He starts the engine and casts off. The engine putters until he clears the jetty and then as he opens the throttle it deepens. I get the impression he could go faster but he’s wanting to draw this out for me. He wants me to know what’s coming and fear it.

I won’t admit it to him, no matter what he does to me. But if he’s trying to terrify me, he’s more than succeeded.

As I try and struggle free of the tape binding my wrists and ankles, I feel something scratch my arm. It’s a rough screw head or something like that, but it may just be sharp enough to cut the tape.

I wriggle until I can feel the screw head snagging on the tape. Moving with care, I rub the tape back and forth hoping it doesn’t resist the short spike. Another concern is the noise of the tape snapping could alert Norm. I have to do this in silence.

I feel it digging into the tape without any of the effect I’m desiring. Pressing harder, I keep going in the hope it will wear its way through.

My shoulder aches from the yank it received yesterday. Although the pain is a lot easier to ignore than the prospect of drowning.

Five minutes of rubbing later, I hear the engine note change. It softens to a gentle throb as it slows until it’s ticking over on idle. Putting my muscles to work, I pull against the tape and feel less resistance.

80

Norm turns away from the controls and faces me for the first time since casting off.

‘You’ve gotten off lightly, Boulder.’ His voice is filled with contemptuous malevolence. ‘I wanted a far worse fate for you than drowning. One that would have you screaming in agony. Leave you begging for death. Instead the fates have been kind.’

I want to ask him how, but the tape over my mouth prevents it.

‘When I picked the method out of the bowl, you got lucky. They say drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.’ His grin is wicked in the pale moonlight. ‘You’ve dodged being doused in gasoline and set alight, being buried alive or having your flesh peeled off as I towed you along the highway. But instead of getting any of those excruciating ways to die, you got lucky, you got an easy way.’

Listening to him speak, I’m struck by the lack of reality he’s experiencing. He’s not just killing people; he’s selecting the most horrific ways imaginable. Not content with taking their lives, he has to exercise his superiority by having them plead and beg.

It’s what he wants from me.

As much as the thought of drowning terrifies me, I’m not prepared to give him the satisfaction of hearing me ask for clemency. Given the choice, I’d take buried alive over drowning every time. Even the short-lived but excruciating agony of incineration seems preferable to having water force its way into my lungs.

‘I see the terror in your eyes. You know I’ve won. As clever as you may think yourself, you’ve just lost the most important game of all. You’re going to be my thirty-fourth victim. I’ll be remembered as one of the greatest serial killers ever. You’ll be just another line on the list of my victims.’ He raises a hand as if scanning a headline. ‘Jake Boulder. Drowned.’

Not if I can help it I won’t. His megalomania isn’t going to cost me my life. All the time he’s been talking, I’ve thrashed as if trying to free myself, while continuing the sawing movements against the sharpness behind me.

I can feel my bonds starting to give. Not enough to break free, but enough to suggest that moment isn’t far away.

He bends down and looks at me from a distance of two feet. Too far to strike with a head butt, yet far closer than I want him to be. The meek Norm has been replaced by a feral killer enjoying his work.

He pulls a knife from his pocket. Despite being stiletto thin it catches the moonlight and my attention.

What I wouldn’t give to be the one holding the knife. I’ve never before felt such fear. Or the level of hatred I’m experiencing. The MacDonald blood may be rushing in my ears, but my every focus is on the knife as it moves towards my face.

Norm is in no hurry. The knife takes an age to come forward. So long, I have time to consider throwing myself forward onto it. If I get the angle right, the knife should slide through my eye and pierce my brain.

A far preferable death to drowning, it will also rob him of his chosen method. It would be a hollow victory, but a hollow victory is always better than a resounding defeat.

I dismiss the idea. I’m not ready to die yet. There’s still fight in me.

‘Keep very still and you won’t get hurt.’ He gives a maniacal laugh, uncaring about anyone else who may be on the lake. ‘Yet.’

The tip of the knife pushes at the tape covering my mouth. Once, twice then a third time he makes a tiny hole.

I understand what he’s doing. Air and water will get in but shouts for help won’t get out.

The knife is returned to his pocket.

The clenched fist that hits my temple moves so fast I don’t see it coming.

I almost black out, but manage to retain some kind of awareness.

He stoops over me and removes the rope holding me in position. Stepping back, he grabs the lapels of my shirt and yanks me out of my seat. I fly past the point of balance and plunge head first over the side of the boat.

81

I slip into the dark water and the first thing I feel is cold. Not just the cold of the water, but utter, bone-chilling panic. I feel momentum pushing me down. Gravity and my struggles are helping me to sink ever deeper, so I try and force myself to be calm.

I fail. Badly.

As I thrash around under the water, I feel every sinew stretching itself to breaking point. The tape binding my arms snaps under the stress of my frenzied contortions. Having them free takes the edge off my terror. I have never learned to swim, but at least I have a half chance of not drowning if I have the use of my arms.

Slamming the panic down, I use brain instead of brawn for a moment.

My lungs are full of air but I know it won’t last me long. Not with the way I’ve been fighting my bonds. Not with my head so far from the surface.

I blow a tiny amount of precious breath through my nose and feel the bubbles pass over my chin.

Now I know which way is up, I claw towards the surface. My movements are ungainly but I feel the weight of the water pushing down on me lessen. I’m making progress.

My head breaks the surface for a second and then I start to sink all over again.

Is this what is to become of me? Bobbing up and down from the depths to the surface until my strength wanes and I inhale lake water?

The other danger is Norm sitting on his boat watching. A crack from the boathook he’d used to push off from the jetty will knock me unconscious. Hell, he won’t even have to hit me with it, he can just use it to hold me under the water.

As I flap my way to the surface for a second time, I dig a nail under the tape over my mouth and yank the tape free. It stings, but a kiss from a supermodel couldn’t open my mouth right now, so there’s no way a yelp of pain is going to happen.

This time when I break the surface, I get a decent lungful of air. I also open my eyes for the first time since entering the water.

Norm is standing on the boat with his back to me. I see him turning as I slip beneath the water.

While I know I can’t keep up this rhythm for long, every time I break the surface feels like a victory as well as a chance to replace the spent air in my lungs. With two of Norm’s three pieces of tape removed from my body, I start figuring how to remove the third.

Stuffing a hand into my pocket, I draw out the key to my apartment. It’s a Yale key with a rough serrated edge. With it clamped between my fingers, I saw at the tape around my ankles.