The 7th Tarot Card (26 page)

“
Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.”
—Mark Twain, American author

*******

During my thirty-minute drive to the restaurant, what little conviction I had left, trickled away like the sands in an ancient hour glass. I was having second and third thoughts. My stomach churned. By the time I arrived at the parking entrance for the Beach Café, sweaty palms made it difficult for me to get a firm grip on the steering wheel. In the Central Plaza of Carillon Point’s building complex, six bell towers chimed four o’clock as I approached the ramp, stopped, and pulled a ticket from the dispenser. The bright yellow security gate slowly lifted and I accelerated forward, beginning my descent into the underground garage. I was right on schedule.

The closest
available parking space was near the back of the garage, so I pulled in, killed the engine, and paused a moment to regroup. I plucked my cell phone from my bag and verified one last time that it was turned on, then stared at my pink Taser stashed at the bottom of my purse, partially obscured by my wallet and a small emergency bag of dark chocolate malted milk balls. I hesitated, debating what to do with the weapon. Would I be able to grab hold of it in a hurry if necessary? Probably not. Stupidly, I wore a jacket with no pockets and my jeans pockets were too small to hold a Taser. I mentally kicked myself. The only option I had was to stuff it under my waistband in the small of my back. At least my jacket would cover the tell-tale bulge. I just prayed I wouldn’t accidentally taze my ass.

With shaking
knees, I climbed out of the car, closed the door, and hit the lock button on my remote. The sound of all four doors bolting shut, separating me from my last bit of refuge, made me flinch. I scanned the surroundings. At first glance, the area appeared empty except for a lone valet driver who hopped into a silver Mercedes sedan and sped off to park it in some remote area of the multi-level parking garage. The owner of the Mercedes opened a side door to the Woodmark Hotel and disappeared inside. And then it was as quiet as a graveyard.

Taking
a deep breath, I lifted my chin, steadied my nerves, and headed for the restaurant. The instructions were simple enough. Even a child could follow them. With each step, I mentally rehearsed them in my mind: locate the FBI couple; push my hair behind my ear; take a seat at the bar; wait for the killer to join me. I glanced at my silver bangle watch. If everything went according to plan, I should be out of there and on my way to the mall by five o’clock. As soon as I saw the agent with the Mariners T-shirt and his partner, I knew I would feel a whole lot better.

Each row of empty cars I passed increased my unease
; the clicking of my footsteps, a hollow echo throughout the cavernous garage. All of my senses were heightened—every sound causing me to glance nervously this way and that, scrutinizing every shadow. What was I doing here? Why had I agreed to do this—to be bait for a psychopath? I wanted to turn back, run away, but it was too late now. The plan was in motion and people were counting on me. All I had to do was play out my part and whatever happened, it would all be over soon.

I kept going.

Just as I was about to clear the last row of cars, I heard a faint rustle of clothing and sensed the presence of someone directly behind me. My heart skipped a beat, and I knew without looking it was him. His right hand came around hard across my mouth, and I felt a sharp stab of pain in my side where he jabbed his knife. I shrieked but his hand muffled all sound of it.

“
Scream and you die right here. Do you understand me?” he whispered harshly in my ear. I turned my head toward him and nodded, fear and shock surging through my body. The change in his appearance was staggering. Gone was the shaggy beard, and his once long gray hair was now reddish-brown and close cropped. In place of an old T-shirt and faded jeans, he wore a designer navy polo shirt, khaki slacks, maroon Top-Sider shoes, and sunglasses. The perfect image of a successful businessman having a casual meal on the waterfront.

Very
slowly he removed his hand from my mouth and gripped my shoulders. When he felt confident that I wasn’t going to scream, he pushed me towards the restaurant entrance. I went without a struggle, clinging to the reassuring thought that the FBI would be inside, secretly waiting for me.

“
Why are you acting like this?” I asked him in a state of confusion. “This isn’t necessary. Let’s just go in and have a drink together. Get acquainted.”

“
Do you think I’m a stupid hick? I saw those cops in the bar.”

I caught my breath
. That was the last thing I expected to hear.

“
What cops? What are you talking about?” I feigned innocence, but he wasn’t buying it.

“
Don’t insult my intelligence. You betrayed me, just like all the others.” He shoved me through the door and into the tiny vestibule outside the restaurant entrance. But, instead of turning right and going into the bar area, he pushed me forward through another door and out into the marina.

“
Where . . . where are we going?” I asked fearfully.

“
You really disappointed me, Victoria. I tried to do this your way. Like a fool, I trusted you,” he spat out. “Now we’re going to do it my way.”

He forced me down the stairs and toward the dock.
His grip tightened around my shoulders like a vice, pinning my arms to my side. As he shoved me up onto the dock, he pulled me even tighter, his fingernails gouging into my skin. A navy windbreaker slung over his arm concealed the knife he kept pressed into my side. I tried to look back towards the restaurant, but he wrenched me around violently.

“
Keep your eyes straight ahead, your voice low, and act normal,” he warned, “if you want to live.”

Wild-eyed,
I scanned the marina for someone who could help me, and my heart leapt when I saw an elderly man and his chocolate and white cocker spaniel slowly approaching us from the other end of the dock. As he came closer I agonized desperately about how I could somehow signal him, but Bill tightened his grip on my shoulder, bruising my arm and threatened me, “One sound and I shove this knife right into your gut.” He thrust the knife harder into my side, the tip of it piercing my skin.

“
You’re hurting me,” I said as quietly as I could. “I won’t say anything, I swear.
Please
stop.”

Despair swept over me as t
he man and his dog passed us by, not even glancing in our direction. I kept walking, moving sluggishly, as if wading through a dark syrup, down the extensive dock. Most of the boat slips were empty, but just ahead and to our right sat a large fishing boat. Holding a crush of drunken partiers, it was the only other thing between us and a small blue and white sport boat moored at the far end of the dock. My first instinct was to make a run for it, jump into the chilly, murky water and swim for dear life to the fishing boat, but Bill’s grip on me was too powerful. I knew I couldn’t break free. If I even tried, there was no doubt in my mind he would carry out his threat, stab me to death right here on the dock. I stared at the young partiers, willed them to look in our direction, but we passed them by unseen, their loud music and laughter reverberating across the marina. No one noticed us. Not one.

I had to stay calm.
Needed to control the blind panic that rose up inside me, force myself to think. Hutch said they could track me using my cell phone. Once they realized I was late, they’d search for me. I just had to play along, stall for time. It could still work out.

When we finally reached the end of the dock, Bill ordered me to get in the
sport boat. “I can’t,” I pleaded. “I’m afraid of boats—I have a fear of the water. Please don’t make me. Why don’t we just go back to my place? We could have a glass of wine, listen to the CD you gave me, talk this over.”

I was grasping at straws,
trying anything and everything, but he would have none of it. He grabbed the purse off my shoulder and tossed it into the boat.

“
Get in the boat now or swim, baby. It’s your choice. ’Course you’ll be sliced up pretty bad. Probably won’t last long in the cold water.” He said each word with a sadistic smile, as if he would enjoy watching me die. I had no choice but to take a long step off the dock and into the boat. At once, he was beside me shoving me down hard onto the seat. The sight of a coil of rope and duct tape in an open duffle bag on the floor of the boat sent shockwaves through me.

“
Please,” I began to plead again, but he cut me off, yelled at me to shut up. Roughly he forced my hands around behind my back and picked up the tape. “You’re hurting me, that’s too tight,” I screamed as he crossed my wrists and taped them together.

“
I said shut up, or I’ll tape your mouth shut too,” he warned. He spat out his words with such rage that I lowered my head and cowered in silence. Next he grabbed the rope, wrapped it tightly around my ankles, and looped it through a metal fixture on the floor of the boat, then tied it off. He gave it a few good yanks. When he was certain I was fully restrained, he moved fast. With jerky, nervous movements he untied the ropes that moored us to the dock and tossed them into the boat. Leaning over the side, he pulled in the three dirty, white bumpers, then pushed off. I looked frantically over my shoulder at the fishing boat and up toward the restaurant for something, anything that would give me hope. But there was nothing.

He
stood, lifted his sunglasses and scanned the marina one last time then sat down in the captain’s seat to the right of me and started the engine. The motor caught and we slowly chugged away from the dock. The combined scent of gasoline and lake water, usually part of an enjoyable boat ride was now a revolting odor. Once we moved beyond the low speed zone, he powered up the throttle and we took off across the lake, heading northwest toward Seattle and Lake Union.

“I know God won’t give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.” ―Mother Teresa, Catholic nun and missionary

*******

For several agonizing minutes we motored on at a hasty clip, overtaking slow-moving sloops and crossing the wakes of ski boats, causing our boat to roughly bump up and down over the surging waves. As we traveled further and further from shore, I knew my chances of survival were seriously diminishing. I had to come out of my paralysis and do something, and I had to do it soon.

Over the roar of the engine, I screamed at him.
“Stop! I’m going to be sick.” He eyed me suspiciously, then tentatively acquiesced and reduced our speed. Although we had significantly slowed our pace, we were still moving away from shore, still en route to whatever loathsome destination he had in store for us.

I tried again.
“Please, can we just stop for a while? I’m getting seasick. I just need a moment.”

He looked
behind us and seemed secure that we were not being followed, so, mercifully, he cut the motor, then shifted in his seat to face me. We drifted quietly, rocking back and forth over the glistening swells as I stalled for time, breathing hard, head down, pretending to be on the verge of vomiting. I could feel his vile eyes on me but I couldn’t bring myself to look up into his face. I kept my gaze focused on the heavy rope binding my ankles as we floated unspeaking, far from the marina, far from the FBI.

After only a minute or so
he reached around to restart the engine. I had to try another tack. “Listen,” I said as I lifted my head.

He
heaved a sigh of annoyance, then turned back to look at me. I stared beseechingly into his face, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. His narrow lips were pressed tightly together, his expression a cold mask.

“
We can work this out. Let’s just turn around and go back. You can stay with me. We got off to a bad start. Couldn’t we just start all over again?”

Instead of answering me, h
e pulled a cigarette from a crumpled pack stowed in a small cubby hole in the dash board, and lit it with a red butane lighter. He took a deep drag, then slowly exhaled. After a second heavy pull on his cigarette, his lips snarled into a contemptible smile and he shook his head. “You don’t even remember me, do you? You don’t have a clue who I am.”

“
Of course I do,” I responded carefully, trying to retain eye contact. “I didn’t recognize your voice on the phone, but now that I see you, I remember you very well. You’re Bill—Bill Ogborne. I have fond memories of you from school.”

“
Liar!” The word exploded from him. He shoved his finger into my face. “How can I trust a single word you say? You’ve already proven you’re a lying bitch. I told you no cops. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Flinching, I forced a smile and quickly responded,
“No! How could you say that? I’ve always admired your intelligence. As I recall, you were an honor student, weren’t you? And, I didn’t call the police. Honest! If they were there, then it must have been for some other reason. Why would I call them on you? I wanted to meet you, thank you for your beautiful gifts, spend time with you, find out where this could lead.” I was rambling now, but the more I talked, the longer it stalled our escape.

His
stony expression softened ever so slightly, so I pressed on, trying to gain his confidence. “This is just such a big surprise, you know—seeing you again after all these years. A pleasant surprise—a wonderful surprise.” I smiled once more, warmer this time, gaining courage. “How in the heck did you find me anyway?”

He
took another look behind us, seemed to feel safe, then relaxed somewhat and draped his left arm over the side of his seat.

“
Dumb luck,” he started. He watched me for a moment with a scornful eye, then continued, “You wouldn’t know, because you never bothered to stay in touch, but I’ve had some rough times. I never fit in. People always had it in for me, made fun of me because I was different. You were the only person in college, in my whole life really, who showed any kindness towards me, any acceptance.”

I
viewed him in silence as he took another drag on his cigarette then pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. His face took on a wounded look; in his voice I heard the slightest bit of tremor. I almost felt sorry for him.

“
But then,” he started up again, “like the rest of ’em, you turned on me too. The way you sashayed around campus in those short skirts. Thought you were so hot, didn’t you? Thought you were better than me.” His unstable mood, now shifting into agitation was on the verge of becoming rage.

Vigorously
I shook my head. “No!”

He suddenly
erupted. “Don’t lie to me! I watched you change your path when you saw me coming. I heard you laughing at me behind my back.” The hatred in his eyes was terrifying.

I
drew in a deep breath.

“
Bill, I would never do that to you. You must have misunderstood. I have fond memories of you from school,” I lied, “just as you had fond memories of me.” I tried desperately to keep my mouth from quivering as I smiled at him.

Reflecting
back on those disquieting days, I recalled how his constant, lurking presence, phone calls, and unwanted gifts unnerved me. His inappropriate devotion, pathological. Yes, he was right; I did change my path when I saw him. Did I laugh at him behind his back? Possibly. Probably. But it would have been more of the morbid humor that hospital workers and police officers use to survive stressful situations. I never would have done it when he was nearby though. I would have been very cautious about that. Cruelty was not my style. Never has been. His spying on me must have been more far-reaching, more insidious than I’d realized.

The
caustic outburst jerked me back to the present.

“
Me? Fond memories of you? Don’t flatter yourself. You disgusted me.”

I just looked at him.
“What? I don’t understand—you sent me candy and flowers.”

“
You had everything I didn’t have. Popularity, nice clothes, lots of dates. I hated you for it. Yeah, you were nice to me for a while, but it was out of pity, wasn’t it? I don’t need pity from anyone, especially you.” He tossed the cigarette butt over the side and lit up another one.

T
ears welled up in my eyes. “Bill, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. But, you know, that was so long ago. What we did or didn’t do in the past doesn’t really matter now, does it? What matters now is where we go from here. We can make a fresh start, pretend we just met.”

He scanned the horizon once more,
put his glasses back on, then resumed his angry diatribe, heedless of what I’d just said. “There’ve been other women in my life like you, and like you, they all used me. Led me on, pretended to like me, got whatever they could out of me, then dumped me like I was a piece of garbage. I can’t take being treated like that over and over again. I won’t allow it anymore.” His voice grew louder, his face reddened as he took a final drag from his cigarette then tossed it over the side.

Echoing his assertions in a soothing tone, I said,
“You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

H
is next words came firing out rapidly. “So because they made me suffer, I had to make them suffer. You can’t use a man like that and get away with it. Do you understand?” He gave me a hard, questioning look.

M
y mouth went dry and disgust coursed through my body as I nodded in agreement. “Whatever happened to them, I’m sure they had it coming.”

Astonishingly
he appeared to believe me, and so he progressed further down the rabbit hole of his sordid confession. If he was seeking some kind of absolution, I would do my best to give it to him. I waited and listened, keeping my expression supportive and compassionate.

“
The last one. I didn’t mean to kill her, but she kept pushing and pushing me until I couldn’t control myself. Couldn’t stand the ugly words that came out of her mouth. I had to stop her, so I cut her throat. She made me kill her. You can see that, can’t you? A man can only be pushed so far. She should have known that. But she was a fool. She brought it on herself.”

A wild look crossed his face as
he picked up a knife from the floor of the boat. I watched, my pulse quickening with terror as he turned the jagged hunting knife over and over in his hands.

“
It wasn’t your fault,” I said, staring fearfully at the knife. “She forced you into it. You had no choice. I understand.” He looked at me with distrust, yet a burgeoning hopefulness crept into his expression.

I needed to change the subject,
talk him down. “So, you didn’t say how you found me.”

He considered the question for a moment
before he spoke.

“
I was at the end of my rope. The cops were on my tail. My savings was almost gone. There’s no way I’d let them put me in prison, so I’d decided to end it all. But then I found you on Facebook. There you were after all these years, and single too. It had to be a miracle.” A hint of a smile crossed his face and his voice lost its angry edge. “Life was still worth living after all. You liked me once. You could love me, I knew you could. All we needed was time together, time alone. I would make it happen. So I did some research and a little hacking and found out where you lived and your phone number. It wasn’t that hard.”

I silently cursed all those social networking sites. Evidently, I had given out too much personal information. I should have paid more attention to the security issues
.

“
That was really clever of you,” I said lightly. “So, where are we going?”

“
I’ve got a truck waiting for us when we dock at Lake Union, and there’s a small cabin out in the woods in Oregon that I rented. It’s very secluded, miles away from the nearest neighbor. Got it under a phony name and, thanks to some cash advances I got from your credit cards, I’ve prepaid for a year. Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything.”

It took every last ounce
of self-control not to scream my head off. My body was trembling with rage.

Noticing my silence, he
frowned and said, “The money’s not a problem is it? We’re in this together, right?”

“
Yes, right, together.”

He took off his sunglasses
again and gave me a smug look. “That’s what I thought. We’ll never need to go into town. I can fish and hunt for you; you can grow a garden, cook, and clean for me. I’ve been planning this for months. Hell, we might even start a family.” He grinned at me, reached out and rubbed my thigh. “We’ll be happy. You’ll see.”

My stomach turned.
If I wasn’t really nauseated before, I was now.

“
That sounds charming—it really does,” I lied, “but you probably know that I have a job. I can’t just leave without saying goodbye. It would look bad, raise suspicions. People would try to find out what happened to me. Why don’t we go back, let me give my notice and we can go to the cabin in two weeks? How about that?”

“
Don’t worry about it,” he said firmly. “Like I said, I’ve thought of everything. Let them look for you. Who cares? They’ll never find us.” He moved closer to me, reached out and tenderly pushed a lock of hair from my eyes. The touch of his smarmy hand made my skin crawl, but I forced a smile. Then he leaned over and kissed my forehead. I thought I was going to be sick. I prayed to God for help. And then, as my kidnapper put his tobacco-stained hands on my face and lifted it for a kiss, my cell phone rang.

Startled, we both turned and looked at my
bag on the floor behind us. Please let it be Judah, I prayed. But I knew it couldn’t be. There was no identifying song tag. I had no idea who the caller was. Why didn’t I let him come along like he wanted? Why was I so hard-headed?

Bill frowned
at the blaring interruption. When the ringing stopped, he turned back to me, back to his unwelcome embrace, but we were interrupted once more when the ringing began a second time. After a moment’s pause the persistent jingling started yet again, and Bill’s face contorted in anger. He leapt from his seat, picked up my bag, and heaved it over the side of the boat.

“
My things!” I screamed. “My wallet! My credit cards! My makeup!” The heavy weight of my purse caused it to sink rapidly into the chilly depths of the lake, leaving behind only a ripple of water and a few bubbles that escaped to the surface. Plunging to the bottom of Lake Washington were my cell phone and my last hope of being rescued.

“
You won’t need those anymore,” Bill said with a glower, then returned to his seat and cranked the ignition. The engine roared back to life and we resumed our mad getaway across the lake. I began to cry. Hot tears blurred my vision and trickled down my cheeks as I realized, finally realized, that the only person who could save me now was me. I was going to have to be my own white knight. I still had my Taser, but my wrists were taped together. Even if I could get a firm hold of it, the armrest on his chair blocked a clear shot at him. If I could just stand up . . . .