Chapter 22

My two day affair with Jennelle was just what the doctor ordered, and I found myself energetic, enthused, and ready to take on my life again. I never heard any more about my identity, so whatever Jennelle reported must have satisfied any suspicion on the part of the feds.

I loved my time with her. She was sensual, exciting, and a delicious secret in how she let me discover her, a little bit at a time. We held nothing back. She wanted to taste all of me and have me taste and experience all of her. We did both and found ourselves happy but needy at the same time.

Alone again, I found lots of things to do to pass the time and decided to revisit taking one of those exclusive cruises that I'd kicked around several times. For something over two-hundred thousand dollars, Crystal Cruises had a Penthouse Suite that I could book for one-hundred and two days. The suite looked truly remarkable, and I felt I might just have a good time. The best thing was the cruise left San Francisco in about a week, and the Penthouse was available.

I slept on it and put it off once more. Something about a long boat ride on a boat I didn't own, or at least control, didn't do it for me. I spent five days going about my daily routine, doing nothing but contemplating my next adventure. It wasn't driving me crazy, but it was on my mind every waking moment.

Just when I'd decided to forget all about it, and head back to Asheville, it hit me. I knew what I was going to do next. In my life when I was in Brian's body, I planned to take a houseboat trip up to the Great Lakes, east on the Erie Canal, down the Hudson River to the Intercostal, and all the way down to Florida. Life interfered, and I never got near finishing it.

I was in Florida. Florida is chock full of boats for sale. All I needed to do was pick the perfect boat for a trip across the Gulf, up the Mississippi, across the Great Lakes, and up into Canada to see the Finger Lakes and the Saint Lawrence Seaway. If I played my cards right, I could spend at least a year exploring the USA and Canada from the fly bridge and enjoy doing nothing for a change.

Even alone I couldn't wait to get going.

The Burger Yacht, Atlantic Belle, that Fornier once owned, would have been perfect for my trip, but it had been sold as scrap after the feds failed to defuse the bombs planted aboard. I took the money Kevin had been paid for the Belle and bought back The BETH ANN. The Monticello River Yacht I had bought for my original voyage was still moored in Deland Florida, and still for sale. Rick Armstrong was still in charge, and when my taxicab dropped me off, I inquired about her, and he dropped everything to show me through.

It took only a short while to determine that Rick would make sure the boat was superbly checked out, readied for the cruise, and stocked with everything nautical I might need. I had them add a tank-less hot water system for both bathrooms and the outside shower. I paid him by electronic transfer, took possession, and got reacquainted with my old boat. The money I paid for The BETH ANN would go to the trust that was mine, but I couldn't bring myself to go back down that road after being rejected the last time.

The BETH ANN needed some sprucing up, and I contracted with Rick to bring it all up to the most modern standards, install some of the newest electronics, get the Direct TV activated, and really give the motors and transmissions a going over. While he dedicated his shop and mechanics to the task, I rented a car and shopped for groceries, clothes for the trip, and lots of little things to help me along the way. It was impossible to be back on board without missing Beth Ann, but the past had to stay past so I wouldn't make myself crazy.

I mapped out a route that would take me up to New York, into the Hudson River, through the Champlain Canal, and into Lake Champlain. Once I exhausted that area, I intended to really explore the Finger Lakes, and retrace my steps and head for Lake Erie for the trip home. The planning kept me up nights, and each day I spent enjoying the local dining and sights.

Eventually it was time to leave, and I pulled out from Holly Bluff marina. I waved goodbye to Rick and Judy Armstrong who stood on their long dock to see me off, and motored north which is downstream on the Saint John's River.

The days slipped by in a wonderful, lazy, haze. I cruised north until I exited the Saint John's and was traveling on the Intercostal. I slept late if I felt like it, stopped early if I wanted to, pulled up to cities, towns, and other interesting places, but I rarely spent any time with people.

Even if I wasn't feeling lonely, I was certainly on a lonely mission.

It would have been perfect, but that all changed one rainy day.

Somewhere on the Intercostal, passing through the lowlands above Savannah, Georgia, I looked back at a bridge I had just passed under. I saw two men throw a dog, or something, wrapped in a rug, off the bridge into the water. They were already gone before I got The BETH ANN turned, and I was close enough to the bridge that I dropped anchor and dove off the bow with the rope knife in my pocket, before the rug settled on the bottom.

The water wasn't deep. I reached the rug and started to pull it apart, when I felt a human hand touch my arm. That freaked me out. Whoever belonged to that hand had to be insane with fear and suffocating in the worst possible way. I couldn't imagine being trapped in inky blackness, under water, trapped inside a carpet. It was too gruesome for me to even try.

My lungs burned, and my arms ached as I frantically attacked the tape holding the rug in place flaying it with my knife like a deranged lunatic. Whoever was inside wouldn't last long, and I had to find a way to get air in there. I felt the first glimmer of hope when a few pieces of tape split as I ripped with all my might. Once I got through the layers of tape, I knew I could save this person. I had to believe it.

Twice more the little hand reached out to me and I redoubled my efforts. I was working at full speed and lifted one end of the rug above the water, hoping to get air to the person trapped inside, while I tore at the tape wrapped around both ends. It was desperate work, but I managed to get enough torn tape off enough for a woman to almost poke her head out, allowing her to take a huge breath of air.

While she sucked down air, I continued to rip the tape apart, hoping to get her free before my strength gave out.

It worked.

One last desperate tear across the tape seam with my quickly dulling knife blade, and the whole rug unraveled. As she shoved and I pulled with all our might, she finally sprang free of the intended tomb, literally flying right into my arms. Her cries were pitiful, and the sound broke my heart as I tried to see if she was badly injured.

I half scooted and half dog paddled over to the boat, grabbed the rear anchor line, and pulled us onto the jet-ski deck, which rose barely out of the water. That got us out of the water and somewhere safe from drowning.

We were both panting from exhaustion, sprawled on the jet-ski deck and trying to find some sense of safety after what just happened. I saw that the woman was older than I first guessed. When her head popped out of the end of the rolled carpet, I thought she was just a girl. Whoever tossed her from the bridge had stripped her naked, and now that I could see all of her. I knew she was at least in her twenties, perhaps thirties.

She had hair. I had no idea how full or what color it was, because it was wet and very dirty. Both our bodies were filthy from the muck, mud, and silt, not to mention the old ragged carpet they used as a makeshift coffin for her. The BETH ANN had an outdoor shower on the back deck for use after water skiing, or some other dirty task, and I unhooked it, and began to wash the filth off of her. She was dirt from head to toe, and most of it looked like it was a week old, or worse.

She allowed me to wash her without comment. When I got as much of her washed down as I could without touching her, I handed the nozzle to her and said, "Here. Try to wash your front, and around your middle. I'll get you some body wash, and maybe some of this muck off the bottom will wash free." I knew the worst of what covered her was from days of some kind of abuse. Coupled with the dirt, and insects was old urine and solid waste.

She'd been somebody's captive. When she bent over to wash her more private areas, and not wanting to scare her any worse than she was, I jumped up, opened the water ski locker, and handed her a great big beach towel so she could cover herself.

The towel covered a set of generous breasts and a very lovely figure below them. said as softly as possible, "My name is Noah, and this is my boat, The BETH ANN. Through that door," I indicated the master bedroom door, "is a bathroom with a full sized, hot water, shower. When you get the worst of this off, please use it and anything you find in the cabinets to clean up and make yourself comfortable. Look in the closets and drawers for clothes you can wear until we get you some that fit, and I will use the hall bath to clean up and wait for you in the kitchen, with something for you to eat and drink."

Her eyes were huge as she followed me but she quickly scrubbed at herself. Tracking filthy water with us, I led her to the bathroom, showed her the closet and dressers, grabbed some dry clothes and my toiletries, and then left to give her some privacy.