“We wouldn’t want sex happening on a public waterway,” Zack said augustly.
Heather laughed. She said, “Do it.”
He aimed the spotlight and shot its powerful beam into the cabin. All John could think of was the memory of Heather’s back and pelvis moving against Zack, how her head went up and down on his lap as if she couldn’t get enough, stopping only long enough to pull her hair over one shoulder. And the sight of Zack’s cock out of his pants…
Jennifer let out a gasp.
John saw it. Bright slices of red were painted against the glass of the oval-shaped portholes. He could swear it wasn’t there when they went upriver.
“That looks like blood,” Jennifer whispered.
“We should get out of here.” Heather pulled herself away from Zack and slumped in the seat beside him.
Zack played the light all across the boat. The decks were empty.
“I mean it, we should go.” Heather put on her bra under her blouse.
Zack stayed, holding the craft with the engines. They idled loudly, echoing off the trees and levees. Anyone inside couldn’t help but hear them.
He yelled across. “Hey! Ahoy! Need help?”
The cabin cruiser rocked gently at its mooring.
“Why don’t you check it out, Borders? You should know this kind of shit, being a cop’s son and all.”
John stared at the dark boat, now no more than ten feet away.
“Stay here, John.” Heather looked at him, a blurry expression in her eyes.
“Come alongside,” John said, standing.
“John!”
He ignored her and as the two craft gently bumped together he stepped across onto the stern of the other boat. “Got a flashlight?”
Zack tossed him one, a heavy two-cell with a metal case, and he miraculously caught it.
The boats were now side-by-side, but somehow Zack’s glistening Sea Ray seemed impossibly distant. The other boat was shrouded. John could not see the faces of his companions onboard the Sea Ray. The deck beneath his feet felt slick and breakable.
“Anybody here?” he called, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
He ran the flashlight beam forward, past a bench, sink, and the driver’s seat. The helm. He didn’t know many nautical terms, despite his sailing trips from Boston. Here nothing looked amiss. The seats were pearl colored and clean, and there was no evidence of any partying, no beer cans, nothing.
Ahead was the rectangular entrance to the cabin. It was totally black. The flashlight didn’t cut through the gloom at all. John felt his stomach tighten. It was only a few steps but they looked dangerous and the cabin far off. His interior voice was telling him not to go in there, to return to the Sea Ray and leave.
He thought again of Heather, willed his feet forward, and ducked inside the cabin, taking the single step down.
“Anybody…”
The blood lay everywhere in the confined space, an area as tight as a funeral vault. A large amount pooled on the floor, soaking into the carpet, nearly reaching his shoes. More was flung in great spurts against the walls and portholes. He thought of photos he had seen in school, of Jackson Pollack painting.
The flashlight exaggerated the color of the blood and its freshness, sluiced along cushions and dripping from a bench. Everywhere, that is, except on the face of the woman who lay on the bench staring at him with empty eyes. She had short wheat-colored hair and a face that maintained its attractiveness despite what had happened here. Her legs were parted wide. A stab of recognition hit him and he had a moment’s desire to venture deeper into the cabin, but no, he stopped.
He wanted out with sudden panic. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and backed out quickly, the skin on the rear of his neck prickly. Then, again with unaccustomed grace, he hopped back across to Zack’s boat. Zack was in the rear, again working on the knots that secured the Zodiac. He was teasing the girls. “You take the little boat out for a love cruise…?
“No,” a pouty response came.
“She’s dead in there…” John tried to speak calmly, still supremely aware of Heather’s presence. “We’ve got to call the police.”