Wanted (27 page)

Without the proper words to express myself, I brushed the stubble back on Charlie’s chin, kissing the peak of his bottom lip.

Robbie picked up on the first ring. This alone put me off because I knew they didn’t allow him to have phones at the base. I figured Dad might pick up, but if I got lucky enough, I would get voice mail.

“Hello?”

“Robbie?”

“Addie! Addie, where are you? Are you okay?” Although he was shouting, I struggled to hear him over the shuffling of something in the background. The sound of an object crashing reached my ears and I heard Dad’s voice.

“Robbie, I’m okay. Tell Dad I’m okay before he hurts himself.” It sounded so good to hear their voices again, I felt my innards ache to be home.

“Addie, just tell us where you are and Dad and I will come and get you.” Dad and Robbie were trying to shout into the phone, asking questions and saying my name. I smiled, I could easily picture them fighting over the receiver.

“I can’t do that, Robbie.”

They both went silent.

“Why, Addie? Are you hurt? Just—”

“I’m okay, Dad. I’m completely unhurt and I’ll be home soon. You have to take my word on this one.”

“Addie, please, just tell us where you are.”

“I promise everything is okay. I love you guys, please don’t worry.”

Then I hung up before they could say anything else.

I handed the phone to Charlie, unaware my hand was shaking from the short interaction. Maybe what set me off the most was knowing how far away I was from it all, how much had changed in such a short amount of time.

Charlie threw the phone into the dark waves, though it was easily lost by the rays of the sun and I never saw where it landed.

I nodded and smiled stiffly. I could feel the sun and salt in my skin and suddenly I felt gross and repugnant, dirty and unclean. The need to refresh myself was almost unbearable.

“I think I need to get cleaned up.”

Charlie only nodded and we walked across the deck hand in hand, this being my only comfort as I thought of my worrisome dad and brother who were probably more worried than ever. I only hoped my calm demeanor hadn’t worried them further.

After I used the restroom, I washed my face and hands, then brushed my teeth, using my finger and some toothpaste. It was far from ideal, but I did feel better. I then pulled my hair up, even taking the time to use the bobby pin in my pocket before looking at myself in the mirror. The bruises around my neck were all but gone—faded yellow markings, that bordered on healed.

As per our routine, Charlie was standing outside the door, yet he stared at the floor—a third cigarette in his mouth when there were two smoked to the butt already on the floor.

“The second you step off this ship, you’re gonna come to your senses.” He smiled at the floor, the weight of the epiphany too much to keep his head up.

“I’m real grateful, don’t get me wrong.” He laughed then, a sprained sound that choked on itself. I flinched at his sadness and pulled the sweatshirt closer around my neck; he wasn’t even being sarcastic.

“But the second you realize how crazy this is, you’ll get your head back. It’s already started, hasn’t it? Pretty soon, I’ll just be a bad memory. You’re gonna live the rest of your life not even remembering you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

“No, Charlie, no.” I took the cigarette from him and stomped it out with my shoe, though truthfully it was somewhat pointless, considering it was all but gone anyway. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

I closed my arms around his waist as tightly as I could and stretched until I could feel my wrists touching on the other side. I wanted to squeeze all the doubt from him, comfort him as much as he would let me.

“I plan on loving you until the day I die.” I felt him flinch at the mention of potential death, so I retreated. “So there!” I stuck my tongue out at him, and made the strangest facial expression I could manage. I was grateful that he smiled a little for me, though I had to admit, it wasn’t much.

“Will you stay with me for a while?” he asked. His voice seemed so small then, nearly inaudible.

I smiled against him. “You know I will.”

Once inside, I made him take his boots off and lie down. His eyes fluttered shut within a matter of seconds. Despite my efforts, I too, felt the heaviness of sleep drift against my eyelids. Outside the cabin, I could hear men walking around, chatting in different languages while whistles went off, signaling who only knew what.

In his sleep, Charlie pulled me closer, possessive even in this state. I listened to the rhythmic heartbeat in his chest, thinking I would only let him sleep for a little while so he wouldn’t be angry, but enough for him to actually rest.

I was having a flashback.

Wallace. The fear. My impending end. Dying.

I was dreaming again, right? This was just a nightmare, another awful, terrible expression of my overworked imagination?

I shouted out, though it was cut short as he hit me in the face. When the pain came, it was harsh, forcing my vision upside down as my head lulled to the side.

“Shut up!”

A sharp pain reached me again at my scalp. I could smell the stench of body odor, grease, and fuel. It was everywhere as he yanked me by my hair, dragging me across the room and out the door.

I tried kicking my way out, feeling one of my sandals slip off as I did so. Charlie’s cabin edged farther away as I was pulled down the hall. I screamed out again while trying to scratch at the hand that held me.

His spare hand hit me again.

I could taste blood, though where exactly it came from I wasn’t sure. I heard whimpering, and felt instant shame when I realized the sound was coming from me. I was so pathetic, unfocused, and unsure. I reopened my eyes and tried to make myself aware. Even my worst daydreams had never felt this real. Why wasn’t Charlie waking me up? It could have been like my favorite of Poe’s poems,
A Dream within a Dream
, without the romance.

I retraced the dream in my head. It hadn’t been a long one, and it was simple enough. The sound of the storm returning had awoken me from my sleep, and I squirmed my way from Charlie’s embrace, thinking I could get some water and be back before I had to wake him. But then something, someone large and terrible, grabbed my arms.

I was pulled into a familiar entryway with container holds.

“You shut the hell up!”

Once inside Hold 6, Wallace pulled me up only to shove me back down to the floor. I picked myself up, still tripping over my bare feet and sprained ankle. Wallace pushed me back down and laughed. As I landed, the air was knocked from me. I was sure my lungs were broken, deflated balloons that could never inflate again. I was confident I was going to die from that single act alone. I felt the tears on my face; the salt they produced stung something on my mouth.

“Can’t believe this crap!” He delivered a kick to my side. “‘Cause of you I’m out of a job. And if Walden thinks he isn’t going to pay me for this gig, he’s got another thing coming.”

“Stop, please!”

He laughed and pulled me by the hair once more across the maze of containers and past the first deck of webs. He was yelling about something, calling me names that were lost in the wind and the sound of the blood rushing to my ears. I shut my eyes and turned off my head. I tried to scream again, yet the sound didn’t come. I envisioned Charlie, but his image was fuzzy against the pounding of my skull. The most ominous feeling of dread fell over me that no one would be coming to save me.

No one was coming to rescue me this time.

“I was just going to snap this pretty little neck. But given the way that hillbilly looks at you, I’m going to make sure to finish you off nice and slow.” His laugh rang in my ears, echoing against the metal containers. I looked away from him then, his face an easel of bruises and scabs that Charlie had painted. “The best part,” he ranted on, “is that I’m going to make him watch. Too bad Walden’s old lady and kid aren’t here.”

I fell from his hand and heard the jingling of chains as they fell from somewhere close by. I tried to scream again, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me inside the confessional. I screamed until my throat felt like roaring acid, then tried to shout it out, the tears getting stuck in my throat. Yet for all my efforts, the sounds caused no effects.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to go get your boyfriend right now.” The sour of his breath came to me. And just then it was easy to imagine him in the dark, just waiting and planning for the perfect time to strike. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish I had done you in right the first time. No way I’m getting shoved out ‘cause of some stupid little bitch!”

No, no, no, no.
Whether I called out loud or whether the words remained in my head is unclear. Ironically, the most helpful element was the dark, which prevented me from seeing any blood or other stains of body fluid which I knew had to be caked on those surfaces. Instead, my head was stuck on more current events, like my worrisome Dad and that wonderfully handsome jerk above, who I prayed would be okay.

I could deal with dying. I had figured that was going to happen before my time with Charlie was through, but despite everything, I couldn’t stand the idea of him being hurt. I knew now what was worse; I could live a life without Charlie. If I went home and couldn’t find him later, I could at least envision him happy somewhere in the world. But if he was dead, then there would be nothing left to wish for, no hope.

Standing up, I tried leveraging myself against the door. There wasn’t enough light in the booth to see anything but shadows, and even through the heavy faucet of tears, I could smell the rust of the rainwater. Still, I tried not to think of Charlie. Keeping my focus allowed me not to panic. I could feel how tender my face was without having to look at it—the swelling of my lip with my bleeding gum.

The wind continued to throw itself against the sides of the container’s walls. The confessional began to creak as a particularly harsh gust of wind came through the bellows of the hold’s ceiling. I glanced up just as the invisible enemy rocked the entire booth on its back. Immediately I tried to kneel forward. The pain on my ankle was severe—I had forgotten myself and put all of my weight there.

No, no, no.
I pushed and pushed some more, but the hatch from the outside refused me completely. Rain poured in from the intricate patterns on the door. And though I leaned on my toes in an attempt to see the door handle and what might be preventing it from opening, the rain and the dark blocked any potential vision.

Horror gripped me. What was I going to do now? How was I supposed to get out of here? Any chance for survival was nil if I waited around until someone let me out. I braced myself and leaned on my good ankle, ramming all of myself into the door with my shoulder. I called out with the pain. Worse yet, the door hadn’t even moved. On the opposite side, I wanted to try the other door, but it was against the steel panels of the floor and refused to move. I found myself having some difficulty breathing. Where had all of the air gone?

Like a wild woman, I began beating my fists on the door. I think I was screaming, too, because later my throat hurt, but I don’t remember for certain. Even if someone had been around, I doubt they would have heard me over the rain and the wind. Every so often, thunder and lightning crackled in the sky. I had been buried alive and the weather was drowning me out. But I had to get out before Wallace came back. I would be lucky if I had four or five minutes.

Something tore my hands, and my ankle throbbed, but I continued to hit and throw myself at the door. My feet kicked at the floor of the confessional, hurting both my damaged and undamaged ankle. Still, nothing gave way.

I felt the time pass as the sun was making its meager attempt to break through the sky. And while I probably should have felt relieved, I couldn’t help but wonder why I was still alive. Did torturing me no longer appeal to Wallace? Or had something else occurred? What if something had happened to the ship during the storm? What if Charlie was hurt?

I pulled my hands out of the sweatshirt pockets, rubbing them together. Overall, neither of these methods was very effective, as I could now see the shady underline of purple at the end of my fingertips. Everything about me was numb except the possibility that Charlie could be in trouble.

In the midst of it all, I saw a kaleidoscope in varieties of blue and green, midnight green to be exact. If there was even the slightest chance that Charlie needed me or my help, then I was going to be there.

Now that there was a little light available to me, I strained my eyes and pried my hand through the carved patterns of the confessional door. Even with my slim hands, I could only manage to reach through with my thumb and first two fingers. The fit was tight but I tried not to focus on that and concentrate instead on the cold metal lock.

The rain made my fingertips slip, and the cold made me think at first that the lock itself may have been a block of ice, keeping me inside. But as I arched my back forward and used my weak torso for further leverage to see lower, I could see it was a padlock.