Authors: Elaine Marie Alphin
"Why?" Diana shouted. "What do I tell them?"
"Tell them Stevie's in danger—look!" He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her out the door with him and pointed to the family's boat, at least a hundred feet away from the dock already, with the mainsail raised. "Stevie wouldn't ever cast off, would he?"
Diana shook her head, crushing the business card in her fist.
"I think Cougar—Bill Scott—has got him," Cameron said as he let go of her and raced down the steps.
"Why?" she screamed after him. Then, "Neil, be careful!"
"Because you were right," he shouted. "I've been lying to everybody—I'm not your brother Neil! I'm Cameron Miller. I sent Cougar to prison and now he wants to get even. He's taking Stevie!"
Cameron didn't waste time looking for a life jacket. It didn't matter how many rules he broke anymore, and he'd wasted too much time trying to explain things to Diana. He just hoped she'd keep her cool and make the phone calls. He wondered briefly why she'd called him Neil. And why bother to tell him to be careful? Probably she meant he should be careful with Stevie.
He slowed down enough not to tip over the Sunfish as he climbed inside, then slipped the mooring line loose and hauled up the sail. The sheet caught the breeze cleanly and billowed out, and he cast off.
He didn't think Cougar knew how to sail, and he doubted that Stevie would be much help to him. The jib was still down, and the mainsail seemed to be luffing instead of carrying the boat forward with any speed. The bow was turned nearly into the wind, Cameron realized, and Cougar didn't seem to know how to tack to keep moving.
Cameron maneuvered the lighter Sunfish up the lake and prayed that he was wrong. If only he could come up on the boat and find a frightened Stevie alone in it. Perhaps Stevie had tried to sail the big boat without knowing how, all on his own, just to get even with Neil for letting him down. But Cameron didn't believe in the prayer. And as he neared the boat, he saw he was right.
"Ahoy!" Cougar's voice floated down to him, thick and dangerously drunk. "Bring me the key, did you? Too late—saw the boy and decided to go ahead and take him. Get out on the far side of the lake, then bus down to Knoxville. Boy's worth more than a key, I figure."
"Let him go," Cameron called. "Take me instead."
Cougar laughed. "You're no good, I told you! You're used goods. But him—he's fresh chicken—pretty and young. I was like that once, you know." His face darkened.
Cameron was close enough to see Stevie's body hunched on one side of the cockpit. The boy looked dazed.
"Go on back!" Cougar was saying. "Family can have you instead!"
Cameron thought of all the other boys who'd died. He'd tried to tell them to be quiet and to do what Pop said. After, while they'd buried the boys, Pop always told Cameron it was their own fault. They'd run off, they'd wanted him to take care of them, then they'd refused to do what he told them to do. They were bad, even worse than he was. Cameron had tried to show them how to be good, but he should have done more. He had never tried to save one of them, never tried to help even one escape.
He'd known what Pop was doing to them; sometimes Pop even brought him up from the cellar and he saw for himself what happened. Even though he blanked it out, glimpses lived in the back of his mind and erupted in dreams he would wake from, silent and dry-eyed and rigid with terror. Yet he never told any of the teachers at school, never dared to try to tell the police. It wasn't right to blame the grown-ups because they should have known. It wasn't right to blame the boys for being so bad. He could only blame himself—he was as responsible for the boys' deaths as Pop or Cougar had been.
He didn't ask himself why he'd let Pop terrorize the boys. He didn't ask himself what he hoped to gain now. Cougar would probably kill them both—but not without a fight. Cameron let the wind fill his sail and aimed the Sunfish dead on at the boat where Cougar held Stevie. When he'd sat in the cellar dreaming of being out on the water, sailing had only been an escape for him. But he knew it could be a way to fight back as well as a way to escape. He remembered someone—it must have been one of the boys—a long time ago, telling him a story about John Paul Jones sailing at a British warship in a tight battle. He had closed with the British ship and grappled with it and finally boarded it. Jones had shouted something, too, something brave, but Cameron couldn't remember what.
The Sunfish closed on the larger boat and Cameron pulled in the sail until he felt like he was flying.
Ramming speed,
he thought, and then he hauled on the rudder at the last second and the Sunfish's bow crashed into the other boat's hull, skidded across it with a sickening scrape, and the two boats slammed together as he swung alongside in a jetting spray of displaced water.
"What the—" Cougar cried, but the impact flung him back against the far railing of the cockpit, and Cameron leaped onto the battered side of the Sunfish. It tipped wildly against the larger boat, and Cameron clung to the other boat's railing, ignoring the water splashing his already drenched legs.
"Stevie!" he cried. "Come on! Climb out."
But the boy only shivered, his eyes groggy, and Cameron realized he'd have to climb in and get him. Without warning, Cougar staggered up and brought a fist down hard on Cameron's right hand as it clutched the railing, but Cameron grabbed with his left hand and caught the man's wrist. He hung on it with all his weight, hoping to pull him overboard, but Cougar stumbled backward, lifting Cameron off the bobbing Sunfish instead. Cameron took advantage of the lift to throw his leg over the railing and grab on with his other hand.
Cougar struck him hard in the face with his left hand, and Cameron's eyes blurred dizzily for a moment, but he kept his grip and managed to topple over the side into the cockpit of the boat. Stevie trembled as Cameron's weight splashed the water on the deck onto him.
"Get rid of you for good," Cougar was saying. "Hank was crazy, keeping you alive all those years."
If he could throw the man overboard, that would be best, Cameron thought. He doubted Cougar could manage the damaged Sunfish, but Cameron could get Stevie safely back to shore, even if he wasn't really sure how to sail the larger boat properly himself. Cameron ducked as Cougar swung at him again. Then he slammed his body into the man's stomach, crashing him sickeningly against the cockpit railing.
Cougar gasped, his face turning gray.
Cameron grabbed the tiller and turned it, easing the boat out of irons so the sail caught the wind again. Cougar grabbed his hair from behind and jerked him backward. The tiller swung free, and Cameron slid in the water sloshing on the deck and cracked his head against the open hatch. Dazed, he tried to sit up as Cougar grabbed a handful of wet T-shirt and pulled him to his feet so that he could slug him first in his face, then in his stomach.
"How do you like that, you little prick?" the man snapped.
"Stop it! You leave him alone!"
Cougar seemed to sway and almost lose his balance at the sound of Stevie's shrill voice, and Cameron could see the boy grabbing at the back of the man's trouser leg. He looked around wildly for some weapon, but the boat was neat and bare. What weapon could there be in asailboat, anyway?
Cameron thought of the Sunfish and wished he could get at the daggerboard to use as a club. He wondered briefly about this boat, then realized that the centerboard would be built in, to angle up on a block. He shook his head, trying to clear his eyes, and saw Cougar raise an arm to crash down on Stevie. He threw himself on the man and caught the arm, turning its force so it struck him instead in the chest.
"Stevie," he gasped, "the cabin—get in, and bolt the hatch!"
Cougar shoved him away and reached for Stevie as the boy tried to crawl toward the hatch. Cameron jerked the tiller again and once more the sail filled with wind as the boat swung violently about.
As Cougar struggled for balance in the rocking boat, he grabbed at Cameron's head again and missed, catching only a handful of T-shirt from his back. He dragged Cameron toward him, jerking the T-shirt up and almost over his head so that it dug into his armpits, forcing his arms helplessly up in the air.
"Neil!" Stevie cried.
Cameron fumbled at the tangle of wet cotton and tried to pull his arms down to make sure the boy was all right.
"Your back!"
Shame burned through Cameron as he realized Cougar had pulled up the shirt far enough that Stevie could see the scars he'd tried to keep hidden. Then he told himself it didn't matter. After today he'd be gone from the Laceys, one way or another, and it didn't matter what they thought of him. Cameron straightened his arms above his head and threw his weight backward, sliding out of the shirt and leaving Cougar tottering against the cockpit rail, clutching a handful of wet cloth.
"It's okay, Stevie," he said. "Just get in the cabin, now!"
But Cougar was already coming for them. Unlike Cameron, he'd been able to come up with a weapon. He'd unbuckled the thick leather belt he was wearing on his black jeans and was doubling the tongue over in his hand so that the heavy bronze belt buckle swung at the end of it.
Cameron crouched on the deck, staring at the belt, paralyzed with memories, until Stevie's scream of panic sounded shrilly behind him. He opened his mouth to say,
Just keep quiet,
and then cried instead, "No! Not this time!"
Then his voice gained strength and he heard himself shout, "I have not yet begun to fight!" He didn't know where the words had come from, but he felt their power surge through him.
The first blow of the belt wrapped the leather around his left arm until the buckle clawed into his biceps. Then, as Cougar pulled it back for another blow, Cameron rolled backward, knocking Stevie down the two steps into the cabin as the boat rocked dangerously.
There should be a door just beside the hatch,
Cameron found himself thinking as the belt whistled through the air again. The leather brushed past his side, but the buckle cracked harmlessly against the wooden hatch and Cougar swore.
There was no reason to believe that any door existed outside his imagination, but Cameron felt absolutely thathisinstinctwascorrect. Heknewadoorwouldbe there.
And then he saw it. It was a small door, to the left side of the hatch. It had a little hook to fasten it closed, and it seemed to take his hand a long time to reach for the hook while the belt rose again in Cougar's fist.
The hook popped up and Cameron opened the little door and groped inside. His fingers closed around a cylinder, and he hauled it out, rolling toward Cougar to throw the man's aim off. He looked and saw that he was clutching a red fire extinguisher. Cameron fumbled with the nozzle, and suddenly foam spurted out, up into Cougar's face, and the man dropped his belt and began to scream, clawing at his eyes.
Cameron rose unsteadily to his feet and looked at the man warily. He remembered how Pop had struck him when he'd wanted to lame him instead of tie him, and the sickening pain that had left him helpless and immobile. Just to be sure he had time to get Stevie back safely, Cameron hefted the fire extinguisher in both hands like a baseball bat, and swung it with all the strength he had in his arms and his back and his legs, as though he were hitting a record home run, and struck Cougar a crippling blow on the big muscle in the man's thigh.
"Neil?"
Cameron turned his head to see Stevie beside him. He wondered how long he'd been standing there over Cougar's writhing body, the fire extinguisher swaying gently in his hand as the boat rocked. How long had it been since he'd first seen the boat heading away from the dock? It felt like hours.
"Are you okay?" Stevie asked.
Cameron smiled faintly at the boy. Neil's brother was a nice little kid, he thought. "Yeah," he said. "What about you?"
"My head hurts," Stevie said, rubbing it tenderly. "But I'm okay Can we go home now?"
"Sure," Cameron said, and stepped over Cougar to turn the tiller.
"Here," he told Stevie, "hold the tiller like this until I tell you to straighten it out. I'll get the mainsheet."
They came about smoothly, and Cameron told Stevie how to angle the tiller so they could limp back at a fair speed even without the jib.
"What about your Sunfish?" Stevie asked.
Cameron looked at the damaged boat, but his mind had no more energy for solutions. "Leave it for now," he said finally. "Your dad can come back for it."
"Dad's at work," Stevie said.
Cameron sighed. "I hope not. Diana was supposed to call him and your mom. I told her to tell them you were in danger."
Stevie looked at him. "So were you."
Cameron shook his head. "That didn't matter."
Stevie looked like he didn't believe him, but he changed the subject. "Does your back hurt?"
Cameron turned away. Cougar was still moaning on the wet deck, clutching his thigh. He wasn't going anywhere. "No," Cameron told Stevie. "He got my arm pretty bad, and my head, but not my back."
"I mean, from before?"
"No," Cameron said shortly, cursing the boy's persistence. He just wanted to be quiet and feel the air in his face and the freedom of sailing one last time before Detective Simmons took him away and locked him up. But he guessed he couldn't blame Stevie for his curiosity.
"They're just marks, Stevie," he said finally. "They hurt then, but they don't hurt so much anymore." Cameron was surprised how true the words were. Why had he tried so hard to hide the scars? He finally added, "I just don't like thinking about them."
"Look!" Stevie shouted joyfully, jumping up from his seat at the tiller. "There's Dad in the yard! He did come!"
Good,
thought Cameron tiredly, because he didn't know how to dock the larger boat.
"Stevie?" The man's voice sounded strained as he called from the shore. "Are you okay, Stevie?"
"I'm fine," Stevie cried, and burst into tears.
Strangely, the tears didn't make Cameron angry with the boy. Instead, he crouched down beside him. "Hey, Stevie, hold on a couple more minutes, okay? I don't know how to dock this thing, and I really need your help—can you help me?"