoes had been such a welcome difference from fish caught from the sea that he'd stuffed his belly.
"Ahh, I made a pig of myself," he said.
"No more than I."
"I almost forgot that the storm raged outside."
"It sounds like it's almost over."
"Yeah, I guess I should help you clean the place up and then go down to my boat. If you don't mind, I'll spend the night in the lagoon."
"No." Her face turned a beautiful shade of pink. "I mean–- it's okay if you sleep with me." Her face went from pink to red. "Goodness, that's not what I meant. I would like for you to stay here. It's still raining out, and I haven't cleaned your clothes." She jumped up from the table and began stacking dishes.
"It's too much to ask. I don't want you to feel obligated."
"Okay, stay for me please. I'm used to having people around. I wanted to have a fun vacation where I could relax. Don't get me wrong, I like the privacy, but I need to talk to someone, especially tonight."
"Really?"
"The storm and all."
"I guess I can't say no."
Delanie ran a sink of water and washed the dishes in silence. She dipped the last plate into the soapy water, rinsing all the bubbles away. She spent a long time rinsing the last dish, glancing up at him as she worked. "I'm surprised you haven't said anything."
"About what?"
"You really don't know who I am?"
"No, and you don't know who I am?"
She squinted, sizing him up. No recognition showed on her face. "No clue."
He smiled, this might just be the best experience he had with a woman since he started making money at the age of twelve. "How about you keep your identity secret, and I'll do the same with mine."
"You already know my name, and my identity isn't a total secret, but I'm game if you are."
"Well, Ms. Delanie, I would love to spend the evening with you, as long as we don't talk about who we were or who knows us."
She giggled, "This could be the best date I've ever had."
"How about cards. You play cards, right?"
"I know poker."
Thoughts of her stripping off her clothes as she lost made his blood strike hot. "What are we playing for?"
"Pretzels."
A second of disappointment shocked his system. "That would be safe."
"Ha, don't think I didn't know what you were thinking."
"I'm not thinking anything inappropriate."
"Sure. Help me find the cards. Just open any drawers in here. If we don't find any cards I'm sure we'll find something else interesting to do."
Sam watched her open one drawer after another. She was thinking about sex too. He wouldn't push it though. It was refreshing to find a woman who didn't want to jump in the sack with him the moment they met.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 15, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 5
No matter how many times he said he was sorry he knew he would never make it up to Shana. Bill thought about checking his balls to make sure they were still attached. Not that Shana had physically assaulted him. No, her tongue-lashing was enough to leave him smarting for weeks.
Thank God she had the presence of mind to wait until they were alone to save him some embarrassment. If only he'd kept his family's money a secret. They'd been happy that first two years. Normal too, as normal as any well off couple could be. They had friends who were normal back then and their apartment was mostly normal, just a bit bigger than their friends. They even had an average car. Now everything was changed. Friends, the apartment, the car, all of it spoke of obscene wealth.
Below, the door clicked closed. Great, Shana was back and now he'd have to do something to keep the peace.
"I'm tired of this crap." Her impeccably manicured nails flashed through her hair.
"I'm taking the day off tomorrow."
"Just the day?"
"Yes, just the day and we can make plans for the summer."
"South of France. I demand it."
His brother owned a small chateau outside of Nice. They could spend a few days in Monaco. He wished he had his real wife back. Maybe a week in France would help her get back to her normal self.
"We can do France. Reggie will let us use his place."
"His place?" Her voice cut through his backbone like fingernails on a chalkboard.
"Yes, darling. Reggie owns a small chateau in the countryside."
"What if I want to stay in a hotel in the city?"
"We can do that if you like." Really, he would do anything just to please her.
"I'll talk to Reggie about the place. If I agree to stay there it will have to meet certain standards."
She spun around and stalked away. It felt as though she'd sucked every ounce of air out of the room with her exit. This couldn't go on. Her attitude needed to change. This summer he would talk to her. Make her see that they could be happy again. Maybe it would work.
Bill flopped down on to an expensive Queen Anne replica, unhappy that Shana had taken away his comfy lounge chair. Something needed to be done. He couldn't continue living this way.
He heard Shana's feet on the tile outside the living room. He'd agreed to dinner tonight with the Amberhursts even though he thought Walter was a total stuffed shirt. The evening would be incredibly boring.
"Are you ready to go?" Shana called through the closed door.
"Yes." Bill hopped to his feet, determined to have a good attitude even if he did want to run screaming in the other direction.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Thank God she had the presence of mind to wait until they were alone to save him some embarrassment. If only he'd kept his family's money a secret. They'd been happy that first two years. Normal too, as normal as any well off couple could be. They had friends who were normal back then and their apartment was mostly normal, just a bit bigger than their friends. They even had an average car. Now everything was changed. Friends, the apartment, the car, all of it spoke of obscene wealth.
Below, the door clicked closed. Great, Shana was back and now he'd have to do something to keep the peace.
"I'm tired of this crap." Her impeccably manicured nails flashed through her hair.
"I'm taking the day off tomorrow."
"Just the day?"
"Yes, just the day and we can make plans for the summer."
"South of France. I demand it."
His brother owned a small chateau outside of Nice. They could spend a few days in Monaco. He wished he had his real wife back. Maybe a week in France would help her get back to her normal self.
"We can do France. Reggie will let us use his place."
"His place?" Her voice cut through his backbone like fingernails on a chalkboard.
"Yes, darling. Reggie owns a small chateau in the countryside."
"What if I want to stay in a hotel in the city?"
"We can do that if you like." Really, he would do anything just to please her.
"I'll talk to Reggie about the place. If I agree to stay there it will have to meet certain standards."
She spun around and stalked away. It felt as though she'd sucked every ounce of air out of the room with her exit. This couldn't go on. Her attitude needed to change. This summer he would talk to her. Make her see that they could be happy again. Maybe it would work.
Bill flopped down on to an expensive Queen Anne replica, unhappy that Shana had taken away his comfy lounge chair. Something needed to be done. He couldn't continue living this way.
He heard Shana's feet on the tile outside the living room. He'd agreed to dinner tonight with the Amberhursts even though he thought Walter was a total stuffed shirt. The evening would be incredibly boring.
"Are you ready to go?" Shana called through the closed door.
"Yes." Bill hopped to his feet, determined to have a good attitude even if he did want to run screaming in the other direction.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 14, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 4
Sam tossed the line onto the dock and jumped ashore. His knees almost gave out as the dock stayed solid. He adjusted for lack of roll and bent to tie the boat. The sky was dark, but this wasn't a hurricane. Anchoring here at the dock should be safe. The boat wouldn't suffer unless the winds went beyond hurricane force, and no one had even mentioned the word hurricane when talking about the storm.
The house sat up on a hill, stately yet beautiful and partially hidden from view. The island had done its job of obscuring most of the building from prying eyes. He wondered how many people lived here. Not once during his sailing adventures had he stopped at one of the private islands with a house. He knew how he would feel if someone invaded his sanctuary, but he didn't want to ride this storm out, not tonight.
Cautiously he made his way up to the house, calling out every few minutes to alert the homeowners. There were about fifteen more steps until he reached the patio and he still hadn't seen a single person.
"Hello, is anyone there?"
The place didn't look abandoned, nor did it look boarded up for the season. Houses that weren't occupied sometimes were ransacked, this place looked clean but lived in.
"Hello, I just need to take refuge here during the storm." Samuel moved towards the patio. God, this was awful. If he scared the owner they might shoot him. He should go back to his ship, anchor out in the small cove and sweat this one out.
He turned to leave, marching around a thick set of bushes. He looked up and ran smack into a lovely blond. She bounced off his chest. He grabbed her arm just in time so she didn't fall to the ground.
"What...Who..Get off my island."
"Are you okay?" Samuel pulled her close without thinking about any ramifications. He should keep his distance, but damn, he didn't want to.
"No, now let go of me." She pulled her arm away from his grasp. "What kind of idiot are you. Who sent you?"
"There's a storm. I'd like to take refuge while it blows through."
"No, now leave."
Samuel stepped back, unsure how to proceed. Usually he got his way. Being turned down was new to him. In his past life he would throw his name around to make people do what he asked but he doubted his name would mean much out here.
For some strange reason being rejected out of hand made him feel angry. For a moment he wanted to tell her exactly what she was going to do, and how she would let him stay. His animal instinct to dominate took over. Maybe it was her beauty or the throbbing ache building at the back of his head, but damn it, he wanted to pull her close, forcing her to listen to him. Where the hell had this crazy reaction come from? He shook it off, disgusted with his actions.
"I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I'll leave now."
He turned and stalked back towards the cove. Showing up unannounced had been stupid. The poor woman was probably scared to death. With his right hand he reached up and touched his thick brown stubble. Oh goodness, he probably looked like a crazy killer, ready to molest.
A round of thunder rolled across the island, the woman yelped when thunder cracked overhead as lightning struck nearby. The crackle of electricity made his hair stand up and shivers rolled down his back.
"Wait." Her voice was sharp and desperate.
Samuel turned around slowly, wondering what now.
"Listen, I'm sorry. The storm is bad. It's just I...I was surprised. Who are you with?"
"No one. I'm alone."
"No, what paper?"
"Paper?"
"Yeah, you know takey picture sell to the highest bidder."
"I'm not with any paper."
"So you work alone. Where's your camera?"
"No camera. I'll go out a ways and anchor. I should be fine."
He turned and started back down to the cove. The slap of her sandals on the faded blacktop drew close. He turned to find her next to him.
"Please don't go. I'm sorry. I just..."
"I don't blame you. I look like a creep."
"It's not just that..."
Samuel stepped back and took in the sight of the woman. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes wide. Her dirty blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. The flimsy robe she was using as a cover-up didn't do much to cover her up. Her bikini wasn't skimpy, just alluring. She was beautiful, but scared.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I should have thought about what kind of impression I would make. How about we start over."
"Sure, as long as you're not some half crazed maniac."
"Well my friends think I'm crazy for living on my sailboat, but other than living alone for a while, I'm mostly sane."
She looked him up and down, her face trying to remain impassive but her emotions were revealed plain as day. The fright showed in her eyes and the slight wrinkle on her forehead, but she wouldn't force him to leave. Her gaze traveled to the rolling waves in the open ocean. The storm was doing a number on the ocean, as whitecaps could be seen dotting the sea in the last light of day.
Every second she waited, his odds of staying on the island improved. Finally she sighed.
"That's good enough for me. My name is Delanie."
"I'm Samuel. You can call me Sam."
The wind picked up and blew a few palm fronds from the trees. Lightning struck again. She jumped towards him and chuckled nervously.
Warmth spread from his arm where she touched him all the way to his toes. She was just the type of girl he liked. Totally unaware of who he was and unimpressed with him as well. "I think we need to get in out of this storm."
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
The house sat up on a hill, stately yet beautiful and partially hidden from view. The island had done its job of obscuring most of the building from prying eyes. He wondered how many people lived here. Not once during his sailing adventures had he stopped at one of the private islands with a house. He knew how he would feel if someone invaded his sanctuary, but he didn't want to ride this storm out, not tonight.
Cautiously he made his way up to the house, calling out every few minutes to alert the homeowners. There were about fifteen more steps until he reached the patio and he still hadn't seen a single person.
"Hello, is anyone there?"
The place didn't look abandoned, nor did it look boarded up for the season. Houses that weren't occupied sometimes were ransacked, this place looked clean but lived in.
"Hello, I just need to take refuge here during the storm." Samuel moved towards the patio. God, this was awful. If he scared the owner they might shoot him. He should go back to his ship, anchor out in the small cove and sweat this one out.
He turned to leave, marching around a thick set of bushes. He looked up and ran smack into a lovely blond. She bounced off his chest. He grabbed her arm just in time so she didn't fall to the ground.
"What...Who..Get off my island."
"Are you okay?" Samuel pulled her close without thinking about any ramifications. He should keep his distance, but damn, he didn't want to.
"No, now let go of me." She pulled her arm away from his grasp. "What kind of idiot are you. Who sent you?"
"There's a storm. I'd like to take refuge while it blows through."
"No, now leave."
Samuel stepped back, unsure how to proceed. Usually he got his way. Being turned down was new to him. In his past life he would throw his name around to make people do what he asked but he doubted his name would mean much out here.
For some strange reason being rejected out of hand made him feel angry. For a moment he wanted to tell her exactly what she was going to do, and how she would let him stay. His animal instinct to dominate took over. Maybe it was her beauty or the throbbing ache building at the back of his head, but damn it, he wanted to pull her close, forcing her to listen to him. Where the hell had this crazy reaction come from? He shook it off, disgusted with his actions.
"I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I'll leave now."
He turned and stalked back towards the cove. Showing up unannounced had been stupid. The poor woman was probably scared to death. With his right hand he reached up and touched his thick brown stubble. Oh goodness, he probably looked like a crazy killer, ready to molest.
A round of thunder rolled across the island, the woman yelped when thunder cracked overhead as lightning struck nearby. The crackle of electricity made his hair stand up and shivers rolled down his back.
"Wait." Her voice was sharp and desperate.
Samuel turned around slowly, wondering what now.
"Listen, I'm sorry. The storm is bad. It's just I...I was surprised. Who are you with?"
"No one. I'm alone."
"No, what paper?"
"Paper?"
"Yeah, you know takey picture sell to the highest bidder."
"I'm not with any paper."
"So you work alone. Where's your camera?"
"No camera. I'll go out a ways and anchor. I should be fine."
He turned and started back down to the cove. The slap of her sandals on the faded blacktop drew close. He turned to find her next to him.
"Please don't go. I'm sorry. I just..."
"I don't blame you. I look like a creep."
"It's not just that..."
Samuel stepped back and took in the sight of the woman. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes wide. Her dirty blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. The flimsy robe she was using as a cover-up didn't do much to cover her up. Her bikini wasn't skimpy, just alluring. She was beautiful, but scared.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I should have thought about what kind of impression I would make. How about we start over."
"Sure, as long as you're not some half crazed maniac."
"Well my friends think I'm crazy for living on my sailboat, but other than living alone for a while, I'm mostly sane."
She looked him up and down, her face trying to remain impassive but her emotions were revealed plain as day. The fright showed in her eyes and the slight wrinkle on her forehead, but she wouldn't force him to leave. Her gaze traveled to the rolling waves in the open ocean. The storm was doing a number on the ocean, as whitecaps could be seen dotting the sea in the last light of day.
Every second she waited, his odds of staying on the island improved. Finally she sighed.
"That's good enough for me. My name is Delanie."
"I'm Samuel. You can call me Sam."
The wind picked up and blew a few palm fronds from the trees. Lightning struck again. She jumped towards him and chuckled nervously.
Warmth spread from his arm where she touched him all the way to his toes. She was just the type of girl he liked. Totally unaware of who he was and unimpressed with him as well. "I think we need to get in out of this storm."
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 13, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 3
The phone rang, disturbing Delanie's peace. The sun, the surf, and the pool made the island perfect. She didn't want to be bothered. She rolled over in the lounge chair, unsure if she should answer the offensive thing.
The phone stopped ringing and Delanie sighed with relief. With a twist of her shoulders she laid out flat on the chair, happy to have peace.
The phone rang again. She reached for the receiver and pushed talk. "What?"
"Delanie, thank God you are fine."
"Mimi, why are you calling me?"
"I was worried."
"I was asleep." Delanie checked her watch, it was seven in the evening. "Why are you calling me?"
"Amanda is missing."
"Who?"
"Amanda, you know that music client at my firm."
Delanie tried to remember who Amanda was but she couldn't even bring her to mind. "Why are you calling me about it. I don't even know the chic."
"Don't you get it? She's missing."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Delanie, she's young, beautiful and in the Bahamas."
"She wasn't on my island. Plus, isn't she a bit flaky."
"Ha, you do remember her."
"Only a little, all I remember is she flaked last year. She probably just jetted off to Miami or France. Didn't she go missing last year?"
"Yes, but that was different."
"Really?"
"You have no idea. This time she really is missing. Last time it was a publicity stunt I knew about."
"I'm sure someone knows about it. Now please, I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
"Delanie, it's only three in the afternoon. Are you sick."
"No and it's not west coast time here. Also, I've been exercising a ton. I have a load of stuff I have to do, and I find that I do those things best in the middle of the night."
"Really, what are you talking about?"
"Noting, I'm just enjoying being alone."
"Just watch yourself. Someone is out there, I'm sure of it. Don't trust anyone. What if some guy is prowling around killing women."
"Sounds like a plot for a movie."
"No plot, just reality," Mimi huffed.
"Okay, fine I'll be careful. But who the heck is going to come to my island and bug me? I'm going to eat a quick bite and go to bed."
Delanie hung-up the phone and closed her eyes. Maybe she could take a nap here then go to bed later. Scary images filled her thoughts and her mind worked overtime, no way would se be able to sleep now thanks to Mimi.
She grunted and sat up, looking at the sky. The scent of rain blanked the island. Delanie turned around and saw the huge clouds. Wind blasted across the pool, blowing palm fronds to the ground. Great, a storm was coming.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
The phone stopped ringing and Delanie sighed with relief. With a twist of her shoulders she laid out flat on the chair, happy to have peace.
The phone rang again. She reached for the receiver and pushed talk. "What?"
"Delanie, thank God you are fine."
"Mimi, why are you calling me?"
"I was worried."
"I was asleep." Delanie checked her watch, it was seven in the evening. "Why are you calling me?"
"Amanda is missing."
"Who?"
"Amanda, you know that music client at my firm."
Delanie tried to remember who Amanda was but she couldn't even bring her to mind. "Why are you calling me about it. I don't even know the chic."
"Don't you get it? She's missing."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Delanie, she's young, beautiful and in the Bahamas."
"She wasn't on my island. Plus, isn't she a bit flaky."
"Ha, you do remember her."
"Only a little, all I remember is she flaked last year. She probably just jetted off to Miami or France. Didn't she go missing last year?"
"Yes, but that was different."
"Really?"
"You have no idea. This time she really is missing. Last time it was a publicity stunt I knew about."
"I'm sure someone knows about it. Now please, I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
"Delanie, it's only three in the afternoon. Are you sick."
"No and it's not west coast time here. Also, I've been exercising a ton. I have a load of stuff I have to do, and I find that I do those things best in the middle of the night."
"Really, what are you talking about?"
"Noting, I'm just enjoying being alone."
"Just watch yourself. Someone is out there, I'm sure of it. Don't trust anyone. What if some guy is prowling around killing women."
"Sounds like a plot for a movie."
"No plot, just reality," Mimi huffed.
"Okay, fine I'll be careful. But who the heck is going to come to my island and bug me? I'm going to eat a quick bite and go to bed."
Delanie hung-up the phone and closed her eyes. Maybe she could take a nap here then go to bed later. Scary images filled her thoughts and her mind worked overtime, no way would se be able to sleep now thanks to Mimi.
She grunted and sat up, looking at the sky. The scent of rain blanked the island. Delanie turned around and saw the huge clouds. Wind blasted across the pool, blowing palm fronds to the ground. Great, a storm was coming.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 12, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 2
A storm would be riding him hard by late tonight. Like the other predators prowling the globe looking for something juicy to claim as his own, he felt the pressure change and noted the change in wind direction.
He could ride it out, or find a place to dock. Maybe he could beat the storm, outrun the bastard and celebrate calm waters while he searched for his next kill.
The last girl was probably dead already. He should have stuck around to watch. Sometimes he did, other times it bored him. Especially when they lived for days, ignoring the pain and the humiliation of their body shutting down. Why couldn't they just figure out that death embraced their soul and wanted their cooperation?
There were a few islands near. The shipping lanes surrounded him but he would steer clear of the big ships. They might have video or maybe one of the crew would remember him being alone on the vast blue ocean. No, island hopping was more of his thing. He'd loved skipping from island to island in the Caribbean, eventually one of the cops would get wise to his game, and he'd be forced to move over to the Pacific, or maybe he'd try his luck in India.
Hunting in the Pacific was more challenging. Fewer people, fewer islands until you got to Papua New Guinea and then it got way more dangerous. Marshal Islands and the atolls running down to Tuvalu always intrigued him, but the locals would notice disappearances. He could take one girl from one of the smaller islands and then flip over to Fiji. There he would target the euro-trash on holiday.
The zealous side of him liked the odds. When the difficulty of the game increased it made him appreciate each kill more.
He laughed, remembering the last girl's face when she realized she'd never leave the boat alive. Too bad she'd been wrong, but what protection would one small dingy and two bottles of water offer her. Oh yes, and the snake. He'd thrown in that little surprise just for fun.
Maybe he should mix things up and take two at once. He thought about the complexity of having two bitches at his disposal. Running a tight operation was a hallmark of his kills. The ocean took away any evidence and he always used a condom. You could never be too careful these days.
Two women at once. As he tacked out of the storm's path he imagined the possibilities. One dark the other light. The art of the matter would please his soul. It would take more planning than usual. Women didn't really like to share. That was a man's fantasy. Women wanted to be the only one.
Not the next kill, maybe sometime in the next six months he could find two women who would be perfect together. Their height would need to be similar, their weight about the same. The proportions of their bodies were important. Usually breast size didn't play a huge role in his choices, but it would have to if he got two women. It would be a shame to have a flat-chested girl and one with big bazookas. Both needed to have huge tits.
The excitement of his plans distracted him. He needed to calm down. This kind of wild imaginations could get him in trouble. Control was important.
He looked out to the west, not at all surprised to see more clouds blooming in the sky. He tacked hard, forcing the sail into position. He'd out run the bastard, laugh in the face of danger and live to tell about it. That was his life now. Never again would he join the high society life that he grew up with. No, he was his own man now. The kind of man other's revered, and if they didn't he would cut them down.
* * * *
Heat raked across her aching body like a blowtorch. The cracks in her lips no longer stung when the salty water sprayed up on her face. Her body had dried out beyond what any human could endure. The blue sky offered no solace. Night would fall soon enough, but the sun had already turned every fiber of her being to misery.
Rain. That's what she needed. She would open her mouth and let it fall in.
Why can't I die already?
Her head rolled to the side and she saw two bottles. One empty. The other full.
She should drink, but not all of it. The drink pee thing wasn't working. Not enough liquid in her body to force any liquid out. Maybe she'd never pee again. Her body would bake and bake until she was an unrecognizable blob of meat.
Visions of picnics on bright green lawns filled her mind. Shade trees dotted the area, giving her relief from the heat. Lemonade would be her drink of choice then she'd find her Aunt Daisy and beg for some of her fruity pink drink. She'd fling herself into the nearest sprinkler and let the spray soak her from head to toe.
Water splashed over the rim of the yellow dingy, searing her skin with the salty mixture. The pain was sharp, no longer dulled. She hated salt. If she ever escaped this dreary coffin she'd banish salt from her house.
Pain cut through her belly, leaving her weak. She rolled into a ball and grabbed the water bottle. Two sips, that's all she took. With the lid on tight, she drifted into a fitful sleep where sea monsters attacked without provocation and evil men shot arrows at her, nicking her flesh off her bones.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
He could ride it out, or find a place to dock. Maybe he could beat the storm, outrun the bastard and celebrate calm waters while he searched for his next kill.
The last girl was probably dead already. He should have stuck around to watch. Sometimes he did, other times it bored him. Especially when they lived for days, ignoring the pain and the humiliation of their body shutting down. Why couldn't they just figure out that death embraced their soul and wanted their cooperation?
There were a few islands near. The shipping lanes surrounded him but he would steer clear of the big ships. They might have video or maybe one of the crew would remember him being alone on the vast blue ocean. No, island hopping was more of his thing. He'd loved skipping from island to island in the Caribbean, eventually one of the cops would get wise to his game, and he'd be forced to move over to the Pacific, or maybe he'd try his luck in India.
Hunting in the Pacific was more challenging. Fewer people, fewer islands until you got to Papua New Guinea and then it got way more dangerous. Marshal Islands and the atolls running down to Tuvalu always intrigued him, but the locals would notice disappearances. He could take one girl from one of the smaller islands and then flip over to Fiji. There he would target the euro-trash on holiday.
The zealous side of him liked the odds. When the difficulty of the game increased it made him appreciate each kill more.
He laughed, remembering the last girl's face when she realized she'd never leave the boat alive. Too bad she'd been wrong, but what protection would one small dingy and two bottles of water offer her. Oh yes, and the snake. He'd thrown in that little surprise just for fun.
Maybe he should mix things up and take two at once. He thought about the complexity of having two bitches at his disposal. Running a tight operation was a hallmark of his kills. The ocean took away any evidence and he always used a condom. You could never be too careful these days.
Two women at once. As he tacked out of the storm's path he imagined the possibilities. One dark the other light. The art of the matter would please his soul. It would take more planning than usual. Women didn't really like to share. That was a man's fantasy. Women wanted to be the only one.
Not the next kill, maybe sometime in the next six months he could find two women who would be perfect together. Their height would need to be similar, their weight about the same. The proportions of their bodies were important. Usually breast size didn't play a huge role in his choices, but it would have to if he got two women. It would be a shame to have a flat-chested girl and one with big bazookas. Both needed to have huge tits.
The excitement of his plans distracted him. He needed to calm down. This kind of wild imaginations could get him in trouble. Control was important.
He looked out to the west, not at all surprised to see more clouds blooming in the sky. He tacked hard, forcing the sail into position. He'd out run the bastard, laugh in the face of danger and live to tell about it. That was his life now. Never again would he join the high society life that he grew up with. No, he was his own man now. The kind of man other's revered, and if they didn't he would cut them down.
* * * *
Heat raked across her aching body like a blowtorch. The cracks in her lips no longer stung when the salty water sprayed up on her face. Her body had dried out beyond what any human could endure. The blue sky offered no solace. Night would fall soon enough, but the sun had already turned every fiber of her being to misery.
Rain. That's what she needed. She would open her mouth and let it fall in.
Why can't I die already?
Her head rolled to the side and she saw two bottles. One empty. The other full.
She should drink, but not all of it. The drink pee thing wasn't working. Not enough liquid in her body to force any liquid out. Maybe she'd never pee again. Her body would bake and bake until she was an unrecognizable blob of meat.
Visions of picnics on bright green lawns filled her mind. Shade trees dotted the area, giving her relief from the heat. Lemonade would be her drink of choice then she'd find her Aunt Daisy and beg for some of her fruity pink drink. She'd fling herself into the nearest sprinkler and let the spray soak her from head to toe.
Water splashed over the rim of the yellow dingy, searing her skin with the salty mixture. The pain was sharp, no longer dulled. She hated salt. If she ever escaped this dreary coffin she'd banish salt from her house.
Pain cut through her belly, leaving her weak. She rolled into a ball and grabbed the water bottle. Two sips, that's all she took. With the lid on tight, she drifted into a fitful sleep where sea monsters attacked without provocation and evil men shot arrows at her, nicking her flesh off her bones.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 11, 2011
Chapter 4: Part 1
The still air sat hot and heavy above Samuel's boat. He could use the little outboard motor and would if the wind stayed calm tomorrow. His fuel was low but it was about time he headed back to port for some refueling anyways. He vowed he wouldn't be making any pit stops at any of the bars. Didn't need or want the headache of women hitting on him. Eventually he might want a companion, but he sure as hell wouldn't tell her who he was.
A rueful chuckle rolled up his chest and out his mouth. He shook his head, remembering how empty his life had been back in New York. He could just open his office door and there would be four or five women waiting for him to raise his eyebrow just one millimeter. They'd strip off their clothes, offering him whatever he desired.
It hadn't been him, not really. The money had driven the women to use their bodies like vapid consumers used credit cards. Why invest in a relationship when they could use him then make him pay for it in the months to come.
When he came out here that all stopped. Not the women throwing their bodies at him, but his participating in their crazy antics. With his life almost a third of the way over, he realized he had nothing but houses, cars, boats and money on top of money to show for it. All crap when you got down to it. If he could find something worth loving then everything would gain meaning again. One thing he didn't want was an empty life, devoid of real significance.
Even if he met a nice girl who didn't know he was a mega rich man with money multiplying so fast he couldn't even calculate it in his head, she would eventually find out about the riches and change. They all did. Every time the money thing came up he could see them calculating their future with him.
It disgusted him. All the money in the world couldn't buy happiness. It did get him a nice sailboat where he could escape the crazies and live in peace for a while. Maybe if he met the right girl...Who was he kidding, there was no right girl.
The wind picked up, the sails snapped. The boat tilted and started to swing around almost throwing Samuel overboard. He jumped over the rigging and pulled in a line.
After gaining control of the sails he looked to the east and saw a huge thundercloud building. The weather radio crackled to life. A bad storm was building fast. He pointed his sailboat in the direction of the island he'd spied last night. Maybe the owner would take mercy on a hapless sailor.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, Graphite, 6" Display with New E Ink Pearl Technology - includes Special Offers & Sponsored Screensavers
A rueful chuckle rolled up his chest and out his mouth. He shook his head, remembering how empty his life had been back in New York. He could just open his office door and there would be four or five women waiting for him to raise his eyebrow just one millimeter. They'd strip off their clothes, offering him whatever he desired.
It hadn't been him, not really. The money had driven the women to use their bodies like vapid consumers used credit cards. Why invest in a relationship when they could use him then make him pay for it in the months to come.
When he came out here that all stopped. Not the women throwing their bodies at him, but his participating in their crazy antics. With his life almost a third of the way over, he realized he had nothing but houses, cars, boats and money on top of money to show for it. All crap when you got down to it. If he could find something worth loving then everything would gain meaning again. One thing he didn't want was an empty life, devoid of real significance.
Even if he met a nice girl who didn't know he was a mega rich man with money multiplying so fast he couldn't even calculate it in his head, she would eventually find out about the riches and change. They all did. Every time the money thing came up he could see them calculating their future with him.
It disgusted him. All the money in the world couldn't buy happiness. It did get him a nice sailboat where he could escape the crazies and live in peace for a while. Maybe if he met the right girl...Who was he kidding, there was no right girl.
The wind picked up, the sails snapped. The boat tilted and started to swing around almost throwing Samuel overboard. He jumped over the rigging and pulled in a line.
After gaining control of the sails he looked to the east and saw a huge thundercloud building. The weather radio crackled to life. A bad storm was building fast. He pointed his sailboat in the direction of the island he'd spied last night. Maybe the owner would take mercy on a hapless sailor.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, Graphite, 6" Display with New E Ink Pearl Technology - includes Special Offers & Sponsored Screensavers
May 10, 2011
chapter 3: Part 3
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Bill paced around the conference table. The others had left a while ago, he wasn't sure when. When he finally looked up and saw that no one sat in the conference chairs around the table, he'd been a bit surprised.The murders intrigued him. Ten girls dead. All of them white. All from single parent households.
He'd conferenced with Mac, Chase, and Liz on the phone. Tomorrow, they'd meet in person. Then he could cast his theories and reel in the kudos.
His goal was to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU would force a move, something his wife would hate, but something he wanted more than anything else. Of course that meant that the bitching and bickering would start. But she would bitch at him no matter what he did.
Shana hated his money and loved it all too much. Sometimes he wished he didn't have the damned riches, but then he would remember all the good he could do. The charities, the foundations, and scholarships were funded with his money. Then he would think about his own private island where he could escape and recharge on his two weeks of vacation. Soon he would have three weeks from the FBI and he would gladly spend all three at the beach.
The money wasn't the real problem, Shana was. Their wedding had been small, just a private ceremony on a yacht in the Bahamas with no family involvement. He never thought ignorance could initiate such bliss, but he would gladly go back to the time when she didn't know about the riches.
He hadn't meant to hide the money from her, but in high school and college the girls went crazy when they found out how wealthy he was. It was out of habit that he didn't say a word. He did assume she would figure it out eventually and when she did it wouldn't be a big deal. Unfortunately, she had a limited understanding of money and the cost of luxury.
The private island where they honeymooned had left her giddy with pleasure, but later he found out she thought he'd rented the place on a fed's salary. He should have told her he owned the island with its luxurious house and servant's quarters when they had arrived, but he'd still felt gun-shy about the wealth around women.
She still loved his job when they attended their first family event two years into their wedded bliss. Of course, with his luck, it had to be Christmas. The weekend had big mistake written all over it before their plane even landed.
Shana hadn't forgiven him for weeks after the holiday. He should have prepared her for the realities of his family. Just telling her that his family lived differently hadn't been enough. When he insisted that she go shopping at Nordstrom's for a new winter wardrobe, she declined. She'd gone to The Gap and JCPenney in an effort to save money. That first night, when everyone else donned designer dresses, she'd settled for a smart little number purchased at Penney's.
Everything would have been okay on the second night. He'd planned on taking her into the city to buy new clothes, but a blizzard blew in and they were trapped with his haute couture family dressing like runway models, and his wife stuck in sensible clothing costing less than one pair of shoes that his sister had had to have because they had real diamonds on the heal.
Shana had kept a stiff upper lip during the Christmas ordeal, but afterwards he'd lived in the doghouse for a month. When he finally came clean about the amount of money and the extent of their wealth she'd packed a bag and left. It took him four months of begging and pleading to get her to come back.
The degree of groveling he'd been put through astonished him still. Even now, he couldn't let his guard down around her. Something had to change and soon.
Once they had kids, he would probably cut back his time at the office. For now he could spend his days catching killers. He was sad though a bit happy that Shana hadn't conceived during one of her many quests for a baby. Adding a baby to the mix would only make life more confusing.
Truth was, he loved her like crazy. He didn't want to think badly about her. All he wanted was to love his wife and keep her safe. Provide the best for her, and have some fun doing it. But damn, she made it hard to stay.
Her attitude had been slipping for months. Of course that made him disappear into his work. The vicious cycle wrapped them up in the grasp of angry words and hurtful looks. They weren't words he was proud of. After a few months of arguing he learned to say nothing, but that made life worse. She accused him of applying the silent treatment. He wasn't doing it on purpose. He just couldn't take the fights any more.
With his mind back on work, he took note of the dates of the disappearances. No patterns seemed to stick out. He needed help. If he were a member of the BAU he would have that help. Maybe this case would get him that promotion he longed for.
Bill plopped down into a chair and picked up a sheet of paper, wondering how to put all the evidence into a useable frame. He should have asked the other guys to stay, but they'd all claimed appointments and other commitments.
He checked his watch. Four forty-five. Tonight, his wife had scheduled the start time for seven. There was still time for him to stay a little longer and work this thing through. He wished she would stop it with the constant nightly get-togethers. Last night had been with the Frickers, tonight the Dawson family.
The relentless socializing reminded him too much of his mother and the rest of the uppity-ups who clung to his family. Damn, he hated Mark Dawson. The son of a bitch actually owned slaves. Bill couldn't prove it, but there was no way, with all his overseas holdings and residences, that all of his employees were ligit. One day Bill would prove that Dawson's staff in India included indentured servants, if not outright slaves.
Bill dug into the paperwork of his current case, forgetting Dawson and the impending dinner. Slicing through the bunk that crackpots called in and figuring out real leads from crap was tough. He picked up the phone again, ready to dial another sap. It was his eighth call, only five more to go. After the first question Bill's gut clenched. He'd hit pay dirt.
Ms. Letsky had actually seen a man carrying a huge package over his shoulder and then drop it before dragging it around the corner. The woman swore the man acted like the thing weighed at least a hundred pounds.
"Ms. Letsky, how do you know he acted like it was one hundred pounds?"
"Young man, have you ever worked on a farm?"
Bill held back his sigh. Maybe his gut was just hungry and not precognizant. "No ma'am."
"Animals die on the farm. You have to do something with the bodies. A full-grown cow is too heavy to pull. Your body will strain, but you ain't moving it."
Bill thought of cutting her off. Was she was just an old bat who needed someone to talk to? He had other people to call, more leads to follow but he needed to see where this was going.
"A just born calf weighs about ninety to one hundred pounds. They die sometimes. Can't just leave it lying around. Mother get's too depressed. Got to get rid of the thing. When a man drags a baby cow, his body moves a certain way. This man, his body moved that way."
"Interesting. I'm guessing no one has cows in your neighborhood."
Letsky snorted. "I called the police, but they weren't interested in what an old woman had to say."
Bill checked the woman's address and rifled through the papers in front of him. "Have you seen him drag anyone else out of his place?"
"Twice I've seen him carry out large bags. Could have been anything. Doubt it though."
A tingle started at the back of Bill's throat. Hot damn, his gut feel was right. This woman knew something, but how much. "What makes you think it's not garbage?"
"This guys a strange one. Real secretive."
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Letsky. Someone will be out to see you in the morning."
"You?"
"It might be me. Depends."
"All right, but I got dominos at eleven. Make sure you're here before ten thirty. Better make that ten, I don't want to be late."
"Yes ma'am. We will call you before we get there."
Bill hung up and pumped his fist up in the air. First he would call someone in to case the area. He checked his watch. Damn, two minutes until seven. Shana would be livid. With his computer stowed in his bag he stuffed a few papers into his briefcase. If he rushed he could make it to the restaurant before the first course was finished.
Before he had even made it to the elevator guilt started pulling at his consciousness. What was the damn pattern the killer worked? Was it four or five days before the full moon? Bill pulled out his phone and typed moon phases into the search bar. The elevator dinged for his floor but he didn't get on. The internet connection would go down and his search would die.
The elevator doors opened then closed before the internet search came up. Ten more seconds passed before the search came back. The full moon was six days away.
Hell, no way could he leave without figuring out when the guy operated. The walk back to the conference room was short. The file with the killer's pattern was green and on top of the fourth stack of files next to the window. He could be out of here in just a few minutes.
The light sensor picked him up the moment he walked through the door and the conference room came ablaze with lights. He blinked twice, shocked by the glare. Before his eyes fully adjusted to the brightness he was searching the stacks. A zing of excitement hit him in the gut when he picked up the folder. What moon phase was tonight? The plans his wife had put together for their social calendar drifted far from his thoughts as he pulled out the sheet of paper detailing the patterns.
Before he could even think the phone was in his hand and he was dialing. "I need an SWAT team."
"Hold on, Bill is that you?" Baker sounded stunned, maybe a bit angry.
"Yes sir. We need to act now."
"What's up?" Baker asked.
Bill told him everything about the Letsky call. The killer worked six nights before a full moon and tonight was that night.
"I'll call in the team. I want you to go over your evidence one more time. I'll put an undercover in the area to watch the house. He sees anything funny he'll call us in. Just hold tight and don't do anything. We'll be there in a few."
"Got it."
Bill dropped into a chair and pounded his head on the table. Shana would kill him. Unfortunately she cursed like a sailor when she was angry. In any other circumstances the string of curse words she knit together would make him smile, but he didn't want to face the music tonight.
At any minute his colleagues would be pouring into the office. He needed to focus on the evidence, not field questions from his wife. He shouldn't wait to call her, even if he wanted to.
Bill dialed her number, praying that she wouldn't pick up. After the third ring he almost thought he had made it to voicemail paradise. But luck wasn't on his side.
"Darling, stuck in traffic?" She sounded overly chipper when she answered.
"I wish. Something has come up."
"Awww, that's too bad."
The Dawsons must be sitting right next to her. Damn, now she would build her ire all night long, just waiting to erupt like Vesuvius when he came home. She'd have a huge load of steam, because the way this case was shaping up it might be tomorrow afternoon before he actually left the office for home.Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
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Bill paced around the conference table. The others had left a while ago, he wasn't sure when. When he finally looked up and saw that no one sat in the conference chairs around the table, he'd been a bit surprised.The murders intrigued him. Ten girls dead. All of them white. All from single parent households.
He'd conferenced with Mac, Chase, and Liz on the phone. Tomorrow, they'd meet in person. Then he could cast his theories and reel in the kudos.
His goal was to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU would force a move, something his wife would hate, but something he wanted more than anything else. Of course that meant that the bitching and bickering would start. But she would bitch at him no matter what he did.
Shana hated his money and loved it all too much. Sometimes he wished he didn't have the damned riches, but then he would remember all the good he could do. The charities, the foundations, and scholarships were funded with his money. Then he would think about his own private island where he could escape and recharge on his two weeks of vacation. Soon he would have three weeks from the FBI and he would gladly spend all three at the beach.
The money wasn't the real problem, Shana was. Their wedding had been small, just a private ceremony on a yacht in the Bahamas with no family involvement. He never thought ignorance could initiate such bliss, but he would gladly go back to the time when she didn't know about the riches.
He hadn't meant to hide the money from her, but in high school and college the girls went crazy when they found out how wealthy he was. It was out of habit that he didn't say a word. He did assume she would figure it out eventually and when she did it wouldn't be a big deal. Unfortunately, she had a limited understanding of money and the cost of luxury.
The private island where they honeymooned had left her giddy with pleasure, but later he found out she thought he'd rented the place on a fed's salary. He should have told her he owned the island with its luxurious house and servant's quarters when they had arrived, but he'd still felt gun-shy about the wealth around women.
She still loved his job when they attended their first family event two years into their wedded bliss. Of course, with his luck, it had to be Christmas. The weekend had big mistake written all over it before their plane even landed.
Shana hadn't forgiven him for weeks after the holiday. He should have prepared her for the realities of his family. Just telling her that his family lived differently hadn't been enough. When he insisted that she go shopping at Nordstrom's for a new winter wardrobe, she declined. She'd gone to The Gap and JCPenney in an effort to save money. That first night, when everyone else donned designer dresses, she'd settled for a smart little number purchased at Penney's.
Everything would have been okay on the second night. He'd planned on taking her into the city to buy new clothes, but a blizzard blew in and they were trapped with his haute couture family dressing like runway models, and his wife stuck in sensible clothing costing less than one pair of shoes that his sister had had to have because they had real diamonds on the heal.
Shana had kept a stiff upper lip during the Christmas ordeal, but afterwards he'd lived in the doghouse for a month. When he finally came clean about the amount of money and the extent of their wealth she'd packed a bag and left. It took him four months of begging and pleading to get her to come back.
The degree of groveling he'd been put through astonished him still. Even now, he couldn't let his guard down around her. Something had to change and soon.
Once they had kids, he would probably cut back his time at the office. For now he could spend his days catching killers. He was sad though a bit happy that Shana hadn't conceived during one of her many quests for a baby. Adding a baby to the mix would only make life more confusing.
Truth was, he loved her like crazy. He didn't want to think badly about her. All he wanted was to love his wife and keep her safe. Provide the best for her, and have some fun doing it. But damn, she made it hard to stay.
Her attitude had been slipping for months. Of course that made him disappear into his work. The vicious cycle wrapped them up in the grasp of angry words and hurtful looks. They weren't words he was proud of. After a few months of arguing he learned to say nothing, but that made life worse. She accused him of applying the silent treatment. He wasn't doing it on purpose. He just couldn't take the fights any more.
With his mind back on work, he took note of the dates of the disappearances. No patterns seemed to stick out. He needed help. If he were a member of the BAU he would have that help. Maybe this case would get him that promotion he longed for.
Bill plopped down into a chair and picked up a sheet of paper, wondering how to put all the evidence into a useable frame. He should have asked the other guys to stay, but they'd all claimed appointments and other commitments.
He checked his watch. Four forty-five. Tonight, his wife had scheduled the start time for seven. There was still time for him to stay a little longer and work this thing through. He wished she would stop it with the constant nightly get-togethers. Last night had been with the Frickers, tonight the Dawson family.
The relentless socializing reminded him too much of his mother and the rest of the uppity-ups who clung to his family. Damn, he hated Mark Dawson. The son of a bitch actually owned slaves. Bill couldn't prove it, but there was no way, with all his overseas holdings and residences, that all of his employees were ligit. One day Bill would prove that Dawson's staff in India included indentured servants, if not outright slaves.
Bill dug into the paperwork of his current case, forgetting Dawson and the impending dinner. Slicing through the bunk that crackpots called in and figuring out real leads from crap was tough. He picked up the phone again, ready to dial another sap. It was his eighth call, only five more to go. After the first question Bill's gut clenched. He'd hit pay dirt.
Ms. Letsky had actually seen a man carrying a huge package over his shoulder and then drop it before dragging it around the corner. The woman swore the man acted like the thing weighed at least a hundred pounds.
"Ms. Letsky, how do you know he acted like it was one hundred pounds?"
"Young man, have you ever worked on a farm?"
Bill held back his sigh. Maybe his gut was just hungry and not precognizant. "No ma'am."
"Animals die on the farm. You have to do something with the bodies. A full-grown cow is too heavy to pull. Your body will strain, but you ain't moving it."
Bill thought of cutting her off. Was she was just an old bat who needed someone to talk to? He had other people to call, more leads to follow but he needed to see where this was going.
"A just born calf weighs about ninety to one hundred pounds. They die sometimes. Can't just leave it lying around. Mother get's too depressed. Got to get rid of the thing. When a man drags a baby cow, his body moves a certain way. This man, his body moved that way."
"Interesting. I'm guessing no one has cows in your neighborhood."
Letsky snorted. "I called the police, but they weren't interested in what an old woman had to say."
Bill checked the woman's address and rifled through the papers in front of him. "Have you seen him drag anyone else out of his place?"
"Twice I've seen him carry out large bags. Could have been anything. Doubt it though."
A tingle started at the back of Bill's throat. Hot damn, his gut feel was right. This woman knew something, but how much. "What makes you think it's not garbage?"
"This guys a strange one. Real secretive."
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Letsky. Someone will be out to see you in the morning."
"You?"
"It might be me. Depends."
"All right, but I got dominos at eleven. Make sure you're here before ten thirty. Better make that ten, I don't want to be late."
"Yes ma'am. We will call you before we get there."
Bill hung up and pumped his fist up in the air. First he would call someone in to case the area. He checked his watch. Damn, two minutes until seven. Shana would be livid. With his computer stowed in his bag he stuffed a few papers into his briefcase. If he rushed he could make it to the restaurant before the first course was finished.
Before he had even made it to the elevator guilt started pulling at his consciousness. What was the damn pattern the killer worked? Was it four or five days before the full moon? Bill pulled out his phone and typed moon phases into the search bar. The elevator dinged for his floor but he didn't get on. The internet connection would go down and his search would die.
The elevator doors opened then closed before the internet search came up. Ten more seconds passed before the search came back. The full moon was six days away.
Hell, no way could he leave without figuring out when the guy operated. The walk back to the conference room was short. The file with the killer's pattern was green and on top of the fourth stack of files next to the window. He could be out of here in just a few minutes.
The light sensor picked him up the moment he walked through the door and the conference room came ablaze with lights. He blinked twice, shocked by the glare. Before his eyes fully adjusted to the brightness he was searching the stacks. A zing of excitement hit him in the gut when he picked up the folder. What moon phase was tonight? The plans his wife had put together for their social calendar drifted far from his thoughts as he pulled out the sheet of paper detailing the patterns.
Before he could even think the phone was in his hand and he was dialing. "I need an SWAT team."
"Hold on, Bill is that you?" Baker sounded stunned, maybe a bit angry.
"Yes sir. We need to act now."
"What's up?" Baker asked.
Bill told him everything about the Letsky call. The killer worked six nights before a full moon and tonight was that night.
"I'll call in the team. I want you to go over your evidence one more time. I'll put an undercover in the area to watch the house. He sees anything funny he'll call us in. Just hold tight and don't do anything. We'll be there in a few."
"Got it."
Bill dropped into a chair and pounded his head on the table. Shana would kill him. Unfortunately she cursed like a sailor when she was angry. In any other circumstances the string of curse words she knit together would make him smile, but he didn't want to face the music tonight.
At any minute his colleagues would be pouring into the office. He needed to focus on the evidence, not field questions from his wife. He shouldn't wait to call her, even if he wanted to.
Bill dialed her number, praying that she wouldn't pick up. After the third ring he almost thought he had made it to voicemail paradise. But luck wasn't on his side.
"Darling, stuck in traffic?" She sounded overly chipper when she answered.
"I wish. Something has come up."
"Awww, that's too bad."
The Dawsons must be sitting right next to her. Damn, now she would build her ire all night long, just waiting to erupt like Vesuvius when he came home. She'd have a huge load of steam, because the way this case was shaping up it might be tomorrow afternoon before he actually left the office for home.Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 9, 2011
Chapter 3: Part 2
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She woke to a clear blue sky. Heat baked her skin. The fire in her throat made her want to cry. Not heaven, possibly hell.
Sometime after waking she spied a half empty bottle of water floating in the ocean. Miracle of miracles, she was able to pull it aboard. For five minutes she warred with herself about opening the bottle or not. Finally, after throwing off any care, she cracked open the bottle and sniffed. It smelled salt free.
One taste, that's all I need. She tipped the bottle back, afraid of what she'd find, and took a miniscule sip.
Water!
Greedy chugs followed. One and a half bottles of water still sat beside her on the yellow raft, but she was saving those. This extra bottle was a gift, one that could mean the difference between life and death.
Years ago she'd watched one of those reality shows and seen the person pee into a bottle then drink it. She'd do that even though it creeped her out. Fight or die that was her new motto. Desperation grew thick in her throat, almost choking her. The chance of survival lowered each hour. If she weren't found soon, it would all be over.
Amanda eyed the snake. Maybe a bite from the little beast would be worth it. Probably not, the venom would cause pain and she hated pain. She lowered to her elbows and watched the little animal stare at her. He was trapped, just like her. The main difference between the two was she wouldn't kill the snake if she opened the box but he would kill her, not hesitating to sink his fangs into her flesh the instant she opened the box.
When she was seven, she'd fallen off the bright yellow play structure in the park behind her house. She loved that park. Her parents would let her play for hours each afternoon. All that changed when she broke her arm. Damn monkey bars.
The pain had shocked her the most. Her mother had run from the house, thinking that she'd killed herself. The freedom and fun stopped after that. Somehow her little seven-year-old mind associated pain with loss of freedom.
Her therapist had been working with her, but the fear still persisted. Now the pain of the sunburn had numbed her body. She knew if the snake bit her, the pain would increase and the one thing she didn't want was more pain.
In a fit of rage she chunked the Plexiglas case into the ocean. Regret niggled her conscious. The poor little thing was her only friend, even though it wanted to kill her. Using her hands she paddled the raft closer. The snake hissed as she held her hand above the box. She wondered how long the snake would survive trapped in its little container. Plucking the box from the ocean, she flung it to the other side of the raft. There, now she had her friend again. Any companion was a welcome companion.
A bird cried out, cutting through the repetitive sloshing of the ocean waves. She searched for the avian, hoping it wasn't another egret. Damn migratory birds. Why couldn't it be some coastal dwelling fowl?
She saw the wings spread above but didn't know what type of bird hovered over her. Too many hours had passed since being set adrift. She felt dizzy and disoriented and she hated it.
Instead of taking in more water she rolled into a ball and tried to think of something other than the ocean. The waves were getting worse. Maybe she would die today and end this mess. The thought of dropping into the cool water, letting the waves overcome her, scared the shit out of her. The pain from torture clawed at the essence of her being. She didn't want to live like this anymore, but making the leap into the abyss was too much for now.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
She woke to a clear blue sky. Heat baked her skin. The fire in her throat made her want to cry. Not heaven, possibly hell.
Sometime after waking she spied a half empty bottle of water floating in the ocean. Miracle of miracles, she was able to pull it aboard. For five minutes she warred with herself about opening the bottle or not. Finally, after throwing off any care, she cracked open the bottle and sniffed. It smelled salt free.
One taste, that's all I need. She tipped the bottle back, afraid of what she'd find, and took a miniscule sip.
Water!
Greedy chugs followed. One and a half bottles of water still sat beside her on the yellow raft, but she was saving those. This extra bottle was a gift, one that could mean the difference between life and death.
Years ago she'd watched one of those reality shows and seen the person pee into a bottle then drink it. She'd do that even though it creeped her out. Fight or die that was her new motto. Desperation grew thick in her throat, almost choking her. The chance of survival lowered each hour. If she weren't found soon, it would all be over.
Amanda eyed the snake. Maybe a bite from the little beast would be worth it. Probably not, the venom would cause pain and she hated pain. She lowered to her elbows and watched the little animal stare at her. He was trapped, just like her. The main difference between the two was she wouldn't kill the snake if she opened the box but he would kill her, not hesitating to sink his fangs into her flesh the instant she opened the box.
When she was seven, she'd fallen off the bright yellow play structure in the park behind her house. She loved that park. Her parents would let her play for hours each afternoon. All that changed when she broke her arm. Damn monkey bars.
The pain had shocked her the most. Her mother had run from the house, thinking that she'd killed herself. The freedom and fun stopped after that. Somehow her little seven-year-old mind associated pain with loss of freedom.
Her therapist had been working with her, but the fear still persisted. Now the pain of the sunburn had numbed her body. She knew if the snake bit her, the pain would increase and the one thing she didn't want was more pain.
In a fit of rage she chunked the Plexiglas case into the ocean. Regret niggled her conscious. The poor little thing was her only friend, even though it wanted to kill her. Using her hands she paddled the raft closer. The snake hissed as she held her hand above the box. She wondered how long the snake would survive trapped in its little container. Plucking the box from the ocean, she flung it to the other side of the raft. There, now she had her friend again. Any companion was a welcome companion.
A bird cried out, cutting through the repetitive sloshing of the ocean waves. She searched for the avian, hoping it wasn't another egret. Damn migratory birds. Why couldn't it be some coastal dwelling fowl?
She saw the wings spread above but didn't know what type of bird hovered over her. Too many hours had passed since being set adrift. She felt dizzy and disoriented and she hated it.
Instead of taking in more water she rolled into a ball and tried to think of something other than the ocean. The waves were getting worse. Maybe she would die today and end this mess. The thought of dropping into the cool water, letting the waves overcome her, scared the shit out of her. The pain from torture clawed at the essence of her being. She didn't want to live like this anymore, but making the leap into the abyss was too much for now.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 8, 2011
Chapter 3:Part 1
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Samuel Taylor swept the blood into the ocean, pouring buckets of water onto the deck, ridding the area of any trace of the kill he'd made earlier. Satisfaction buzzed through him. Dinner for a week. He laughed out loud, without reserve.
Out here, on the open ocean, there was no one to judge him. No one looking over his shoulder, no board of directors looking to fire him or reporters to embarrass him. Everything was cool.
Thank God he'd been able to leave the shackles of business behind. The rest of the nation had crapped out, but not his business. Plus he had a cushion of stock he played with for extra cash. His friends didn't know how he kept his Midas touch, but you just had to know how to play it.
With the fish packed and stored in his freezer, he laid down on his now pristine deck. One more reason he loved his life. The sailboat was his savior. He'd been unhealthy before leaving the corporate world. Not really fat, but nothing like now. His body was trained and trimmed. Women looked hungrily at him. Well, the few women he saw on the off chance he docked and left his boat.
He hated their obsession with his body even if it did feed his ego. If they knew who he was then their attention would be relentless. Nothing could induce him to take what they offered, his dreams were enough for now.
The rocking of the boat calmed his thoughts and relaxed his body. Nothing like this existed for him in lower Manhattan, or any of the other big cities he operated out of. His eyes drifted shut, blocking out the harsh sun. He woke to a showy red sky. How long had he slept? "Red sky at night, sailors delight. Looks like smooth sailing for me."
Samuel moved from the deck to below and poured a glass of water from his desalination equipment. It wasn't as good as fresh spring water, but he held back on drinking too many bottles of the good stuff. He wanted to wait for a celebration. The fish came close to celebratory water. Maybe tomorrow at dinner he would crack open a bottle to celebrate the good catch. The crisp freshness of chilled bottle water would be treat.
Fresh. He had almost forgotten what fresh felt like, but he wouldn't give up his freedom for what he'd had before. He'd come close to selling his soul to the devil. It took him almost dying to know he wasn't really living. Thank God for that man who'd saved him. He couldn't think of him as a bum anymore, but that's what he'd been. The rotten-toothed, smelly old coot had swayed towards him and Sam had shied away, tripping over the curb. The old man hadn't hesitated to grasp onto his hand and pull him to safety. The bus only missed him by inches.
"Why?" Samuel had asked.
"Because we're all God's children."
The simple answer still echoed in his head. The old man had grossed him out, but the bum hadn't hesitated to save his life. Sam knew he wouldn't have returned the favor.
The next morning Sam had an appointment with his investment banker. He hadn't even paused when signing the papers ensuring that a homeless shelter would be closed to make way for a tower of luxury condos. After the meeting he'd realized exactly what he'd done. He was the lowest of scum sucking jerks.
He'd gone back to the office and pulled out paperwork from business deals of the past and saw how many problems he'd created for the poor. Shame and self-hatred had forced him to run away.
Samuel dropped to the deck and rolled over onto his side, staring at the dark waters. The boat and ocean thing had been a choice, one that he'd made consciously because he needed the lack of people. Intellectually, he could achieve peace anywhere. In the city he would have to work harder for the calm, but he could access it if he tried. Eventually he would return to Manhattan and do something, but not until his head was screwed on right. Prayer and meditation helped, but he needed more time.
His companies were doing great without him. Thoughts of going back to the business world gave him the shakes. Eventually he'd make the commitment to return and take over again, but he wasn't really needed. He could rejoin society later.
The stars twinkled above and his eyes drifted shut. The roll of the boat jerked him awake. Night had fallen. Weighing anchor wouldn't do any good this far out. The ocean floor was too deep. He checked his radar, making sure the weather would really hold, red sky and all. He moved to his bed, happy that the ocean was so calm. Tonight, sleep would be peaceful.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Samuel Taylor swept the blood into the ocean, pouring buckets of water onto the deck, ridding the area of any trace of the kill he'd made earlier. Satisfaction buzzed through him. Dinner for a week. He laughed out loud, without reserve.
Out here, on the open ocean, there was no one to judge him. No one looking over his shoulder, no board of directors looking to fire him or reporters to embarrass him. Everything was cool.
Thank God he'd been able to leave the shackles of business behind. The rest of the nation had crapped out, but not his business. Plus he had a cushion of stock he played with for extra cash. His friends didn't know how he kept his Midas touch, but you just had to know how to play it.
With the fish packed and stored in his freezer, he laid down on his now pristine deck. One more reason he loved his life. The sailboat was his savior. He'd been unhealthy before leaving the corporate world. Not really fat, but nothing like now. His body was trained and trimmed. Women looked hungrily at him. Well, the few women he saw on the off chance he docked and left his boat.
He hated their obsession with his body even if it did feed his ego. If they knew who he was then their attention would be relentless. Nothing could induce him to take what they offered, his dreams were enough for now.
The rocking of the boat calmed his thoughts and relaxed his body. Nothing like this existed for him in lower Manhattan, or any of the other big cities he operated out of. His eyes drifted shut, blocking out the harsh sun. He woke to a showy red sky. How long had he slept? "Red sky at night, sailors delight. Looks like smooth sailing for me."
Samuel moved from the deck to below and poured a glass of water from his desalination equipment. It wasn't as good as fresh spring water, but he held back on drinking too many bottles of the good stuff. He wanted to wait for a celebration. The fish came close to celebratory water. Maybe tomorrow at dinner he would crack open a bottle to celebrate the good catch. The crisp freshness of chilled bottle water would be treat.
Fresh. He had almost forgotten what fresh felt like, but he wouldn't give up his freedom for what he'd had before. He'd come close to selling his soul to the devil. It took him almost dying to know he wasn't really living. Thank God for that man who'd saved him. He couldn't think of him as a bum anymore, but that's what he'd been. The rotten-toothed, smelly old coot had swayed towards him and Sam had shied away, tripping over the curb. The old man hadn't hesitated to grasp onto his hand and pull him to safety. The bus only missed him by inches.
"Why?" Samuel had asked.
"Because we're all God's children."
The simple answer still echoed in his head. The old man had grossed him out, but the bum hadn't hesitated to save his life. Sam knew he wouldn't have returned the favor.
The next morning Sam had an appointment with his investment banker. He hadn't even paused when signing the papers ensuring that a homeless shelter would be closed to make way for a tower of luxury condos. After the meeting he'd realized exactly what he'd done. He was the lowest of scum sucking jerks.
He'd gone back to the office and pulled out paperwork from business deals of the past and saw how many problems he'd created for the poor. Shame and self-hatred had forced him to run away.
Samuel dropped to the deck and rolled over onto his side, staring at the dark waters. The boat and ocean thing had been a choice, one that he'd made consciously because he needed the lack of people. Intellectually, he could achieve peace anywhere. In the city he would have to work harder for the calm, but he could access it if he tried. Eventually he would return to Manhattan and do something, but not until his head was screwed on right. Prayer and meditation helped, but he needed more time.
His companies were doing great without him. Thoughts of going back to the business world gave him the shakes. Eventually he'd make the commitment to return and take over again, but he wasn't really needed. He could rejoin society later.
The stars twinkled above and his eyes drifted shut. The roll of the boat jerked him awake. Night had fallen. Weighing anchor wouldn't do any good this far out. The ocean floor was too deep. He checked his radar, making sure the weather would really hold, red sky and all. He moved to his bed, happy that the ocean was so calm. Tonight, sleep would be peaceful.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Red Skhye In Morning
Introducing Red Skhye in Morning. Delanie Skhye is desperate for paparazzi free time. Samuel Taylor is on break from work. He finds Delanie alone on a private island, but something is wrong. A killer
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