Page 18 of Johnny

The next time I wake it’s dark and for some reason my whole body is rocking back and forth.

Back and forth and kind of up and down and for a moment I think I might be sick.

But then I remember that beautiful word. Yacht.

I’m on a yacht. I was saved! Pulled from the teeth of the dungeon of death and given another

chance.

We’re not moving. Just still as a boat can be when it’s anchored. I know this because I’m familiar

with boats. I’m even familiar with yachts.

But that life seems very far away right now.

I turn my head to see a plate of half-eaten food. A sandwich wrapped in foil packaging with two

bites missing. Maybe ham and cheese? A bowl of sliced peaches, the kind that come in a can. And an

orange drink box with a child-sized bendy straw sticking out of it.

I also realize I’m naked.

I’m not gonna make a big deal about that. My clothes—what was left of them—were a filthy

disgusting mess. But I’m clean too. So he…what? Took my clothes off and showered me?

Is that creepy? Or should I be thankful?

I can’t decide.

All I know is that I’m feeling much better.

My limbs are once again working, my throat no longer feels like sandpaper, and I can actually sit

up a little to take in my surroundings.

There’s just one light on. A reading lamp built into the side of the boat’s interior wall shines a soft

spotlight down on the pillow to my left.

But it’s enough to see the room.

Cabin, I correct myself.

Because we’re on a yacht. And a delicious one at that. Only God knows where. I guess I can safely

assume somewhere in the Atlantic or Caribbean Sea. Possibly the Gulf of Mexico, depending on how

long I was out.

I don’t recall eating that sandwich or sipping from a juice box. So not sure what that means other

than I’m not on that fucked-up island anymore.

The cabin is large, but not large enough to be the master. It’s in the bow, for one. So the sides of the

room curve in towards the headboard and there’s just enough space on either side of the bed to get in