Where had he kept them?
In one of the outbuildings?
Aboard the yacht?
Inside the mansion itself? Maybe in a bedroom or attic or cellar?
Somewhere else?
The place where Matt and the woman had been kept was, almost for sure, the prison where Wesley now held Kimberly, Billie and Connie.
If they’re still alive.
He took them alive. Otherwise, I would’ve found their bodies at the battlefield.
He took them alive, and he’s keeping them alive.
I had to believe that.
I had to hang on to that belief, no matter what. It was like a rope over the edge of a chasm—only not a shallow chasm like the one beyond the falls.
One so deep I would fall for a mile. If I lost my hold, down I’d go, screaming all the way to the bottom.
They’re alive, I told myself. I just need to find where Wesley’s keeping them, set them free, and take Wesley and Thelma out of the picture.
Not necessarily in that order.
What should I do first? I wondered.
Find someone. If not my women, at least find Wesley or Thelma.
Get up and go, I told myself.
But I stayed put.
I just couldn’t force myself to break cover.
That’s because Thelma and Wesley were almost sure to be nearby. If one of them should spot me sneaking around, I’d lose any chance of taking them by surprise.
Then I’d probably lose my life.
If that happened, I’d not only be dead (which I hoped to avoid for as long as possible), but I would pretty much cease having a chance to rescue my women. If I couldn’t save them, who would?
More than likely, I was their only hope.
Barring some sort of miraculous rescue by outside forces, they would remain at Wesley’s mercy for weeks, months… maybe even for years.
Maybe for the rest of their lives.
For their sakes (not just for my own), I needed to be extremely careful, take no chances; under no circumstances allow myself to be captured or killed.
What I oughta do, I thought, is get the hell off the island and bring back help.
It sounded like a chicken way out
But it also seemed like the smartest move—by a long shot.
Take the cabin cruiser to the nearest inhabited island, get in touch with the authorities, and come back with a rescue team.
For a while there, it seemed like the perfect solution to my problem.
I could wait for dark, then swim out to the cabin cruiser, cut the anchor lines, start the engine…
Start it with what key?
Even if Matt and the woman had been trusting or stupid enough to leave the boat’s key in the ignition, Wesley wasn’t. He would’ve gone out there, at some point. Checked the vessel from stem to stern. Taken whatever he felt an urge to take.
Not much chance he would’ve left the starter key behind.
Not a crafty bastard like Wesley.
And I’m not exactly the kind of guy who knows the first thing about how to hotwire an Evinrude or Johnson, or whatever. Without the key, I had no chance in the world of starting the engine.
Where would I find the ignition key?
Probably in Wesley’s pocket.
Great. If I could hunt down Wesley and take the key off him, I wouldn’t need to run off on the boat and go for help.
So much for fleeing on the cabin cruiser.
Just as well. It would’ve been the “smart” thing to do, but I sort of hated the idea.
I don’t really think I could’ve done it—left the island without knowing what had happened to my women, whether they were even still alive. And if I had found them alive, I couldn’t have gone off without rescuing them.
Sometimes, you just can’t do the “smart” thing because it leaves out the heart.
That sounds sort of sappy.
The deal is, those three women had gotten to mean a lot to me. (Not just that they made me horny, either.) I couldn’t abandon them, not even if that would’ve been the best way to save them.
I could make them wait, though.
They’d been captured (if captured) at least five or six days ago, maybe longer. A few more hours shouldn’t matter very much to them. The hours might make plenty of difference to me, though.
I needed to wait until dark.
Darkness would hide me, so I’d be able to move about without so much risk of being spotted. Also, somebody might put on a light.
I really hoped for a light; it would give me a location.
It might even light my way to Wesley and Thelma.
Night, however, was a long time off.
I crept away from the edge of the lawn. When I was surrounded by jungle so thick I could see no trace of the lawn or mansion, I lay down on my back to rest. I used my book bag for a pillow.
There seemed to be little hope of falling asleep. I was too nervous and excited. Also, I ached nearly everywhere from my injuries. The plan was simply to rest and wait for night to come.
Shutting my eyes, I thought about my plans. Soon, I began daydreaming about the women. The next thing I knew, I found myself waking up in the dark.
Not knowing where the night might take me, I decided against leaving my book bag behind. I sure didn’t want to lose it—not with the journal inside. The only way to make sure it stayed safe was to keep it with me.
I made my way back to the edge of the lawn. The windows of the mansion—those within sight—all looked dark. There was no light anywhere except for what came from the moon and stars.
Staying hidden, I kept watch for a long time. Nobody appeared. No lights came on.
Maybe I had the wrong house.
Maybe this house had nothing to do with Wesley, and was simply deserted.
No, no. Our dinghy was at the dock.
This had to be the right house.
But maybe Wesley wasn’t using it. He might’ve simply raided the place, taken what he wanted (including the man and woman who lived here), and returned to some secret base camp in the jungle.
If he wasn’t here, I’d already wasted hours upon hours.
I suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of waiting any longer, so I broke cover and dashed across the lawn. Nobody yelled. Nobody shot at me. Nothing happened. I stopped at the side of the house, near its rear corner. Leaning against the wall, I tried to catch my breath and calm down.
So far, so good.
I’ll just walk around the whole building, I thought. Check to see if there are any lights on.
If the place is dark, I’ll try to get in.
The Game
