Chapter Three - Soon

Max's eyes fluttered open and she groaned. Every inch of her was sore. She had swum as far away from the yacht as she could, but could barely remember pushing through the waves. The last thing she remembered was pushing away a bit of driftwood. Her memory was blank after that.

Strange crackling brought her from the fog of her thoughts. She turned slowly at the sound and found herself facing a fireplace.

There weren't fireplaces on the beach.

She sat up slowly, careful not to aggravate her already pained muscles, and looked around.

She was in a comfortably furnished cabin, which smelled ever so slightly of pine and smoke. She was on the floor, lying on top of a luxurious white carpet and draped with blankets. Two comfortable-looking crimson armchairs and a matching sofa were positioned in the middle of the room and an old bookcase was tucked into the corner of the room.

She deduced from her soaking wet clothes and hair that she hadn't been in front of the fire long. The only other thing she was sure of was that she was sick of waking up in strange places.

A gentle humming came from another room and her jaw clenched. A few moments later, a jovial-looking old man waltzed into the room carrying a cup of steaming liquid.

He paused when he saw Max. "Oh, you're awake."

"Who are you?" Max asked. Her voice was still harsh.

The old man sat on the couch and held the cup out to Max. When she didn't take it, he set it on the floor. He smiled. "I'm James."

"Right," Max said slowly. "Care to elaborate?"

"My name is James Earl Madison, I was born in the ancient year of 1950 in upstate New York, but moved to Maine when I was twenty-five and started up a little fishing business. After some success, I relocated to Seattle and -"

"Funny," Max said dryly. "If you don't mind, I'm a little tense, seeing as how I have no idea how I got here."

James nodded. "Well, I was out on my boat and saw something floating in the water. That was you, Miss…"

"Stone," Max lied. "Sylvia Stone."

"Well, Miss Stone," James continued, "I fished you out of the water as fast as I could and I'll admit I was surprised to see you were breathing. Just barely, but breathing all the same. I took you back here to my cabin, but maybe you would have preferred it if I left you on the beach."

"No," Max sighed.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said, "how did you end up in the water anyway?"

"Went overboard on a friend's yacht," Max said and shrugged. "Everyone else was in the cabin, they probably didn't even notice I fell."

"Would you like to call them and let them know you're all right?" James offered.

"No phone," Max said simply.

James picked up the cup and again handed it to Max. This time she accepted it. He sat back on the couch and crossed his arms. "Must be an old boat not to have a phone."

Max wrapped her frozen fingers around the cup and enjoyed the warmth. "My friend wanted to be able to get away from it all, you know? So, where exactly are we?"

"A little island you won't find on any map," James told her. "I bought it when I was a younger, stupider man but can't bring myself to sell this little rock. It's a little ways from Seattle. Is that where you're from?"

Max nodded and took a sip of the hot chocolate.

"I could take you back in a little while," he said. "I'm going in to visit my daughter today. I think I've got some old clothes of hers here - they should fit you. I'll go get you something so you won't have to sit around in those wet clothes."

"Sounds good," Max said. She wanted to be rid of the cream business suit. It reeked of bad memories.

James smiled then got up from the couch and went into another room.

Max wrapped the blankets around herself and stared into the fire. She knew she should have been more wary of James, but she was just too tired. All she could think about was getting back to Seattle and resting up before going out to avenge Logan's death. There was no way she would let Thomas get away with anything. She was determined to first bring down Maconick Chemical Corporation then she would personally deliver justice to Thomas.

James came back into the room carrying a small pile of clothes. "They're a few years old, but I think they should fit you. The bathroom's right through there."

Max got up from her comfortable spot in front of the fire and took the clothes from James. She went into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind her.

She set the clothes down on the sink and examined herself in the mirror.

"You look like hell," she whispered to her reflection.

Her face was smudged and her hair was a horrible mess; it was ratty and littered with bits of leaves and twigs. She did the best she could with the washcloth and comb that were resting near the sink, but she was nowhere near happy. She just wanted her strength back. She just wanted Thomas Maconick dead.

She quickly changed into the sweater and jeans James had supplied then pulled her hair up with an elastic band she found in the medicine cabinet.

A knock came on the door, then James's voice. "I'm ready to go if you are."

"Soon," Max quietly promised her reflection.