“ Ah, yes.” The doctor turned to face a woman in uniform. “Officer, untie this woman and help her to a shower, but first get me a glass of water.” The policewoman left and returned almost immediately with a glass. She handed it to the doctor.
Donna looked up into the woman’s eyes as she bent over her with a sharp knife and sliced through the ropes that had been binding her to the bed. She allowed herself to be filled with hope. Once the ropes were off, the policewoman massaged her wrists and helped her sit up.
“ Feel a little better now?” she asked and Donna nodded.
“ Give her some of this, but not too much right away.” The doctor handed the policewoman the glass. Then he left and Donna sipped at the water and reveled at the clean, clear taste. It felt glorious as it slid down her throat.
“ There is a very anxious man waiting to see you,” the policewoman said, “and I know you don’t want to see him looking like this.”
“ Jim Monday?” Donna said.
“ Yes.” The policewoman smiled. “He’s in the salon. It’s because of him that we found you.” The woman helped Donna stand and wrapped her in a bathrobe. “The shower is at the end of the corridor.” She showed Donna the way. “You’ll find soap, shampoo and conditioner inside.”
“ Thank you so much,” Donna said and with the woman’s help, she hobbled down the hall to the shower. She was too tired and too overjoyed at being rescued to feel humiliated, besides she didn’t think she would ever feel humiliated again.
Once in the shower she allowed herself to finally feel relief. She had been saved. Jim had done it. She would be with him in a few minutes and the horrible nightmare would finally be over. Shivering, she turned on the water, stepped under the warm spray and sighed as the water washed the filth from her body.
She reached for the shampoo and lathered her hair, luxuriating in the soapy suds. She poured more shampoo into her hand and lathered her arms, breasts, stomach and legs. It felt wonderful just to be clean.
Then all of a sudden she felt guilty. Her brother was dead, so many others, but thank God it was over now. Jim had done it. He had arrived with the police in time.
“ Are you almost finished?” It was the policewoman.
“ Almost.” She hated to leave the shower, but Jim was waiting for her. She quickly poured some conditioner in her hand and ran it through her hair. She wanted to look her best for him. She rubbed it in, massaging her scalp and running her fingers through her long hair. She continued massaging as she rinsed it out.
“ Hurry up honey,” the policewoman said, “everybody is waiting.”
She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. There was a warm towel hanging on the rack. She wrapped it around herself and sighed as it soaked up the water. It was so soft. She was so lucky. Dry, she put on the robe and opened the door.
“ This way.” The policewoman had been waiting. She led Donna down the hallway. “Everybody is waiting in the salon.”
“ Go on, honey,” the policewoman said when they’d reached the end of the corridor. “Just a little more and it will all be over.” She opened the door for Donna.
“ Thank you so much.” Donna stepped into the salon.
Something wasn’t right.
“ Come in, we’ve been waiting,” the hairless doctor said. His voice and accent frightened her. She froze. The two men with the doctor were no policemen. They were dressed in the same black sweaters and seaman’s caps she had seen through the window of the Park Side Motel.
The only furniture in the salon was a double bed in the direct center of the room. Its clean white sheets glowed, reflecting the rays of an overhead light. There were two video cameras mounted on tripods, one on each side of the bed. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong-very, very wrong.
“ Get on the bed, bitch,” The policewoman smacked her on the back. Donna stumbled and the woman pushed her again, guiding her, so that she fell onto the bed.
The water chilled him to the bone. The salt in it sent pain stabbing from his damaged wrist up his arm. He fought the urge to scream out. He pushed off toward the boat, conscious of the unnatural weight of the revolver tucked into his belly and the awkward weight of the cast on his right forearm. He decided on the breast stroke, took a deep gulp of air, careful not to lose the knife, shivering as he made his way toward the Reptil Rache.
He estimated he had to cover about twenty-five yards at a stroke a yard, five strokes per breath, five breaths and he would be there.
Three strokes, four strokes, five, first breath. He broke the surface, sucking air around the knife. Water seeped under the cast and the jeans he had taken from the dead seaman were heavy and uncomfortable to swim in. Eight strokes, nine, it felt like his lungs were going to burst, one more stroke before the precious air, ten. He took another breath.
Eleven strokes, twelve, he needed air now. He was freezing. His fingers were numb. He felt the cold steel in his mouth and tasted the polluted water as it seeped between his lips to wrap itself around the tip of his tongue as it stuck out and rested below the sharp blade. Thirteen strokes, fourteen, he was light headed, he couldn’t make the last stroke, not without blacking out. Yes, yes he could, only one more, the thought raced through him. A short, quick stroke, but a stroke, fifteen.
Suck air.
Sixteen strokes, seventeen, well over halfway. He felt something big glide by. Shark was his first thought. It came within inches. Maybe a dolphin, but he discarded that thought, too close to shore. Polluted harbor, there would be no dolphins here. Eighteen strokes, nineteen, it came by again. This time it bumped him as it swam by. He forced his eyes open and got a quick look at it as it broke the surface. It was no shark. Twenty. He took the scaling knife out of his mouth, gulped air and waited for the Gecko’s return.
He held the knife in his right hand, concealed by the cast, as he hung limp in the water, playing the decoy, hoping the reptile would think him dead. He sensed rather than felt its approach, closer, coming closer, but it whizzed on by, forcing him to continue his charade. He wanted to open his eyes, but he knew it would be pointless in the murky water. He would have only one chance at the beast and he would have to rely on instinct.
He tucked the knife to his chest and waited, every nerve tingling with anticipation and cold. He was fully relaxed, allowing himself to become one with the water. He had no need for another breath. He sensed the thing coming for him and he resisted the temptation to lash out prematurely.
He knew he couldn’t kill it, but he’d learned that he could slow it down. Something inside him wailed. “Do it now.” A new voice, not Donna’s. An urgent voice, a commanding voice, his own voice. He obeyed and shoved his right arm forward, like it was spring loaded, slamming the sharp steel into the thing’s flesh. He kept a firm grip on the knife, drawing it along the underbelly of the beast. Then he twisted it, slicing back along the direction of his original incision as the thing bucked into his side, bellowing out foul air as it swam away.
Jim kicked toward the surface. The rise up seemed an eternity. Pumping adrenaline had used up his oxygen supply. He didn’t know how deep he was and he didn’t think he would make it, but he held on, breaking the surface cleanly, taking great gulps of air. He was within an arm’s reach of the dive ladder. He didn’t know what awaited him above, but he knew if he didn’t get out of the water quickly, the gecko would be back.
He slid the scaling knife back between his teeth and grabbed out for the ladder. He was exhausted, but he calmed his rate of breathing and silently pulled his way on up.
Donna was stunned, but she wasn’t submissive. She screamed as she fell forward onto the mattress, started her roll even before she landed on the soft surface, pushed off with her left hand and clawed the fake policewoman’s face with her right. The imposter screamed, stumbling backward, her face covered in blood.