Bonne Femme

Chapter 3

Desperation and Horror

      Cartier, May 11, 5:40 AM

        He hit the exit to Cartier as the sun came up, but instead of going home, he drove down to the lake.  After checking things out, he stopped at an ATM and wiped out his meager bank account.  A stop at the discount store north of town took care of his cash.  He took his purchases back to the lake before going home to shower and shave.  He managed a couple of hours of fitful sleep before the alarm roused him feeling worse rather than better.  Before leaving he propped an envelope between the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table.

42.

       He drove with windows down in an attempt to clear the half-sleep sludge away.  Whatever happened today, he was determined that Jill should at least become aware of her danger.  He might not be able to make her understand that Mic's apology was just a sham meant to lull her, but he had to try.  Perhaps she had seen or experienced something with Mic that had scared her.  Maybe that was why she stopped seeing him.  Of course couples broke up all the time because one or the other of them just finds out that there's nothing worth holding onto any longer.  Based on her intelligence, though, he had a feeling that she had seen something scary in him, something that might compel her to believe him---if she would hear him out.  She had to because his fallback was no plan at all, just a desperate play for time.

Picnic

        He stopped for a box of fast food chicken on the way and arrived at her apartment still unable to decide how to even broach the subject.

       "Oh, by the way," he imagined himself saying.  "I think Mic plans to get you alone so that he can kill you.  You see, I know this because I saw him torture this girl in Somalia, and I'm pretty sure that he killed another one over there because of this racist joke."

        Of course he wouldn't say anything so stupid, but it hardly mattered.  She wouldn't believe him no matter how he phrased it because what he had to say was unbelievable in her world.

        On the way to her door he noticed cirrus clouds smudging the deep clear sky and frowned at the portent they signified.  A cold front loomed, promising an end to the pretense of spring.  Jill stepped out before he could knock, dressed in a faded denim jacket over a loose, white, cable-knit sweater and jeans.  She had opted for comfortable attire, yet for all her practicality she was elegant.  A wicker picnic basket with a wine bottle peeking from beneath its white linen covering hung from her arm.  She wore little or no makeup, making her seem even younger than she was.  Her hands appeared more delicate and childlike than he remembered noticing before, and her eyes were unbelievably blue, clear, and innocent.

        He shied away from commenting on her appearance, thinking that a girl like her had heard more than her share of that, especially from Mic who tended to use flattery as bait.  He felt sick as he realized that Jill had been quarry for Mic.

"What have you got in the basket?" he asked, feigning enthusiasm.

"Fresh bread, cheese, and wine," she said.  "Is that suitable for an American picnic?"

"I don't think there are any rules."

        "It is an informal thing I suppose.  Things are supposed to be serendipitous.  Is that the word?"

43.

        Even her voice sounded delicate, beautiful, and vulnerable.  A pang of loss emptied him of everything but looming dread.

"Is something wrong?" she asked when he didn't respond.

"What?  No.  Everything's fine---great."

"You look tired.  Are you well?"

"I may have a little cold.  It's nothing."

         As he responded to her attempts at conversation with one and two word prompts, Richard thought about what a pathetic voyeur he had been.  He had watched Mic's act for miserable months wondering when she would finally recognize the falsity of his persona.  It disgusted him to listen as Mic revealed how he really felt about her.  Now he was disgusted with himself for doing it.

If it had been me you chose I would have---  He cut short the thought.  It was too late.

"Are you sure you're not feeling worse than you're telling me?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said as he pulled onto the shoulder.  "We're there."

She looked at the bare, windy hill beside the road and frowned.

       "It's down there," he said, pointing to the left.  "See those tree tops?  There's a sheltered little . . . ‘swale,' I'd guess you'd call it, with a great view of the lake."

         A nearby line of trees growing through an unkempt fence caught her attention.  "Is that what I think it is?"

        "If you think it's a junkyard," he said.  "Don't worry.  You can't see it from our spot.  What you can see is a spectacular view of the lake." He put the car in gear again. "However, there has to be a slight change in our plans.  We can't drive down this way.  See those ruts?"

"We will walk?"

44.

"No, we can't park on the highway, but I can get us closer."

        A few hundred feet down the highway he turned into an abandoned driveway blocked by a rusty chain strung between railroad tie gateposts.

"It is locked," said Jill, somewhat relieved.

        "It just looks that way," he said, getting out. He pulled down on the large padlock and twisted it open, unfastened and dropped the chain, swung the gate inward, and got back in the car.

"It's always that way," he said.  "They lost the key years ago."

"If it is private property maybe we should not go."

        "It'll be okay.  We're just using the road to get closer to our picnic spot, and the guy who owns the marina down there has known me since I was a kid."

        She surveyed the wildly overgrown tract with increasing misgiving.  "Are you sure it is permitted?"

"Trust me," he said, the phrase bringing an unexpected knot to his throat.

        The Cougar bumped over and around wallowed-out holes of standing water, windfalls, and weed-covered mounds.  Worry furrowed Jill's brow as they went further and further from the highway.  They were now invisible to the world outside, and her good sense rebelled at letting herself be taken to such a secluded place by a man she now realized that she hardly knew.  She reassured herself by recalling that she had already accompanied him alone on a long trip late at night.  That had been a pleasant experience.

The car suddenly bottomed out with an alarming thunk.

        "You've gone this way before?" she asked, steadying herself with both hands on the dash.

"The way gets better in a minute," he assured her.

        They were far down the hill now, and her unease refused to be put to rest.  Perhaps it was because Richard seemed different today, preoccupied, rather than ill.

"We should go back before something happens to your car," she said.

45.

"There," he said, pointing ahead to the right.

She looked, expecting to see a view of the lake.  "That's the junkyard isn't it?"

"We have to go through it.  Trust me, the road's better."

"It would have to be."

        The "road" was non-existent, but he navigated the way having to backtrack only once.  Then he spotted two large trees, and knew where he was.  Steering to the right, he plowed through a thicket of huge dry weeds that screeched along the flanks of his car as they went deeper into the abandoned salvage yard.

        Noticing her cringe, he said, "We're almost there.  Just a little further and we're back out in the open."

        The road smoothed somewhat as it curved back to the right between rusted hulks.  The weeds were fewer now, oil and transmission fluid having poisoned the soil as effectively as herbicide.

        "You're not going to believe this place," he said as he steered through an open space in a line of trees.

        They emerged from the ghostly wreckage and parked on a large stone outcropping.  The scene spread before them was as sublime as the junkyard had been squalid.  The hill fell away, and Lake Michigan spread endlessly and impossibly blue.

She sighed audibly.  "Beautiful is insufficient, isn't it?"

       "God's infinity pool," he said.  "And right over there."  He nodded toward the grove of trees he had shown her from the road, "That's our picnic site."

        She looked back, hoping to see the highway, but it was hidden by the curvature of the hill.

"Aren't you glad we didn't have to tote everything down?" he said.

"It looks like a long walk."

        "Yeah, and there would have been some muddy stretches.  This slope catches a lot of sun."

         Jill carried her basket, and he the box of chicken and two blankets, one an army surplus blanket.  She frowned as she caught sight of the olive drab blanket.

         "I picked this old thing up this morning to keep my other blanket from getting dirty."

46.

        "Unusual," she said.  "Not the blanket.  I mean you.  No, I mean . . . most men do not . . . think about practical things like that.  I sound silly.  I'm sorry."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"That I am being silly around you?  Or that I think you are practical?"

        That she cared what he thought of her would have been exhilarating under different circumstances.

"Both," he said.

        They crossed sloping ground to a cedar shaded outcropping in silence, she staring at the lake, he at her.

"I'll steady you if you're worried about falling," he said, offering an arm.

"I am fine," she said.

        They stopped at a patch of soft early spring grass sprinkled with tiny white wild flowers.  Below, the verdant slope fell away sharply some hundred meters to a narrow strip of off-white sand where a gentle surf and sparkled in the sunlight.

"Thank you, Richard," she said.

"I wanted to share this with you."

        Something in his smile shouldn't have been there.  She thought perhaps he was more ill than he admitted. Maybe he was afraid that I would not agree to another date if he cancelled the picnic, she thought. In fact, she was ambivalent about it.  Dating him was an untidy thing, begun on the bad note of obligation.  Consciously or unconsciously, he had continued it in that vein.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No.  Why?"

"You seemed far away there."

        "No.  Everything is right.  Now sit.  You've done your part by getting us safely here," she said, flashing him a dazzling smile.  "Although I did have my doubts.  Now sit and let me take over."

        Jill spread the blankets upon the stone and then settled cross-legged to unpack her basket.  She tore crusty portions of bread, spread them with Camembert and, and arranging each on china plates.  Richard watched solemnly.  She was so young, and he felt so old.  He had never felt that before, and it was startling.

47.

She looked at him expectantly.

"Oh.  The chicken," he said, handing over the greasy box.

She opened it, looked inside, and grimaced involuntarily.

"Not exactly . . . uh compatible?"

"It's fine," she said, recovering quickly.  "What's your favorite piece?"

        He took the box from her and set it aside.  "Maybe the bread and cheese would suit the wine and the occasion without the help of cold grease."

"Occasion?"

        "The warm spring day," he said with a shrug.  "The beautiful . . . basket you brought along and . . . and . . . uh . . . the view.  Hey.  You've got to admit I got that part right."

"Definitely," she said handing him a long stemmed glass.

        Richard sipped tentatively, and then nodded his appreciation although he knew nothing about wines.  The bread and cheese were better. 

"I am sorry about your chicken," she said.  "It was rude of me to react like that."

"Honesty is a virtue," he said, unable to meet her eyes.

His sad look puzzled her.  "Richard, we can go back if you are sick."

"I'm fine.  Just in mourning for the chicken.  I waited five whole minutes for it."

She laughed appropriately.  "Something is bothering you then."

He wondered how she would react if he told her now.

"I'm worried about that apology."

48.

       Her smile immediately disappeared.  She looked away.  "Do not ruin this, Richard.  The whole thing with you two makes me . . . ill."

       "I'm sorry.  I didn't bring you out here to talk about Mic."  It was a lie of course. "I brought you because this place is special to me.  I come out here to sort things out sometimes.  That," he said, motioning toward the lake, "makes me feel small . . . puts things in perspective.  Does that sound trite?"

"It sounds profound actually," she said in genuine surprise.

        "I wanted to share it with you because you're . . . I just thought you would appreciate it."

        "If that's a line then Mic isn't the only one who can lie charmingly.  I'm sorry.  I know you're sincere."

"Did you mean that about him being a liar?"

        "I'm going to tell you something because I owe you an explanation.  Just listen and then we shall not talk about him any more.  I was foolish and selfish to involve you in this situation.  I was also foolish to become involved with him.  Richard, I . . . do not wish to make the same mistake with you---not that I think you're like him."

"But you don't trust me?"

        "It is not you.  I cannot trust my judgment just now.  So you must not . . . make too much of . . . our friendship."

        Richard nodded as he gazed at the slow response of a nearby cedar to the breeze.  Although it would ruin everything, he had to make certain that she understood that Mic was a real danger to her, not just an irritant.

Jill took another crust of bread, applied a thin layer of soft cheese, and offered it.

"Try this," she said, straining to recapture the pleasantness.

        He pretended to enjoy it, but didn't even taste it.  Jill was everything he had imagined when he first saw her, and he was about to lose her.  For all practical purposes they were absolutely alone, and she trusted him enough to be comfortable with him here.  He stared at the blue expanse below and saw something so clearly that it seemed he was living it.

        A black woman, naked to the waist, hands and feet gathered and bound at the small of her back convulsed in death throes.  An electric cord cut cruelly into the flesh of her neck.  Her wide eyes bored into his as her life ebbed away.

49.

       He'd never witnessed anything remotely like it, and it left him wondering from what dark recesses of his imagination it had come.  How could his mind produce such a thing?  What other horrible things lurked inside him?

"What do you see?" she asked.

        He nodded toward the horizon, a faint color change where lake melded imperceptibly with sky. 

        "It's too hazy today to see today, but right out there is an island called Bonne Femme.  Uncle Bill used to take me out there when I was a kid.  Bonne Femme means ‘good woman,' but of course you knew that.  They say that a lonesome French trapper who lived out there named it, but I doubt it.  The island is too small for much trapping.  Would you like to see it?"

"It would be interesting.  How many people live there?"

        "None.  It's like a pile of rocks covered by a tiny forest, but it's unbelievably beautiful.  You should see it."

"I'd love to.  Maybe this summer we can go.  Is that possible?"

"Why not today?"

        She laughed. "Your car has proven itself an admirable all-terrain vehicle, but I think the water is too deep even for it."

        "No.  Remember the old marina?  My uncle keeps a boat down there.  He won't mind if we borrow it."

        Jill looked doubtfully at the lake.  She couldn't see even the hint of an island.  "Not today.  Besides, you may be getting sick, and it is getting cool again."

        "Yeah, you're probably right," he said.  "But how about taking the boat out on the lake for a few minutes?"

"I do not think we should."

        "Come on.  With the wind so low the lake's as calm as it'll ever be.  You should see the shore from out there.  It'll be fun.  We won't go very far out."

"It is late."

"We've got three hours until sunset.  We'll just be out a few minutes."

        Growing up near the often stormy ocean made the lake appear serene and harmless.  Its pristine blue water eroded her reluctance, but her real reason for acquiescing was that she was still trying to make up for having used him. 

        50.

On the Lake

         Jill gazed shoreward.  Above the narrow whitish beach the slopes were in the first stages of greening, but were predominantly mottled in dark browns and straw where last year's vegetation cloaked the land in winter hues.  Although the ride was smooth, it was cooler than she expected even at Richard's sedate pace.  She found that if she kept the leather jacket pulled tight over her life vest and stayed below the rim of the windshield, the breeze was more refreshing than chilling.

        "Hold on," said Richard as he pushed the throttle forward. The boat sped lightly across the low wave tops.  He brought it around for a run back to the south parallel to shore.

        "What's that?" shouted Jill over the sound of the outboard, pointing to an object on the horizon, a gleaming white spike that seemed to float on the water.

       "The Cartier lighthouse.  Men used to live out there before it all became automated---three man crew, sixty days on thirty off.  Man, talk about your cabin fever."

"Can we go over?"

        He shook his head.  "The lighthouse marks shoals.  You're not supposed to approach."

        Jill looked back and noted that they were further from shore.  "You have plenty of petrol?" she shouted.

        "Gasoline?  Yeah.  I checked it this . . . It's the first thing I did when we were getting ready to come out."

        He cut the engine.  Then he tapped the gage.  "Yeah it's full."  The boat gently wallowed.  "You get out here it seems like a guy can think."

"Away from distractions, you mean," she said.  "I can understand that."

        "Maybe things are in better perspective when you realize that you're not in control of things as much as you'd like to be."

        51.

Whatever had been bothering him, she realized that it wasn't illness.  He had brought her out to tell her something.

"There's something you should know," he began.

        She looked away, afraid that he was about to tell her that he loved her.  It was too early for that---way too early.  When he hesitated she hoped that he was losing his nerve and would let the moment slip away.

        "I have something to tell you that . . . it's vital that you should know.  It's about Mic.  You don't know him as well as I do."

        "What happened is my business, not yours, Richard.  I was wrong to involve you, but now you are wrong to stay involved."

"Hear me out and we can talk about it."

        "No!  I told you that he apologized.  It's over now.  There's nothing for you to be concerned about."

He nodded somberly.

        Jill saw it as a dilemma of her own making.  Dating Richard had been an unconscious effort at payment for services rendered.  Now she was paying the price. 

        "It is a beautiful day," she said, trying to turn the conversation.  "Thank you again for bringing me."

        "If I promise not to talk about Mic anymore would you let me show you Bonne Femme?" he asked.  "This is as calm as I've ever seen the lake.  We may not get this opportunity again."

        He chose to take her lack of immediate objection as assent. "Hang on," he said, turning in a gentle arc. 

        The throaty rumble drowned out her first attempt at protest. "I do not think it is a good idea, Richard," she said raising her voice to be heard above the engine noise.  "What if it gets dark?"

        When he didn't respond, she thought he might not have heard her.  She touched his arm to get his attention.

"It's getting late," she shouted.

"There's plenty of daylight."

52.

"No.  Let's go back."

        He backed off on the throttle. "Come on.  It'll be fun.  I really want you to see it.  You never know when we'll get a chance to make the trip again.  In springtime the lake can be nasty for weeks on end.  It's hardly ever this calm even in the summer."

        "I do not think so, Richard," she said, gripping his arm.  "Maybe some other time.  Please let us go back."

        He nodded his head distractedly, but didn't change course or touch the throttle.  Jill looked toward the shore.  Already they were too far for anyone to see them, although the boat itself would still be visible.

        "I'm cold," she said, apprehension straining her voice.  "I cannot enjoy myself when I'm cold.  Take me somewhere warm.  I know.  We can have dinner tonight.  Then we can talk."

        He backed the throttle to a low troll, and turned the wheel to the right, letting the boat drift in a lazy circle.

        "Jill, the night of the fight Mic made a . . . a vivid threat.  It scared me because I know him and he wasn't just talking."

"He had been drinking," she said evenly.

"We have to take what he said seriously."

        "We?  There is no we, Richard!  Not yet.  If you keep bullying me, there never will be."

It was playing out just as he feared.

        "Jill, as much as I want there to be something between us---and I want that a great deal---that isn't as important to me as your safety is.  You have to listen to me.  You have to."

        His utter sincerity frightened her.  All she wanted now was to get away from him and never to go near him again.  She had to get off the lake and back to Cartier.  She gave him a weak shivering smile.

        "I am so cold," she said.  "Take me somewhere warm.  Buy me some hot chocolate and we will talk . . . about whatever you wish."

        "He threatened to kill you, Jill.  I'm not going to tell you all the awful things he said, but he meant it."

"He was drunk, Richard, but you are not," she said sternly.  "Now take me back."

53.

He shook his head.  "I know him . . . and I've found out something that . . . it's not just words, Jill."

        "Okay.  Okay.  Perhaps you are right," she said, fighting to keep the rising panic from her voice.  "But you have a better chance of convincing me if I can get someplace where I can think of something besides being cold.  Now please take me back."

"Just listen a minute and---"

"Take me back now!" she screamed.

"Please don't be afraid," he said softly.

It was the worst thing he could have said.  He mistook her stunned silence for calm.

        "I'm going to keep him from hurting you.  You don't understand now, but you will.  You just need time to think about what I have to tell you.  I'm sure you'll see."

Color drained from her face.  This can't be happening! her mind shrieked.

"No!" she shouted, scrambling in panic away from him.

        Richard reflexively reached back to keep her from falling and inadvertently hit the throttle.  The boat leaped forward, pitching her headlong over the back.  Jill gasped as she plunged beneath the icy water.  She broke surface, gulping air.  Coughing tore at her chest as her aching lungs tried to expel water.  Her arms and legs were already numb, but when she saw the boat turn toward her, she flailed to get away from it.

        Richard cursed himself as he saw her bobbing in the dark blue water.  Her pale face and wide eyes pained him.  Jill misread his grim expression.

        "Stay away from me!" she shrieked, as she thrashed the water trying to elude the approaching boat.

"You've got to get back in the boat," he shouted.

"NO!"

        He cut the engine and used a paddle to pull toward her while she continued to swim away.

"Jill, if you don't get out of the water soon you could die from hypothermia."

        She shook her head stubbornly, but already the cold was sapping her resolve as well as her strength.  A five-minute eternity later she finally surrendered.  Although she tried to help he had to drag her in like a dead weight.

54.

Richard snagged his jacket from the water and dropped it into the bottom of the boat.

"Here," he said, stripping off his.

       "We're going on out to Bonne Femme, and we're going to have to run out at a pretty high speed or we'll never make it before dark.  You have to warm your core.  Before I give you this, you're going to have to take off the vest and your sweater."

"I'm not doing that!" she said, teeth chattering.

"You have to.  I won't look."

Jill shivered so fiercely that she could barely speak.  "I will not!"

        Although he hated doing it, he decided to let the cold itself force her to yield to the necessity.  She had to have dry clothes next to her skin.  The only other alternative was for him to manually remove the sweater as she struggled to prevent it, which was not an option.

        "Suit yourself," he said, trying to sound unconcerned.  "I'm heading out there now.  As soon as I see your sweater on the seat up here, I'll hand back the jacket."

        Without waiting for a reply, he started and slowly accelerated as he swung around and headed into the lake.  Moments later, the wet sweater flew forward onto the windshield and instrument panel.  He calmly picked it up, dropped it onto the floorboards on his side, and then handed back his fleece-lined jacket.  She took it without comment.  He expected her to resume her seat on the bench, but she failed to appear.  After another five minutes, he called back.

"There's less wind up here behind the windscreen."

"I'm fine where I am," she said tonelessly.

"No you're not," he said as he cut the engine.

        She stood up, feet apart to keep her balance, her face white, her lips blue from the chill.  As he got up and went back, she shrank away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.  "Your jeans are wet."

"I'm not taking them off!"

55.

       "I don't want you to," he said, picking up the canvas tarp.  "I want you to get up there on the seat behind the windscreen and wrap this around your legs and hold it up to your chin to block the wind."

        She didn't shake her head.  She didn't cry.  She only looked at him with a blank, unreadable expression.  Richard wondered what she must be thinking of him, but she wasn't thinking, not in words, not in rationale thoughts.  Jill's mind had ceased to function beyond the level of raw unfathomable panic.  Emotionally, she was still flailing away as she had beneath the frigid water as her lungs burst with the invading water.  She had so quickly fallen under his power that all she could comprehend was the terror of it.  Yet, somehow she found the will fight her debilitating panic.  Like being in the bottomless, icy water, she strove to calm herself and swim rather than drown in her terror.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.

"I told you why."

As insane as that is, I want to believe him, she thought.

        "You're really doing this," she said so softly that he could barely hear her above the idling motor.

"You'll be safe."

And you can have me all to yourself, she thought numbly.

"If there was any other way . . . " he began.  "This is the last thing I wanted to do."

        That's nonsense, she thought.  He planned it.  I've got to keep calm.  Maybe I can still reason with him.

        "Richard.  Please take me back.  I will not tell anyone what you did.  I promise," she began calmly enough, but suddenly, her voice cracked and she sobbed.

        "Please," she begged, all her resolve, all her dignity gone now.  "Please just let me go home.  Do not do this to me."

"Jill, I know this seems crazy.  I know you're frightened, but---"

"What are you doing?" she shouted.  "How dare you try to sound reasonable!"

        "I won't touch you.  I promise.  You'll see.  When we get there I'll . . . well, I'll just make sure that . . . you have everything you need and that you're okay.  You'll be safe.  I promise."

56.

       Knowing that nothing she could say would stop him, she turned away, drawing the canvas about her, and sat down in the bottom of the boat.  When she refused to respond to him, Richard checked his compass heading and pushed the throttle forward.  Looking back across the empty lake toward Cartier, Jill huddled against the onrushing air at her back.  A horrid kaleidoscope of images and thoughts ran through her mind as she shivered beneath the rough cocoon of stiff, musty cloth.

        He's crazy!  She imagined him pinning her to the ground.  Like a fool I let him get me alone.  She saw him ripping at her clothing.  No one knows where I am!  No one can help me.  She conjured other violent images, perverse things invited into her subconscious by movies she should never have watched.  She imagined a hand around her throat, pinning her motionless.

        In extremity people clutch at every hint of hope, and so Jill took hold on the one thing she could.  Richard had not yet so much as looked at her inappropriately.  Even now he seemed saddened, not exultant.

        He does not look dangerous, she thought.  Maybe . . .  Jill became angry with herself as she realized what her mind was doing.  Of course you want to believe that!  You fool!  He is insane.  That did no good at all.  She had to think to a purpose, had to make some kind of plan.

I must let him do what he wants.  But what happens after he takes what he wants?

        She had read about this.  What woman hadn't?  But now she couldn't remember what the experts said. Something about control?  Wait!  I have to get him to see me as a person---and---but he already thinks there is this personal connection, so . . .  I don't know!  I don't know!  I don't know anything!  If I do the wrong thing, he'll---   Stop it, Jill!  Stop it!  You will find a way.

        One thing she knew.  If he ever gave her the chance she would kill him, or at least knock him unconscious. Then I will take the boat and leave him there.  I will tell them what he did to me.  I will have him arrested.  And I will never trust a man again.

        Her world was reduced to the endless blue of water and sky, the droning of the engine, the rhythm of the hull, the cold, and him.  The hope she had rallied faded with the sinking sun.  She huddled lower.  The wind ripped at her damp hair and numb face when she chanced a glance around.  He sat rigid, staring forward.  The paddle was up front with him, and she saw nothing else she could attack him with.  Despite her efforts not to, she had imagined the inevitable word, gesture, cruel smile, or physical assault that would remove what little doubt she had as to his intentions.

        57.

        Since she hadn't faced that yet, the worst of it was thinking about how easily she had been duped.  I am no naïf, so why could I not see?  Because he seemed so shy?   Are all the men who hate women not also afraid of them?  Is that why they have such anger?  The injustice of it was suddenly too much.  All I did was . . . ask him for a favor.  I invited him into my life.  That was my crime?  It is not fair!  I do not deserve this!

She glared at his back.

Damn you!  Insane or not, I will kill you!

        As unrealistic as it was, her vicious intention made her feel better.  As terrified as she was, the heat of her anger comforted.  Numbing despair was gone for the time being.  Richard would have understood had he known what she was thinking.  Jill had discovered the trick soldiers had always used on the eve of battle.  Anger chases fear.  Action banishes thought.  Going into combat one screams, not to frighten the enemy, but to put one's own fear to flight.

        Richard continued to scan the horizon, looking for the island.  Jill stared blankly, looking for what was to be.  She pulled the tarp closer, eager for the trip to be over, but fearing what would happen when they reached the island.  Then a new terror seized her.

        Maybe there is no island.  He may just be taking me out where he can attack me and throw me into the water!

"There!" he shouted. 

        Following his gaze, she saw a hazy dark spot on the horizon.  Over the next fifteen minutes it turned first into a blue-gray mound floating above the water, and then sharpened, fastened itself to the surface, and turned green.  Finally, the fading sun slid behind a cedar-covered knob of rock, casting the boat in deep shadow as Bonne Femme became a black silhouette.

        The rumbling Mercury chugged to a clunking stop, and the boat's dying momentum took it to a stone tumbled shore.  Waves wallowed the boat slightly as they approached land.  Suddenly sick, she vomited over the side.  The boat drifted between half-submerged boulders into a natural berth no more than ten feet by twenty.  Richard went forward and, at the first grinding of bottom against rock, jumped out, lightening the boat.  He pulled the boat forward by a chain attached to the bow and looped it around a boulder.  After fastening it with a padlock, he turned to see her still sitting in the boat, wide-eyed but motionless.

        "Come on," he said gently as he offered his hand.  "Get solid ground under you and you'll feel better."

58.

She shook her head mutely, sitting stiffly erect.

        The enormity of his task hit him, but at least she was safely out of Mic's reach.  In his own way, and for entirely different reasons, he was as fearful as she.  Both were searching for a plan, and each had clear goals, but neither had but the vaguest of ideas of how to achieve them. 

"Get out when you're ready then," he said.  "I'm going to build a fire."

        First night

        The task of making a hasty night camp provided him temporary diversion from depressing reality.  After gathering kindling up the slope among the trees, he built a campfire in the lee of a boulder where it would be sheltered from wind and hidden from view from the lake.  Jill smelled smoke but didn't get out of the boat.  He gathered windfalls and driftwood until he had nearly a quarter of a rick and then went to see if he could coax her to the fire.

        "I built a fire," he said, as he threw back the tarp and hefted a large plastic container containing the sleeping bags and blankets.

        She only stared, determining not to set foot on the island, a foolish idea since she already had to relieve the pressure of her bladder.

        Jill watched him warily.  As soon as he disappeared behind the boulders, she slipped silently from the boat and crept into the brush, intending to make it back to the boat before he returned.  She unzipped her jeans, glanced around to make sure he wasn't watching before pushing them down.  As she squatted the cold wind touched her exposed flesh, making her feel humiliatingly accessible.  Then she heard the chain dropping into the boat, and hurriedly pulled up her jeans.  She crept back down the hill, hoping to discover what he was doing without being seen.

        The boat was floating back out.  Forgetting her resolve, she ran out of the woods.  Richard cupped his hands around his mouth.  "I'll be back in about four or five hours," he said.  "You'll find some something to eat at the fire."

        Before she could respond the big engine roared to life, the boat swung in a tight curve, and then it powered noisily away, drowning out her protests.  He didn't even look back.  She watched mutely until the boat became a small smudge on the horizon.  The island stilled to the sound of the wind whispering through cedars and the soft lapping waves.

        Being alone was almost as bad as being alone with him.  She knew what would happen when he returned, just not how it would happen or what would come afterward.

59.

I will bear it, she said to herself, trying to be brave.

        But the thought wouldn't hold, and it all came crashing down.  She began to pace and to sob.

This cannot be happening!  Please, God, let it be a dream.  Let me wake me up.

But it was no dream, and now she began to reproach herself.

       How could I have been so wrong?  Why did I let this happen?  No one knows where I am.

       No!  Marta does not know where we went, but she knows I was with Richard.  If I don't return in a few days, she will call the police and tell them.  Then they will know that he was the last one to . . .

" . . . to see me alive," she finished aloud.

"Yes.  Well, that is only a figure of speech.  Thinking like that can do no good."

        Jill slowed her pacing, her steps becoming more regular as she considered what she could do.

        I cannot mention Marta.  He might go back and do something to her also.  She will tell them we were together.  They will want to talk to him, and when they see that he is missing also, then they will know that he did something to me.

        But they will not look here.  Jill felt herself beginning to succumb to useless tears.  He is in complete control!  He can do anything he wants!

She clenched her teeth.  Stop it!  You are all right.  You will be all right.

She picked up a stick and knelt by the fire, prodding it absently.

        Maybe he still wants me to like him.  If he just wants to . . . to take me, he would already have done it I think.

        She looked suspiciously at the box she had placed her purse in it to keep it from getting wet during the boat ride.  Jumping up, she ran and opened it.  Her purse was still there, but it had been opened.  A quick search confirmed that her keys were gone.

        Of course!  I am wet and filthy.  He has gone to get my things so that I look the way he wants when he . . ."

"That is what he will do," she said aloud.

        She hugged herself against the cool and walked back to the fire.  The sight of the neatly prepared pallet he had laid out for her suddenly infuriating her.

        "Like hell!" she shouted, kicking at it in impotent rage and unintentionally sending it into the flames.

        She watched it burn, taking perverse satisfaction from the knowledge that she was ruining at least this small part of his plan.  Of course it would change nothing.

"It will not be so easy for you," she said aloud.  "I will kill you if I get a chance."