“G”

The ice in my glass clinks together, serving as the only sound I can hear for miles - besides the wind.

I can smell the salty ocean air, and almost wish, for a second, that I was back in Miami with...well, I promised myself I wouldn’t think of him. It’s too late for that, though, really.

Knocking me out of my midday daze is the loud slam of the cabin door behind me. Turning, I breath a sigh of relief. James, my right-hand man - and if you want to use technical terms, my “butler.”

”Ms. Thompson, the yacht will stop in about a half hour at Redondo Beach Pier.”

I nod, turning back around to lean on the rail, but he’s not done yet.

He sounds nervous.

”Erm. There is one more thing. You got a letter.”

I furrow my brows. A letter?

”How did it get onto the yacht?” I ask, surprised.

James scratches his head. “You’ll never believe it but...a bird brought it.”

I laugh, nearly spitting out my cocktail.

”James, it sounds like we’re in a spy movie. You know, like James Bond or something.”

”Yes. Quite.”

He’s fidgeting.

I gulp down the last of my mojito and set the rocks glass down on a table.

“Okay, spill. Who’s it from?”

”Marie, it’s from someone calling themselves G, and it’s titled: ‘It’s Time.’”

I freeze. My mind flashes back to the night I never want to remember, but will never be able to forget.

It was a cold and windy Saturday evening when I threw my black pumps into the back of a cab and stumbled in alone. The night had been full of drinking and dancing, and I hadn’t a care in the world. Until I spotted him.

Leering behind a post at Pashae‘s Bar was an odd looking man. He was staring at me. Almost into my soul.

I was drunk, having just taken two shots with my old college friend Brad, and in my mind this stranger was hitting on me.

As I approached, I felt anxiety rise up within me. Probably just the Caesar I had earlier. The Clamato juice never fully settled with me.

Putting on my sexiest pout, I steadily placed my hand on his cold shoulder. When he looked at me, I nearly sobered up.

“Who are you?” I asked, finally realizing the anxiety was well garnered.

The man just curled his lips up into a half smile, baring the corner of a sharp and brilliantly white tooth.

I recoiled my hand, but he’d taken something from me already.

He knew. He was here to punish me.

He never uttered a word to me, only handed me a simple slip of paper. When I looked up, he had slipped away into the crowded room. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

Hands shaking, I unfolded the paper:

I’ll be around to pick you up at 5.

I remember looking around, confused. Was this a joke? I supposed he was merely trying to flirt, so I brushed it off. Had a few more drinks. Left the bar.

I whistled for a cab and as I was tossing my shoes into the back, I saw him. This time perched atop the 7/11 across the road. He smiled. Then he was gone.

I shook my head as if it was just a drunk, paranoid illusion. I tossed and turned that night.

My face must have gone quite blank, because when I came around from my daydream, James was rubbing my back in worry.

“Shall I open it?” He asked, and I could hear a quiver in his vocal chords.

James knew all about the night when Annie and I happened upon the fact that Kevin had been sleeping with the both of us. Betrayal is what I called it. From both of them. Initially, I had been furious with Kev, but Annie had to run her mouth about how he’d clearly pick her over me. She was better looking and her family had more money, after all.

I snapped. Out on the ocean - in the same yacht I was riding in now - Annie had accidentally fallen overboard. I did all I could to save her, I promised, but she’d simply slipped away into the depths. How devastating.

Kevin had taken me on a trip to Miami after the funeral. We both needed to get away from the pity stares and the unwanted knocks of consolation at our doors. I’d taken the trip, but knew I could never look at him the same again. We’d ended things after that. He’s now engaged to a woman body builder in Florida. Ha.

James had been the only other one on the yacht that night. He’d seen the fateful ”accident” and sworn he’d protect my name. And he has, for a year and a half he’s held his tongue.

Now what?

He held the letter out to me. Taking a hard swallow, I pulled the envelope apart to reveal a shred of paper.

Eyes widening, I unfurled the paper.

Still on for 5 o’clock?

”James, the time?”

”4:57, Marie.”

I peer over the railing into the darkening Pacific Ocean below. The ripples of water have ceased. As has the engine.

The cabin door creaks open.

”Marie