Domain. - Domain. Part 22
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Domain. Part 22

Another detective, dressed in jean shorts and a Tampa Bay Buccaneers tee shirt and baseball cap enters the cabin to join him. "Hey, Ted just caught a fish."

"It's about fucking time. We've only been sitting out here for eight goddam hours. Hand me the night glasses, it's getting too dark to see."

Saints fixes the ITT Night Mariner-260 binoculars to the tripod and peers through, adjusting the optic which turns the fading light to shades of green, allowing him to see. Five minutes later, he observes the beautiful female suspect with the long, black hair emerge from the house, carrying a can of soda in each hand. She approaches the bench, offering a soda to each woman, then sits down between them.

Twenty more minutes pass. Now the detective sees the tan blonde in the aqua dress emerge from the house to join the three women. She hugs the Axler woman, then helps her mother up from the bench, leading her around front.

Saints watches for a moment, then returns his focus to the bench, where the older woman and the dark-haired beauty remain, hand in hand.

Dory Simpson climbs into the front seat of the Lincoln as the girl starts the car. The blonde backs the car down the gravel driveway, then heads southwest toward the island's main road.

Dominique reaches beneath the wig to scratch her itching scalp. "I always wanted to be a blonde."

"Leave it on until we leave the dock." Dory hands her the small stun gun, which is the size of a butane lighter. "Edie said to keep this on you at all times. I promised her I'd make you do it. Now, are you sure you feel comfortable operating the minisub?"

"I'll be fine."

"Because I can come with you guys."

"No, I feel better knowing you and Karen are here to look after Edie for me."

It is late by the time they arrive at the private dock in Captiva. Dominique hugs the older woman good-bye, then walks across the wooden deck to the awaiting twenty-four-foot Grady-White motorboat.

Sue Reuben directs her to untie the stern line. Seconds later, they are racing across the Gulf.

Dominique removes the wig before it blows off, then pulls back the gray tarpaulin.

Mick is lying on his back, his right wrist handcuffed to the bottom of the passenger seat. He smiles up at her, then cringes as the bow bounces along the two-to-three-foot seas, smashing the back of his head painfully against the fiberglass deck.

"Sue, where's the key?"

"I think you ought to leave him right there until we get to the boat. No sense taking any chances-"

"At this rate, he'll be seasick by the time we get there. Give me the key." Dominique opens his shackle, then helps him onto the seat. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Nurse Ratched here has done a fine job."

They arrive at the forty-eight-foot trawler. Sue cuts the engines, allowing the boat's wake to push them in close.

Mick climbs aboard.

Sue hugs Dominique. "You be careful now." She shoves the Magnum into the girl's hand.

"Sue-"

"Hush. Don't make a fuss. Blow his head off if he tries anything."

Dominique slips the gun into the pocket of her windbreaker, then climbs on board, waving as the motorboat races away.

Now everything is quiet, the trawler bobbing in a black sea beneath a starlit sky.

Dominique looks at Mick, unable to see his eyes in the dark. "I guess we ought to get going, huh?" Relax, you sound nervous as hell.

"Dom, there's something I need to say first."

"Forget it. You can thank me by helping me find out what happened to Iz."

"I will, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. I know you still have doubts about me. You need to know that you can trust me. I know I've asked a lot, but I swear on my mother's soul that I'd sooner hurt myself than allow any harm to come to you."

"I believe you."

"And I'm not crazy. I know I sound it at times, but I'm not."

Dominique looks away. "I know. Mick, I really think we should get going, the police were watching the house all day. The keys should be under the passenger cushion in the pilothouse. Would you mind?"

Mick heads for the cabin. She waits until he is out of sight before removing the gun from her jacket pocket. She stares at the weapon, recalling Foletta's words of warning. I'm sure the resident will be quite charming, wanting to impress you.

The engines sputter to life.

She stares at the weapon, hesitates, then tosses the gun overboard.

God, help me . . .

Chapter 16.

NOVEMBER 29, 2012.

GULF OF MEXICO.

5:14 A. M.

The forty-eight-foot trawler Jolly Roger continues its westward trek beneath a starry morning sky. Dominique is in the pilot's chair, struggling to stay awake, her eyelids getting heavy. Exhausted, she lays her head back on the vinyl seat and again forces her attention on the paperback. After rereading the same passage a fourth time, she decides to allow her bloodshot eyes a moment's reprieve.

Just a few seconds. Don't fall asleep . . .

The book drops from her hand, the noise startling her awake. She sucks in a cool breath of air and stares at the darkened passageway leading to the quarters below deck. Mick is somewhere inside, sleeping in the shadows. The thought both comforts and frightens her. Despite the fact that the boat is on autopilot, she has refused sleep. Alone in the pilothouse, her imagination has allowed her innermost fears to get the best of her.

This is ridiculous. He's not Ted Bundy. He'd never hurt you...

She notices the horizon turning gray at her back. Fear has convinced her that sleeping during the day is her best option. She decides to wake Mick at dawn.

"Jolly Roger, come in. Alpha-Zulu-three-nine-six, calling Jolly Roger, come in please-"

Dominique grabs the radio transmitter. "Jolly Roger, go ahead Alpha-Zulu."

"How are you holding up, Doll?"

"Slow and steady. What's wrong? You sound upset."

"The Feds shut SOSUS down. They claim it's just a technical problem, but I don't believe a word of it."

"Damn. Why do you think-"

"Ahhhhh-Ahhhhhhh-" Mick's screams send Dominique's heart leaping from her chest. "Oh, Jesus, Bad, I'll call you back-"

"Was that screaming?"

"It's okay, I'll call you right back."

She clicks off the radio and runs down the shallow stairwell, flipping on light switches as she goes.

Mick is sitting up in the corner bunk like a frightened, confused animal, his black eyes wide and shimmering from the bare bulb swinging by his head.

"Mom?" The voice is throaty. Terrified.

"Mick, it's okay-"

"Mom? Who is that? I can't see you."

"Mick, it's Dominique." She turns on two more lights, then sits on the edge of the bed. Mick is bare-chested, his taut muscles drenched in a cold sweat. She sees his hands shaking. '

He looks into her eyes, still confused. "Dominique?"

"Yes. Are you all right?"

He stares at her face, then looks around the cabin. "I gotta get out of here-" He pushes past her and stumbles up the wooden stairs, heading out on deck.

Dominique follows quickly, fearing he may jump.

She finds him standing in the bow, the cold wind blowing in his face. Dominique grabs a wool blanket and wraps it around his bare shoulders. She sees tears in his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

For a long moment he just stares at the dark horizon. "No. No, I don't think so. I used to think I was okay, now I think I'm pretty fucked up."

"Can you tell me about your dream?"

"No. Not now." He looks down at her. "Bet I scared the shit out of you."

"It's okay."

"The worst thing about being in solitary . . . the scariest part . . . was waking up screaming, only to find myself all alone. You can't imagine the emptiness."

She guides him down to the fiberglass decking. He leans back against the pilothouse windshield and unfurls the blanket from his left shoulder, beckoning her to join him.

Dominique lies down beside him, laying her head on his cold chest. Mick pulls the blanket over her shoulders.

Within minutes, they are both fast asleep.

4:50 p.m.

Dominique removes two cans of peach iced tea from the galley's refrigerator, rechecks their position on the GPS, then returns to the bow. The late-afternoon sun is still intense, its reflection off the fiberglass decking making her squint. She puts on her sunglasses and sits next to Mick.

"See anything?"

Mick lowers the binoculars. "Nothing yet. How far out are we?"

"About five miles." She hands him the can of iced tea. "Mick, I've been meaning to ask you something. Do you remember back in the asylum when you asked me if I believed in evil. What did you mean by that?"

"I also asked you if you believe in God."

"Are you asking me from a religious standpoint?"

Mick smiles. "Why is it psychiatrists can never answer a question without asking one?"

"I guess we like to be clear."

"I just wanted to know if you believed in a higher power."

"I believe someone watches over us, touching our souls on some higher plane of existence. I'm sure part of me believes that because I need to believe that, because it's comforting. What do you think?"

Mick turns, gazing at the horizon. "I believe we possess a spiritual energy, which exists on a different dimension. I believe a higher power exists on that level, which we can only access when we die."

"I don't think I ever heard heaven described quite like that. What about evil?"

"Every Yin has its Yang."

"Are you saying you believe in the Devil?"

"The Devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, what's in a name? You said you believed in God. Would you say that God's presence in your life influences you to be a good person?"

"If I'm a good person, it's because I chose to be a good person. I believe human beings have been given the freedom to choose."

"And what influences those choices?"

"The usual suspects-family life, peer pressures, environment, life experiences. We all have certain predispositions, but in the end it's our ability to understand what's happening to us that allows our id to make decisions on a daily basis. If you want to segregate those decisions into good and evil-fine- but it's still free choice."

"Spoken like a true psychiatrist. But let me ask you something, Ms. Freud. What if this freedom to choose is not as free as we think? What if the world around us is exerting an influence on our behavior as a species that we can't see or understand?"

"What do you mean?"

"Take the moon. As a psychiatrist, I'm sure you're familiar with the moon's effect on psychosis."