Silent Screams

Hideaway Key, Present Day, 11:50 p.m.

Burning tendrils of hurt shot from her eye sockets straight to the back of her skull. Pain jolted through her arms. It hurt to breathe. She couldn’t open her eyes. 

Where the hell am I? 

She didn’t have to see to know she was lying face down on a hard floor that was moving. Up. Down. Up. Down.

I’m on a boat? What the hell am I doing here?

Somehow, the motion lulled her to sleep. Sometime later, a glimmer of consciousness seeped through her grogginess.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake the hell up! 

She managed to open her eyes.

Not a dream. Jen! Patrick! Hell! What happened to me? To them?

All she knew was that she was on her stomach. Her upper body was twisted to the side. She was face down on a gray-black floor that was smooth and nubby at the same time. Or maybe the floor looked gray-black because the night was so dark.

Gritting her teeth against the building headache, she shut her eyes again. Holding them open hurt too much. With her eyes closed, she became aware of a whirring sound. Engines. Running steady, but not at full throttle.

A boat.

Sharp needles of fire-like pain sizzled from her left hand and wrist. It snaked up, crawling along her arm, circling around her elbow, and stabbing into her shoulder. Her left side—from her ribs to her kidneys—felt like she’d been used as a punching bag. She was wet. And cold.

Fragmented memories flooded back. Men. Ski masks. Waiting in her bedroom. They’d been looking for the egg. They’d called it a Faberge. Jen. Knocked out. They’d threatened her life. A sickly-sweet chemical smell. Everything had gone dark. 

They must’ve carried her from the bungalow. She didn’t remember that, nor did she remember getting on the boat. 

And—oh God!—she couldn’t remember what they’d done to Patrick and Jen.  

She opened her eyes again, just a little, not wanting whoever else was on the boat to know she was awake. Chin resting on the hard surface, she turned her head just enough to see something more than the floor. 

Like discarded dolls, Jen and Patrick were lying near her on the floor. To her left. In the darkness, details were hard to see. Although she ached to get closer, she didn’t dare. Jen was on her back. Patrick was between her and Jen. If she reached out, she’d be able to touch his shoulders and his back. He was in a fetal position, curled into his mom, with his back to Jordan. Neither moved except for with the up-down movement of the boat. They were gagged. Her sister remained in her pink nightgown and Patrick still wore his blue pajamas with multi-colored dinosaurs.

Looking into the shadows past Jen and Patrick, she saw that the side of the boat was black. Rounded. A rigid pontoon. She glanced toward the back of the boat. Three engines gleamed, even in the darkness.  

Think. Pull yourself together. Think of a way out of this. 

She, Jen, and Patrick had been dumped into the well of the boat, between the captain’s seat and the transom where the engines were attached. The man driving stood about a yard from her feet. Red light from the instruments on the navigation panel illuminated him. In the gap between the back and the bench of the seat, she saw a gun holstered at his hip.

She flexed her feet and rotated her ankles. They weren’t tied together. She moved her wrists. Wiggled her fingers. Her wrists weren’t bound, but spasms of pain exploded from her left hand and wrist. She swallowed the scream that nearly erupted.

Trying to ignore the pain, she bent her head as much as she dared and looked toward the front of the vessel. Two shadows were in the forward section. They didn’t seem to be looking her way, probably assuming their victims were unconscious. Nighttime obscured details. One of the men yelled loud enough to be heard over the boat engines. “Go faster.”

Jordan shivered. That voice was one she’d never forget–Shark Eyes. The man who’d told her he’d kill Jen.    

“Can’t,” the driver yelled back, shaking his head. “We’re still not past the reefs. Can’t be much farther. Keep your eyes focused forward. Let me know if you see rocks.”

“Can’t see shit,” the third man said. “We need lights.”

“The longer we’re out here, the riskier it is,” Shark Eyes said.

Closing her eyes to pretend that she remained unconscious, she tried to think of a plan. She had to do something. But what? Jen and Patrick remained unconscious. They couldn’t help. 

I need to take control of the boat. 

That thought inspired a sudden burst of fear—because she doubted her ability to succeed. Armed men with Shark Eyes leading the team…  Yeah, that was a problem. 

She eyed the driver’s gun. If she could pull it from his holster, she’d aim it at him and force him to turn the boat around.  

Or I could kill him and turn the boat around myself.

But if she killed the driver, what about the other two? 

She’d have to disable or kill all three of the men. That action required her to take possession of and effectively fire the weapon that the driver had holstered to his hip. Moving fast, she’d have to stand and reach over the seat, even before the driver realized that she had moved. I can do this. She’d remove his weapon from the holster. I can do this. She’d go for a head shot. It wouldn’t be easy with him moving, trying to grab her. She might end up looking him in the eye as she fired. She gritted her teeth, mentally bracing herself for killing someone at close range. I can do this.  

To move with lightning speed on limbs that were heavy from inaction and sedation, she had to make sure her body wasn’t asleep. Keeping her eyes on the men, she stretched her legs as much as she dared. She moved her arms and fresh pain flashed from her left wrist to her left shoulder. She glanced toward the bow to make sure they hadn’t seen her move.

“They’re going to wake up soon,” Shark Eyes yelled. He tossed something to the other man who was in the bow. “Tie them.”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

With her hands and feet bound, she’d have no hope. The man who’d caught the bag stood and stepped toward the back of the boat, destroying her plan for a surprise attack.    

Think. Think!

She needed to come up with plan B. Fast. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it. Breathing became difficult. She tried not to gasp for air. Tried hard not to move. She didn’t want to give the man a reason to suspect she was awake.  

Narrowing her eyes to the barest of slits, she watched the man bend to one knee and reach into a bag. He turned on a flashlight and set it on the floor. Jen was closest to him. He pulled out zip ties then bent toward Jen. He knelt then fastened Jen’s feet together. As he worked, the driver gave the engines more fuel. Some of the up-down-up-down motion leveled off as the boat picked up speed. The man tying Jen shifted on his knees and leaned forward to fasten her wrists. 

Because Patrick was bent toward Jen, cuddled into her side, the man would have to separate them to tie Patrick. He moved forward on his knees, then swung around so that he faced Patrick and Jen. His back was to Jordan. He pushed her aside with his feet as he moved, then instead of reaching for Patrick, he made a surprise move toward Jordan and fastened her ankles together with a zip tie. 

Shit!

He’d moved so quickly, and she’d been so busy giving a credible performance of being unconscious, that she hadn’t had time to resist. With her ankles bound together, her mobility was even more limited. 

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. 

She sighed with relief when he didn’t bind her wrists together right away. Instead, on his knees, he moved closer to Jen and Patrick, presumably to tie Patrick. As he shifted positions, her gaze locked on the man’s hip. Like the driver, the man wore a holster with a weapon strapped into it. Like the driver’s weapon, it looked like a semi-automatic pistol. 

With her heart pounding, Plan B was born in an instant. 

She glanced at the driver. He was looking forward. She glanced at Shark Eyes. Same. As the man tied Patrick’s ankles together, he had his back to her. Holding her breath, she shifted to her feet. Having her ankles bound together made getting on her feet difficult, but she managed to do it. She thanked God she was so dedicated to exercise. Her core was strong enough to stabilize her. She stayed low in a squat then bent forward, unfastened the holster… then pulled out the gun. She stood then tried to steady the weapon as she took aim at the man’s head. 

He turned and with his yell of surprise filling the night, she hesitated. Even in darkness, she could see the whites of his eyes. His brown irises. No matter how much she thought she could kill the monsters doing Angel’s dirty work, she couldn’t pull the trigger. Once she hesitated, pain in her left wrist caused her to tremble. The full-body trembling, in turn, caused the weapon to shake. 

He lurched forward to grab her. She leaned back to stay out of his reach. He swiped the gun from her with one hand and with the other, backhanded her—hard—across the face. Her right cheekbone exploded in pain. Stars shot across her vision. The world spun from side to side as her head whiplashed. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Shark Eyes moving her way. Saw the driver turn to look back.  

Stunned from the force of the blow, she stumbled back. Her feet and shins were pressed against the side of the boat, but the rest of her kept moving. Arms flailing, she sought something to grab, but there was only air. Her upper body fell over the side of the boat. Her head hit the water. 

The rest of her body followed.

 

(SPOILER ALERT)

1. Quinn struggles to trust his intuition after a past failure. How does this internal conflict evolve throughout Silent Screams, and what finally allows him to lean into it again?
2. Patrick’s kidnapping raises the stakes dramatically. What did you think of the way his character was developed, and how do his bonds with Quinn, Avery, and Summer affect your emotional investment?
3. The novel intertwines themes of fate, faith, and intuition. How do these elements guide Quinn’s choices? Have you ever felt that a loved one who has passed away has influenced your life or guided your decisions? If so, how did it occur? Have you every prayed for help from someone you have loved and lost? Did you receive their help? Did praying for help, or talking to that person, influence your grieving process?
4. How does silence—both literal and emotional—function in the novel? What ‘silent screams’ do the characters carry within them, and how are those finally expressed?
5. Discuss how parenthood—both biological and chosen—is portrayed through Avery, Summer, and Quinn’s relationship with Patrick. Did you feel that Quinn acted as a father figure to Rafe? What does the story say about family? How do Quinn’s siblings influence his character development?
6. What role does the Fabergé egg play symbolically beyond being a valuable object? How does it connect to present motivations of the various characters?
7. The villains in this story are ruthless and multifaceted. Which antagonist stood out most to you, and why? Were any of their motivations understandable or sympathetic?
8. Quinn’s father’s wisdom becomes more prominent in Silent Screams than it was in Desperate Whispers. How does his memory shape Quinn’s sense of identity and help him move toward redemption? Did you find Quinn’s grief over losing his father relatable?
9. The novel builds toward a high-stakes showdown. Were you surprised by the outcome? Did any character act in a way that surprised you? How did the climax resolve the emotional arcs of the main characters? Quinn decided at the climax not to act. How did you feel about his decision? Was it in keeping with his character?
10. What future do you imagine for Quinn, Avery, Summer and Patrick? Did you feel the ending offered closure on all issues? If you could write one more scene, what would it be?