Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
B y the time the van finally reaches its destination, several hours after we were first abducted, it’s nighttime. My legs are cramped, my back is sore, I’ve had to pee on the side of the road three times (never again with the benefit of my hands being untied, thanks to my shenanigans the first time), and if I never see the back of this van again, I’ll be thrilled.
That is, until I see what our next mode of transportation is going to be.
“No, no, no, no, no...” I protest as I see the docked speedboat, with a new driver (Driver 2?) waiting at the helm.
I don’t do dark water. I’m wary of any water, just generally speaking, but if it’s shallow, transparent water, I can make my peace with it—at least for short periods of time during which I’m constantly watching for anything that might try to sneak its way into my space. Dark, deep water where I can’t see what might be moving around underneath me, waiting to drag me down to the murky depths? No, thank you. I prefer suntanning on the firm, solid shore, where I can enjoy not getting eaten.
The fact that we’ve only driven roughly seven to eight hours which means we’re nowhere near shark- or alligator-infested waters should bring me some comfort, but it doesn’t. Are you telling me they’ve explored every inch of the Great Lakes and can say with one-hundred-percent certainty there isn’t something big and hungry lurking underwater? I didn’t think so.
“Come on, Buffy,” Sandy says with mean amusement, taking me roughly by the upper arms and shoving me toward the boat. “Your royal chariot awaits.”
“Go easy, man,” Kimo protests. “Can’t you see she’s scared?”
I guess the fact that I’ve basically gone limp and am forcing Sandy to drag my dead weight across the dock has tipped my hand a bit with the whole fear-of-water thing. I usually keep that to myself, like my date of birth. I don’t trust just anyone with my deepest, darkest fears. Who knows how that might be used against me?
Oh, God. It’s my birthday, and I’ve been kidnapped and am being forced onto a boat, going to an unknown location across dark, mysterious waters. This is how I die.
“Get up.” Sandy no longer sounds even the slightest bit amused by the situation. “Stop being so difficult, or I’m throwing you into that water.”
I force myself to look down at the dark abyss. If the thought of traveling across that water in a boat is unappealing, the thought of being tossed into it with my hands tied behind my back is downright petrifying. I force myself to move, even though my legs are trembling and the rest of my body feels like it’s seizing up with fear.
Once we’re on the boat, none of my fears are assuaged. I hate boats. They move too much. Anything this unsteady can’t be trustworthy. And I don’t buy what anyone has to say about boat travel supposedly being safer than car travel. Ever heard of the Titanic ?
Sandy drops me into a sitting position, taking a seat on the bench across from me. Freckles follows, guiding Kimo down beside me and joining Sandy on the other side. I’m aware of Kimo leaning into me, but I’m too busy staring down at the dark, fathomless water.
As the speedboat engine roars to life, I start making that odd whirring noise that I was making when we first got into the van. It’s completely out of my control, by the way. Believe me, I’m not intending to rock back and forth making strange, high-pitched—but also somehow guttural—cries. Apparently this is my panic response. If fight or flight were the options, I’d choose both, but when they’re taken off the table, I guess I choose creepy banshee moaning.
Apparently the others can hear it, even over the loud roar of the engine, because Sandy glares at me and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something especially douchey—which for him, is an impressive feat to manage, since I thought he’d already reached the full threshold of just how much of a dick he can be.
But before he can speak, Kimo starts singing. Loudly. “Everywhere you look, everywhere you go, there’s a heart, a something something onto...”
The whirring noise is stunned right out of me. I stare at him in open-mouthed surprise. He’s singing the Full House theme song, or at least attempting to. It’s clear he hasn’t watched the show on a near-constant loop for the past twenty-some-odd years of his life, but come on. Everyone knows Full House , at least a little.
He’s singing for me, obviously. Kimo, the surprisingly great observer of his fellowman, has deduced from my conversation with Freckles that I’m a pretty big Full House fan, though I doubt he knows the full extent of it. No one knows the full extent of it—that I still watch it every night to fall asleep, that I can quote whole episodes verbatim, that my sisters are saved as Stephanie and Michelle in my phone contacts and still call me DJ when they’re trying to get me to do something for them. That if I ever got a real-life, non-parade-trampled dog, I would actually name him Comet, and that Uncle Jesse is and forever will be my ultimate dream man. That when Bob Saget died, it felt like I lost a member of my own family. That I cried when I watched the first episode of Fuller House because it felt like coming home, and because the only thing I want out of life, truly, is to have my sisters together under one roof like that again.
And, okay, sure, Kimo might be bad at remembering the words. But he’s trying to offer me some comfort, trying to distract me from my fears. It’s actually pretty...sweet.
Then he hits the verses, and it’s obvious he really doesn’t know the lyrics. “Whatever happened to something something tree? The milkman, the paperboy, uh...”
“The evening TV,” Freckles chimes in, taking everyone by surprise—including, it seems, himself. “How did I get to living here? Somebody tell me please!”
They look at each other, neither one seeming to know where to go next. “When you’re lost out there,” Kimo starts up again. “And all alone...”
Okay, they’ve skipped a lot of stuff, but they’re hitting the highlights. I can respect that. Despite myself, and despite the churning, dark water potentially holding unthinkable monsters and stretching for possibly thousands of feet beneath us, I smile.
That seems to energize both men, and they get even more into their duet. “Life keeps waiting to carry you home!” they sing enthusiastically.
It’s actually “a light is waiting, ” not “life keeps waiting,” but I don’t want to burst their bubble, and they seem to be genuinely enjoying themselves now. “Everywhere you look! Everywhere you look?—”
“Shut up!” Sandy roars over both their terrible tone-deaf singing and the sound of the speedboat. “Everybody shut up now.”
I shouldn’t, really, but I can’t help myself. “How rude,” I say in a perfect Stephanie imitation, exactly like Jodie Sweetin would say it. I mean, I’ve had some practice.
Kimo and Freckles both chuckle under their breaths. Sandy, of course, does not look amused. “Shut the hell up. No more singing, no more...quoting. Got it?”
We continue on in silence. But at least I’m not so afraid now. Oh, I’m still terrified of the water, don’t get me wrong, but at least now I know I’m not alone. I lean up against Kimo, and he presses back against me. I feel the brief brush of his lips against my hairline, and I’m surprised by the gesture, the reassurance and the intimacy of it, but also its implied promise: we’re in this together, for better or worse.