Robert Walker - Darkest Instinct

Off Key Biscayne, Florida, in Biscayne Bay April 2, 1996

The powerful beam from the Cape Florida Lighthouse came some distance over the water, once a beacon of warning to sailors, now just for show. Still, it told Tammy that they had sailed out to the tip end of Biscayne Bay and were fast approaching the open sea. Tammy Sue Sheppard watched the light as she would a star, watched it blink on and off, on and off, on and off again, actually going around in a circular motion, spinning, like her head, racing like her pulse when he took her in his arms.

Patrick smelled of a tangy, spicy aftershave here in the ocean breeze. He’d been so attentive, and now he was tantalizing her with his gentle caress, the soft touch of his tongue in her ear as they danced again about the deck of the beautiful, large sailboat. It was better than any schoolgirl’s dream.

He now gently asked her patience as he returned to the controls and paused the ship here at the southern tip of Biscayne Bay, skirting the northern tier of the famous underwater Biscayne National Park, where coral reefs and sunken ships beckoned thousands upon thousands of recreational divers each year. But all that activity, even by night, was far to the south. The area around Cape Florida Lighthouse Point was long since deserted, save for a handful of passing boats, each with its own running lights reflecting off the water ahead of them, each mirroring in Tammy’s mind the image of how she and Patrick’s boat must look from across the bay aboard these other ships.

One of the other boats was large and not a sailboat, however, storming by at some distance like a rhino rather than a bird like the soft others. The big boat had disturbed the water, sending an enormous wave across to where they had moored, causing the sailboat, as large as it was, to shake and shiver violently from side to side, disturbing their romantic moment, causing Patrick to stare after the cutter for a long time, as if he were fighting the darkness in his effort to read the numbers on the Coast Guard cutter, wishing to report it. Tammy soothingly asked him to come back to the dance. And he did so, turning to her with the widest, welcome- ingest smile she’d ever known. Now, peace restored, Patrick Allain was doing it again. He made her feel so feminine, so alive, so vibrant all over. He began to kiss and caress her, making her quiver in the most pleasant manner she’d ever experienced.

The promise was as enormous as the sailboat, and at the moment, she didn’t care whether it was a rental or it belonged to him.

Her best friend, Judy Templar, had whispered a whiskey- laden warning in her ear earlier in the evening, before Tammy had disappeared with Patrick: Don’t believe a word he tells you, girl… and that boat’s likely not his to begin with. In his arms now, feeling overwhelmed with passion, she almost hated Judy for suggesting what she had. Judy and Cyn were both just jealous, because Patrick had picked her out of the trio tonight.

She wanted to believe Patrick, every word he’d said about himself, his boat, his plans and his feelings. It all seemed so wonderful. In fact, having had a great deal to drink tonight, everything seemed wonderful and anything seemed possible-especially love.

It seemed that all life lay at Tammy’s beck and call now; it seemed, with such a stunning-looking man actually on his knees to her, now slipping off her shoes, massaging her feet, teasing her toes with his tongue, deliciously tickling her, that anything was possible. It was beautiful out on the large, open bay where the blinking lights of Miami winked at them like some enormous campfire where people huddled, afraid to come into the darkness where they could see the moon glow and the firmament so obliterated by the city lights. Here all of the black void of space was held back while her soul was cuddled and rocked into a safe place by Patrick, who’d created this moment: the rhythmic, friendly sound of water lapping at the boat, gently rocking this big cradle into which she had nestled; the beauty of the restored lighthouse; the warmth of the music, soft and in harmony with the wafting sea breezes; a nurturing ocean, teeming with life. And then there was also Patrick’s gentle, sweet touch, his rich, sonorous voice, filling her with expectations of delight and sensual pangs.

His hands moved along the contours of her body now as he regained his feet; towering over her now, he took her in his arms now, his tongue finding and jousting with her own now, his body heat flowing into hers now. All now; everything, all life focused on the now. Certainly every fiber of her being was focused on the now.

His passionate tongue next found her ear, his sensual overtures continuing to happily chill her.

Doesn’t he know he has turned me to putty? She wondered.

Then his hands turned from gentle to rough, all in a careless instant, and she looked up into his eyes, only to find the eyes of another person-wide, crazed, lascivious, indigo eyes that spoke of evil and bestiality.

He tore at her clothing, ripping her blouse as she tried to pull away. He slammed her to the deck, and the soothing sounds of the bay were drowned by the terror raging now in her ears as he rammed her forehead into the deck several times, knocking her into submission and oblivion. When she awoke-she thought it moments later-it was to her own coughing and retching and gasping for air, her windpipe in pain. He had long since torn away her remaining clothing. She lay naked and raped there on the deck, seemingly alone. She could not make him out in the darkness. An eerie fog had enveloped the boat; there was no lighthouse anymore, no sign of shore, and it didn’t feel as if the boat were moored any longer either. In fact, they seemed far, far from shore, and now she was shivering from pain and nudity, shame and the awful taste and smell of her own blood where he had slammed and bruised her, cutting her lip as well as her forehead. There was considerable pain the entire length of her throat, and she continued to gasp for air. Aside from the water hitting the side of the boat, her gasps were the only sounds to be heard.

Tammy Sue, get a hold of yourself, figure a way out of this, she silently berated herself. She tried to assess the damage, finding most of the pain lodging in and about her throat and her private parts. She had no doubt that he’d strangled her near to death-and enjoyed his sex rough, no doubt-and she was as yet dazed and confused by the encounter. Apparently, he could only enjoy sex by taking it- and the rougher the better-while she had nothing but pain from the encounter.

“ Son of a bitch bastard,” she moaned aloud. From some where behind the fog. like a man behind a mirror, just out of her vision, came his voice, but it, too, had changed. “Pirates never were the romantic figures Hollywood made them into, my dear little mother.” His accent now sounded ugly to her ears-and why was he calling her a mother?

She began to weep and think. She thought of her own mother, her little sister, her father, home. She wished with all her heart to be home again-not her lonely little apartment, but her childhood home. She wondered if she would ever see home again. She wondered if Patrick meant to kill her.

She reached up to touch the bruised, painful area about her Adam’s apple. It was so tender, she could hardly touch it. He truly had choked her so roughly that she’d been near dead.