Page 111 of Remember Me

“Take her feet,” orders Sheldon as he grabs my wrists.

Jim does as he’s asked, circling his long fingers around my ankles, and together they lift me. Thrashing like a helpless fish out of water, I try to wriggle myself free. But the excruciating pain in my ankle and their combined strength force me to succumb. I’m at their mercy—a limp puppet. A marionette tethered by the strings of their fingers. With the end in sight, tears sting my eyes. I long to vanquish fear. My real enemy. I remember my valiant mother telling me: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. And Sister Marie saying that God hears our prayers.

Bravely, silently, I pray for someone to help me. To save me from this fate. For my precious daughter’s sake. For my beloved husband’s sake. For all our sake.

Sheldon’s labored breaths cut into my prayers. We’re now at the entrance to the stateroom. He jabs a button on the nearby intercom with his elbow.

A deep male voice instantly responds. Half statement, half question. “Yes, sir.”

I recognize the voice. The yacht’s captain.

“What can I do for you?”

“TakeMarilynout to sea.”

A brief pause. Then... “But sir, visibility is almost nil. And a major storm is about to hit. The waves are already at fifty feet and the wind is about forty miles per hour. It’s not safe.”

Sheldon’s voice hardens. “I don’t pay you to challenge me. Just do as I say if you want to keep your job.”

I hear: “Aye, aye, sir.” In a few rapid heartbeats, the boat stirs. Fifteen terrifying minutes later, I’m outside. Standing onthe deck. Still bound. The rain pounding, pricking my skin like needles. The gusting wind, whipping my hair across my face. The boat rocking violently as it battles the ruthless storm.

With Jim out of sight, Sheldon yanks out my gag.

“Where are we going?” I choke out, not sure if I want to know the answer.

The monster aims the gun at me and snickers. “It’s not wherewe’regoing. It’s whereyou’regoing.”

CHAPTER 67

Skye

Amixture of nausea and fear turns my blood into ice as Sheldon holds the gun pointed at me.

“What do you mean?” I stammer through my chattering teeth.

“It means you’re never going to work in this town again. Turn around!”

I don’t budge. The excruciating pain in my ankle gives me strength, driving stubborn determination into me.

“What part of turn around don’t you understand?” He presses the barrel of the gun into my throat giving me no choice. Hopping on my good foot, I turn and face the dark tumultuous sea. A narrow railing is all that separates us.

“Now, bend over!”

Hesitantly, trying to maintain my balance, I do as he asks as the yacht sails like a wicked rollercoaster over the monstrous waves. My soaked hair draping me like a wet curtain, I keep my eyes focused on my dangling lucky locket, wishing I could clutch it. My teeth chatter, partly because I’m drenched and freezing, partly because I’m wheezing with fear. The Beretta’s now pressed against the nape of my neck.

“Are you going to shoot me?” I stammer, struggling to get the words out as my teeth clatter. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

“Maybe.” He digs the gun deeper into my flesh. “I hear there are a lot of sharks in the water at this time of the year.”

My fear morphs into a powerful wave of nausea. I gulp back the bile that burns my throat. I taste salt. I taste bitterness. Itaste death. He’s going to shoot me and throw me overboard. Oh, God! I’m going to drown! Die of hypothermia. Or be shark bait! All of the above. I’m living my last story. A horror story that’s coming to its tragic end.

As if reading my mind, he cackles. “That’s right, Miss Know-it-All. When this night is over, you will officially be a missing person. No one’s gonna find your body. Maybe I’ll stay and watch the feeding frenzy. I love Discovery’sShark Week.”He laughs again. “This will be better.”

“You’re not going to get away with this!” I yell back, calling on my last bastion of courage.

He snickers. “Guess what! You’re not going to be around to find out.”

A sudden clap of thunder booms in the air. Followed by a lightning bolt that cuts through the fog and downpour like the sign of Zorro. Then, as if I’m hallucinating, a bright light beams onto the stormy dark water. Round like a searchlight. Overhead, the whir of blades slices through the veiled sky. A helicopter? The police?