I glance over and see that Damir’s fast asleep. There’s a knife in his bedside table drawer. I push the blanket back and creep noiselessly around to his side. The drawer squeaks slightly, and I wince as I take the knife out. If he catches me now, he’ll kill me.
I stand over him, holding the weapon in my fist. The soft moonlight glows on his cheekbone and softens his lower lip. Sleep has given him the vulnerability of a child. It’s hard to believe, looking at him now, that he’s capable of all the things he’s done. The easiest way to do it would be to slip the knife up under his ribs and straight into his heart. He probably wouldn’t cry out. He might not even wake up.
But I can’t do what he would do. I can’t kill what I love.
I put the knife back, pull on a hooded sweatshirt and tiptoe out of the bedroom. We’re too far offshore for me to swim for it, so I’m going to need a boat. I slip through the darkness to where the speedboat is bobbing alongside. It’s tempting to take it, but the engine will wake people up. Also, I have no idea how to start or steer the damn thing. Though I have an idea about how to disable it.
I creep back to where Damir and I usually have breakfast and find what I’m looking for. The sugar bowl standing on a side table. The one we’ve been using every morning as we drink our coffee together. I swipe it up, pushing away everything except the job right in front of me, otherwise I’m not going to make it through tonight.
With the sugar bowl in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, I clamber down the rope ladder and into the speedboat. I unscrew the lid to the fuel tank and tip in the sugar cubes. I have no idea if this is going to work or not, but I’ve heard sugar in the fuel tank ruins an engine.
All right. Now the life rafts.
I climb back up to the main deck, and as I’m lifting a leg over the railing, the metal sugar bowl tumbles out of my pocket and clatters over the deck.
I gasp in horror. I should have thrown it into the ocean. I freeze, half over the railing, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. There’s only the breaking of waves against the side of the yacht. All the same, terror slices through me and I dive for where the life raft capsules are stacked and start heaving them overboard. Just before I throw the last one, it occurs to me that I should probably read the instructions while I still have light enough to see.
I heft one in my arms and start to read. Tie it to the deck, yank the cord, blah blah… It would be a hell of a lot easier with two people, but I just have to do it by myself.
I buckle on a life vest and go to the railing. The water below is almost pitch black. I climb down the ladder, and then let go.
I plunge into cold water and I’m submerged up over my head. As I break the surface, gasping, I see a shape bobbing in the water and swim over to it. Turning the capsule in the water, I find the rope, hold it firmly with both hands, and pull with all my might. There’s a popping sound, and the raft inflates noisily and so rapidly that it smacks me in the face and pushes me under again.
As I break the surface, I swallow some seawater and cough. At this rate I’m going wake the whole damn yacht. Without a second thought, I grab the side of the life raft and haul myself into it. I scrabble around for the oars, pull them from their Velcro fastenings, screw them together, and plunge them into the water.
I used a rowing machine at the gym once. This has got to be something like that, right? I lean forward, angling the oars back, and then move them down and pull. My arms burn, and the raft doesn’t seem to move. Panic surges through me. I’m a sitting duck. As I struggle to get the movements right, I keep my eyes fastened on the yacht, searching for lights going on or figures on the deck. I don’t think I move the raft an inch. Leaning forward, I try again, dragging the oars through the water.
Beside my little craft, the floating life raft canisters clunk together. I can’t leave them there. They might not float away by morning, and Damir and the others will have a way of getting ashore. Suppressing a groan, I get back into the water and tie them to the life raft.
Back in the bobbing boat, I drag again and again on the oars, hysteria rising because I’m trying to escape this yacht and I’m going nowhere. It’s like a bad dream.
When I next look up I wonder, has the yacht receded just a little? And now a little more? I’m two lengths of a man’s body away from the side of the ship. Now three. Now five. I give a groan of relief and keep rowing, searching the black windows and deck lights for signs of movement. I need to row straight back from the yacht. That’s where land lies, I think. I now realize that I was such a hurry to get away that I have no compass, no water, no food. If the sun comes up and I’m floating in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight, I’m probably dead.
I can’t go back. There’s nothing I can do but keep rowing, and hope. Boris said it was just three miles. I can walk that in London in just over an hour. A boat is surely faster. Every now and then I turn around to peer over my shoulder, searching for telltale lights that mean I’m heading in the right direction.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
And then, what feels like hours later—yes! I nearly drop the oars in excitement. A few twinkling lights on the horizon. They seem worryingly far away, but they anchor me in the darkness.
Arms aching, I row and row, setting a steady rhythm in time with my hard breathing. I turn around and peer over my shoulder. The lights are getting closer for sure. Also, I can hear waves, as if they’re breaking on a beach. Excited, I strain against the plunging waves. I feel like a current is dragging me sideways and I fight against it with everything I have, determined not to slip around what’s probably an island by mistake.
As I draw closer to land the waves suddenly get choppier. I’m fighting with every ounce of energy in my muscles not only to stay on course, but to keep the little raft upright. On the open water the swell didn’t matter so much, but now that the waves have a reef or rocks to break against I’m being tossed about like crazy. Water slaps into me, soaking and blinding me.
A huge wave hits me from the side, and I’m thrown out of the boat. It capsizes on top of me and the oars are wrenched out of my hands. Panicking, I struggle to work out which way is up in the darkness, my lungs straining and feet kicking. There’s no up, no down, no bottom, no surface. Despite my life vest I can’t break the surface. Then another swell hits me. I slam into a rock, and everything goes black.
“Bethany. Bethany, wake up.”
Someone is leaning over me. Hands are holding my wrists. A large, strong someone with a familiar deep voice. I whimper, crying without tears, too exhausted for anything but my shuddering breaths. “Please don’t hurt me. I had to get away. I had to…”
Up until now he’s been playing with me, but he’s really going to punish me now. I’ll be locked up below deck for the rest of my life. I won’t say sorry. I had to do what’s right.
“Bethany.” A growl of frustration, and then he speaks over his shoulder. “Get her some water. Here, Bethany, drink this.”
I push the bottle away. “No, I don’t want it. If you’re going to punish me, then just let me die.” Loving him hurts too damn much.
“For heaven’s sake! Do as you’re told, Bethany. Ljubica, help me with her.”