They were after him.

Or so Bruce McNabb thought as he nervously checked his rear view mirror. He saw nothing but darkness behind him, and was forced to step on the brakes of his old Chevy Caprice as it squealed around a hairpin turn. Normally, he took pleasure from driving around Turtle Island, but the circumstances made this ride impossible to enjoy.

The torrential rain made him uneasy on the slick road. And the thin metal guardrail seemed an inadequate protection from the perilous drop just a few feet away. He didn’t remember all these hills when he departed the ferry and drove into town, but now, on the way back, they were unforgettable.

Another unexpected turn caught him off guard as the tires screeched, almost grazing the guardrail. He knew he should slow down. The road was too wet and the turns too sharp.

But he needed to get to the ferry by ten o’clock. It was the last one until morning, and he had to get off the island tonight. A quick glance at his watch showed the time at ten of ten – enough time to make it, he thought.

So he slowed his speed from fifty miles an hour to twenty as his death grip on the steering wheel lessened a bit. A quick glance in his mirror reminded him of what might be behind him. But it was okay, he told himself. He would make the ferry and he was safe—for now.

But then, an explosion of bright lights filled the vehicle. He looked down to shield his eyes, and desperately gripped the wheel. He forced himself to look out the windshield and was barely able to see the road. He realized that the blinding light was reflecting through his mirrors, and knew it was coming from a vehicle behind him.

But the vehicle wasn’t just behind him, it was right on top of him—it seemed like inches away. The powerful headlights lit up the whole interior of his car. This wasn’t just an overly exuberant driver looking to pass, he told himself. It was them. He had no doubt.

They were after him.

Bruce chose Turtle Island after visiting it in the spring. He wanted to find a tourist area in New England to have a working vacation for the summer. He liked the idea of an island and researched what the region had to offer.

Block Island seemed too small, and he had heard it was hard to find a job there. Martha’s Vineyard was the opposite—too big and scattered for his liking. It was too similar to a regular community and lost that “island feel” if you weren’t in the right place. He didn’t know much about Nantucket, and was about to investigate it when he had the chance for an impromptu visit to Turtle Island.

His friend, Todd Walden, had an uncle with a boat docked on the island. They made plans to make the drive from Pittsburgh to Massachusetts, hop the ferry to Turtle Island, and they could stay on the boat at night. A free place to sleep was too much to pass up, so they found themselves walking the island’s spacious beaches and dreaming about spending the summer there.

The island had plenty of restaurants and this seemed the logical place to look for work. They wandered through the streets, taking note of possible places of employment. But in April, many of the establishments were still closed from the winter with no signs of life. Then they stumbled upon a restaurant, which appeared to be going through some remodeling. The sign said: “Future Home of The Hampton Tap Room.”

“This is a chain, isn’t it? I think there’s one in Pittsburgh,” Todd said.

“You’re right,” Bruce answered as the two twenty-two-year-old men stared at the huge building. They saw people moving around inside, so they peered in through a window. They saw several workers busy with various construction projects.

They entered cautiously, their eyes searching for someone to approach. They saw a group of carpenters working on the framework of a long bar as many other workers hustled past them. They stood in the middle of the work area like two lost children.

Finally, Bruce approached the carpenters. “Excuse me, guys. Is there anyone here to talk to about a job?”

One of the carpenters pointed to the back of the building and said, “Mark Hampton was in his office a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said and Todd joined him in a casual stroll across the future restaurant.

“Mark Hampton?” Todd whispered into Bruce’s ear. “Do you think he means The Mark Hampton?”

“Who the hell is Mark Hampton?”

“You know who Mark Hampton is. He’s in the magazines all the time. I think People had him as one of their top 50 most eligible bachelors.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. His father is Frank Hampton, the really rich guy. You know, the guy who owns Hampton Hotels.”

“Hampton Hotels,” Bruce said, recognizing the name. “You think this guy is Frank Hampton’s son?”
“I’m sure of it. Like I said he’s in the magazines all the time. He stands to inherit hundreds of millions from his old man. I didn’t think of it before, but The Hampton Tap Room is the restaurant you always see in the hotels. It’s got to be the same guy.”

“So, he’s like a celebrity.”

“Yeah,” Todd answered, “a very rich celebrity.”

They reached the back of the building and saw two large men. One of the men, shaven head and arms like a pro wrestler, stepped in their path. The other, just as big but with a face like a bulldog, stood in the background. “What do you two want?” the first one asked in a low, raspy voice.

“We want to apply for a job. We were told to come back here and see Mr. Hampton,” Bruce answered, nervously.

The two huge men looked at each other, and seemed unsure of what to do. Then they heard another voice. “Who the hell told you to come back here and see me?” A tall, skinny man, about twenty-five years old with short jet-black hair, popped into a doorway behind the men. Bruce recognized him immediately. He knew then that Todd was right; this man’s face was plastered in all the tabloids.

They all looked at him blankly. “Huh? Who told you?” he repeated, seeming annoyed.

“Umm, I...umm,” Bruce stammered, “I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble.”

“You walk back up front and point the person out to me right now,” he said authoritatively and slammed the door.

Bruce and Todd stood motionless, their mouths half-open. The bald man pointed to the front of the building, gesturing for them to start walking. The two boys walked sheepishly, regretting each step. They both thought about making a mad dash for the door, but before they realized it, they were back in the front room.

“Which one!” Mark demanded as Bruce could feel the bald thug’s breath on the back of his neck. Before he could react, Todd lifted his shaking hand, and pointed to the man who had directed them.

Mark was immediately in the man’s face. “You don’t send anyone to see me!”

The carpenter looked at him in shock. “What?”

“You heard me. Now get your ass out of here!”

“You’re firing me? For what?”

“This is my place. I don’t need a reason. Get lost!”

The man angrily packed up his tools as the other carpenters wandered into the area. One of them stepped toward Mark and said, “You can’t fire him. We’re here as a team.”

“Fine! I’m firing you all then.”

The carpenters quickly gathered their things and made their way toward the door, shouting a few obscenities before leaving. Mark and his henchmen strutted back toward the office. Mark stopped for a moment, looked at the boys, and said, “Come with me.”

They wanted to run out the door and never see Mark Hampton again, but instead, mindlessly followed him.

Mark stopped in front of his office door and lit a cigar. “What kind of jobs are you looking for?”

Bruce and Todd froze for a moment, surprised by the question. Finally, Bruce said, “Todd’s a waiter and I’m a bartender.”

“Bartender, huh?” Mark kicked open the door. The boys peered inside and saw the lavish furniture. There was a mahogany desk, leather couches, and an impressive, fully-stocked bar at the back of the room. “Make me a drink.”

Bruce looked at him, dumbly. “Now?”

“No, next week. Of course now. There’s the bar. Make me a friggin’ drink, bartender.” He blew out a cloud of smoke and spit a few moist tobacco leaves on the carpet.

Bruce walked behind the bar, and looked at Mark, unsure of how to proceed. “Mix me a martini,” Mark ordered. As Bruce started to make the drink, Mark asked Todd, “You a good waiter?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are you as good a waiter as he is a bartender?”

“I think so.”

“All right then. We’ll see how this martini comes out.”

Bruce finished with a perfect pour from the shaker into the long-stemmed glass. He added an olive and brought it to Mark, who placed the cigar on the edge of a table and took the cocktail.

Mark took a big sip, swished it around in his mouth, and swallowed. He paused for a moment and took another sip. Then, he placed the glass down and shook his head in approval.

“You got the job. Be here June first.”

***

Bruce presumed that the vehicle tailing him was a large SUV or a pick-up. The round headlights seemed like they were sitting in the backseat of his Chevy, and he was amazed their bumpers had not yet made contact.

His clammy palms squeezed the steering wheel as he desperately tried to think of a way to escape the truck. The road leveled off, and he was aware that he reached the top of the hill. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew there was a tremendous drop to the lake at the base of the precipice. The thought of the fall and the paper-thin guardrail precluded the idea of a daring maneuver.

Suddenly, the bright light was gone. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw pitch black. He assumed they gave up their pursuit and exhaled a pent-up breath.

But then, the sound of the pattering rain was overtaken by the roar of an engine. Bruce looked over his left shoulder and saw the rumbling, black SUV in the lane next to him. The truck moved past him, but slowed when its back bumper was even with Bruce’s front end. Bruce stepped on the brakes, hoping the truck would speed ahead of him. But the SUV slowed as well, keeping its huge back end aligned with the front of the Chevy.

Bruce heard the noise before he realized the truck had moved. The horrid sound echoed through his car and filled his ears like a bee stinging his brain. It was the unmistakable THUD of metal hitting metal. He realized that the SUV collided with the front of his car.

The SUV bounced back into its lane, apparently still in control. But Bruce’s vehicle swerved, plunking the guardrail. He stepped on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel from side to side. He heard the car skid, but somehow his automatic response guided it back to the lane.

He thought it was a miracle that he didn’t go over the cliff as he slowly regained his bearings. He realized he was speeding downhill now, and the SUV looked poised for another strike.

When Bruce and Todd walked into The Hampton Tap Room on June first, they found a hurried staff preparing for their grand opening. They stood in the middle of the lounge for several minutes without anyone bothering to even glance in their direction.

They saw a shorthaired woman in her late forties counting a money drawer at the bar. They approached her as Bruce asked, “Is Mr. Hampton here?”

With her eyes still fixed on the money, she released a gasp of air as if she were about to laugh and then said, “Yeah, right.” She continued to count the money as Bruce and Todd looked at each other, each hoping the other knew how to respond.

Todd said, “We’re supposed to start work here today.”

Her head thrust forward, and with widened eyes she glared at them as if she were about to bite off their heads. “What?”

Again, the two boys looked at each other, unsure of what to say. “Mark Hampton hired us in April and told us to start work today,” Bruce explained.

Redness took over her cheeks as her eyes squinted in anger. She turned abruptly and slammed the cash drawer into the register. She stormed out from behind the bar and dropped the swinging gate so hard that everyone in the area fell silent and looked in her direction.

She marched away as Bruce and Todd cluelessly trailed her like two misbehaved children behind their furious mother. She stopped in the dining room and angrily fell into a chair. She closed her eyes and vigorously rubbed her temples as the boys warily stood near her.

With her eyes still closed she asked, “Where are you boys from?”

“Pittsburgh,” Bruce replied.

She winced as if a cramp suddenly dug into her ribs and said, “You’re here for the summer?”

“That’s right,” Bruce answered.

“Do you have a place yet?”

“We just signed a lease through the end of August,” Todd replied.

She winced again, worse than before, and opened her eyes. She looked at them intensely. “Have a seat.” The boys joined her at the table. “Please tell me you’ve worked in a restaurant before.”

“Oh yes,” Bruce began, “I’ve been bartending for the last year and Todd is an experienced waiter.”

She shook her head, seeming pleased. “I have to say, you two are a hell of a lot better than what’s been walking in here this week. How the hell did you get him to hire you? No offense, but you’re not his type.”

Bruce was completely confused but tried to act cool as he said, “We’re not sure what you mean.”

“So far they’ve all been girls, probably early to mid-twenties with huge chests and tight pants. We’re going to have more breasts implants bouncing around in this place than an episode of Baywatch.”

She shook her head in disgust and continued, “Just based on numbers, I don’t need you, but who knows what kind of workers these girls are? Most of them didn’t even apply for the job. He just met them in places at The Cape, at clubs in Boston, and who knows where else. But if you boys have the experience you say and are good workers, then I’ll be able to use you. In fact, I’ll probably give you a ton of hours if you want ‘em.”

“We’ll need the money,” Bruce replied.

“Great. I’ll get you started tonight.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Bruce said. “But I’m assuming you’re the manager here. Mr. Hampton gave us the impression that he was running the restaurant.”

“Ha,” she blurted out, mockingly. “If he ran this place, it would shut down in a week. He’s never done a day’s work in his life. His father likes to fool himself into thinking his son is working for him, but he’s just out here to get wasted and screw as many girls as he can. Believe me, he’s worthless.”

She lowered her voice when she realized a few people were looking at her. She took a deep breath and continued in a much quieter tone: “I’m sorry, boys. Let’s start over. My name is Ann Mislimsky and I’m the manager here, at least until it gets established. I’ve worked for Frank Hampton for many years, and he asked me to start this place up. I’m sure you’ll like working here.”

They said thank you, shook hands, and promised to return later to start work.

He knew his old Chevy couldn’t outrun the SUV, and there was nowhere to turn off. The dark, wet road was a straight shot to the bottom of the hill. So he knew his only choice was to slow down, try to get out of the car, and run for his life.

He stepped on the brakes, and as the car decelerated the SUV crashed into him again. Only this time, it didn’t pop back into the lane after hitting him. It continued to push him until he broke through the guardrail.

Before he knew it, he was over the cliff. As the vehicle started to plummet, he looked forward and saw a flurry of lights in the distance. When he looked below, he saw nothing but the dark lake, like a huge black hole sucking him in.

Bruce and Todd had worked in the restaurant for three weeks and never even caught a glimpse of Mark Hampton. They liked working there and were making decent tips, but had not yet received a paycheck.

Before the restaurant opened one Friday, Bruce found Ann in Mark’s office. She was sitting behind his desk, rubbing her temples. “Can I come in?” Bruce asked.

She waved him in, and he sat across the desk. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Some of us were wondering about our paychecks. Can we expect them soon?”

She didn’t answer immediately, and continued to rub her head. When she stopped, she looked at him with red eyes. “That’s a very good question, and you have every right to ask it.” She paused, shook her head in frustration and continued, “Payroll is Mark’s responsibility.”

She paused again and Bruce said, “Do you know if he’ll have our checks soon?”

“To be honest with you, probably not.”

“But…but…why?”

“Because that adolescent, brainless, walking penis can’t lift a finger to do anything for this place. If his father only knew how irresponsible he’s been with the money here, he would drop dead. We need to pay bills, we need to pay distributors, we have taxes, not to mention your paychecks. Do you know this place has absolutely no insurance?”

“You’re kidding.”

“If this place burnt down, Frank Hampton would lose his entire investment.”

“So why don’t you get insurance?”

She let loose a disgusted sigh, slowly walked across the room, and collapsed into the leather couch. “It was his responsibility to get the insurance before we opened, and he still hasn’t done it.”

“Do you want my help?”

“No. He needs to do something. I’ve done everything to get this restaurant started. And I’m doing everything to keep it running. He’s going to get most of the credit for this place, so I’m not doing anything more.”

“But you can’t just leave this place uninsured.”

“Let the chips fall where they may. I don’t care anymore.”

***

The car crashed into the water, bobbed up for a moment, and then sunk straight down. The front end hit the lake bottom and then rolled on its roof. It teetered for a moment like a capsized turtle, and then tipped to the driver’s side.

The cold, black water rushed in through the slight opening in the passenger side window. Bruce held his arms in front of his face to block the powerful blast and sat up on his knees. When he was able to look around he could see that the car was already filling with water.

He tried to stay calm as he frantically sucked in the precious air. He needed time to think, but the black water was relentless—like an evil beast coming to steal him away.

***

It was a slow Monday night in the restaurant, and this gave Bruce a perfect opportunity to expand his flirting with Jessica Newman. She was a waitress he had been hoping to date since day one, and now, it seemed like she was flirting back.

Jessica and Todd were the only wait staff on duty, and Bruce the only bartender. Ann was milling about somewhere, and he expected that she would let them out early if they could clean up quickly—hopefully before ten. It seemed like the perfect night to ask Jessica to do something after work.

As she approached the waitress station he met eyes with her, swallowed hard, and tried to muster the courage to ask her. Although he felt wildly attracted to her, he was aware that her appearance didn’t fit the same mold as the other model-like waitresses. She didn’t have perfect curves in her hips and buttocks like the other girls and her breasts didn’t look surgically enhanced. She didn’t have a dark sexy tan or painstakingly primped hair.

But he loved her pale skin, especially the way it was just slightly pinkened by the summer sun. And her sandy-brown hair seemed so wild that she could only control it by tying it back; he enjoyed watching the occasional loose strand break free and fall in her face.

“The guy in the corner wants another vodka tonic,” she said as she placed her tray on the bar.

“Looks like we’ll be getting out of here early,” Bruce said as he mixed the drink.

“I hope so.”

“Hey, you wanna do something after work?”

“What?”

“You want to do something when we get off work tonight?”

“Oh,” she answered, realizing what he meant. She looked away seeming lost, and Bruce gulped hard, thinking she was about to turn him down. She looked back at him and said, “What would we do?”

Caught off guard, Bruce stammered and then said, “Get a drink somewhere, maybe something to eat.”

“But it’s Monday night. Everyplace closes early like us.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he replied and desperately tried to interpret her meaning. Did she not want to go out with him, or was she honestly wondering what they might do? But he knew he had come too far to give up. “I have some beer at my apartment.”

She looked at him inquisitively, as if she were giving his proposal serious thought. “What kind of beer?”

“Uh...Michelob...I think.”

Her face broke into a wide smile. “I love Michelob,” she replied with flirty eyes, and then walked away with the drink.

He turned toward the wall and pumped his fist with excitement. Just playing a little hard to get, he thought. But she was coming over. He enthusiastically started an early cleanup of the bar, and tried to think of a way to get Todd out of the apartment for the night.

Then, the front door swung open and Mark Hampton staggered in, looking half-drunk, with four of his goons by his side. He sat at the end of the bar and waved Bruce over.

Bruce approached him and said, “Would you like a martini, Mr. Hampton?”

Mark looked at him with surprise and said, “Who the hell are you? How do you know I drink martinis?”

“I made one for you back in April when you hired me.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark replied with no look of recognition. “Yeah, sure get me a martini.”

As Bruce prepared the drink, he noticed Mark and his cronies studying the restaurant intensely. Then he heard Mark say, “Where are all the friggin’ girls?” Bruce placed the martini in front of Mark. “Where are all my waitresses?” Mark glared at Bruce, waiting for an answer.

“It’s a slow night, Mr. Hampton,” Bruce replied. “We only have two wait staff on this evening.”

Just then, Todd walked by, carrying a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen. “Who’s the guy?” Mark swayed, almost falling off the barstool. “I hired all hot chicks. I can’t find a decent piece of ass anywhere on this island tonight. This is where my stable of chicks is supposed to be, and I find some dude waiting tables.”

“You were the one who hired him,” Bruce said and immediately turned away trying to hide his disdain. He leaned over the sink and cleaned some glasses, feeling too nauseated to even lay eyes on Mark Hampton.

When Jessica appeared in the room, Bruce’s heart sunk into his stomach. “Who the fuck is that?” Mark slurred. “The only chick working here is a dog. I’d be better off if I go home and jerk off.”

Bruce wanted to leap over the bar and pound Mark’s head into the wall. But he kept his eyes down and vigorously washed the glasses.

Then he heard him say it: “She’ll have to do.”

He dropped a glass into the sink and looked in Mark’s direction. Mark knocked back the rest of the martini and tossed a twenty on the bar. “Hey, martini man, you make a nice drink. Buy yourself something.” He walked away with two of his thugs following him; the other two walked toward Jessica.

Bruce watched in horror as the two brutes positioned themselves on either side of Jessica and walked her out of the room. Bruce felt paralyzed for a moment. His knees buckled and he was unsure of what to do. He scanned the area for Todd or Anne, someone to help him—to help her.

He ran from behind the bar and moved toward the office. When he reached it, he saw that the door was closed and Mark’s men sat around a nearby table. “Hey, martini man,” the bald one called out when he saw Bruce walking toward them, “bring us a round of beers.”

Bruce switched from a fast walk to a mad dash toward the office door. But the bulldog-faced one grabbed him, and they all jumped to their feet, pushing him away from the office.

“Let me by,” Bruce yelled. “Listen to me guys, she doesn’t want to be in there. If she’s in there against her will, then this could be rape. You have to let her out.”

“Get back behind the bar before you get your ass kicked,” one of them said as they continued to shove him back.

Anne saw the scuffle and bounded over. “What the hell is going on over here!”

One of them pushed Bruce so hard that he almost fell over backward. He was back in the bar area now, and the men turned away, seeming satisfied. Anne yelled at them again, but they ignored her and swaggered back near the office.

Anne approached Bruce, and when Todd joined them he explained what had happened. Anne’s eyes almost popped out of her head, and her fists clenched so tightly they turned as white as the moon. She stormed toward the office and unleashed an ear-deafening tirade on Mark’s goons.

Bruce and Todd listened as the last few customers and kitchen staff quickly departed the restaurant. They felt helpless as Anne went on for several minutes, but had no success getting into the office.

“We can’t just leave her in there,” Bruce said.

“How the hell are we gonna past his guard dogs?”

“Let’s call the police.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Todd said. “Since we’ve been out here, I’ve heard people talking. Frank Hampton owns half this island. The politicians all kiss his ass, and the cops are too afraid to bust his son. He can get away with whatever he wants.”

Anne stormed back and slammed a set of keys on the bar. “I’ve had it. I can’t take this anymore. I’m outta here.”

“What?” Bruce said.

“He’s gone too far this time. I may not be able to stop him, but I’m not running this place anymore. There’s a ten o’clock ferry tonight, and I plan on being on it.”

“What about the restaurant?” Todd said.

“I’ve liked working for Frank Hampton, but this is something I can’t do for him. I don’t care if this place burns to the fucking ground. Good luck, boys.” She stomped out of the restaurant.

Bruce and Todd leaned against the bar, hopelessly confused. Then, they heard Mark emerge from the office. “That wasn’t even worth it. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They watched Mark and his men quickly disappear out the door.

They rushed into the office and found Jessica on the couch. The front of her shirt was torn almost in half. Her eyes were wide—but not tearful— and her face pale. Her hands were slightly shaking.

They asked her if she was okay numerous times, to which she replied with a soft answer of yes. Then Bruce asked, “Did he rape you?” She shook her head yes.

“Listen to us, Jessica,” Bruce began, “we don’t think it’s a good idea to call the island police. There’s a ten o’clock ferry, so we can get you off the island tonight, if we hurry. We can call the Massachusetts State Police when we get to the mainland.”

“My father,” she said in hoarse, shaky voice, “he lives in Cambridge.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “When we get off the ferry, we’ll call him.” She shook her head in agreement. “Todd, take Jessica to the ferry in her car. I want to lock up and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Screw this place. Let’s go together.”

“I just want to do a couple of things. I’ll meet you there by ten. I promise.”

Todd looked at his watch. “You got twenty minutes until the ferry pulls out. You better hurry.”

After they left, Bruce got Anne’s keys off the bar. He unlocked the basement door and rushed down the stairs. The generator was in the corner of the basement, and he found the gas cans exactly where he had left them. On his first day, Anne made him fill three large gas cans to power the generator in case of a power failure.

He could barely carry all three at once, but made his way up the stairs with them. It was enough gas to cover all the major areas of the main floor. He spread out some table clothes and towels, just to make sure the fire would spread to all the important areas.

He grabbed a book of matches from the bar, walked to the front door, dropped a lit match, and walked out. As he was locking the door he saw the first flicker of flames through the window.

He started to walk toward his car, and heard a gruff voice behind him. “Hey, martini man, hold on.” Bruce kept walking but glanced over his shoulder. He saw Mark’s bald-headed thug walking behind him. “Yo, we need some beer, hold up. You gotta unlock the door.”

Bruce saw that the brute had not yet noticed the flames. But he knew that once he turned toward the restaurant, there would be no missing it. So he broke into a jog and then a sprint. He jumped into his Chevy and peeled away. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the goon angrily waving his arms.

It was 9:45 PM. He knew he would have to hurry.

***

He reached up and grabbed the window crank. As he slowly turned it, the window inched down and the gush of water grew in size. He continued to lower the window until he was confident he could fit through the opening.

The water filled the car so quickly he didn’t have a chance for a final deep breath. The rising water lifted him as he squeezed through the window. After making it out, he set off toward the surface, pulling himself up through the murky water. He had no idea how deep the lake was, and knew there was a possibility he wouldn’t survive.

His knees snapped his legs back and forth like machine parts as his arms reached for the surface. With each hopeful stride he prayed for air, and when it seemed like his mouth was about to open and gulp the dreadful water into his lungs, he found the surface.

His body bobbed in the water like a buoy as he desperately inhaled the air with sharp, wheezing gasps. When he recovered, he realized he wasn’t far from the shore, and slowly kicked his way over.

When he reached dry land, he saw the ferry not far off, and ran toward it. He chugged along the dark road as part of the ferry parking lot came into view. He saw that he would have to make it around one more corner and he would be there.

He hustled around the bend, and bright lights attacked his eyes. He dove for the side of the road as he heard the screech of brakes. After tumbling a few feet, he looked up. The car was stopped, and the driver side door opened.

They were after him again.

But then, Todd stepped out. “Bruce! Is that you?”

Bruce looked up in amazement. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on the ferry?”

“We weren’t leaving without you. We just got off the boat to look for you. Where’s your car? Why are you wet?”

“We gotta get out of here. They’re after me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I set the restaurant on fire. One of Mark’s guys saw me running away from the place right before it burst into flames. They know I did it.”

“You did what!” Todd’s mouth hung open. “Have you lost your mind. That was the crime scene. The police can’t get him for the rape without the evidence from in there.”

“You and I both know he won’t be getting in any trouble for that rape—evidence or no evidence.”

“You’re that sure?”

“Even if we can get around the corrupt police force out here, which is doubtful, it would be weeks before a crime scene team from the mainland would make it out here to investigate. And even if they could still find anything, he would have an all-star legal team to get him off.”

“All right. All right,” Todd said, looking around in fear. “Get in the car before they see you.”

“Did the ferry leave?”

“It just pulled away. But I think I can get us off the island,” Todd said as he pushed Bruce into the back seat. He saw Jessica sitting in the front, her moist eyes peering back at him. He smiled at her, trying to let her know that he was all right.

Todd sped away and stopped the car in a parking lot by the ocean. He jumped out and ran onto a dock. Bruce and Jessica lost sight of him but followed his path, holding hands as they traipsed into the darkness. Suddenly, a bearded man in his fifties stepped off a boat and stood in front of them.

Bruce didn’t recognize him at first, but then, realized it was Todd’s uncle. As his eyes focused on the boat, he remembered the few nights he slept on it last spring. Todd appeared next to his uncle and explained a hurried version of their predicament.

Todd’s uncle was reluctant at first, but after realizing how desperate the group was, he agreed to help. A few minutes later they were pulling away.

Bruce looked at Jessica. She was bundled up in an old blanket, sitting in the corner. She leaned on her knees and looked at him with fearful eyes. He wanted to hug her and fly her away from the pain she was feeling.

Todd’s uncle guided the vessel out of the marina, and quickly had them gaining speed in the open ocean. Bruce sat next to Jessica and held her cold hand. He watched the island get smaller as the bright lights slowly faded.

And then, like a half-remembered day from his memory, Turtle Island was gone.