“Just to pick up carryout.”
“Well, that’s okay, then.” Joe was thoughtful. “That wheelchair is a total wreck. She’s got it all duct-taped up. I got the wheel back in alignment, but it needs a lot more than that. If I had a few days and some replacement parts I could fix it, but I’m guessing Randy couldn’t go without it for that long.”
“Probably not.”
Joe looked beyond the clearing. “What’s the rest of the island like?”
“Trees and dirt.”
“You make it sound so enticing. You should be a tour director.” He deepened his voice. “And here on your left, you can see trees and dirt. On the right, more trees and dirt.”
“I call it like I see it.”
The sound of a motorboat cut into the conversation, and both of them stopped to listen. It grew louder and louder until it was apparent the boat was headed toward them. When the engine cut, Kathleen said, “I think we’ve got company. Some kids wanting to party, maybe?”
“Or a couple wanting to have sex on the picnic table?”
“Yuck. My mom and I used to eat at these tables. We’d bring a bag lunch, and I’d eat my chips and lemonade and peanut butter sandwich right here.”
“You’re not going to do that anymore.”
“You got that right.”
“We should go,” Joe said. “Give the new people their privacy.”
They were halfway down the path when they heard a rustling in the woods that eclipsed the sound of the breeze in the trees. Joe held out an arm to stop her. “Did you hear that?” When she nodded, he called out, “Who’s out there?”
They listened, but it was quiet once again. When they resumed walking, the rustling started again. Joe heard Kathleen’s breathing beside him; she’d moved next to him. She whispered, “I don’t like this.”
“Probably just a squirrel,” Joe said loudly, more to assuage Kathleen’s fears than anything else. He whispered into her ear, “Or some teenagers trying to freak us out. Let’s keep going.”
Her fingers trembling, she took his hand and kept the flashlight ahead of them. They went more slowly this time but kept a steady pace. Joe breathed easier upon seeing the rowboat at the end of the path. They were nearly there when they heard the stomping of heavy boots in the underbrush and the crash of someone coming out of the trees. The intruder came running at full speed and slammed into Joe, who was knocked to the ground with a force that took his breath away.
Kathleen screamed, and the attacker turned and went after her, smacking the flashlight out of her hand and pushing her down. The man was somewhat visible now—a large guy in dark clothing wearing a black ski mask. Joe was halfway to standing when the man returned, pulling him to his feet. From behind, the masked man put him in a choke hold, his arm tight around Joe’s neck. Joe felt something metal and cylindrical pressed against his temple. A gun. It had to be.
Overcome by terror, he forced out the words: “What is it that you want? Money? In my back pocket . . .”
The man spoke quietly. “Shut up.”
Kathleen got up and held her hands in the surrender position. With the flashlight on the ground, she was only a dim outline, but it was clear she saw the gun pressed against Joe’s head. “Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him. I have jewelry. My earrings are antique. Real pearls. I have money too. I’m going to slowly open my purse and get my money out for you.” Kathleen opened her purse and began to rifle through it.
Joe heard a growl in his ear and the man’s voice saying, “Tell her to take the boat and leave. If she stays, I’ll kill you first and then rape her.”
His heart knocking, Joe found his voice. “Kathleen, listen to me. You need to get in the rowboat and go back to the dance. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving.”
The gun pressed tighter against Joe’s head, making him wince in pain. “Kathleen, believe me, you need to go, or he’s going to kill me.” Joe felt strangely detached, as if he were watching all this happen to someone else. It was confusing and crazy and horrible. He was in this vise grip, held prisoner by a complete stranger for no reason he could discern. On occasion, he’d considered how it was he might die, but he’d never imagined it would be like this.
She hesitated. “But if I go . . .”
“Please, Kathleen, I’m begging you. I’ll be fine. Please go.”
Without a word, she ran down the path, and a minute or so later, he heard the scrape of the boat being pushed away from the shore and the splash of the oars in the water. As soon as Joe knew she was safe, he began to struggle, trying to break free. Death was a foregone conclusion, whether he objected or not. He wasn’t giving up without a fight.
The way this man appeared out of nowhere, his frightening strength, and the presence of a gun brought back the terror of the Death Dream, with the added horror of having it happen in real life. Perhaps only a minute or so had passed since Kathleen had left—it was hard to say—but the gun was pressed so hard against his head, it felt like it was boring a hole in his skull. “Stop it,” Joe said, twisting his body. His voice seemed to remind the man of his existence, and he suddenly dragged Joe down the path.
When they got to the clearing, he threw Joe down on the ground and stomped on his chest. Pain shot through him as he heard the sickening crack of his breaking ribs. Looking up, Joe saw the man in outline standing over him, the gun pointed straight at him. The man mocked him with his own words. “‘Please, Kathleen, I’m begging you.’ You are pathetic.”
Joe forced words out through the pain. “What do you want?”
“You think you’re so great. You’re nothing. You’re scum.”
In agony, he clutched his front and said, “If I agree, can we end this?”
“Shut up!” He kicked at Joe’s legs. “You don’t talk unless I say you can.”
Joe’s mind raced, calculating how long it would take for Kathleen to get back to the other side of the lake and return with help. Half an hour? That was wishful thinking. It would certainly take longer than that. And who would she bring back with her? Any of the young men at the dance might be able to help. But against a madman with a gun?
Every time he tried to get up, the attacker knocked him back down. Desperate, he began to crawl, something that infuriated the man, who pistol-whipped him across the back of his skull. Joe’s hands flew up to protect his head, and the man said, “By the time I’m through with you, you aren’t gonna be fit for pigs to eat.”
The man stomped on Joe’s arm, and Joe cried out in pain, collapsing on the ground. Vertigo overcame him, and the world became a kaleidoscope of dim images. Though his vision was blurry, he was able to make out the man’s form, a large blot blocking the stars of the night sky, his gun pointed right at Joe. “You are nothin’ but a pansy-ass.” He heard the sharp click of the gun being cocked.
The stabbing pain in Joe’s chest was worse when he breathed, so he inhaled carefully. As his eyes adjusted, Joe noticed movement. Behind the man, someone else had crept into the clearing. Joe watched as something long and thin rose up in the air over the man’s head. Then the man spun around, and Joe saw Kathleen, brandishing the oar like a weapon. The man lurched forward, and as he and Kathleen grappled, the oar tumbled sideways to the ground. Joe heard the rumble of the man’s voice and Kathleen responding, “No, no, no.”