Returning rain drove him inside where he found Jill sitting motionless
on a storage box near the neglected and nearly dead fire, a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. Not a word passed between
them as he got the fire going and set pots on the grate. The raw wind increased, sporadically chasing puffs of smoke
down the chimney. A steady slow rain pattered on the metal roof and cold drafts swept the cabin. The fireplace
seemed inadequate to fight the chill, and the desultory flames struggled to fight the dark.
"It's getting cold," he said. "I'll move the tent
nearer the fire for the night."
Jill had been unresponsive since their talk. He assumed it
was because she was trying to come to terms with the collapse of her hope that someone was looking for her.
"I'll keep it a safe
distance from the sparks. The sleeping bag will keep you plenty warm though."
He pulled the coffee pot
forward to the edge of the grate to let it finish perking more slowly.
"I'll bundle up here and feed the fire tonight."
He opened the container with the LIRP rations.
"What do you want, chicken and rice or beef and noodles?"
"I am not hungry," she said.
Richard
decided not to heat the army rations just for himself, and removed the pot of water from the grate. He poured an enameled
metal cup of coffee and offered it to her.
113.
"Careful not to burn your lips. I wish I had brought
ceramic mugs, even plastic would have been better."
She shook her head. He clutched
the cup to warm his hands as he stared into the flames.
Jill studied him surreptitiously. Although still pale from
the illness, his thin cheeks were dusky with sunburn and a several days' growth of beard. His black disheveled hair
was lightly sprinkled with premature gray at the nape and just above his ears. The hands gripping the cup were angular,
bony. He was too thin for his clothes, but looked wiry rather than weak.
He glanced up unexpectedly and caught
her staring. She refused to look away. The glow of the fire highlighted her cheekbones and made her hair look
redder than usual.
"Studying
the monster?" he asked, which was a really stupid thing to say.
"I fail to see the humor in that," she said.
"It was an asinine thing to say. Sorry."
He
was tired, worn threadbare by the illness. It was quite possible he could have died had she not nursed him through it.
For the first time it occurred to him how frightening it had been for her, not that she cared for him. How could she?
She had nursed him only to keep from being marooned and starving to death. A relapse was not likely, but possible.
"It's
only about twenty miles to Cartier," he said. "If anything happens to me, you can make it just fine.
Just wait for a calm sunny day and point the boat toward sunrise. You'll get to the main land in two or three hours
depending on the wind."
"What
about the keys?" she said.
Her quick response surprised him. Richard realized that she had thought of taking the boat while he was unconscious.
The heavy chain was probably the only thing preventing her from attempting to hotwire it. She didn't know how, but as
smart as she was she would have been able to do it by trial and error.
"The keys are on the roof, near the chimney."
"How
can I get on the roof to get them? You cut down the tree outside the window."
Richard poured another cup of coffee.
"Here," he said offering it to her.
"So how can I get the keys?" she repeated as she took it from
him.
114.
"Take
the hammer and pull some boards from the door. Then get a couple of the poles from the privy canopy. There are
nails up there," he said indicating the can atop the fireplace.
"Nail rungs from boards
to the poles and make yourself a ladder. It will take a while, but you can do it."
She took two granola bars from a storage container and handed him one.
"I suppose I will find out if that is true
if and when I get up there."
"Why would I lie? Look. You don't need the keys. If something happens to me, take the hammer down and
beat the hell out of the eyebolt holding the chain to the boat. Eventually you can break it off. Then pull out
the wires from the ignition panel. Use a knife to strip the wires and start touching them together until you get the
motor started. You can do it."
"No. The only way back is for you to take me," she said.
"I will, but I was telling
the truth about the keys and about hotwiring the boat."
"Okay. So let us talk about what happens when
we get back. You wish to remain close by so that you can protect me from him, I suppose. You cannot do that if
I have you arrested. So you must believe that I believe you before you will agree to take me back."
She had succinctly stated the impossible position
he had put her in.
"It will do us no good to starve ourselves. Let me prepare some chicken and rice."
She got up and came to the fire.
"Suppose we go back. How do you plan
to protect me from him?"
He
took a moment to formulate his answer.
"By
making sure he doesn't have a chance to get you alone."
"You will beat him up if he comes near
me?" she asked, thinking that perhaps that was what he wanted to hear.
"I won't let it come to that. I doubt that I can take him
in a fight."
"You
did after the concert. I'm sure you will win if it happens again."
The comment jarred. It wasn't Jill.
115.
"As
you know, he'd been drinking. His reactions were slow. You can't count on that happening again."
Richard intends to shoot him!
She
pushed the thought aside. She didn't want to think about people getting killed.
"Why are you so sure that he will harm me?"
"Because
he told me he would. He didn't imply it. He didn't say it just for effect or because he was ranting. He
described it in detail, and he made me believe it. It's why I hit him with the bottle."
"Perhaps he was just jealous and drunk."
"He
may have been jealous, but not because he cares about you. He never cared about you."
"How would you know that?" she challenged.
"Because
from day one he . . . said things . . . things you don't say about someone you respect. No. It isn't jealousy.
It's revenge. You rejected him and he thinks I took you away from him."
"Which means that he is even angrier
now. What did he say that made you do this? Tell me exactly what he said."
There was no way he could even bring up the subject of erotic asphyxia.
"He said he would kill you."
She stared at him steadily.
"Try again. His exact words please."
"What do the words matter? You don't need to hear them, Jill."
"Tell me, Richard."
"He said he would strangle you."
She blanched, but in the dim light Richard failed to notice.
"And
you took him literally?" she said as if the words hadn't effected her. "Is not that what one would expect
from a drunken and angry man?"
116.
"You
don't know him, Jill. Mic gets even. I've seen him just tear guys apart for an imagined insult. He meant
it."
That she had been the topic of such an exchange between them made her sick. She felt violated.
"You're trying to frighten me into believing
you," she said angrily.
"Yes, because you have to. But I'm not making anything up. I would never do that."
"What would you not
do? And tell me why I should believe you," she demanded. "You killed that boy in Somalia. Did
Mic do anything like that?"
"I
believe he may have. And it wasn't combat. It was---"
"What? Another story?"
"Just forget it."
"No, Richard. Not after what
you have done to me. I will not forget it. If there is something that proves what you are saying about him then
tell me."
"I
didn't see him do it, but I think he killed a woman over there."
"Let me guess. You think he shot the woman he was trying to undress."
"No.
Kevin and I---Kevin is a friend of mine---found him with the body of a woman who had been bound and strangled. He claimed
it was a militia killing, but the militia didn't kill like that. With them it was a bullet in the back of the head or
a slit throat."
Is that why Mic's drunken threat made him so desperate? she wondered. Or is this just a cold attempt to reinforce
his original lie?
"He was in a . . . he was comfortable around the body, you know," he said, seeing it again. "Sat there
smoking . . . cracking jokes about her. It made your skin crawl."
His descriptions, true or not, made her sick.
"So you saw terrible things like that. But did you see him
kill anyone?"
"Only in combat. But he did. I know it. I think he may have been doing it a long time."
117.
When she didn't respond he continued.
"I
had a friend in the sheriff's department check him out for me. He turned up something that makes me suspect he might
have killed a classmate back when he was in high school."
He is as obsessed with Mic as with me, she thought.
"Why would you do that?" she asked.
"Check
on his past? Because of something he said the night of the fight. He told me how much of a rush it was to kill
someone with your bare hands---said he found it out a long time ago. Turns out that a girl who went to school with him
was murdered, and the case was never solved."
"And you are sure that he is the one who killed her."
"Knowing what you do now about him now, don't---"
"What
do I really know?" she shouted, suddenly losing it. "Everything you expect me to know comes from
what you have told me! How can I believe you?"
"Check everything against your experiences with both
him and me---your whole experience. If I have told you a lie---I mean I know I deceived you to get you h "Cere,
but other than that . . . well . . . I know. Question me. Ask anything you want. I'll tell you the truth
wherever it goes."
"You
will only tell me what you want me to believe."
"Then catch me in a lie. If you do, I'll take you back immediately."
She stared at him intently.
"Tell me how long you planned this," she said.
"The night before I did it."
"That is why you asked me to go on the picnic."
"No."
"Yes. You decided
to do it then because you knew I would be vulnerable when I was alone with you."
118.
He shook his head.
"No.
I decided after you told me that Mic had apologized and that you believed he was sincere. I was afraid that if he could
fool you so easily, then he could get you alone and do what he threatened."
"Yes," she said near tears. "I am easily fooled.
No. I am a fool."
"I'm
sorry, Jill."
She turned away.
"Of course you are," she said.
Jill
lay awake staring at the glowing fabric where the tent flap faced the fire. Suddenly his shadow loomed. With a
gasp she reached for the .45. Then she heard him put wood on the fire. A moment later the shadow moved away and
she heard him arranging his bedding near the door. She clutched the pistol to her, careful to keep her finger from the
touchy trigger.
You want me to believe that Mic has been a murderer since childhood. You have seen him do all these terrible things,
and then, he threatens to kill me, leaving you no choice but to abduct me.
She took a shuddering breath.
But what are you? A sadist? A schizophrenic? Or only a damaged soldier?
Or are you really just trying to protect me
as you say?
God, how I want
to believe you!
Ridiculous! She shook her head angrily. I made one mistake when I got involved with him, and then
I invited you into my life. I have to get away from both of you now.
She thought of what he said about shooting and taking the boat back.
Did you tell me because you knew I cannot
do it?
It suddenly occurred to her that she would far prefer to be alone on the island with Richard than with Mic.
So which of is crazier?
119.
Jill's Plan
May 22
They
sat by the fireplace sharing LIRP rations as dark fell. Jill had spent the day questioning him as he had suggested.
She took much of what he said skeptically, but kept that to herself. Jill tried to listen carefully to his words, but
also to his tone, trying unsuccessfully to detect insincerity. She had constantly reminded herself that just because
he believed something was true that didn't make it true. Hardest to believe were his speculations
about Mic's past. What made his ghastly suspicions most incredible, however, was that someone she knew could actually
be capable of such things. In the end she knew more about Richard, but had decided nothing.
The tent gave her neither
the privacy not the security she needed, and she considered telling him that he was well enough to take it and begin spending
nights at the shore. What decided her against it was her overruling need to gain his confidence enough to get him to
take her back to Cartier.
After washing the bowls and setting them aside, she took the last of the books to the firelight, noting the scant pages left
with regret.
"We're
running low on firewood," he said. "I'll go bring some in."
Jill looked up from her book.
"Call when you get back, and I'll open the door for you."
Jill
stared after him, and then placed her book facedown on the floor to keep the place. While she made a final pot of coffee,
it occurred to her that it was bizarre the way they had settled so quickly into a routine as predictable as that of any married
couple.
The only
thing missing is sex, thank goodness, she said to herself.
Is that what he is waiting for? Is that what it will really take?
Maybe
I'm supposed to initiate it. That makes sense. Consensual sex would not be rape legally. More importantly
it wouldn't be rape psychologically.
She considered it.
120.
Maybe that is his fantasy.
Bonne Femme---his own little paradise: a cabin in the wilderness and me to share it with him.
But fantasies don't last forever. What happens when he realizes that I cannot be what he wants me to be?
Unnerved
by the question she had posed, Jill got up and paced about the cabin, wishing she had somewhere to run, somewhere to hide.
What was he actually doing at the college? He admits wanting to meet me even before Mic came there. He was probably
always around---always looking at me.
It was true!
She had noticed more than once, but had shrugged it off. Jill knew that she was attractive, and men frequently looked
at her. She hadn't taken offence unless they stared rudely. In fact, she had rather enjoyed being noticed.
Now the ogling seemed less harmless.
Is this what they all were thinking about? she asked herself, getting me alone, isolating me so that they could---
Stop it! Men look at attractive women.
It's natural.
But he was
always there. He was stalking me, and when---
"Open up."
Jill jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. She hesitated
only a moment, then recovered her composure, and went to let him in. As he took the armload of wood in and placed it
near the fireplace, she stared into the dark outside, wanting to rush out and let it hide her.
Richard looked past
her at the darkly silhouetted cedars bobbing in the brisk wind. He thought she was concerned about an approaching storm.
"Just
a late season Canadian front," he said reassuringly. "Nothing to worry about. It probably won't even
freeze tonight. Low in the thirties maybe---frost if it clears."
"It's spring," she said softly
as she closed the door. "Please tell me that we will not still be here when it turns cold again."
"You mean fall? Of course not."
"I
want to believe you, Richard," she said, realizing that it was true. "About everything."
121.
"But you don't."
She pulled a blanket over her shoulders like a
shawl.
"I do not know what to believe anymore," she said, as she came to sit cross-legged before the fireplace.
"I
know you will not . . . force me to do anything," she said without looking up, lest he see the truth in her eyes.
He
didn't respond for a long moment, making her sure that he saw through her duplicity.
"I was afraid that you would never feel safe around me again,"
he said.
She wanted to press him for an immediate return, but didn't trust herself to do it correctly. She needed a little time
to rehearse, to anticipate his objections and be ready with responses that would move him in the right direction.
"I'm really tired," she said.
"Let's not talk any more tonight."
"Sure.
I'll . . . We can talk in the morning then."
His relief had been pathetically obvious. Now Jill
began to see the outlines of what she would do.
Gazing
into the fire, Richard heard Jill unzip her jeans as she undressed before crawling into the sleeping bag. The thought
of her nearly naked and so near him against her wishes brought home to him the terror he had thrust her into.
He felt deeply ashamed.
Men are supposed to make them feel safe, he thought despondently.
He
hunched closer to the fire trying vainly to imagine a scenario in which she would forgive him.
After banking the fire, he
stole quietly to his own pallet near the door. He lay still long after she had settled down, but his back ached too
much to allow sleep. He readjusted his position carefully so as not to disturb her.
"Are you awake?" she asked softly.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
When she didn't answer immediately he thought perhaps she had spoken
in her sleep.
122.
"I want to tell you about . . . me and Mic
. . . about . . ."
He held his breath, suddenly afraid that she was about
to confirm Mic's story about rough sex.
"There's no need," he said.
"I want to. It might make things clearer."
There's no way, he told himself. She's not like that.
"I was very attracted to him. Perhaps I was charmed by his intelligence and self-assurance, but mainly it was his
appearance. He is a very handsome."
Nothing new there---girls were always attracted to Mic.
"You asked if I ever
got the feeling that he wasn't what he pretended. I didn't want to tell you, but . . . yes. I did see that, almost
from the beginning."
"Then
why did you stay with him so long?"
Jill was relieved. She wasn't having to invent anything.
So far, just a carefully worded version of the truth would do.
"Why did you not break away from him, Richard?"
"I told you. As pathetic as it sounds, I did it just to be
near you."
"But before that, was it not that he intimidated you? Did you not find it difficult to get away from him?"
"I got the feeling that he just doesn't pick
up on subtleties," he said.
"No. He forces himself. He ignores subtleties and makes one either go along with him or create an unpleasantness.
I didn't see it at first, but I realized that he was playing a role with me. Once we got here I could not admit this
to you. You had taken all control from me. I couldn't let myself believe you?"
"Why?"
"It was the only way I could fight you."
"I didn't want to control your life. I don't."
123.
"He
tried to control me, and you do. Like you, he treated me well at first . . . took me where I wanted to go,
did what I
wanted to do. But things changed. He began insisting that we spend every minute together. He didn't want
me to spend time with anyone else, not even Marta."
"Did he do anything physically to you?"
"Did he strike me? No."
"Good."
"I think he is very insecure," she said.
"What?"
He had seen just the opposite.
"He tried to isolate me because he feared losing
me both to Marta and to you I think. He was jealous of you."
She was trying to feed Richard's ego hoping that it would help make him believe that he had convinced her.
"He wasn't worried about me," he said.
"Yes
he was. You should have heard some how he talked about you when you were gone. One day you and he were talking
of your Marine experiences and telling funny stories like you always did. You had to go to class, and as soon as you
left, he turned to me and said in this stilted, falsely sympathetic voice, ‘Richard's a good guy, but he didn't have
what it took over there. I'm glad I don't have to trust him to cover my back anymore.' He tried to make it sound
as if he pitied you, but what he really wanted was to show that he was superior."
There was enough truth in Mic's description to make Richard flinch.
"Mic
enjoyed combat," he said. "It scared the hell out of me then, and it sickens me to think of it now.
If that's being a coward, he told you the truth."
"You didn't run away. I've heard the stories about those terrible firefights."
"That
was Mic," he said dismissively. "Fighting? I'm not sure I did that. I didn't run away, but I sure
as hell wanted to. Every . . . single . . . time."
124.
Jill wasn't sure how he wanted her to react to his confession.
"Being afraid isn't cowardice."
"When it paralyzes you and someone dies it
is."
A coldly logical part of her mind took satisfaction from the fact that he was opening up to her. The more they seemed
to bond, the more likely he was to believe her when she finally accepted what he wanted her to believe.
"All
I know of war is that it must be terrible," she said. "Dwelling on it does not make it less terrible, does
it?"
"We were talking about Mic," he prompted, eager to leave the streets of Mogadishu.
"It was always about
him, not me," she said. "Never did he really want to know anything about me. Do you know the
reason I agreed to see you again after the concert?"
He didn't respond.
"It
was because you seemed interested in me, not just my appearance."
"Anyway, he never did that,"
she continued. "That's one reason I tried to end our relationship."
"And the other reason was his attempt to isolate you?"
"There's was a more . . . immediate reason,"
she said.
But it hadn't come until after she tried to break it off. Her mind went back to the night she tried to tell him that
their relationship was pointless.
They sat in his car outside her apartment, and she struggled to find the right words to end it gracefully. All evening
she had been trying to work up the courage to tell him. She had run out of time.
"Mic, I like you,
but I think that's as far as it will ever go, and I don't think you really care all that much about me either. It's
time we admit that and go on with our lives," she said.
Mic laughed.
"That's not what you really want, Jill. You're just confused."
"I'm not confused, Mic," she said
sternly. "I want to end this. I have to."
125.
"You're just in a bad mood or something,"
he said, gripping the nape of her neck.
"Don't!" she said, trying to pull away.
He tightened his grip.
"Get your hands off me," she said angrily.
He suddenly released her, and then wound his fingers into her hair pulling her head backward. His other hand flew to
her throat and he leaned in, his face inches from hers.
"What's wrong with you?" he snarled.
He released her, and
she threw open the door and stumbled out. Fearing that he would drag her back into the car, she scrambled away, losing
a shoe, and falling to her knees. She ran to reach the safety of her apartment.
"See you tomorrow, Babe," he called
after her as if nothing had happened.
"Hey,"
called Richard. "Did I say something to upset you?"
"No. The night we broke up
he really frightened me. That's why I asked you to help me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was private.
Later I was ashamed for involving you. When you fought over me, I felt even worse. If I said something maybe something
worse would happen, and that too would be my fault. How could I tell you what he did to me?"
"What did he do?"
Jill
hesitated for effect. She hadn't intended to tell him, but now she thought confiding in him might help build the trust
she needed.
"I lied to you earlier, Richard. He didn't strike me, but he did . . . become physical. He grabbed my hair
. . . and he put his hand . . . he didn't choke me, but . . . I thought he was going to."
"And you apologize for asking me to help?" he said.
Jill was pleased with the way it was playing out.
"If I had told you earlier then you would have realized that I would believe your warning. You would not have had
to . . . bring me here."
126.
"What about the apology?"
"The apology?"
"Mic's.
That's what really scared me because he doesn't apologize. He did that just to make you think that there was nothing
to worry about. He was trying to lull you, put you off guard, so that he could . . . do whatever he wanted to do to
you. When I heard about it then I knew I had to do something quickly."
"Oh no," she gasped as the
horrible truth hit her. "Richard, he didn't. I mean there was no apology. I just thought that if you
thought that he had accepted the situation then there would be no more trouble between the two of you. I didn't want
that to go on."
He thought through the implications of her deception and came to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with Mic's intentions.
Mic was still Mic, and what he had said he had still said. The threat was real.
"I made you do this, didn't I?" she asked.
"It
doesn't matter. Listen, Jill if I had known about what he did to you that night---well, what he intends is as clear
to me as it has ever been. You just made me think that he was going to do it at any moment. If you only knew what
I know about him, then you'd understand why I did what I did."
"I can understand it intellectually,"
she said, "theoretically. But emotionally . . . it is a nightmare, one that does not go away when I awake."
Jill
decided that the new information hadn't changed the basic nature of her situation. Mic might be more dangerous than
she had imagined, although what she had imagined was bad enough, but her first priority was to get off the island and away
from Richard. She continued, hoping that she could sound convincing, and glad that she was speaking from inside the
tent so that he couldn't see her face.
"I want to believe you, Richard, which is crazy. If anyone has ever given me reason to distrust him it
is you."
"But
you trust me enough to tell me this."
"Yes.
Maybe that makes me as crazy as . . . "
"As me?" He laughed bitterly. "I
don't blame you for thinking that. I only wish it were true, that all of this is nothing more than my imagination."
"I do not think you are crazy."
127.
"But you think I'm wrong."
She
almost told him that she believed everything he was telling her, but decided that so complete a change would be suspicious.
"I
honestly do not know," she said. "Nothing seems certain anymore. Being here is . . . disorienting.
You have taken everything from me. This is a world that you have created, one you control. How can I know anything
for sure?"
"I didn't bring you here to brainwash you, Jill, only to keep you safe. That's the first thing you must understand.
Surely you can see that by now."
Jill shifted in the sleeping bag. She didn't want to overplay it. It was time to take a step back.
"What
you do not understand is that whatever you make me believe while we are here may not last. Everything could
seem different once we're back. No. That's not quite true. I know things now that I didn't know before.
We both do."
"The main thing is that we've got to figure out a way to make sure that you are safe once we're back."
"Which
brings us back to my question from earlier today. What is the second part of your plan?"
"I've got to find a
way to stay near enough to protect your from him. That will take your cooperation."
"Then we can leave soon?" she asked hopefully.
"We need to decide what to do when we get
back."
If he took her back, it didn't matter what he thought would happen. She would get away from him and then decide what
she should do. The first step was just to get off the island.
"We can decide that now," she said eagerly.
Richard realized something was wrong. It had gone too smoothly,
and much too quickly.
"We've said a lot today, Jill. Let's both sleep
on it. We each need to think everything through before we decide anything."
Somehow
she had aroused his suspicion. She was angry with herself, but determined to salvage as much as she could from her efforts.
"Yes," she said. "Neither
of us should rush to a decision."
128.
"It's good to see that you're not terrified anymore."
"I
have only learned to cope with this, Richard," she said, trying to strike the right balance. "I know you want
me to be okay, but I cannot be until you free me."
For a week it rained every day, keeping them in the cabin and dashing her hopes of an immediate departure. Then the
clouds rolled away. And nothing happened. Jill probed, trying to pin down a definite departure time but he put
her off, saying that the weather wasn't right. The continual frustration drove her to sullen silences punctuated by
sporadic attempts to nurture the rapprochement she had engineered. Richard was no happier. To him the
stay on Bonne Femme was like a tour of duty. He suspected it would come to an end without a satisfactory resolution
to the problem. They were more alike than either realized. They had confided, but each had held much back, he
for fear of what she would think of him, and she for fear that she would reinforce his delusion or fantasy. Too, they
were both plagued by second thoughts about what they had done.
Since finishing the paperbacks she had nowhere to lose
herself. There was too little to do and too much time to talk with nothing to say. Since revealing her fear of
Mic, she had put Richard off whenever he broached the subject of what to do about him, but her resolve was wavering.
Their relationship threatened to actually change despite her intent to only make him think that it had changed. The
illusion she had created seemed real. Jill reminded herself that she was still his captive, and that her only
goal was to escape.
