The Sea Taketh (Alex Singer) (26 page)

“Not at all,” he quickly says.

“You’re the one who pursues me and then when I kiss you, you pull away. I don’t understand, I thought you liked kissing me?”

“The problem is you do everything right.” He smiles as he sits up. “But as I’m the eldest, I have to be the responsible one.”

“I have homework to do anyway,” I quickly try to cover-up the hurt I feel.

Against my better judgment, I put myself out there and got burned. I take off the di
amond bracelet and put it on the bed as I stand up.

Christian attempts to stop me. “Alexandra, believe me when I say that I’ve never loved you more than I love you right now. Each moment thi
s love grows and it’s difficult…”

I shake my head as I go to the door.

“I understand.” I don’t say another word as I leave, disregarding his calls for me to return. I do understand. It’s very simple really. He says loves me, but actions really do speak louder than words.

Refer to Fact #11 – I must avoid the Danes.

*     *     *

A week later, I find myself at home ignoring my Calculus homework and thinking about the stressful happenings of the week. Photos of me are on the covers of all the major magazines, I am being hounded by paparazzi, and, most importantly, Christian has gone home. Marjory told
Gramps that it’s just for a couple days, but I know the truth. I’ve pushed him away with my insecurities.

             
Deep in thought, I glance at my open closet and groan. Boxes of fan mail fill it, and I just don’t have the energy to deal with them. I decide that I will have to talk to Colin about finding a company to take care of my mail.

             
The house is silent other than the hum of the furnace. Gramps has gone to eat dinner with Marjory. I was also invited, but I can’t face her at the moment. She’s heartbroken that Christian left, and I blame myself.

             
I decide to get back to my homework when I hear a sound coming from Gramps’ room.

             
Confused, I go to the door and call into the dark hallway, “Gramps, I didn’t know you would be home so soon.”

             
A man steps out of Gramps’ bedroom, but he isn’t Gramps. His red hair is thinning, and he is wearing a pair of grease-covered overalls over his plump body, but my attention is elsewhere. He’s holding a gun in my face.

             
“Alex Singer, I’m Philip Baskle, your new photographer,” he says in a gruff voice. “You’re going to make me the most famous man on earth.”

Fact #12 – P
hilip Baskle is a dangerous man.

Proof – The gun in my face!

*     *     *

             
“I asked you to model for me nicely in my letters,” my kidnapper says as he drives his dilapidated, white van. “You never answered. You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, but I showed you! You were difficult to catch, but I did it! I’m going to be someone! I’m going to be more famous than you ever were!”

             
I cry as I lay in the back of the van next to the hat he took from my head a week earlier and my notorious summer nightgown, which I had thrown away months before. It is apparent this man has been stalking me for an extended period of time. It is a horrifying thought.

My arms ache from being brutally tied behind me with rope. My ankles are also tied, but they’re so cold that I can’t feel them. I’m wearing a pair of pajamas, without socks, shoes, or a coat, and the van is freezing. A filthy rag serves as my gag. Fearful tears freely fall from my eyes. I wish I would have told Gramps and Christian about the van following me home! I made a crit
ical error in judgment.

             
“The photo shoot I’ve planned has never been done before,” Philip continues to rant. “I’m going to have you wear a bikini in the snow. It’s really going to blow everyone’s minds. Then I’m going to blow
your
brains out.”

He points the gun at me, making the sound of a gunshot with his mouth.

I flinch.

“It’s nothing personal.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I just want to be known as the last photographer to shoot you.” He chuckles morbidly.

              When the sun comes up, he pulls off the main road. I can tell because my body painfully bounces around the back of the van. He turns off the engine. I cringe and more tears run down my face as I hear footsteps walking around the van. The backdoor opens. Philip pulls out a cheap camera. He arrogantly hangs it from his neck as though he’s important. He puts a stained, orange bikini next to me before viciously cutting the rope from my wrists and ankles. The gag is left in my mouth.

             
“Change,” he says as he points the gun at me.

             
I don’t doubt that he will shoot me if I disobey, so I do as he orders. My body trembles with terror and cold as I take off my pajamas and put on the bikini. I am mortified as Philip watches me change, but the gun is much more frightening, so I try not to think about it. I go to take off my necklace from Christian when Philip shakes his head.

“I want them to be able to easily identify your body,” he says.

When I’m finished changing, he gestures to the beach with the gun. At the surf, he cuts the gag from my mouth, and pushes me into the snow.

“Keep your mouth shut! There’s no one for miles, and I just don’t want to hear any of your pampered princess whining! And don’t even think about trying to run away! I have a car, and you don’t!”

I look at the icy waves.

H
e laughs. “Don’t be stupid. You’d be dead in minutes.”

Fact # 13 – Drowning in the ocean isn’t the worst way to die.

Proof – Fire, knives, guns, bombs, poison, etc…

Philip barks orders at me, and I try my best to follow them. He pretends he’s a real ph
otographer as he aims his camera. He pushes the button, but nothing happens. He swears and puts down the gun to check the batteries and film.

             
I make a drastic decision. I will determine my own demise! While Philip’s distracted with his camera, I leap to my feet and dive into the freezing ocean. I feel a sting in my lower back and leg.  Full of adrenaline, I don’t stop swimming until I am a safe distance from the beach.

             
The water around me turns red, and I realize I have been shot. Philip swears and threatens me from the shore. When I ignore him, he gets in his van and drives away. Exhaustion forces me to float on my back while I wait for death. It’s just a matter of what will claim me first. Will I drown, freeze, or bleed to death, or will the sharks find me? Regardless, I am relieved to be away from Philip.

             
The cold numbs the pain and calms me. My thoughts are unexpectedly rational. I’m grateful to be leaving Gramps in the best possible situation. The money I earned in Europe should cover my funeral costs and give him a financial cushion. With me gone, his social security will go a lot farther.

Then my thoughts turn to Christian. I try to remember the way his eyes penetrate into mine and his song-like laughter. I try to imagine the way I feel when his long arms wrap around my waist and the feel of his skin against mine. I can accept death, this much I know is true. I dream of it each night, but I will regret one thing. I will regret not trying to make a relationship w
ith Christian work. Maybe if I hadn’t fought so much against him, we might have had a chance.

My eyelids become heavy
, and they close. My parents’ faces appear in my mind. We are swimming in the ocean together. We laugh and play in the waves, just like we did when I was a child.

“Come with us!” they say as they dive into the water.

I watch them disappear into the depths. I’m so tired, so very tired. I stop swimming, allowing my body to sink. I raise my hands above my head, and allow the ocean to swallow me. Then there is nothing but darkness.

10

Recovery

             
Beep.

             
Beep.

             
I try, but find I can’t open my eyes. My mind is cloudy and my body is numb. I want someone to turn off that alarm clock so I can sleep, but the beeping is unceasing.

             
Just as I think I’m alone, I hear someone speak as they walk into the room

“Any
change?” Christian asks. There is anxiety in his voice.

             
“They just gave her another round of antibiotics,” Gramps answers. He sounds very old for some reason. “It’s still a waiting game. At least surgery went well. I hope the antibiotics work. I don’t know how much more her body can take.”

             
My mind isn’t working well enough to discern what they’re talking about. I start slipping back into the darkness. Something warm takes hold of my hand before the darkness claims me.

*     *     *

My mouth is dry and my tongue is swollen. I laboriously swallow as I open my eyes. I find am in a hospital bed and hooked to several machines. I have an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth, and an IV is in my arm. I must be in Portland because I’m definitely not in Seaside’s little hospital. My large, state of the art room is filled with flowers, balloons, cards, and stuffed animals. Gramps is sitting on a chair next to my bed, praying.

             
“Can I have a drink of water?” I ask.

             
“Alex?” Gramps looks up from his prayer. Worry lines disappear when he sees my eyes. He takes my hand in his and kisses it. Picking up a glass, he lifts up my oxygen mask and puts a straw to my lips. I’m grateful for the cold water.

             
“What happened?” I question, the details escape me.

             
“They’re still trying to piece it all together,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

             
“My leg hurts.” I move the blanket before he can stop me. My leg is bandaged and very swollen. It all comes back to me: the red-headed Philip, the van, the gun shots, and the ocean. The fear and trauma return.

I rip off the oxygen mask and scream.

The door flies open and Christian rushes to my side. He puts his arms around me. “You’re safe.  We won’t let anything happen to you,” he says reassuringly.

             
“MAN…CRAZY…GUN…KILL…” I begin to hyperventilate.

             
Medical personnel pack into the room.

             
“Alexandra, you’re safe,” Christian says as he kisses my forehead. His touch is reassuring. “You must calm down, so you don’t hurt yourself.”

             
My screams turn into hysterical sobs. I hold Christian as tightly as I can.

             
The nurses and doctors check the monitors as I cry uncontrollably.

             
“Alex, I am going to give you with an anti-anxiety medication,” a doctor says to me. “You’ve been very ill, and your body needs to rest.”

             
“That is a good idea, Dr. Holms,” Gramps says, stroking my head.

             
The doctor puts a needle into the IV tube on my arm. I feel the medicine warm my veins as it snakes its way through my body. Soon my sobs turn to desperate whimpers.

             
“We are not going to let anything happen to you,” Christian reassures me, caressing my tear-streaked face with his gloved hand.

             
Logic tells me that I’m safe, but I can’t get the redheaded man’s face out of my mind. “He w-wants to kill me,” I say.

             
“Did you know him?” Gramps asks.

             
I keep my eyes wide open, so I know that I’m with Christian and Gramps.

“No, h
-he said he wrote me letters. His name was Philip. I t-think he chased me before.”

             
“The night we ate pizza,” Christian says. There is no need confirm this, he knows it’s true.