“I suspect the monster’s acolyte, Benedict, was the owner of these closets,” said the boy as he opened a pair of double doors. There were jackets and entire suits of clothing on hangers, shelves of folded shirts and sweaters, rows of shining boots and dress shoes.

The floors were strewn with paper money, English, French, what appeared to be Russian, and euros, and American dollars, passports, and bundles of credit cards bound with rubber bands.

“Father, come alive!” said the boy. He began to pull jackets and sweaters and pants from the hangers and the shelves, which smelled vaguely of cedar. “Here, Father, dress as quickly and as comfortably as you can. Choose what you like, but hurry. And the suitcases on the bed are packed.”

“I don’t understand how you know all of these things,” said Derek.

“I know all that you know, Father,” said the boy. “We can talk about that later. This blood drinker creature, Benedict, had a collection of watches. Here, put on this watch. It is brand-new. “

Derek struggled to pull himself together.

“Now I need to get back on the computer,” said the boy. He seated himself at the desk and starting tapping the keyboard with two fingers just as Derek always did it. “We’re north of the island of Saint Kilda. There are three boats in the harbor and I have to find more information on how to pilot the larger cabin cruiser. The speedboat is too complicated, and the smaller boat will not go fast enough.”

Derek struggled with the watch but managed to buckle the leather band. It was an old watch, but it was ticking. So this would now tell him the minutes and the hours of his new freedom. He felt suddenly hungry and exhausted and overwhelmed. He wanted to be excited, efficient, and helpful to the boy.

He drew close to see the computer monitor over his son’s shoulder.

At once pictures of a giant yacht filled the screen, a Cheoy Lee 58 Sportfish. The boy was fast-forwarding through interiors of sumptuous cabins and what looked like a control room or cockpit of sorts. Derek knew nothing of modern boats.

“Father, get dressed,” said the boy. “Let me take care of this. Hurry.”

Derek found a pair of dark wool pants, put them on, and unwrapped a new white shirt from its plastic. As he balled up his old mutilated shirt, a surge of bitterness and anger moved through him.

“For ten years, they kept me prisoner,” he said under his breath. “Ten years, if you can imagine it, ten years, in a dreary locked room in a cellar in Budapest…” The words were bubbling up out of him uncontrollably.

“I know,” said his son. “There is time for vengeance. I can manage this boat easily. Everything I need to know is here. No problem. Channel sixteen is the universal Coast Guard channel. If the boat has full tanks…”