Page 104 of Making Home with You
“Maybe we could change that,” she says, as we step outside and head down toward the docks.“Go out together sometime?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling at her.“Sounds like a plan.”
We head down to the docks and I immediately wish I’d brought a flashlight.The whole place is pitch black, creating an eerie feeling as even darker shadows cast by the boats makes it feel like something is hiding down here.
“Let’s go to my boat,” I say.“I need to grab a flashlight.”
I lead Sarah through the dozens of boats that are all pulled out of the water and in dry dock.The shed is maybe two thirds full still, only some owners having put their boats back in the water now that winter is on its way out.
Despite having not used my boat for years, I still maintain it and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can actually picture myself using it again.Especially now I have someone I want to share it with.
When we reach my boat at the end of the row, I notice the tarp has been disturbed, pulled aside as though someone has been onboard.
“Sarah,” I say, as I pull myself up onto the boat.“Wait here a sec,” I add, a bad feeling curling through me.
I hear her answer but I don’t stop moving, lowering myself onto the deck and pushing the tarp all the way to the side.I grab the flashlight I keep near the life jackets, the bright beam illuminating the deck when I click it on.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter when I take in the scene in front of me.It’s obvious someone has been on my boat, regularly by the looks of it, given the empty food containers, the coffee cups strewn all over the place.
“What is it?”I hear Sarah call up.
I look over the edge.“Someone’s been here,” I say.“I’m just gonna check down below.I won’t be long.”
I disappear below deck, to the small galley and eating area and the tiny bedroom that occupies most of the front half.The whole place looks like it’s been trashed, there is shit everywhere.When I step closer, cast the flashlight over table, that bad feeling curling through my gut only intensifies when I see what covers the surface.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I say as I pick up a photo.I stare at the image of me and Sarah, walking out of the pub, laughing together and completely unaware of the fact that someone is taking a photo of us.I feel my pulse ratchet up a notch as my blood curdles, anger now pulsing through my veins.
I know exactly who’s been on my fucking boat.
“Sarah,” I call up, suddenly wondering what the fuck has happened here tonight and more importantly, where the fuck Carla is.
“Sarah!”I repeat when I get no response.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I make my way back up to the deck.I pull out my phone, wishing to fuck I had thought to bring my gun.Scrolling through my contacts, I find Detective Greenwood’s number just as I come up top and see exactly why Sarah isn’t responding.
“Carla, what the fuck are you doing?”I shout, my heart going double time as I take in the sight in front of me.
Carla is standing opposite Sarah, a large knife in her hand as she stares at her, a wild look in her eyes.She looks like she hasn’t showered in days, her hair hanging limp and greasy around her shoulders, her clothes all disheveled.But it’s her eyes that get me, because they are wide and wild like she’s on edge or on something.
“Sarah,” I ask, my eyes flicking to her.“You okay?”
She nods without taking her eyes off Carla and I slide my phone into my pocket as I make my way toward the ladder.
“Carla,” I repeat.“Don’t do this,” I add, as I climb over the deck and down onto the docks.“This has nothing to do with Sarah, nothing at all.”
“This has everything to do with her,” Carla screams, never taking her eyes off Sarah as her voice echoes in the large shed.
I shake my head as I walk toward them.“No, it doesn’t,” I say as I stop beside Carla, my eyes on her now.“This is between you and me.”
Carla’s holding the knife at Sarah, she’s close, not so close that I’m not prepared to risk attempting to disarm her.As long as Sarah is safe, that’s all I care about.
“Carla,” I repeat.“Stop this.Give me the knife.”
But Carla ignores me, shaking her head once as she steps closer to Sarah, the knife now only inches from her throat.
I move forward, inching my feet closer to her and hoping like fuck that Greenwood can hear all of this through the phone in my pocket and is sending someone over here.
“Carla,” I try again.“Stop.”
