Wet: Part 1 (24 page)

Paul stepped closer. His jaw set and his cheek twitched. It took him several seconds to say anything, trying not to just jump in and kill the sleazebag. “I’ll take her from here.”

Mario let out a loud breath. “I’m getting tired of everyone trying to keep me and my new girlfriend apart. Step out of the way.”

Paul hated seeing her in his arms. The fact she was unconscious made him cringe. It took every bit of his might to not lose control. “Rohypnol?”

Suddenly, Mario’s smug demeanor cracked, but before he could decide on his next move, Rhees stirred.

“I’m sick,” Rhees mumbled. Her mouth opened and brown, cola-colored vomit spilled from her mouth and ran down Mario’s tight grey shirt. Mario watched as if it all happened in slow motion.

“You bitch!” he yelled, staring at the vomit, not wanting to touch it but feeling desperate to get it off of him. He threw Rhees down. Paul lunged to catch her but only made it in time to break her fall. He checked her over quickly, then jumped up and flew at Mario in a vicious attack.

Paul was taller but Mario’s bulk and weight should have given him the advantage—it would have if it weren’t for Paul’s lack of reserve—he never did anything halfway. Athletic and agile, Paul never missed his target, while Mario rarely made contact with his swings. It didn’t take long for the fight to go from two men duking it out to Mario just trying to protect himself.

Rhees stirred again and Tracy helped her sit up in case she vomited again. Regina came to her senses and crawled to the fight in time to scream for Paul to stop beating Mario before someone called the police, but he relentlessly hammered away on the man’s face.

Rhees looked up to see Paul thrashing against Mario, and all she could think about was Paul nearly killing the hobo from Taylor’s story. Images of Paul sitting in a foreign prison for murder flashed through her hazy mind.

“Paul,” she begged. “Pleease . . . nooo.”

Her plea snapped Paul from his rage. He let one last punch fall before reluctantly dragging himself away from his original intent—to make sure this man never touched Rhees or took another breath again. He crawled over to her, pulled her into his lap, and brushed the hair away from her face. He gently wiped the vomit off her chin with his thumb and wiped it on his jeans. She was only barely awake.

“No prison . . . don’t kill . . . please . . .” Her consciousness faded.

Paul noticed Mario stirring. “There’s a ferry at six o’clock tomorrow morning. If I see you one second after it leaves, I’m going to the police,” Paul said.

Mario pulled himself up and ran as fast as a thoroughly beaten man could run.

Paul sat and rested his chin on the top of Rhees’ head. He closed his eyes and thought about how he should have been there sooner, about how none of it would have happened if he’d been on the ferry like he’d said he would be.

That damned roadblock! He’d sat for hours, waiting helplessly in the taxi. He thought of all the valuable time he’d spent running up and down the pier on the mainland, looking for someone with a boat, someone willing to cross the channel in the dark. Too many turned him down in spite of the two twenty-dollar bills he offered. It was all the cash he had left, but in their economy, it was equivalent to offering four hundred; yet they still wouldn’t risk it in their small fishing boats. Most of all, he thought about how relieved he was that he hadn’t been a second later.

He finally stood, with Rhees in his arms. Tracy and Regina had been sitting silently next to him and followed his lead.

“I’m taking her to the shop. I think we’ll stay on the deck tonight. She’s going to need the fresh air.”

“That’s a good idea,” Tracy said.

“Is there anything we can do?” Regina asked.

“Go find the doctor, Regina. The back of your head is still bleeding. Are you feeling okay? You may have a concussion.”

“I’m all right . . .”

“Reggie, go find the doctor, please. Get your head looked at. Ask him if there’s anything we need to do for someone who’s been given Rohypnol. Okay?”

“Okay,” she conceded.

“Grab the keys from my pocket. If you could swing by my place first, and get us some clean clothes—just grab anything you can find. Rhees is a mess . . . me too.” Regina didn’t hesitate to reach into his pocket and fish around more than was necessary.

“Really, Reggie? Now?”

Regina refused to be sorry. It was probably the closest she would ever get to that part of him. She finally pulled the keys out. “Oh, here they are. Your
pockets
are bigger than I imagin—realized.”

oOo

Tracy and Regina returned with a couple of Paul’s T-shirts and shorts. He held Rhees while they rinsed her off in the shower on the deck. The girls changed her into the fresh clothes while Paul showered himself and changed his own. He pulled out the new mat he recently purchased. He’d written words on it with a permanent marker: PAUL’S MAT—YOU TOUCH, YOU DIE!

He’d only bought it because of Rhees’ aversion to germs. She thought the old mats were full of them and wouldn’t use them, preferring to sit on the wooden planks than risk the germs killing her—or whatever she thought they were going to do. It took some convincing that he didn’t mind if she used it, but he didn’t give anyone else permission. He rolled it out next to the edge of the deck, near the water. Once they cleaned her up, he put Rhees on the mat and reminded Regina to go find the doctor.

oOo

“Paul! We just heard something horrible!” Tracy and Regina came running onto the deck yelling.

“Shh . . . Rhees is sleeping. What is it?” Paul had been sitting, leaning against the gazebo, watching Rhees sleep—going over the last few hours in his mind, as if hashing it out over and over would make a difference.

He knew there were no do-overs. He’d accepted that fact long ago, but knowing didn’t help when he wanted it so badly—just this once, since he wanted it for someone else. It would be for Rhees, the most decent person he’d ever known.

“We were on our way back from the doctor’s house to check on you guys, and everyone on the street is talking about what happened. They’re saying that Mario is planning to get revenge. He has friends! They’re coming for you. They said he wants to ‘Make you and your bitch pay’.” Tracy danced around, nearly hysterical.

Paul’s cheek twitched again. “You still have my keys. Unlock the office and call Constable Worley. Tell him everything. Keep the lights off . . . in case we’re being watched.”

Chapter 23

P
aul lay on the deck, holding Rhees in his arms. The sun’s rays had only just begun lighting the sky but she didn’t stir. The doctor told Tracy and Regina that she should be fine once the drug wore off, but it might take a while and she would sleep a lot. They should expect some confusion and memory loss over the next few days. Paul was relieved to know she’d be okay and even more relieved to know the plan he and the constable had come up with had worked.

Mario and his friends had come to the shop intent on hurting him, or worse. They’d made their way to the end of the dock and found Rhees and Paul asleep on their mat. The men had jumped Paul and started beating him and his girlfriend, only to find that it was really Paul and a female, military-trained soldier, both capable of fighting back until Worley and the other military policemen came out of hiding. It was all the proof the constable needed to arrest Mario and his friends and send them to the mainland to await trial.

Rhees moaned, and Paul held her over the edge so she could vomit into the water, again, but there was nothing left to vomit. She heaved, and he wondered how much longer it would be before she would finally be spared the torture to her system.

oOo

Claire showed up early with her husband, knowing Paul’s schedule board would be worthless for most of the morning and he’d need help. Paul had called Dobbs and Mitch to explain what’d happened. He left Rhees to sleep on the mat on the west side of the gazebo, closest to the water and removed from where the morning diving commotion would take place.

“Do you really want to leave her on the deck? I’m not sure she’d like being gawked at,” Claire said.

“Where else can I put her? All the rooms here at the shop are small and stuffy. She needs air.”

“Our flats are right across the street. Your bed is closest.”

“I’m not putting her in my bed.”

Claire did a double take, not understanding his reasoning.

“I can’t keep an eye on her over there. I don’t want her out of my sight.” He seemed to consider what to do next but then he made Claire jump when he announced, “Listen up!”

All the morning divers gathered round, wondering why Paul called a meeting.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard some form or other of what happened last night. I’ll explain it later when more people are here. It’ll be best not to have any misinformation floating around out there, but for the time being, Rhees is asleep on the other side of the gazebo. Stay on this side. Leave her alone, let her sleep. Understand?”

The look on his face left no question. They did understand—bother her and face his wrath. He turned to Claire with a questioning expression on his face as everyone dispersed.

“Yep. That ought to take care of that little concern,” she answered.

Paul stood guard over Rhees all day. When the sun came up, he found a tarp and thoughtfully made an awning to give her shade. All the doting and care didn’t go unnoticed by Claire. She’d speculated about his feelings for Rhees before, but now she was no longer confused.

Paul received word that day that his order, the new addition to the shop’s family, was finished. Claire had been nagging him that it was time to buy the new boat he’d been saying he wanted to buy someday. The guest bookings at the shop since Rhees started her Internet marketing plan were steadily improving, and Claire received an inquiry about booking a large singles group over the Fourth of July. She really wanted to book that group, and she’d become relentless pestering him about it. 

Paul finally bit the bullet a few weeks before and ordered a brand new, state-of-the-art dive boat, and now it was on its way. Rhees’ condition, however, kept him from feeling the pleasure the announcement should have given him. The happy news was lost in his worry over her.

Rhees would have been as excited as he should feel about the new toy, and he would have taken her out to celebrate, but instead, she lay drugged out of her mind because some degenerate scumbag wanted to rob her of her virginity.

Rhees finally opened her eyes about two thirty that afternoon. She stared up at the tarp, wondering where she was . . . and how she got there.

Paul sat, leaning against the gazebo, his laptop on his lap, his feet affectionately entwined with hers. He finally noticed her awake.

“You need to drink some water.” In one fluid move, he put his laptop down and sat, holding her in an upright position, offering her water from one of the bottles he had waiting.

She swatted the bottle away and looked around, still too confused to drink.

“Please drink.” He poured a sip of water into her mouth and she swallowed twice before pushing the bottle and him away again. “How do you feel?”

“What am I doing here?” She ignored his question.

“What do you remember?”

“I’m sick.”

“Are you going to throw up again?” He sighed.

She shook her head.

“Good. I’m really trying to handle that part of all this, but it hasn’t been easy.” He watched her carefully, trying to read her needs. “What do you remember about last night?”

It took a minute for her to respond. “You were with Shelli. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go meet you or not.”

“Shelli? I wasn’t with Shelli.” Rhees was out again.

oOo

She opened her eyes again after ten that night. It was dark. Paul watched her over his laptop as she stirred. He hadn’t left her side since he closed shop. 

“How do you feel?”

She didn’t answer.

“I know you’re going to want to know what happened last night, but I think it would be better to know what you remember first.”

“I have a headache.”

“That’s normal. What about nausea? Do you remember anything?”

Rhees tried to sit up. “Oooh,” she moaned.

He put his laptop down and moved closer to help. He pulled her into him so she could lean her head against his chest.

“Nauseous. I don’t remember . . . I . . . I waited for you at Tanked.” She paused, concentrating hard. “Some creepy guy came, and . . . he wouldn’t leave me alone . . . I just wanted him to leave me alone. I waited for you and Shelli.”

“I wasn’t with Shelli. Why do you think I was?”

She looked up at him. “Ulla and . . . they said you took her with you to the mainland. They hadn’t seen her since you left. Her new boyfriend said they fought—about you. Shelli told him you’d invited her to the mainland with you. He thought she’d gone. . . to be with you.”

“She wasn’t.” Paul didn’t understand what Shelli had to do with anything. “Rhees, I wasn’t with Shelli. I promised you a dance. I busted my ass trying to get back to the island on time. I knew I’d asked you to wait for me, and I tried to get back.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did . . . No. You’re right, I was late. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, thinking how different things might have been if his taxi hadn’t run into the roadblock that turned the only road to the ferry into a parking lot for hours.

“I missed the ferry and spent what seemed an eternity trying to find someone with a boat willing to cross the channel in the dark.” The memory stirred up the same frustration he’d felt last night. “I finally found an old fisherman who decided the money I offered outweighed the risk. Do you remember anything else?”

“The creepazoid kept offering me drinks.”

“Creepazoid?” Paul couldn’t help his smile.

“I didn’t want a drink. I wanted to have my faculties about me when you showed up with . . .” She paused and looked at him again, as if realizing she should tread lightly on the subject of Shelli. “I had a Coke Light, hoping to get rid of him. You never showed up.”

Paul closed his eyes and exhaled, thinking, wishing he’d been there. “I’m sorry. Rhees. I tried to get back. I wish I would have made it back sooner.”

“I felt sick. That’s all I remember.”

Paul nodded in understanding. “You should drink some water. It’ll help you rinse that shit out of your system.”

“What shit?”

“That
creepazoid,
as you called him, gave you Rohpynol—a date-rape drug.”

“No. They put that in alcohol. I didn’t have alcohol. I only had a diet Coke.”

“He must have put it in your Coke.”

“But I didn’t know they could do that—” She let out a little whimper which melted his heart as he felt it sinking in for her. “They put that in alcohol—I only had a Coke. I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I,” he said. “I’ve been reading about it while you’ve been asleep. It’ll dissolve—even in water. It’s tasteless, odorless. You couldn’t have known. He preyed on you—your empathy. You can’t be mean to anyone—unless they really piss you off.” Paul chuckled, remembering how feisty she could be when pushed too far.

She let out another sob, bringing him back to the current problem.

“Shhh.” Paul squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head. “It’s not your fault. You only see the good in people. You didn’t see it coming.”

“I didn’t think
he
was a good person, I didn’t like him, but I still had no idea. I’m so stupid.” She stopped crying, abruptly turning to gauge Paul’s facial expression, wearing frightened uncertainty on hers. “What happened?”

“He tried to take you out of the bar,” Paul said, but he sensed what she feared and hurried to assure her. “But Regina wouldn’t let him. Thank goodness!”

The thought of Mario coming so close—the thought of Rhees being taken that way—Paul had been beating himself up, unable to forgive himself for being late. The thought of . . . if he’d been any later . . .

“Regina warned me about this—she was right.” Rhees’ voice sounded as if she was barely able to hold it together.

“It’s
not
your fault!”

Rhees shook her head, and he wondered how she could blame herself.

“I am
so
sorry.” Paul tightened his hold and felt her trembling. “I shouldn’t have been late.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

oOo

The second morning after the Mario incident, Rhees hadn’t moved far from the mat on the deck. She slept most of the time but Paul remained faithfully at her side, anticipating her every need. He tried to get her to eat, but she couldn’t manage more than a bite. He persisted with the water, but she grew annoyed with him for pestering her about it.

“Worley needs to question you.” Paul looked concerned. “Are you up for that?”

“I can’t remember anything. I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“I’m sure it’s just procedure. He said he’d come by after the shop closes, okay?”

oOo

Rhees had no control over her body—the nervousness, the jitters, jumping at the slightest sound. She wasn’t just sad—she was depressed and disenchanted with life. She felt embarrassed, positive that any other girl would have known better. She just knew the girls at the shop were all judging her, but Paul insisted everyone seemed genuinely concerned—almost everyone. 

Krista and Dorene had sincerely apologized to Rhees for not helping her that night and they tried to convince Ulla to apologize as well. Not only did Ulla refuse, but she said Rhees deserved worse—that if it wasn’t for Rhees, Shelli wouldn’t have left the shop.

Paul overheard her tirade and promptly urged Ulla to move on, go to another shop—or better yet, another island. She followed his advice.

Rhees didn’t move much all day, still nauseated, tired, and confused. She slept a lot. When she wasn’t asleep, she lay on the edge of the deck and stared at the water below. She enjoyed the breeze off the ocean, the only comfort she found.

Paul kept saying he could tell she’d prefer to be left alone, but he continued attending to her.  She tolerated him rather patiently. Her compassionate sensibilities wouldn’t allow her to tell him where to go, and when all was said and done, she’d be lost without him. He’d become the only thing that made sense in her suddenly crazy reality.

oOo

Worley, a white man descended from pirates, pulled up one of the deck chairs and sat while Rhees and Paul stayed on the mat. Paul sat next to her.

“I know, based on the nature of the drug, you prob’ly don’t remember much, but I have ta ask, what do you remember ‘bout the other night?” Either his island accent wasn’t as thick and hard to understand as most of the locals, or Rhees was finally starting to understand it more easily.  

Rhees nodded, confirming Worley’s conclusion. She looked at Paul and could tell his smile was a poor attempt to mask his concern. She recited the same memories she’d told Paul about the incident.

“Well, I think we have enough ta go by from Paul an’ Regina’s accounts ta put this guy away. Plus . . .” Worley studied Paul’s face carefully. “Some boys, they was playin’ in the jungle. ‘Parently, they’ve built a li’l fort. They were on their way ta it when they stumbled upon a woman. They thought she was dead an’ ran ta get their parents. We found her . . . when was da last time you saw Shelli?”

“Shelli again,” Paul muttered but then he realized why Worley asked. The woman in the jungle . . . his heart skipped a few beats. “Shell? She’s . . . dead?”

“No. She’s been beaten pretty good though. It’s lucky she was found when she was. We sent her ta the hospital on the mainland. I heard you two had a his’try. Didn’t end well.”

“You think
I
beat her up?”

“Nah. Doc says, lookin’ at her bruises, she was beat Friday night or Saturday mornin’.  You didn’t get back till late Saturday night. You know who’d be wantin’ ta hurt her?”

Paul thought for a minute and then looked down at Rhees, remembering the things she’d rambled on about Shelli before she was lucid. He closed his eyes and licked his lips a few times, his mouth puckered and unpuckered. He let out a loud sigh, just now putting it all together.

“Apparently, her new
boyfriend
told everyone they broke up. He spread the word, said he thought she’d gone to the mainland—with me. I haven’t seen Shell for days. The last time I did, guess who she snuggled up to, all cozy, at Tanked?—Mario hurt Shell.”

Paul couldn’t stand the thought of what Mario had had in mind for Rhees. He stared at the floor in front of him. His breathing grew shallow—louder as he struggled to control his temper. He felt an intense need to slam his fist into something—Mario’s face would be perfect again—he wished he’d finished the job when he had the scumbag all but incapacitated.
Just a few more blows and—

“Paul, don’t.” Rhees’ face was right in front of his. He didn’t know how he’d missed her moving in so close.

“Don’t what?” He felt disoriented.

“I know that face. It’s the one I imagine, over and over, the one you wore when you beat the hobo to within an inch of his life. Please don’t think that way.”

Paul took a deep breath, wanting to appease her. He turned to Worley. “The man’s an even bigger monster than we thought.”

“Good thing we have him then. As soon as Shelli wakes up an’ tells us her story, we’ll confirm all that. He won’t be tastin’ freedom for a while.” 

Worley left Paul and Rhees alone on the deck.

“What do you want to do?” Paul took her hand in his. “Do you want to go back to your place?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I could walk that far.”

“I’ll call Ignacio. You shouldn’t walk in your condition.”

She thought about it for a minute but shook her head. “Can I just stay here again tonight? I really like the ocean breeze. The shop’s deck has the best breeze on the island, and my apartment—”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s peaceful here when everyone’s gone for the day. I sleep here sometimes, on the rare occasion I find myself—” He caught himself, wished he hadn’t started to say it. “Alone for the night.”