Hear Me

The soft island breeze was a balm to my fear. It was sunny when I stepped out of the small airport, the brightness barely dimmed by the rain that pattered on the window of the cab. I arrived in a small building. This village was the farthest outskirts of civilization, and this grungy bar was at its center.

A bell tinkled as I pushed inside. My heart thudded—what if someone here had worked with Brendan? They might recognize me. But the bar was mostly empty, and no one looked very curious about a woman in a crumpled business suit and Manolo Blahniks.

The bartender had a face of leather and scruff, his eyes only visible in small red-black pools.

“Que pasa?” he asked.

I had fretted on the plane—how would I find Sam’s place? “Hi, I’m looking for someone with a boat. Un barco?”

“Forty dolares,” he said flatly.

I fumbled with the native currency I had exchanged at the last international airport.

“No,” he said. “American dolares.”

After handing over the requested amount, he left through the back door. I glanced awkwardly at the other patrons, one of whom seemed asleep—at least I hoped that’s what he was. It seemed I should follow the bartender, so I edged around the bar and exited through the same door. He was already several paces away, walking toward the water where a man sat on a small boat.

They spoke rapidly together, too fast for me to understand, as I caught up. The bartender gestured me inside the boat. “Sam…” Well, that was deflating, to realize I didn’t know his last name. Except I did, because now I knew Brendan’s. “Sam Pike.” I flipped through my little dictionary. “Un hombre. Cabina… solitario.”

He didn’t react to my words except to gesture me inside.

For all I knew, they could be taking me captive, leading me straight to Brendan’s men. I could im

agine them bragging about it back in the bar later: she didn’t even put up a fight! I told myself, again, that all men weren’t bad, but the truth was I was in the middle of nowhere. Home wasn’t safe for me anymore. I needed to find Sam and hope he would take me back. Oh please let him take me back.

Gingerly, I climbed inside the small green boat. The man in the boat barely glanced at me but when I was seated, he tapped the engine with a wrench, and it sputtered to life. Well, that was a relief. The sight of the oars at the bottom didn’t escape me.

Cold sea spray lashed my face as he picked up speed.

I glanced nervously at the tree-lined beaches, all alike and unfamiliar. “Do you know where we’re going?” I asked dumbly. “I’m sorry, do you speak English?”

I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “Carpintero, eh?”

The dictionary, carpintero… carpenter!

“Yes, that’s right!” Relief swept through me, solidified when I sighted the pebble beach with what looked like a large rocky overgrowth—the cave. They must have figured out where I needed to go from my bumbling attempts. Or maybe we were just the only Americanos in the vicinity.

He cut the engine, and we drifted until the hull batted against the rocky floor. Taking off my shoes, I jumped into the shallow water. I’m coming, Sam.

“Oh, did you need payment too?” I turned back, but the man had already pushed it away with an oar in the water. As I watched, he clanged the wrench on the engine casing and sped away, landing a fresh spray of water over my suit.

I cut the soles of my feet to ribbons along the beach. I glanced with longing and anticipation at the beach. There was a parallel to our play, that the payoff was all the sweeter when I had paid from my body.

Or maybe I was just giddy. Oh, Sam.

I passed the clearing where he had felled the tree and followed the path toward his cabin. The rain had stopped, but everything was wet with it, light reflecting off slippery branches, leaves quivering with weighty drops, everything bright with anticipation.

There it was, so small and humble and proud at once. My heart swelled. This was home.

I knocked on the door with abandon. “Sam!”

When he didn’t answer, I checked the knob and went inside. “It’s me, Melody. Where are you?”

Everything looked like I had left it, except the black trunk was missing. I spared a quick frown for the empty corner before checking the two bedrooms, the bathroom, the kitchen—all empty. He must be in the workroom. Stumbling through the back door, I ran across the yard and burst in on the room.

The discordant piles of furniture had disappeared; in its place stood a bedroom… of sorts.

A bed was clearly the focal point, built with wood of rich caramel. There was a side table, a drawer. And beside those ordinary things, I recognized the spanking bench. A few other standalone pieces, whose overall shapes I recognized from the dungeon that I remembered from my time in slavery, all designed to hurt.