P. Parrish - Paint It Black

“Louis, status. What’s your status?”

“We’re moving. Repeat-we’re moving.” He glanced back at the window. He couldn’t tell Wainwright that Candy was probably dead, not over the radio. “Chief, Sereno forty-five is injured. We need assistance. Now!”

“We’re on it.”

Louis lowered the radio, drawing in deep breaths. Stay calm. Stay calm.

He walked slowly through the cabin, taking in every inch of the room. Every few steps he would stop at one of the windows to see if Candy had moved. He had not.

He spotted another ladder in the middle of the room, a small one that seemed to disappear into the top deck. He moved to it slowly and looked up. It opened up onto a small hatch. He could see what looked like a blanket and maybe a bunk above.

A face suddenly appeared in the square.

Heller. But not the shy-eyed young man he had met a few weeks ago. This man stared down at him with unnerving dark eyes and long, dark wet hair that hung to his jaw.

Louis didn’t move, locking eyes with Heller. His heart was hammering, but he forced his words out slowly and evenly.

“Why’d you hurt him?” Louis demanded.

“He didn’t have to come,” Heller said. “He was stupid.”

Louis turned, grabbed a fishing pole, and came around swinging. He slammed it against the open hatch. Heller’s face disappeared and the hatch slammed shut.

Louis swallowed hard and moved back to the windows, throwing the rod aside. The shoreline was growing more distant. Lights flickered as the darkness crept in.

Louis moved back to the ladder.

“Heller!” he shouted.

No answer.

“Tyrone Heller!”

The hatch opened and a face reappeared. “It’s Ty!” he screamed. “You going to talk to me, you call me Ty, you stupid motherfucking piece of shit!”

Then he was gone. The hatch slammed shut. A click of a lock this time. The lights in the cabin went out.

How far would he take him? How long would it take Wainwright to get the coast guard out here? How long did he have to stay alive?

He moved back to the ladder.

“Ty!” he shouted. “Stop the boat and we’ll talk.”

No answer.

Louis moved around the room. The cupboards were padlocked, the windows too thick to shatter. He tossed pads from the benches, finding only storage and life jackets underneath.

Finally, as darkness engulfed the boat, he sat down, positioning himself in a corner, listening to the traffic on his radio. The coast guard had been notified. Wainwright was on his way to the wharf.

Suddenly, the vibrations under his feet stopped.

He stood up.

He could hear footsteps above him, then saw Heller descend the outside ladder in the back. He had a portable battery-powered light in one hand and a bang stick in the other.

Heller unlocked the door and slid it open. Water was streaming off the upper deck onto his rain cap.

“You didn’t come the first time. Why?” Heller demanded.

Louis kept his eyes on the bang stick in Heller’s right hand. He forced himself to speak calmly.

“I didn’t get the message.”

“You should have come! You ruined the plan! You should have come!”

“What plan?”

“It doesn’t matter. I changed it.” Heller set the light on a table just inside the door. “You came this time. Now I can finish the plan.”

Louis raised his hand, backing up slowly. “No, you don’t have to,” he said. “You have a choice.”

Heller’s face changed suddenly. “I never had a choice!” he screamed, waving the bang stick. “I never had a fucking choice!”

Louis backed around a post, his heart hammering, his breath shallow. His eyes searched the floor for a weapon, a pole, anything.

“Ty, they know we’re out here. They’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“I’m not going back!” Heller shouted. He turned, and then spun back, his face distorted. “You should know that! What’s wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you pretend you’re different?”

Louis stared at him, trying to get a grip on his fear. He knew there were two people inside Heller, but he didn’t know which one he was talking to. But he needed to say something. Anything.

“Different than who?” he asked.

“Me!” Heller screamed. “Me!”

Different? Jesus. . he wasn’t different. He was as close to Heller as anyone could get. In age, in build, and in color.

What did he say? What could he say to this man?

“I’m not different than you,” Louis said loudly. “I understand you. I understand everything.”

Heller shook his head violently, spraying water. “No one understands!” he screamed. “I have things I need to do! I have things inside me other people don’t have! And I can’t get rid of them. Do you hear me? I can’t get rid of them!”

Heller’s voice had turned thick with rage.

“That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I’m taking the boat. He doesn’t want it anymore. He doesn’t want anything anymore.”

“Including you?” Louis asked.

Heller’s face tightened, the muscles stretched hard against the bone.

“Stupid piece of shit. . stupid piece of shit,” Heller said, repeating it over and over, as he walked toward him.

“Heller, listen to me-”

Heller stopped talking, his eyes drifting to the floor. His breathing slowed.

“Heller. .”

Heller didn’t move for several seconds; then he lifted his eyes slowly. “You came to me. Do you hear me? You tell them, you came to me.”

This was crazy. How was he going to tell anyone anything?

“Ty. .”

Heller started shaking his head, coming closer. “Stop talking to me. You’re not supposed to talk.”

Louis backed up again, only a couple of the benches separating them. Heller leveled the bang stick.

Louis felt the wall against his back. His hands searched for something he could grab but there was nothing.

The tip of the stick inched toward him. He thought about kicking up, trying to knock the bang stick out of Heller’s hand, but knew he would be too slow.

His eyes flicked between the tip of the bang stick and Heller’s face, hoping he could see a sign-a flinch-something that would tell him when Heller was about to thrust the stick into him.

Heller stepped closer. His eyes jumped down to Louis’s legs.

Now!

Louis threw out his hand just as Heller lunged. The tip smashed into the wall and exploded.

The blast echoed against the metal, and Heller stumbled backward.

Louis dove to the floor. He sucked in a breath. He was alive. And not hit.

Heller was in the shadows, trying to reload the stick. Louis could hear him. “Shit. . shit.”

Louis felt along the cold floor until he found a fishing pole. He pulled it to him, easing himself into the darkness behind the post. He curled around it, coming up behind Heller as he was trying to shove another shell into the bang stick.

Louis held the pole in the center, the huge metal reel hanging heavy on the far end. With both hands, he swung.

The reel smashed into Heller’s cheek. Heller yelped and threw his hand to his face. He dropped the bang stick and the shell bounced out.

Louis backtracked toward the open rear door. He would lock the son of a bitch in.

Outside, water rushed off the top deck, pouring over him, and he couldn’t get a good grip on the metal door. He pulled harder, inching it along with each jerk.

A knife shot out the narrow opening, ripping blindly at his arm, slicing into it. Louis jerked back, his hand over the wound, blood between his fingers.

Heller shoved the door open.

Louis staggered back. Candy-his gun. He had to get to it. He had no choice but to make a complete circle around the boat and pray Heller didn’t know what he was after.