Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

And realized that the water had risen to knee-deep, and was all roaring motion.

A flash flood. God, no!

But I walked out anyway, pushing through the current with one leg, then the other. I stayed clear of the trees, knowing how water moccasins slithered up the trunks to avoid being swept away. I didn’t want to cross paths with one of them.

Even though I couldn’t run, my canvas shoes gave me an advantage. Steven’s cowboy boots would be far more cumbersome.

I moved toward the car, fighting for every step, digging in my pocket for the keys.

Then I heard Steven splashing and sloshing behind me.

I trudged on, and finally tugged the keys out. I pointed the remote at the outline of the 4Runner in the distance, but couldn’t hear if the locks released. I struggled on, panting and gasping, and when I finally reached the door handle, my legs buckled. I leaned against the vehicle for support.

Hurry, Abby. He’s coming.

I lifted the handle. The remote key hadn’t worked. Damn!

I took a deep breath and fit the key in the lock.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back .

I heard the blessed sound of the locks releasing and climbed into the 4Runner, pressing the auto lock to keep Steven out. I closed my eyes, fighting for air, my head resting on the steering wheel.

A voice inside was screaming for me to drive, to get moving! But my hands were shaking and I had trouble finding the ignition.

It seemed like forever before I started the engine... turned on the headlights. I licked my dry lips and shifted into reverse.

In the side mirror I saw the raging waters surging through the street, carrying trash cans, lawn chairs, and tree limbs. I maneuvered out, praying I’d find the road—otherwise I might get caught in the ditch. As the 4Runner swung out, the headlights panned the yard between the two houses.

I spotted Steven flailing in the rising waters, not moving in any purposeful direction. He must be stuck in the soft ground or tangled in debris. I shifted gears and slowly edged forward in the river that used to be P Street, guessing at the position of the driveway. Using the mailbox as a guide, I pulled in as close as I could.

Steven fell, probably to his knees, because the water was up to his chest.

No matter what he’d done, or threatened to do, I couldn’t leave knowing a human being would surely die if I did so. I could never live with that.

I picked up the phone and called 911.

And listened to the ring... six times... seven.

We weren’t the only ones who needed help tonight.

I rolled down my window.

“Can you get up?” I yelled.

But he was drunk, not to mention incapacitated by water that had probably risen six inches since my escape to the car.

I heard a muffled “What is your emergency?” coming from the phone in my lap. I gave the address, but I knew by the time help arrived it would be too late for him. I clicked the phone off and squinted out into the darkness. If I waded out to him, he’d pull me down in his panic or his rage.

So I needed a rope.

I climbed over the front seat searching for one, but of course found nothing but Kate’s usual folders and library books. And laundry for the dry cleaners.

It might work. I could make it work.

I hurriedly knotted several pairs of linen pants, silk shirts, and a black crepe dress together, twisting them as I tied. I only hoped the line would be long enough as I got out of the 4Runner and attached one end to the front bumper.

With the headlights to guide me, I started toward Steven, but fear nearly overwhelmed me then. Nearly took over every muscle. I was a quivering bundle of undirected energy. Steven might finish me off if I got to him. Drown me.

Don’t be a fool, Abby. Leave him!

But though this storm was not a hurricane, I knew its power. I knew who my real enemy was—the enemy who would prevent anyone else from getting here in time to save a man who didn’t deserve to be saved. The whirling winds and stinging rains demanded I give in, flattening me against the 4Runner and threatening to toss me into the current.

My defeat, if it came, would be at Storm Carl’s hands, and for some strange reason, I found that thought comforting.

Clinging to my homemade lifeline, I set out again toward a floundering Steven.

But the makeshift rope wouldn’t reach.

“Come closer, Steven!” I hollered over the thundering water.

But fighting the flood had exhausted him. Only his head was visible now, his eyes glazed with fear. With each passing second the water kept up its punishing pursuit of us both. Carl would have his way.

I needed more line. Maybe twenty-four measly inches. I slipped out of my saturated T-shirt and added it to the other clothes.

I leaned forward, holding out my T-shirt so he could grab on. Once he did, I planned to follow the chain back to the 4Runner, hoping he had the sense to hang on for his life.

“Steven! Take this!” I screamed over the howl of rushing wind and water.

His head moved in the direction of my voice, but I didn’t think he saw me. The bug spray must have played havoc with his contacts.

“Here! I’m right here!” I shouted.

Finally I managed to find his hand, but his slick fingers slipped away, and I reached toward him again, straining. I was so focused, I didn’t even notice the pontoon boat making its way toward us.

But then I heard Jeff’s voice through the darkness. “Don’t tell me you’re rescuing murderers in your underwear?” he yelled above the motor’s drone.

As relief displaced terror, the feeling lifted my soul within a whisper of being tangible. Surely this was the most blessed emotion I had ever experienced.

A few minutes later, on our way to the Galveston police station, I promised Jeff I’d discuss my lingerie with him anytime, anywhere... which brought an amused guffaw from the man driving the rescue boat.

But I didn’t recall much else on that ride. I concentrated on pretending the quivering form in handcuffs at the other end of the boat was invisible.

Several hours later, I was huddled in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. Sometime earlier, an officer at the Galveston police station had wrapped me in a blanket, and I still had the scratchy green wool cloaked around me. I wasn’t certain whether the car’s air-conditioning or my brush with death had caused the shakes, but I couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

The rain had stopped, permitting the streets to drain, and the causeway was open to traffic. The threat of more flash floods was subsiding now that Carl had taken his nasty disposition north.

Before we had left to return to Houston, Jeff spent an hour negotiating with the Galveston police over the prisoner once known to me as my ex-husband. I had decided all possessive pronouns connecting Steven and me would be forever banished from my conversation. Even ex was too good for him.

The cops in Galveston wanted to hold Steven for Feldman’s murder, and Jeff wanted him transferred to Houston so he could be charged in Ben’s death. They worked it out, and I didn’t even care to know the resolution. As far as I was concerned, he no longer existed.

Now that we were safely on our way back home, I was suddenly exhausted. But there were still so many unanswered questions. Stifling a yawn, I asked, “How did you get here? Wasn’t the causeway backed up halfway to Houston?”

“Not southbound,” he said. “No one with any sense wanted on the island.”

“I heard you tell someone back there at the police station that you followed Steven. How did that happen?”

“Actually, I went looking for you after I called your cell phone. I couldn’t get through. Lots of emergency calls were being made on cell phones tonight. But when I arrived at Mr. Steven Bradley’s office, he was there. I tailed him.”