I climb the rickety, steep wooden stairs to Doug’s house. The staircase sways from side to side. Some of the planks are soft, rotten. A rock tumbles past me, down the embankment. I keep climbing, hoping the railing won’t give way. At the top of the steps, the log house comes into view through the trees. I run through the garden to knock on the door. There’s no smoke rising from the chimney, and nobody answers. I knock again, frantically. My backpack is too heavy, pulling at my shoulders. It occurs to me that this is all I have in the world. My backpack and a crazy assailant who believes he is my husband.
I cup my hands to the window and peer inside the living room. Everything is neat and tidy, but Douglas is not at home. Nobody has to lock their doors here, Jacob says in my head. But the door is locked. Maddeningly locked up tight. The windows, too. In the back of the house, there’s an unlocked door leading into a dank storage room. I lock myself inside, my heart pounding. The storage room leads into the house. I call for Doug, no answer. On a table in the hall, I see it. A telephone plugged into the wall. The line makes a crackling sound.
“Thank you,” I breathe to the universe. I call 911, and a man’s voice comes on the line.
“911, where’s your emergency?”
“I’m on Mystic Island, at Douglas Ingram’s house on Windswept Bluff. I need help. My husband is coming after me. I mean, Jacob Winthrop. He’s after me. My name is Kyra Munin-Finlay.”
“Stay on the phone. I’m sending help.”
Through the trees, I see Jacob staggering to the top of the steps, holding the side of his head. “I have to go. I have to hang up. He’s coming. I can’t stay on the phone.” He’ll easily break a window or a door and find me cringing in a closet.
“Help is on the way, ma’am.”
“You know where I am?”
“I do have your location.”
I hang up, dash out of the house, and sprint up the driveway toward the main road. Help will not come fast enough, not out here. I don’t know how long I’ve been running before Jacob catches up.
“Kyra, stop!” He’s almost upon me now. He grabs at my backpack and pulls so hard he nearly knocks me over backward. I wriggle out of the straps and dash away. He’s slower than usual, blood still seeping from the wound on his head, and his face is pale and glistening with sweat.
“Kyra, stop,” he says, breathless. “Wait.”
“Leave me alone!” He grabs my jacket, but I shrug out of it, sending him reeling backward. I keep running, my lungs screaming.
“I just want to talk to you.”
“Go away!” I shout.
“Stop.” Jacob catches up and grabs my arm, spins me around to face him. His face is distorted into a grimace. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t touch me.”
He yanks my arm, nearly dislocating my shoulder, and throws me on the ground with such force the wind is knocked from my lungs. Then he picks me up and throws me again.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Why are you doing this?” I stagger toward the driveway. He shoves me down.
“I’ve given you everything, and it’s not enough for you?” His face turns a deep shade of red. His mouth is set in a thin line. He strides toward me, grabs my shoulders so tightly his fingers dig into the bone. I cry out in pain. “Let go of me!”
“Turn around. We are going home.”
I struggle to escape from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re crazy!” I shout between sobs.
He shakes me by my shoulders, so hard I’m afraid my brain will fall out of my skull. “Stop, stop!” I say, but my knees weaken. Stars dance in front of my eyes, tiny pinpoints of light. He’s shaking me; he swings a fist at me, the blow so hard on my cheek he must have cracked the bone. The forest blurs. I feel my body falling in slow motion.
There’s a rumbling sound in the woods, approaching along the driveway. I’m on the ground, curled into the fetal position. My head hurts. I can’t move. Jacob is kicking me, yelling at me from far away. “Get up, you bitch! How dare you leave me?” But I can’t get up.
The truck pulls up behind us. Through my half-closed eyelids I see him, Doug Ingram. The boat is hooked to the back of his truck. He gets out and strides toward Jacob. “Hey, what’s going on here? Get away from her!”
“Doug, be careful!” I shout.
Through a haze, I see him dash up to Jacob. The two grab each other, tussling, swinging around and around. Doug Ingram is strong for his age, but not strong enough. I want to warn him, tell him to run, but my tongue thickens, and the words won’t come. He swipes at Jacob, catching him square in the jaw. Jacob takes a step back, rights himself, and with one blow he knocks Doug to the ground. Oh, Doug. Please be okay.
I muster all my strength, stagger to my feet. My ribs are throbbing. “Leave him alone!” I shout. Jacob stands in the driveway, towering over Doug. I can’t get past him. I turn and stumble toward the house, through the forest to the wooden steps. If I can get back down to the beach—
Jacob is upon me again, grasping my shoulders. “Come home now,” he spits at me. His face is red, flushed. Blood seeps from his swollen lip, where Doug punched him.