Daniel Palmer - Helpless

Tom tried to find the belief in himself. The will to complete the mission. The belief he needed to survive. But the pain in his chest, his throat—that constricting, all-consuming agony—only intensified. Water continued to penetrate his mouth. Water that he lacked the strength to expel.

Just a few more kicks…

He reached with his hand. His vision went dark. But he could still feel the flashlight in his grip. More important, his other hand felt the ledge. He’d discovered the little underwater alcove as a high school kid who loved to challenge anybody to try and dive deeper than he could.

I’m blacking out…. Hurry….

Tom maneuvered his body under the ledge and felt about the alcove in the darkness. He touched something made of fabric. It brought him back. He gripped the slick duffel bag. The bag bunched up enough so that Tom could grab hold. He pulled, but the bag was stuck on something and wouldn’t budge. He pulled again.

Breathe. That was all his brain wanted him to do. Breathe.

Tom opened his mouth wider. Water began to fill his lungs. He pulled once more. The duffel bag, which he’d last seen fifteen years ago, slid out from underneath the ledge. But the bag was heavy with the extra weights Tom had added. It dragged Tom deeper into the abyss. He kicked. He kicked with every bit of his remaining strength.

Tom imagined himself as a young man again. Going up, this time with the drugs. Not headed down. Doing what he should have done years ago. Kicking against the past. Using the power of his youthful muscles and strong lungs to make things right again. And he kept on kicking. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to make it back to the surface.

Tom had no idea how deep under he was when the darkness about him turned to light. His eyes fell upon the most beautiful bright white light he’d ever seen. So intense and spectral that he thought it truly divine. Spiritual. It was warming, too. It pleaded for him. The light summoned him to it like a calling.

And Tom went. He sped toward that light, weightless and swift. He felt full of breath and life. He couldn’t tell if he was going up or down. He couldn’t feel anything but desire and peace.

His head broke the water’s surface. Tom felt cold air hit his face like a thousand tiny needles puncturing his skin. Water jetted from his lungs. He took in a deep, life-restoring breath. He felt the slimy slickness of the duffel bag still in his grasp. Tom gazed up at that beautiful white light.

He marveled at the moon.

The zipper had rusted shut. Tom had to tear the fabric away to get the duffel bag open. He shone his flashlight into the bag. Inside were a dozen, thirty-ounce, green vinyl dry bags. The roll-top closure feature ensured the best watertight seal possible. Tom had wanted to preserve not only the narcotics stuffed inside those bags but any fingerprint evidence as well.

Tom waved the flashlight back and forth. It was a signal to Roland that he’d left the water. Tom cradled the duffel bag in his arms as if he were carrying a wounded solider away from battle. He followed the overgrown path back to the Spot. The wind had picked up, and Tom was freezing. His body shook to warm him. But Tom’s shivering was becoming more intense. Each wind gust was agony. It made him long for the water. For a moment at least, he would feel warmer under the water than he did on dry land.

Tom arrived at the Spot. He gently set the duffel bag onto the ground. His teeth knocked together in a frozen rhythm. His shivering would not abate. His clothes stiffened as though they were icing over. He spun around in a tight circle and trained the flashlight’s beam onto the dark trees that surrounded him. The trees formed a clearing and defined the borders of the Spot.

Roland stepped out from behind a tree. Tom saw the gun still in his hand.

“Let’s get this over with,” Tom said.

“Yes. Let’s. Are my drugs in the bag?”

“Look for yourself,” said Tom.

Roland came over to the duffel bag. He peered inside. He inspected the contents and seemed pleased with what he found.

For a second, Roland was vulnerable to attack. Tom could have disarmed him. But Jill was still somewhere in the woods. Still in the clutches of that monster. No, he’d wait to see how this was going to play out. Then he’d make his move. Only when Tom was certain would he strike with violence of action.

“You did real good, Tom,” Roland said.

“Where’s my daughter?” Tom’s body was shaking violently.

“She’s here.”

“I want to see her.”

Roland whistled. Dee came out of hiding. He dragged Jill alongside him. She still had her blindfold on. Her mouth was still gagged. Wrists bound. Tom could see that she was shivering, too. But more out of fear than cold.

“Jilly-bean, it’s me, sweetheart. It’s Daddy. You just stay calm, honey. You stay calm and they’re going to let you go.”

Jill shook and struggled to get free. Tom could feel her desperation to get away, her desire to run to the sound of her father’s voice. But Dee held her tight. Her legs kicked at the air as though she were pedaling an invisible bicycle.

“I walk out of here with my daughter,” Tom said. “You’ve got my word that I’ll stay quiet about the drugs.”

Roland looked over at Dee. “Take it off,” he said.

Dee removed Jill’s blindfold but still kept her gagged. He held Jill locked in his massive arm like a vise.

“What are you doing?” Tom said. “Now she knows it was you, Boyd. She knows you kidnapped her.” But Tom had anticipated it would come to this. Roland had had another plan all along.

Roland distanced himself a few paces from Tom. The gun was steady in Roland’s hand. Moonlight fell on Dee’s bloated face. The man had one arm wrapped around Jill, and Tom could see the glint cast off by his massive ring. Dee’s other hand held a gun pointed at Jill’s head.

“Get on your knees, Tom,” Roland said.

“What are you doing, Roland?”

“Get on your knees now, Tom. Or Frankie will shoot your daughter.”

Jill let out a muffled cry. She struggled again to get free. Dee pressed the gun barrel against Jill’s temple. Tom sank to his knees, as though praying to the duffel bag that lay in front of him.

“This is the scene of a double homicide. A murder-suicide, to be exact. You killed Lindsey Wells. You couldn’t let Jill live, because the scars of what you’ve done will damage her forever. No, you decided she’d be better off dead. It’ll be easier for her that way.”

Tom heard Jill’s muffled shriek again.

Roland circled out of Tom’s direct line of sight. Tom kept his eyes focused forward and locked on Jill. He didn’t turn his head to see where Roland had moved. Instead, he listened to Roland’s footsteps. Roland was standing to his right. He assumed Roland was pointing his gun at Tom’s head. It made sense. Murder-suicide. Roland would shoot Tom in the side of his head. Then he’d shoot Jill.

Tom kept his eyes locked forward. He focused only on Jill. He looked into her eyes. Even in the dark he could see they were wide with fear, like two black moons against a pale white sky. Those eyes were filled with tears. She struggled again to get free. But Dee pressed the gun barrel to her head until she stopped fighting.

Jill went limp. Fainted, perhaps. Dee kept her propped up like a doll.

“Sorry it came down to this, Tom. But it’s the cleanest way. You’re a family man. You can understand. I have to do this for my family. I can’t give up on my boy.”

Tom heard the emotion in Roland’s voice. A weakness in his resolve, perhaps.

“Did Mitchell kill Lindsey? You want to pin this on me, is that it?”