Wanted (21 page)

I would give them a minute to work it out for themselves before telling Yuri myself I had no desire to say anything to law enforcement. Hopefully, that would clear everything up and there would be no ill will between us. With any luck, Charlie wouldn’t lose any of his friends as a result of my poor judgment. I would go back to life as I knew it. We would remain in one piece.

The concept brought back the complications my feelings for Charlie carried. By protecting Charlie from the law, I was also protecting his friends, which I didn’t know if I should necessarily do. My mind evoked the nameless truck driver Wallace had killed to save money and the family he might have left behind. I knew Ben and Charlie were killers. Polo incapable, but Yuri and Reid were violent…so what were my responsibilities here? If I didn’t say anything to the police when the time came, then any deaths or injuries that occurred after this because of these guys would also be partially my fault. Still, the briefest image of Charlie spending twenty or so years behind bars on my account made me nauseous.

I could see it all very clearly—if the police caught one of them, Charlie would turn himself in. He would never let any of them go to prison for him. I could only hope that any of them would do the same, though I didn’t know any of them well enough to know if they would sacrifice for him.

So what was I going to do?

I waited a few minutes, looking through large cans of vegetables, running my thumbnail over the ripple of the tin cans. The last thing I wanted to do was drive any sort of wedge between Charlie and his friends. Given the way they interacted together, it seemed as though they had not only worked together for a long time, but had endured one of those long-term friendships that was only made better over the years. I had seen Robbie come home from his deployment with a few friendships like that, and he seemed like a better man for it. If Charlie was endangering his relationship with his friends even a little bit because of me, then I didn’t want to be a part of that.

“Hey Addie, there you are!” Polo bounced into the storage area, practically at a gallop.

“Hi, Polo.” I hoped he wouldn’t catch my sad smile. “What are the boys up to?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yuri is all up in a tear about something. He got Charlie in it too for a minute, but I think it’s okay now that Ben broke it up.”

“Polo, what exactly was the fighting about?”

Polo tapped his head, struggling to remember. “Um, something about what we’d do when we got to port and ah, ah…Yuri said Charlie needed to get his head straightened.”

I held my hand out to keep him from anything more. “Okay, Polo, I think I’ve got it. Um—when are we supposed to get to Singapore?” I tried not to sound too obvious. “Is everything on schedule, I mean?” I twisted my thumbs around themselves anxiously; I no longer knew what I wanted the answer to be. More time on the ship meant more time with Charlie, but it also meant more time that I kept Dad and Robbie worrying.

“Oh, um, we should get there, like, the day after tomorrow, I think.”

Only two more days?

I only had two full days left with Charlie. It seemed unbearably unfair.

I swallowed my feelings and headed back to the kitchen. “Is Charlie still in the galley?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Ben told Yuri to take a walk, though. So we get first dibs on sandwiches.”

I pretended to be enthusiastic. “That’s really good, Polo…really great.”

Charlie was no longer sitting with the same light composure I had come across when I first walked into the galley. Instead, he was bent over his chair, his neck craning to see the floor as though there were something intensely wonderful only he could see. He was frowning now and it pained me to see it. I walked over to him quietly while he wrung his hands together—trying to shake something out.

“Hi there.” I sat in his lap, leaning back while he caught me in his arms. His face lightened up considerably while I reclined back and pretended to swoon. “What’s with all of the drama?” My overdrawn southern imitation managed to make him smile just a little.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.” His voice was quiet, bordering on anxious.

I straightened myself up and wrestled his nose between my index and middle finger. It was a lame but effective enough interrogation technique that was applied often enough on Robbie and me when we tried to cover up a misdeed.

“You better get talking, sir.” I did the best imitation of an authority figure I could manage.

He flinched and pulled himself away. “You vicious little thing. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

I pulled him closer by the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t change the subject. Is everything okay?”

He sighed and wallowed in the crook of my neck. Maybe I should have harped him further about what was going on, but I couldn’t pull him away from me—he simply felt too good. Slowly, he began to kiss the base of my collarbone, the lobe of my ear, and I felt myself slipping away.

“I like this spot,” he whispered in my ear. “I think it might be my favorite.”

My legs quivered against his and clenched at his waist. If he was trying to distract me it was working much too well.

“You don’t play fair.” I tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a labored breath.

“Hey!” He pulled away abruptly. “I was gonna do some work with the container gear. You feel like helpin’ a guy out?”

I bit my lip and simulated consideration. “Well, I’d have to check my schedule, but I think after my spa treatment I might have some time.”

As we laughed, black smoke began wafting from the stove to the remainder of the galley in heavy tufts and a major stench.

“Oh man! Oh man!” Polo grabbed a towel and hopped up on the counter to begin waving at the smoke detector.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “This happens all the time.”

I nodded in agreement, thinking of home. “I completely understand.”

Although the work was mundane, it felt good to stretch out in the sun and kick off my sandals. Charlie had assigned me the task of staining some old antenna holders that had just been rid of their rust, and I was more than happy to be of any kind of use. The waves below were particularly forceful today, throwing themselves against the side of the ship loudly enough to even drown out the noise of power washing. I held on to the side of the deck and looked over into the ocean—it seemed more menacing today than it had in the days before.

Charlie came to stand beside me. “It’ll storm later.”

It was worrisome the way he repeated himself. He was distracted enough to stare out beyond the long waves, and I could see that cumbersome weight on his shoulders again.

“That should be fun. I like the rain.”

He glanced over his shoulder. I saw his brow crease. “Depends on the kind of storm. Could put us ’hind schedule if it’s real bad.”

I picked up one of the brushes and dipped it in the thick, protective coating. “Yeah, Polo mentioned the ship would arrive on time…”

He turned away from me and began hammering away at a bolt. “You’ll be home before ya know it.”

“That’s really good.” My voice cracked a little, but I tried to count the brush strokes and stay focused on the task in front of me. If I meditated on it enough, then maybe I wouldn’t have to think about how sad the idea of being away from Charlie really made me.

He began working on a set of boards opposite me, resting his back against mine. I had the sense he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. I heard him sigh and open his mouth to speak multiple times before he eventually spoke. “Addie, I wish that things could be different. But when ya get off this ship, there’s gonna be a lot going on, people are going to be asking you all kinds of questions—”

“You don’t have to say it,” I interjected. “I know I’ll have to say something, but if I start practicing now, maybe I can get myself to cry on cue and at the very least—”

“No, Addie.” He turned around swiftly and grabbed me by the shoulders with such ferocity that I lost the grip on my paint brush. “No!” He tried again. “I don’t want you to lie for me. The guys, they…” He sighed and loosened his grip. Still, his accent was incredibly thick, and I was now knowledgeable enough to understand that meant trouble. “—they want me to get ya to lie or stay with us long-term.”

I tried to digest the information he was feeding me. “I couldn’t do that, Charlie. The staying part, anyway…”

His voice caught in his throat. “It wouldn’t be an option.”

I threw myself into his arms. What was he saying? Was I still in some kind of physical danger? No. No. I knew better—Charlie wouldn’t hurt me. He simply couldn’t.

“You wouldn’t do that, Charlie. I know you, and I know you wouldn’t.”

“Addie, ya ain’t listenin’. There are a lotta things ya don’t know. I’ve done awful things…” He squeezed me tighter, clutched me as though he could seep the information into my skin without ever having to say anything out loud.

“You keep saying that, Charlie. And maybe you have done some things in your past, but you’ve been good to me and I know you that way. It doesn’t have to be anything different.”

Again he took me by the shoulders, only this time he shook me, and I could see the anger in his face beginning to surface, the danger threatening to erupt. “You’re wrong, Addie! Damn it, you don’t get it! You wanna know what kind of guy I am? You wanna see what I can do to ya? I’ll show ya!”

He took me then by the wrist, forcefully—just enough to hurt me.

I hadn’t seen most of these hallways before, and fear flamed inside as we passed the crewmen. Some of them looked up at us, but the majority of them kept on working on their assigned tasks. Whatever Charlie had done had been effective, because I was still as invisible as ever; people moved out of the way but refused to look at me.

“I’ll show ya. I’ll show ya. I’ll show ya…” He muttered the mantra over and over to himself. But I was still sure it was only him he was trying to convince.

We passed by the Radio Room and another labeled Supplies, then one more that said Gym. I tried to memorize the different angles and sides of the halls that led to each place in case I didn’t have a guide to get back, but my legs were having a hard time keeping up with Charlie’s long strides down the hall. He seemed to be unaware I was struggling.

Finally we reached a huge set of metal doors Charlie said led to Hold 6. He was speaking so quickly I could barely understand what he was saying. He half-dragged me through the doors and I understood vaguely why he was so excited. I stood in awe of the web-like structure that framed the sides of the hold. In-between each segment of containers were hefty ladders only connecting more cargo containers—it was like they plowed straight to the gray of the sky.

The sight of the container crates themselves was overwhelming. They also stood towering, in the hold’s center, stacked one by one on top of each other, and covered in the graffiti of five or six languages, and some with a barrage of labels. They came in a variety of colors like orange and lime green, brown, and gray—though some of them were so rusted their original color was unidentifiable.

“Walk ’long the side here!” I watched him disappear onto a plank to the left, but I was hypnotized by the view of the containers and the long winding path they made.

“Wait for me!”

I had trouble keeping my feet steady on the metal bridge with only my sandals as leverage for my ankles, but I focused on distributing my weight evenly so I didn’t fall over—here in the hold it was much easier to feel the shifting of the ship and moving of the waves from outside. Finally, I saw Charlie jumping up and down on a platform on the other side of the bridge, waving his hands to get my attention. I was both amazed and annoyed that he had managed to reach the end of the plank so quickly—some of us were not equipped with such accurate gross motor skills.

I sighed and waved the loose strands of hair from my face. “What are you trying to prove, Charlie?”

I followed him to the end of the platform where a darkened booth sat in cobwebs and shadows. I felt myself grow cold when I realized what it was—Polo hadn’t been using a metaphor or exaggeration. The booth was literally an old-time confession booth with a dividing section and a door for each side. Charlie demonstrated to me how both doors were chained and had large padlocks as I hopped off the end of the final plank. When opened, the dividers and veiled window that should have separated a priest from the confessor had been knocked out to create a slightly bigger space. He laughed as he demonstrated it, and it was anything but his Charlie laugh.

“Charlie?” My voice was shaking and I had to start again. “Wh-what is th-this for?”

I touched the engraved wood of one of the entry doors. It felt like something earthy, aged by time and dragged down by the experience of many different kinds of sorrow.

“These were gonna be yer accommodations, darlin’!” He used his hands for emphasis, imitating the enthusiasm that could be compared to a car salesman. “It ain’t been used in a real long time, but the last time was when me and Ben caught a steward tryin’ to steal inventory for hisself ‘afore we got to port! You know what we did to him in there, Addie? I’ll give ya a hint: it involves pliers and fingers.”

Nausea rose in my stomach and I clenched at my abdomen to prevent the sickness from coming. The idea of someone being tortured was enough to make me ill, but knowing full well that I was within the area of said torture was horrifying. I was not naïve enough to think that these things didn’t happen, but seeing it in reality and being able to envision those who had done it disturbed me greatly.

I didn’t want to know Charlie was qualified to hurt people like that.

Hanging from the confessional were strings of velvet tapestry, stained with some brown fluid. I cringed.

“Stop it, Charlie.”

“No, Addie.” He was back to being stern. His face was like a stone, hard and smooth. For the first time since I had woken up on board, I was truly afraid. “This is how it is.” He pointed to the confessional. “This is what we do with stowaways.”

The tears began to swell, and in spite of the humidity, I wrapped my arms around myself as though they could keep the words away. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past, Charlie. It can’t be undone, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.”