He’d smiled and waved. Behind her she heard Tom laugh, and she gave up the screaming, tried to remember just how many acres he’d said surrounded this nightmare of a house. Enough that no one would hear her, that was obvious.
Brad strolled onto the dock, hands nestled cozily inside coat pockets, and pretended to shiver. He cupped a hand to his mouth. “Chilly, isn’t it?”
Jessie gave him the bird, but it was half-hearted at best. She was scared, and cold, and wanted to go home. Wanted to be warm and safe.
While she’d been sitting there, helpless, she’d let her thoughts circle and circle, desperately trying to figure out some way out of this mess.
Finally, sick of being half-frozen and doing nothing, she figures she’ll try another shore. Maybe the ATV will hit a rut and flip over, and Tom will break his neck. Maybe it’ll run out of gas. Maybe Brad will have a fucking heart attack or be struck by lightning—whatever, she had to try something otherwise she’d just be sitting in this boat waiting for a miracle, one that most likely wasn’t coming.
After rolling her shoulders a few times, she grips the oars and dumps the paddled ends in the water. Starting with the right, she turns the boat until the bow is aimed toward a point along the shore about halfway between Brad and Tom’s positions. Hoping to catch them somewhat off guard, she throws herself into the oars and breaks for land.
From the corner of her eye, she sees Brad wave frantically toward Tom, then jog off the dock and along the shoreline. She turns to the right to see Tom already on the ATV, starting the engine (which doesn’t even sputter). She hears it rev louder and the headlight pops to life, already moving toward her destination, smooth and easy-like.
A good distance from the shore she stops, breathing heavy.
Well, at least I’m warm again.
Tom is already waiting at the shoreline, the ATV’s headlight facing her, a cycloptic monster from the woods.
Jessie once more sets the oars on the boat’s chipped wooden rails, puts her face into her hands, and cries.
THE NIGHT CONTINUES TO PASS without event, or progress.
Jessie, cramped from sitting on the hard bench, does her best to stretch out her legs, her back. She spends hours shivering in the cold, hugging her knees to her chest in a vain effort to steal her own body’s warmth.
Brad and Tom, it seems, have worked out a system to get some rest while also keeping her afloat, and trapped.
After their little stalemate had gone another hour or so, Brad went to the house and started up the other ATV, drove it down near the dock. Great, now they both have one, she’d thought, furiously pushing the fog of exhaustion away so she could come up with a plan. Now that they both had their motorized toys, Brad would lay out on the dock, supposedly shutting his eyes for a power nap—while Tom continued to monitor Jessie from whatever part of the shore her little boat had floated closest to.
It’s during one of these times that Tom decides to strike up a conversation. “Wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says, as the late night tilts into early morning. “You and Blake, I mean. You guys are really making this hard.”
“Geez, Tom, I’m so sorry we inconvenienced you,” she yells back, seething. “I’m sure Blake would apologize but, you know, you murdered her and all, you sick fuck.”
Tom nods, as if in agreement. “Yeah, what a mess.”
Bored despite herself, Jessie wonders just what the hell is going on. Given the shock of all that’s happened, she’s only now able to find the mental capacity to wonder what—what exactly—these two men are hoping will happen.
And an even worse thought: how many times have they done this?
“So … what?” she says. “You and Brad coerce college girls up here, pretending to be their friends, then drug them, rape them, kill them? Is that pretty much the deal?”
Tom laughs from the shore, kicks at the dirt, as if embarrassed.
“Seems that simple, doesn’t it?”
Simple?
“But no … no. You got it all wrong. We don’t … well, I don’t, anyway … you know, touch the girls.”
“Well bully for you,” Jessie says, part of her trying to figure out just what the hell he’s talking about. Don’t touch the girls? “You’re more the murdering type, I guess.”
Tom nods again, as if reflecting on the idea. “Yeah, you could say that. I dunno … it’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is,” Jessie mumbles, feeling suddenly more tired than she’s ever felt in her life. She refuses to cry again, refuses to give either of them the satisfaction.
“You can’t stay out there forever, you know,” Tom says. “We weren’t pulling your leg about a deal. I mean, look, you’ve got us by the balls here, Jessie. We just want this to be over.”
She’s too tired, too scared, to have further conversation. She huddles into herself, and waits.
HAZY PINK DAYLIGHT BREAKS OVER the trees.
Jessie’s skin is wet with dew, her legs and arms dimpled with cold. Her teeth chatter as she hugs herself, praying for the sun to rise already and warm the air. Her ankle, now that she can see it more clearly, is swollen and discolored, but she doesn’t think it’s broken.
Her captors took turns napping over what remained of the night and are now taking coffee together on the house’s patio, engaged in light conversation, their eyes never leaving the lake. Both ATVs rest nearby. Just in case.
As if they’re daring me.
Brad sees Jessie watching him and hoists his cup in mock salute. Tom’s tired laughter ripples in the air of the new day, tainting it.
Brad yells, “Want some?”
Having expelled what remained of the cheeseburger and chips she’d had the evening before, Jessie’s stomach grumbles with hunger. Her mouth is pasty, her lips dry. Leaning over the side of the boat, she lowers a hand into the lake and scoops the fresh, ice-cold water into her mouth, splashes some across her face. Forcing herself to stay alert, she does some basic arm and back stretches; doing whatever she can to stay loose, to stay ready, in case an opening for escape miraculously appears.
As the day wears on, however, no such window opens.
