Sing It to Her Bones

18

I hadn’t thought about Jamie DeMella for years. That’s why it was all the more surprising that I’d think about him now while trussed up in the dark, all alone in the forward cabin of a pirated sailboat. When my father was stationed in San Diego, Jamie had lived next door. We played together after school. One summer I’d organized a neighborhood circus to raise money for the Red Cross. Jamie was supposed to be ringmaster but decided at the last minute that he’d rather be a magician. He’d bought a junior magician kit at the PX, one that came with a top hat, a wand, a deck of trick cards, some brass rings, and a string of silk scarves. He practiced for hours in his backyard until his bratty little sister refused to cooperate anymore. Then he asked me to be his assistant. For the event I agreed to dress in my ballet tutu and hold his equipment, but I drew the line when he wanted to saw me in half. We were both ten. I didn’t think he had the experience.

But Jamie had taught me how to position my wrists-sideways, not flat-so that no matter how tightly they were tied, I could eventually wriggle out. Thanking Jamie, wherever he was, I rotated my wrists toward each other, stretching and pulling the fabric of the sail ties, tucking my thumbs under my palms, easing the loops down over my hands. So what if my wrists grow raw? I thought. At least when my body washes up, they’ll know it wasn’t an accident.

It wasn’t easy, but after about five minutes my hands were free. I massaged my wrists and made a silent promise that if I ever got off this boat alive, I’d locate Jamie on the Internet and thank him myself. But the only thing free were my hands. I sat quietly in my cramped quarters, turning over half-baked plans in my mind.

Liz was a dangerous maniac with a gun, but Hal was smart, an expert sailor who would be hard to fool. From my spot in the dark, facing the stern, I could see into the cockpit, where Connie stood behind the wheel, her face illuminated by the red light reflecting off the compass. One of Hal’s bare legs was just visible to the right of the hatch, but I couldn’t see Liz.

“Where are we?” Hal must have been talking to Connie, because she answered.

“At green flasher number four. Does it matter?”

“Where are we going?” Liz sounded exasperated. From the direction of her voice, I figured she must be perched on the cabin top.

“Just keep your hand on the gun and your mouth shut.” Hal’s voice was edged with apprehension. For one thing, Connie was smiling. That was unnerving. I wondered what on earth she had to smile about, and then I smelled it, about a minute before Hal did: burning rubber.

In the next second the engine’s emergency alarm began to scream. With a roar of rage Hal launched himself across the cockpit and twisted the ignition key, shutting down the engine.

Liz must have thought he’d taken complete leave of his senses. “Shit, Hal. What the hell’s wrong?”

“The engine’s overheated. Can’t you smell it? Damn water pump must be burned out.”

“How’d that happen?”

“No one opened the water intake valve that supplies water to cool the engine.”

“That was smart.” Her tone made it clear that this turn of events was entirely his fault.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Although I knew she couldn’t see me, I gave Connie a big thumbs-up.

Sea Song drifted to a dead stop.

“Hal, we aren’t moving! Do something!” Liz whined.

“You mind your business and I’ll mind mine. Just keep that gun on Connie. I’m going to raise the sails.” I could see the back of both legs now, as he faced my sister-in-law. “And you, keep us on course, or I swear to God, I’ll tell her to shoot you. Don’t think she won’t.”

There was no doubt in my mind that Liz would gladly take care of anybody who got in her way. I wondered if she’d lost any cases to lawyers who had turned up floating in the Potomac River. She’d killed once, twice probably, and I was convinced she was about to do it again. But not with a gun. That was just to keep us in line. If they wanted to make our deaths appear as accidental drownings, bullet holes in our bodies couldn’t be part of the picture.

Hal surprised me by popping into the cabin again. I whipped my hands behind my back, my pulse pounding in my ears like heavy footsteps. At first I thought maybe he’d had a change of heart, but he stopped at the navigation station, pulled open a drawer, and rummaged through it, completely ignoring me. He pulled out something that flashed brightly in the gloom, a winch handle. He’d need this special tool to crank up the sails, particularly as he would be working alone. Halfway up the ladder he stopped and turned back to the navigation station to pull out something else. I heard a click-click. A powerful beam of light swept around the cabin until it caught me, frozen in fear like a possum in headlights. It took all my willpower not to throw up my untied hands to shield my eyes. I sat on them instead.

“You okay?”

“That’s a dumb question.” I held my eyes open until they watered, staring at the spot where I guessed his eyes would be in the blackness behind the powerful flashlight that Connie used for spotting navigational markers after dark.

“Hal! What the hell’s keeping you?” Liz yelled. “Get your ass up here!”

The beam switched off, leaving spots swimming before my eyes, spoiling my night vision.

Hal disappeared through the hatch and almost immediately, I heard the grinding of the portside winch that controlled the unfurling of the jib sail. Behind me up on deck, the jib flapped and slapped its way across the bow.

Sea Song surged forward. “Finally!” I heard Liz exclaim.

“Shut up, Liz.” Over my head the fiberglass groaned under Hal’s weight as he climbed to the cabin top to deal with the mainsail. I remembered how we’d accomplished that task together, only three, no, was it four days ago? Now completely free, with the element of surprise on my side, I wanted to storm the deck while Hal was distracted, wrestle the gun from Liz, and get the drop on Hal, but I could see that was a lousy plan. Someone would surely get shot in the process, and with my luck lately, it would probably be me.

I needed a weapon. I tried to remember where Connie kept the box containing the flare gun. Was it on my right, in the compartment with the hats? Or was it in the navigation station? I’d never be able to find the stupid thing in the dark. Maybe I could ease a knife out of the utensil drawer? No, that was in the galley, too near the main hatch. I’d be seen. Something big and heavy, then. What?

I looked at Connie for inspiration. I could see her standing tall and straight behind the wheel, the light from the compass reflecting red off her face. I willed her to look at me but knew it would be fruitless. She’d never see me down here in the dark.

The squeal and grind had stopped. The mainsail must be fully raised. When I saw the corners of Connie’s mouth turn up slightly, as if she had just remembered a joke, I thought she might be looking at me after all. Hal hadn’t left the cabin top. I supposed he’d be tying off the main halyard about now, wrapping it in a neat figure eight around the cleat. I couldn’t see Liz, but I figured she was nearby, perched on the cabin top, because I could hear her complaining. “Hurry up, Hal. I don’t know a goddamn thing about boats, and this bitch is making me nervous.”

It was a subtle thing, and Hal would have noticed it at once if he hadn’t been so occupied with the sails. Connie turned the wheel slightly to the right. Sailors are always doing that, I’ve noticed, moving the wheel back and forth from one side to the other even when the boat is sailing in a straight line, but this was different. Sea Song’s course shifted slightly, and suddenly I knew what was going to happen.

Connie had altered course just enough so that the wind crossed the stern, filling the sails from the other side. Any second now the boom would swing to the other side of the boat. The boat jibed, sending the heavy boom slashing across the deck. Hal yelled a warning, but it was too late. With a thud and clanking of metal cables and fittings, the swinging boom connected solidly with something, sending shock waves undulating down the mast, vibrations even I could feel as I sat below. “Liz!” There was the squeak of Hal’s rubber-soled shoes scrambling across the deck, followed by a splash. Then something heavy fell into the cockpit, spinning like a pewter plate, and I saw Connie desert the wheel and dive for it. Hal got there a second later, and the two of them struggled, grunting and swearing, for possession of the gun. I sprang toward the hatch and had almost reached the ladder when Hal shoved Connie away and pointed the gun at her triumphantly.

“Get back behind the wheel!”

I melted back into the shadows.

In the scuffle Connie’s shirt had ridden up, exposing her bra. Without embarrassment she tugged it down over her slacks and did as she was told. From behind the wheel, she glared at Hal with undisguised hatred.

Hal’s voice was controlled and edged with menace. “You’ve killed her, you realize. Even if she survived the blow, we’ll never find her out here in the dark.” Since Hal clearly had no intention of going back to look for his partner in crime, I found his sentiment a little cheap.

Connie at least was honest. “Frankly, Hal, I don’t give a shit.”

Connie couldn’t know it, but she’d nearly killed me, too, with her well-timed jibe. As I crouched in the V-berth entertaining fantasies of rising to the rescue like Superwoman, Craig’s tackle box had come sliding across the cushion and fallen to the floor, narrowly missing my head. With all the crashing going on up on the deck, Hal hadn’t noticed the racket it made as it landed at my feet.

Back in the forward cabin after my aborted plan to tackle Hal, I lifted the tackle box to my knees. I remembered that lovely sail on the bay, and I remembered the lures. My mind fastened on the bright, shiny spoon Dennis had demonstrated only days before, and I wondered what kind of weapon it would make. I eased the latches open, praying they wouldn’t creak. Where was the spoon? Working in the dark, I felt around the upper tray, pricking my fingers on hooks, stifling the urge to cry out, silently sucking blood from a tiny puncture in my thumb. It wasn’t on top. Carefully I lifted the top tray and began feeling around in the compartment underneath. I encountered the soft plastic of a surgical eel, the wiggly jelly of something squidlike, and then my fingers closed around it, the silver spoon with the big, ugly hook.

I withdrew the lure from the box and cradled it in my palm, feeling the cool metal, the ornamental feathers, and the hook, now safely capped. I admired the balance and the way it fitted snugly in my hand; thoughts of Peter Pan and Captain Hook rose, unbidden, to my mind. Quietly I reassembled the trays, fastened the lid and pushed the box into the head, where I wouldn’t trip over it in the dark.

Now what would I do? I knew that if I appeared on deck, brandishing my lure, one or both of us might be shot. But we’d be floating in the bay anyway if I couldn’t come up with an idea soon. Okay, if I couldn’t get to Hal, how could I get him to come to me?

I crept into the head and sat on the toilet seat, turning ideas over in my mind, wishing I had paid more attention in sailing school. I couldn’t sabotage the electrical system; we were sailing without power. Maybe I could set the boat on fire! But I had no matches; I could think of nothing combustible nearby that I could lay my hands on. I cursed Connie for being so damn fastidious. Tie it down. Turn it off. Put it away. That damn checklist!

My prior experience with operating systems aboard Sea Song was limited primarily to the bilge. What if…? I knelt and ran my hand over the floorboards near the V-berth, feeling for the opening I knew would be there. The varnished teak felt smooth and clean underneath my fingers, but the boards fitted together so snugly, each butting against the next piece so smoothly, that I couldn’t feel the seam. My fingers eventually found the hole, about the size of a quarter. I inserted my index finger and carefully pried the floor panel upward, holding my breath, afraid that it would groan or scrape, alerting Hal to the fact that I was up to something down below. I eased the panel out of position, leaving a rectangular hole.

Even in the daytime, when I could see what I was doing, I felt uncomfortable rooting around in the dark places under the floor. Gingerly I eased my hand into the bilge and felt around until I located the narrow, cylindrical apparatus that controlled Sea Song’s speedometer. A dangerous little gizmo, Connie had said, which needed to be installed in a hole drilled clear through the hull. I’d assisted one time as she’d pulled it out and cleaned it of algae. But this time I wouldn’t be standing by to cram a temporary plug into the hole while she brushed green gunk off the wheel. Holding my breath, I wrenched the fitting out of its hole.

Water fountained into the boat like Old Faithful, wetting me completely. In less than a minute the rising water covered my shoes, and I swallowed hard, fighting back my panic, knowing that I’d need to stay quiet down below for my plan to work.

Perched back on the toilet seat again, I wondered how far into the bay we’d have to sail before Hal decided we’d gone far enough to dump us overboard. I wondered how long I could tread water, how far I could swim with my sore chest and bum arm. Hal would have to make it appear like an unfortunate accident with him as the only survivor. I’d drowned trying to save poor Liz, that would be his story, and Connie had gone in after me. Such a tragedy! We’d make the front page of the Chesapeake Times for sure.

Sea Song began to slow. “What’s wrong?” Hal sounded unhappy.

“I don’t know. I haven’t changed course. The sails are full. Suddenly it’s like sailing a bathtub.”

From the cockpit I heard the click-click of the flashlight, and its beam sliced through the dark into the cabin below. I sat quietly, hardly breathing, trying to merge with the darkness in the head.

“The goddamned boat’s sinking! She must have pulled one of the through-hulls!”

From above, I heard Connie laugh.

Hal scrambled into the cabin, flipped on the cabin lights, and began wading in my direction. “Which one was it, damm it?”

I waited where I was, with the door ajar. Soon he would notice that I wasn’t where he had left me.

“Hannah?”

I extracted the lure from my pocket and gripped it in my right hand. With my left, I removed the red plastic plug that protected the hook and dropped it into the water. I didn’t think I’d be needing it again.

“Hannah?”

Naturally, Hal expected to find me in the forward cabin. As his profile appeared in the doorway, I lashed out, sinking the lure deep into his neck.

Hal screamed, a hideous sound that will haunt me forever, and dropped the gun. It sank to the floor, but neither one of us dived for it. Hal was too busy bellowing and clutching his neck, and I was staring in horror, appalled by what I had done. At first there was surprisingly little blood. Then Hal tried to remove the hook, but the barb held fast and began to tear his flesh. “Hannah!” he cried. The man was in agony. He fell back against the cushions of the V-berth. I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.

I turned and floundered away, moving as quickly as I could in my waterlogged shoes. I headed for the pilot berth where Connie kept the life preservers.

Connie’s head appeared in the hatch. “Connie!” I yelled. “Is it too late to cork it?”

“Oh, God, yes.” She jumped onto the seat by the navigation station.

Connie flipped on the ship’s radio, punched the button that activated Channel 16, and spoke more calmly than I could believe into the microphone. “May Day, May Day, May Day. This is the sailing vessel Sea Song. We’re about two miles off Holly Point near the shipping channel, taking on water fast. Three… uh… four adults. One overboard. We’re abandoning ship now.” The radio crackled, hissed, then went silent. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong with the radio?” I was looking around for the flashlight, but who knew where Hal had dropped it?

“I don’t know,” Connie moaned. “It’s gone dead. Water probably shorted out the wires.”

Standing in water nearly up to my knees, I held out the life jackets. Connie threw them into the cockpit and pushed me up the ladder. She slipped her life jacket over her head, snapped the buckles together across her chest and waist, and helped me do the same. I held up the third life jacket. Connie sucked in her bottom lip and shook her head, but I couldn’t do it. Just before the rising water shorted out the electrical system and all the lights went out, I tossed it at Hal. “You don’t deserve this, you son of a bitch!”

Hal caught the life jacket in his bloody hands. The hook in his neck flashed and sparkled. Blood dripped from the yellow feathers at its tail, drenching his shirt. He looked so pale and weak that I wondered if I had severed his carotid artery.

Connie grabbed a couple of small floating cushions, handed one to me, and we stood together on the seats in the cockpit, waiting. When Connie judged the time was right, we jumped. Hal was on his own.

Connie and I swam a good one hundred yards from the boat, then turned around, treading water. Silhouetted against the gray night sky, we could see Sea Song’s regal mast and her sails flapping like wet sheets on a clothesline. Then she tilted, nose down, and sank beneath the water. Connie moaned. “It’s like losing Craig all over again,” she sobbed.

I felt rotten. I was a curse. A jinx. “Oh, Connie, I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t think what else to do. He was going to leave us out here to drown!” I gasped. My lungs burned, as if they would never get enough oxygen.

“It was the right thing.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Absolutely the right thing.”

As I bawled and made well-intentioned promises to God if He’d just help me out of this mess, a cloud bank slid across the sky and the moon, nearly full, laid a silver path on the water. I had my answer. I couldn’t wish anybody dead. I expected to see Hal’s head bobbing nearby, but although I scanned the water for several minutes, I didn’t spot him.

“Where’s Hal? I thought sure he’d get out.”

“Maybe he’s on the other side, treading water like we are.”

“Hal! Hal!” I called, but the only answer was the sound of my own labored breathing and the clang of the bell on a nearby buoy. I gasped, choking back tears. “I didn’t want him to die, Connie. I never wanted him to die!”

Connie grabbed my life vest by the straps and pulled me toward her until we were so close that our foreheads nearly touched. “Of course you didn’t, sweetheart.” Waves licked at my chin as I sobbed. “C’mon. We’re only in about twenty feet of water.”

“I’m not that tall,” I wailed.

“What I mean, silly, is that if we’re lucky, Sea Song’s mast will still be visible.”

I looked all around me. Miles away I could see lights glimmering onshore. A pair moving in tandem must be a car, its driver heading home after a late day at the office. One thing I knew for sure: It was too far to swim.

“Do you think the coast guard heard your call before the radio died?”

“I hope so.” She tugged on my vest. “There she is!” I looked where she pointed and saw the top twenty feet of Sea Song’s mast, jutting out at a sharp angle from the moon-spangled waves.

We swam, arm over arm, and grabbed on, exhausted. My arm and side ached as if I’d spent twenty minutes on the inside of an industrial clothes dryer. I wondered what had happened to Hal. I wondered if he’d focused on those beckoning lights and tried to swim for shore. In spite of all that had happened, I found myself praying that he’d make it.