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skinny road hugged the lake and was clearly visible. Why
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Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]
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would he risk getting his car stuck? The park was closed for
the winter. What was he up to now?
"It depends. What do you need?"
"I'm over near Bluff Point. Listen, this is crazy "
"No kidding?"
"I'm serious, T. I'm kind of following Jamie's car."
"What? Where are you again?"
"I'm up at Bantam Lake, at the Point. Something's really
strange, Tony. He shouldn't be out here, but I'm watching his
car slide all over the road. He's driving into the campground."
I watched as that brave German car's all wheel drive tackled
and spun through almost eight inches of loosely plowed snow.
He was crazy.
"Okay. I'll check it out."
"It's nuts. I wonder what the hell he's thinking." I drove
into the bait and tackle shop, now boarded up for the winter,
and turned the Jeep around. My view was somewhat
obstructed by a small boat house.
"Sit tight. Do you understand me? I'll be there shortly." He
disconnected.
I watched in shocked confusion as a burly man in a tan
jacket unfolded himself out of the driver's side door. It was
cold and even from a distance, I could make out that he wore
no gloves, which was unfathomable to me given the
temperature. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and
gazed out at the Point. Maybe he was an ice fishermen
searching for the perfect spot to cut a hole in the frozen lake
and drop a line with my ex-boyfriend's stolen banged up car.
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This lone figure had no right to Jamie's property. My alarm
increased.
What the hell was going on?
A rusted out white van blew past me, spraying salt, sand
and ice against the side of my Jeep and scaring the bejesus
out of me. I didn't know why, but unless that van was
delivering Lo Mein and egg rolls, it was out of place here. It
went bouncing and skidding down the snowy drive into Bluff
Point, struggling along in the dense snow until it fishtailed to
a stop behind the Audi.
The first man, the one who had emerged from Jamie's car,
made his way through the shin-deep snow to the van. He
didn't seem surprised by the new arrival. Obviously they were
meeting here. Some words were exchanged and then what
looked like friendly laughter. It all appeared innocent. I knew
better. It was menacing. My prickling skin wasn't having a
reaction to the heated air and the wool of my sweater. I didn't
have itchy heat: this was fear. That was Jamie's damn car
and it should not be out there.
The man tramped back to the car, yanked open the
passenger door, and hauled Jamie out by his down jacket.
What the hell? Jamie struggled awkwardly to stand before he
was viciously slammed into the side of the car, his head
smacking into the roof. I watched in dawning horror as he
stumbled to his knees into the half foot or more of snow. His
hands were secured behind his back. He tried to get up, but a
boot connected with his shoulder blades. He landed face first
on the unforgiving ice.
Where the fuck was Tony? What was going on?
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Didn't they know I could see them?
I shut the car off, fumbling for my cell phone, sweating
and nauseated. I wondered who those men were, what in
God's name Jamie had gotten himself into and how the hell to
help him. It never once crossed my mind that I should leave
Jamie to his fate. I didn't know what to do, so I hit redial,
jumping out of the car before I suffocated on my own panic.
I opened the back of the Jeep and grabbed a tire iron. I
wasn't going to sit by while someone beat Jamie to death in a
deserted campground. I knew something terrible was going to
happen in this isolated place. I started walking.
"Hey." Tony finally answered his cell, "There's been an
accident on 202. I'm going to be tied up here for a few
minutes until someone else gets here. I'll be there shortly." I
could hear the squeal of an ambulance through the phone and
in the distance. He was right down the road, almost here. It
was inconceivable that for once I had followed instructions
and he hadn't. I knew I was being unfair.
Jamie was truly in danger.
Somehow the tan coated man wrestled Jamie back to his
feet and shoved him roughly toward the path leading to the
deserted restrooms. My attention was caught by the door of
the van opening. I hid behind the boat house to watch as a
neat, dangerous looking older man climbed out. He shut the
door carefully, hitched a bag onto his shoulder, and followed
Jamie and his captor.
"Shit. Something's going on, Tony. You have to get here."
I babbled.
"What? Slow down, Mark. What's going on?"
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Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]
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"It's Jamie. You have to send someone out here. Got it? I
can't leave him up there." Fraught, panicked, I had to get off
the phone.
"What? Calm down. I'll b "
"Please. I think they're going to hurt him."
"Mark. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere. Stay with the car."
T was shouting at me by this point. "Do not get involved."
"Just get someone out here." I slammed my phone shut
and clicked it to vibrate.
I took off at a sprint, the road slick. I could barely see
them through the thicket of brush as the men made their way
up the path. Soon, they disappeared from view.
I wasn't suited to be anyone's hero but I couldn't stand
there with my thumb up my ass praying for a savior. I didn't
care about all the things he'd put me through or the mistakes
he'd made; I wasn't deserting him to this. I jogged onto the
deeply rutted path made by the vehicles. I lost my footing
and almost fell into the snow a few times.
The afternoon sun was blinding against the starkness of
the white and ice that surrounded me. On the lake, fishermen
perched in the cheery light of the bitter February afternoon.
The setting was serene; beautiful, but still, cold, quiet. My
breath froze in tiny puffs that chilled my nostrils and ached in
my lungs. Terrified for Jamie, I kept a firm hold on rational
thought and trudged up the trail to the restrooms. I followed
tracks three sets of boots had hollowed into crusted snow
matching my steps to make my climb quicker.
By the time I reached the summit, I was breathless with
fear for Jamie. I found my cell and texted Tony, giving him
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my location and what I could recall of the license plate
number on the battered van. He needed to know where I was
and what I was doing.
In the clearing, a wide cinderblock structure stood. It
housed both bathrooms, I remembered, and was the only one
of its kind on the peninsula. Below the roof line a row of
rectangular windows reflected sunshine. They ran the length
of the building, letting in natural light all year long.
Chickadees chattered in the trees, and every so often a car
would pass on the road below me. I could see the entire lake
from my vantage point: it was stark and barren. My heart
hammered in my chest. My blasted phone vibrated in my
pocket. I was an idiot to ignore it. But I had to.
I heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
I assessed the situation. I heard the men talking inside,
the pitch of their voices low and steady and carrying through
the vents in the side of the building. I slid the tire iron along
my leg and advanced as noiselessly as I was able in the
snow.
I couldn't make out individual words, only rough tones and
cruel laughter, the sound heavy in the frozen air. My stomach
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