Island Encounter

Riley was home alone now.

Her husband had died less than a month ago in an awful accident while they were vacationing in Galveston. That might have seemed strange as a travel destination to many people, but the couple actually owned an island off the coast of Maine, purchased by James a couple of years before they met.

Winter was coming.

They would be stuck on the island for a long period, due to weather. That wasn’t unusual at all. It happened each and every year. The worst of the frigid weather lasted at least a couple of months.

So, they decided to visit Texas, which had been having an “Indian summer,” before that period of island isolation set in. The white Texas beaches were crowded, but James had promised her a real honeymoon, unlike the one following their wedding five years ago. His business then had been struggling through the recession that had surprised too many employers.

James was the sole owner of his paper supply company, producing forms that other businesses urgently required, so he didn’t sink as low as some others who’d been forced into bankruptcies, but he still couldn’t afford not to stay home to remain on top of things. By the time the economy recovered, James was in better shape than ever before.

His accident had been a freak thing.

Driving a rental car to see an old friend from college, the traffic had been more hectic than he had been accustomed to back home, and he encountered a surprise shower on the way. He’d gotten through it, though, visited his friend, then walked out of that 18th-floor office. The elevator chimed. While turning to joke with his friend, he stepped inside.

Something hadn’t seemed right, and he looked up. He had just enough time to see the ascending car above him, then he’d fallen all the way into the basement. Legs, arms, and head had ricocheted off the walls as he twirled his way down, arriving nearly the same time as his friend’s loaner umbrella.

Riley had flown back to Maine, picked up their car, and been ferried back to the island that she now owned solely. She met with the attorneys, who told her they would take care of all details. They also arranged for James’ remains to be delivered to her in the form of a sealed metal urn that held his ashes, as he’d provided for in his will.

The attorneys were still working on those details, but they assured her in brief calls that they were near to completion so she could sign the papers to put the business up for sale.

Riley looked out the big picture window that looked past the oversized wooden porch to the boat dock fifty yards away, then across the vast ocean waters. Her gaze snapped back to the water’s edge.

A large boat lay next to the dock, and a man dressed in a thick hooded coat was securing a heavy rope from the spring line to a dock cleat. Riley saw that the bow line was already tied from boat cleat to dock cleat.

She watched him complete the task then return to his craft. Who could this be? Not an attorney, surely. Perhaps someone from James’ business? She wouldn’t be convinced not to sell. After it was gone, the island would come next. With James, she had loved it here. Now, their privacy had turned into her isolation.

The man, dark-bearded and burly she saw, stepped from the dock to the long walkway that led up to the house. Riley then realized he was carrying some object in his right hand. A hatchet. She gasped and felt a shiver pass through her entire body.

The early afternoon sun glinted off the blade.

She remembered the shotgun upstairs, stored in an unused bedroom closet. James had reminded her several times about it, making sure Riley knew the location and that he kept it loaded. “We’re out here all alone,” he’d said. “If someone comes breaking in at night, we can be sure it’s for nothing good, and we’ll need to react quickly.”

Would she have time to get it before the man arrived? Had she even locked the front door?

She raced for the stairs, breathing fast even before making it halfway up. The man coughed. The sound was muted, but Riley knew he wasn’t far down the walk.

Midway down the hall, she flung open the second door on the right and shoved open the closet door. As James promised, the gun leaned against the wall. Riley grabbed it, turning back toward the door.

Even from up here, she heard the man’s boots clump across the veranda. She didn’t have time to make sure the gun was loaded, just turned to rush backstairs. Knuckles rapped loudly on the front door.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“Ma’am?” the deep voice asked. “My boat’s having engine trouble. I just needed a place to do some repairs.”

“Step back off the porch, I’ll open the door.” There was a pause. “I saw what you’re carrying. I’ve got a gun, so toss it aside into the grass.”

She waited. The man finally stepped down off the porch. Through the peephole, Riley saw him toss the hatchet aside. Lifting the gun so he would be able to see it, she opened the unlocked front door.

“Can you do the repairs down there, and keep away from up here?”

“It’s very cold out here. Let me speak with your husband.”

Riley wondered if the man knew about her husband’s death. Was that why he was here? “He’s getting supplies from the mainland. He should be back at any time.” The man, taller than she’d realized, didn’t look convinced by her explanation.

“You don’t need that weapon. I just brought the tool in case no one is here, so I could get inside to warm myself for a while before getting to work. The engine isn’t running right, and I don’t want the boat’s battery dying on me.”

“I’ll keep the gun, thank you,” she said. “And you can use the boat shed to get out of the wind some. You can’t come in here.”

The man simply nodded his head.

“Okay if I get my hatchet?”

“Yes, then just go on back down below.”

He stepped off the walk, picked up the hatchet, and looked at her before turning to leave. “Thank you, Ma’am, for your help.”

The obvious sarcasm nearly made her smile, but Riley quickly wiped it away. “You’re welcome,” she said. “You do know how to fix the problem, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help but think to herself that he gave an evil grin in return. “Bet on it,” he drawled. “A few hours, and I’ll be away from here.”

She locked the door, doubting that things would go as smoothly as he pretended. She didn’t even know that anything was actually wrong with the boat.

#

Four hours later, the sun was lowering and the boat remained at the dock. She’d been vigilant, but the man had kept out of sight. For all she knew, he’d spent all that time napping.

The room was now cast in shadows. Riley really didn’t want to turn on the light, but she knew that soon she’d need to. Then, she’d have difficulty viewing anything that happened on the dock.

She knew in her bones that the developing situation was exactly what the man had planned. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she was certain he was gone.

A noise sounded at the back of the house. Riley recognized the sound. The tinkle of glass breaking and falling inside. She recovered the shotgun from the front door, then held still and listened.

When no footsteps sounded, she finally began walking toward the kitchen, from where she was sure the shattering glass had occurred. She stepped quietly ahead, the gun extended in front of her with her finger on the trigger.

As she came even with the entry doorway, strong fingers grabbed the barrel.

Her finger tightened.

The shotgun boomed, brightening the kitchen, then her weapon was snatched from her hand. Riley was shoved backward and fell to the floor. She looked up at the man, whose right hand once again gripped the hatchet. He’d dropped the gun back behind him.

He stood over her. “Ma’am,” he said, “your husband seems to be late getting home.” He laughed, then coughed, then swung the blade.

Riley had been waiting for it.

The hatchet swung right, but she rolled in the opposite direction, still feeling its very close motion in the air. The man stumbled into a small table holding her wedding photographs. Overweight, he hit the floor hard with an oomph.

Riley quickly rose and took two fast steps into the kitchen. Thinking she’d missed it, her fingers struck the shotgun, and she pulled it up and pointed it at the now-recovered man who was just in front of the barrel.

She pulled the trigger. At first she thought the gun was unloaded, then the blast reached her ears. Her shock had muted the noise at first, and her vision became a stop-motion of the man still seeming to come at her.

Then he dropped to the floor.

She kept the gun on him, then finally became convinced that she’d actually killed a man.

Such a wonderful life on such a beautiful island. She couldn’t leave it behind fast enough.