I'm done with secrets. And I’m done with pushing away the good things life has to offer.
It’s time I make a plan to find Maker. I’ll go to his cabin in the woods and I’ll apologize for pushing him away when what I really wanted was to draw him near.
I let fear get the best of me, get the best of us, and I don't want to be that person. Maker might not think he's perfect, but neither am I. I'm as flawed as the rest of them. We all have our different demons we have to fight. Mine happens to be the fear of letting someone in, truly in.
I blink back tears, coming to terms with my imperfections. I don't want to be a mother still dealing with her own baggage. I want to be set free. I want that breath of fresh air that Jemma was talking about. I want to dive right in headfirst, knowing that when I come to the surface, my lungs will fill with oxygen and my heart will be pounding hard and I'll have put it all out there. I won't have any regrets for what I didn't do.
I'm thinking all of this when Weathermore, the captain of the charter boat, shouts at me.
"What is it?" I ask. I'm the only passenger and I hurry over to him.
"Your life vest on?" he asks.
I say, "Yeah, why?"
“To be safe. Look up — that seaplane ahead, it keeps getting lower."
I look up and see a plane propelling toward us.
"What's happening?" I ask.
"I don't know, but it's not good."
The seaplane lands on the water and Weathermore stops his boat. The engine hums with life, but we're not moving forward. Panicked and scared, I ask what is going on.
"Duck down, Marley,” he says. "They've got guns."
"Guns?" I ask as I look at the man driving the seaplane, and sure enough, he is holding a gun. There's another man with him, both of them intimidating. And the man with the gun gets on a raft that was secured under the carriage of the plane.
"Do you have a gun?" I ask Weathermore. He is an older man who has lived in Riverside all my life. I’ve never seen him hurt a fly, or even have one too many drinks. He’s a sweetheart, and I see fear in his eyes.
"I might have one below deck, but I'm not even sure it's loaded. I've never had any trouble out on the water,” he says. "I just ferry people back and forth. I don't know what's going on." He's flustered. And I understand.
"Maybe we should go below deck. Hide?"
The captain rubs his forehead. "You go below deck. Let me take care of them."
"How are you going to take care of them? The pilot has a gun,” I say. “What does he even want? Do you have something on board that he's after?"
Weathermore shakes his head. "I'm not doing anything sk-sk-sketchy. I'm telling you the t-t-t-truth, ma'am." He’s stuttering, scared, and the wild look in his eyes tells me he's telling the truth. He has nothing to hide. He's just an old man driving his boat in Alaska. He's not hurting anybody. He's certainly not hurting me.
But this man jumping on deck, his eyes tell a different story. He cocks the gun before I can get away. Weathermore moves in front of me and my heart weeps for his bravery, willing to take a bullet on my behalf.
"Don't shoot,” I shriek. "What do you want?"
The man has long hair, dark eyes, a weathered face set firm.
"I want you," he hisses. "You alone."
"Who are you?" Weathermore asks, finding his voice. "Wha-wha-what are you doing here?" His body is still in front of me, protecting me.
"We're here for that girl. Marley. That's your name, right?” he asks.
"What's your name?" I bite back.
"People 'round here know me as Father John." His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he's high or worse. Everything about him looks on edge, including the gun in his hand.
I don't want Weathermore to die because of me. Father John shoots a bullet into the sky, then points the gun at Weathermore’s chest.
"Don’t,” I scream. "Don't shoot." I run toward John. "I'll go with you wherever you want. Just leave him alone."
"You don't have to do this," Weathermore tells me. "Marley, you don't have to do this."
"It's okay," I say. "It's okay. Just go home. Just be safe."
Father John, the man who I've heard rumors about for the last few years, tosses me onto his raft and I know if I fight back, he'll kill someone. I don't want to watch anyone die. Not now. Not ever. He hurls me onto the seaplane. He pushes a burlap sack over my head, binding my wrists. It all happens so fast.
Then we're off. Flying high into the sky, leaving the raft behind. The boat, the captain, everything I know.
"Why are you doing this?" I beg. "Why are you doing this?"
John cackles. I seethe with anger — I can't die. But I don't know what's happening with this man. He's clearly unhinged. And so is the guy he's with. Tears stream down my cheeks.
"What do you want with me?" I ask again.
"We don't want you, you little slut. We're after Maker."
"What do you know of Maker?" I say, fear coursing through me. Is Maker involved with John even though he swore he wasn't? No, I know that can't be true. Maker is a good man. An honorable man. A man dead set on doing the right thing.
"Maker has a shit ton of money and I'm holding you hostage, baby girl. Because I want that money to be mine."
Maker
Marley told me to go. Said she wanted this, to be done with me.
So I'll give her what she wants, even if it kills me. I'm done being a man who walks
