I flipped the light switch and gasped at the state of the cabin. Papers were strewn across the floor, dishes sat on the countertops, the sofa was overturned, and the chairs lay on their sides. I ran into the kitchen, and every cabinet had been emptied. An open bottle of isopropyl lay on the floor, its contents spilling out.
Where is he?
I thought someone broke in. The place looked ransacked. Rafael was nowhere to be found. I ran to the phone to call Sue or the police; I hadn’t decided which one, but there was no dial tone. “Fuck. Fuck.”
Panic took hold of me as I ran about the cabin looking for Rafael.
Did he do this? Was he attacked?
I needed to look for him.
I ran upstairs to get a flashlight and almost screamed when I saw him sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. The bedroom was a mess. The nightstands were emptied of their drawers, and the bedding was torn apart.
I ran to him, the questions on the tip of my tongue, until I got closer. Rafael was trembling. His lifeless eyes didn’t look at me. They stared straight ahead, looking past the wall.
I turned his face to look at me. “Rafael. What happened? What did you do?”
He said nothing, and his bloodshot eyes scared me. Did he—
Fuck. The Isopropyl. Did he drink it? Was he shaking because he drank it?
“Rafael, tell me what you did? Did you drink that shit downstairs? What’s happening to you?”
Nothing. He said nothing. His eyes didn’t look at anything. They just stared into the abyss.
He drank it. He must have, or he wouldn’t be acting like that. “Let’s go.” I tried to drag him to a standing position. I wanted to take him to the bathroom and make him throw up. He didn’t budge. He suddenly weighed four hundred pounds because I couldn’t move him. “Rafael, get up. You have to get this out of your system.”
He ripped his hand away from me and folded his arms around his body. The trembling intensified, and his eyes drooped.
“FUCK.”
I ran downstairs to the bathroom.
Ipecac. I need ipecac—something to induce vomiting.
The bathroom was also a mess. Everything under the sink was scattered about the floor. My hands gripped anything I could find as I checked labels.
No. No. No. No.
Nothing I could use. The cabinets were empty. Everything was a mess on the floor. I ran to the kitchen looking for something that might make him puke. What was I thinking?
I should just stick my fucking fingers down his throat. Am I an idiot?
I bolted back upstairs, but he was gone when I ran into the bedroom.
“Rafael!”
I ran to the first floor. “Where is he?”
I ran out the front door and looked up and down the street. By now, it was a full-on deluge outside. The trees billowed in the wind, and lightning ripped through the sky. I circled the house, going to the back when I saw him.
Rafael was in the rowboat with the untied rope draped over his lap, and he had an oar in each hand. “NO!”
My feet never moved faster. I sprinted down the hill screaming for him to stop. He paddled faster. The rain was so heavy that I lost sight of him.
I released a series of curses as I pulled at my hair. What could I do? I had to think. I had to get to him.
Boat. I needed a boat. The horizontal rain pierced my skin as I darted through the yards searching for another dock. The first one had nothing. The second had a motorboat.
