Abigail, still thinking, nodded, not in agreement but because she wanted more time to think. The truth was, she wanted to stay here, in this bunk with this man, and wait for the plane to come.
This, despite the fact that waves of horror were beginning to wash over her. She really did feel as though she’d been raped. Taken against her will, even though it had felt like willingness at the time.
But even though Eric had been the instrument of that rape, Bruce was the architect.
“You okay, Abigail?” Eric said after a while.
“No, not really,” she said, just as there was a knock on the door that made her jump.
Eric stood, said, “Wait there,” to Abigail in a low voice, then opened the door. From where Abigail sat she could only see the shadow of the person standing in the doorframe, but she could hear the voice. It was Bruce saying, “I’m looking for my wife.”
Eric, not hesitating, said, “Well, she’s not here.”
Bruce said, “Then you won’t mind if I take a look around your bunk.”
“Yeah, I do mind.”
Abigail watched Eric begin to shut the door, then he was leaning hard against it. Bruce yelled, “Abigail, I know you’re in there.”
“Fuck off,” Eric said, and leaned harder into the door, gaining a few inches. He turned toward Abigail, his skin red with exertion, his face questioning, then he lowered his shoulder and got the door to slam. He held it shut as Bruce hollered from the outside, repeatedly kicking at the door. Some of what he yelled was muffled, but Abigail caught words, including “liar” and “bitch.”
She got out of her chair and went up close to Eric, whispered, “I’m going out the back.”
“No, stay here,” he whispered back.
“He’s not going to give up. You need to show him the empty bunk.”
“Come back, then. Later.”
Bruce must have rammed into the door from the outside, because Eric bucked back a little, then smiled.
“I’m going,” Abigail said. “I’ll come back.”
“Promise.”
“I don’t know.”
She opened the back door quietly and stepped outside. There was no back deck on this bunk, just a narrow oblong of landscaping and then the woods. As she approached the tree line, she heard Bruce again, his voice hoarse from yelling, shout, “Abigail, you fucking whore. I’m your goddamned husband.”
CHAPTER 23
For a while she walked blindly through the woods, just wanting to put distance between herself and Bruce. Tears filled her eyes, and she kept wiping them away, willing herself not to buckle over and sob, even though that was exactly what she felt like doing.
She had married some kind of psychopath, someone so paranoid and vindictive that he had hired a man to test her fidelity on her bachelorette weekend.
You failed that test, though, didn’t you?
She ignored that particular voice in her head for now. Anger welled up in her. He’d wanted her to fail. He’d hired a handsome man, someone perfectly constructed to appeal to her, and that man had peeled her away from the herd, gotten her drunk, and seduced her. No, it was worse than that. It really was a kind of rape. She was sickened that she’d fallen for it, but even more upset that Bruce had set it up. And that Eric had agreed to it.
Worst of all, she was still on this island.
You are still on this island because you failed the test.
But why did he even marry me? Abigail thought. If what had happened in California was a test to find out if she was faithful, she’d failed. Why hadn’t he dumped her then? That was the part she was having a hard time understanding. There were only two possible answers. Either he’d forgiven her and decided to overlook the infidelity, or she was here to be punished. And if Bruce was so jealous that he set up some kind of fidelity test, then he was definitely not going to forgive her for cheating. So that left only one option. She was here to be humiliated and punished. And if she was here to be punished, then he must know that as soon as they got back from their honeymoon they’d have to go through a divorce, or more likely an annulment. It would be messy, whatever it was, so why had Bruce gone through with the marriage? There was a small voice in her head …
He’s going to kill you.
She stopped and put her hands on her knees and filled her lungs with air. A single sob came out of her, one that hurt her ribs.
No, she told herself. I know Bruce well enough to know he isn’t a killer.
But did she? She obviously didn’t know him well enough to think he’d ever pull a stunt like he had in California.