When we landed at SFO, we were intercepted by a production assistant working for Cassie Clark.  Cassie was waiting to interview us in a room at the small plane terminal.  All three of us agreed to do it.  Marc was interviewed first and then went to catch his flight to Hawaii.  During the helicopter flight, he’d told me about his ex-wife and kids.  He was going to just show up and see if he could work things out.  I thought he looked really happy for the first time since I met him, talking about them.  Aside from working things out with his ex-wife, he told me he’d decided he wasn’t going back to his job in corporate finance.  He said he’d been working for corporations for fifteen years and that was enough.  “On the island, I came to see that most of what corporations do is about making a few, powerful people, usually men, feel great by subordinating lots of other people who could probably function better in an environment where they had to rely on themselves instead of deferring to some boss.”

“You realized that on the island,” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said.  “To me, that’s what the whole survival thing is about.  Realizing where you really fit in your environment.”

“Which environment?” I said.  “The island or real life?”

“Both,” he said.  “So now, I know what I’m done with.  I’m done with the island.  I’m done with working for a big company, spending my time and energy making money for the company and more money for myself than I and my family need, but not taking care of what is really important.  I don’t know what’s going to come next, but I know what I want.  I want my family back.  That’s exciting.  It’s scary too.  What if they don’t want me back?”

I thought about giving him a hug.  Prior to what happened to me on the island, I definitely would have hugged him.  Instead I gave him a smile.  “That’s great,” I said.  “Good for you.”  It got the point across.

Marc caught his flight to Hawaii.  I was next.  Cassie said she didn’t know how to start the interview.  Then she asked me what it was liked to be raped on live television.  That question kind of threw me.  I didn’t know it had been broadcast live.  I was surprised and embarrassed.  Then I got angry, then upset, all in just a few minutes.  Cassie was good enough to turn off the camera and the audio and give me some time to work through it.  Once I’d collected myself, we continued the interview.  I think it went well.  After Cassie finished interviewing me and Daryl, a Moth Productions escort met us and told us they had booked a private jet to take us to Phoenix, where we’d have separate suites at a luxury hotel.  They didn’t say which hotel, but they said each of our suites had its own pool, and should make for very comfortable living for the next three weeks.

The flight to Phoenix was easy.  A limousine met us at the small plane airport.  It was night, by then.  The desert radiated warmth, completely different than what we’d been living in on the island.  The sky was clear, the stars bright.  The ride to the hotel took about thirty minutes.  My suite was as promised.  Large and airy.  I got in my private pool that night.  It felt great.  There was a case of DVDs by the television in the suite.  It held the “Soul Survivor,” episodes broadcast up to that point.  The bottom DVD was labeled “live broadcast.”  I put that one in first and made myself a margarita from the fully stocked bar in my room.  I watched the program that night.  The whole live episode.  Five times.  It was getting light out when I turned off the television.  I picked up the phone in the room.  I tried to dial, but there was no dial tone.  A female voice spoke to me.  “How can I help you,” she asked.  I couldn’t think of anything to ask for I was likely to get.  I knew at that point I couldn’t call anybody outside the production.  I hung up the phone.  I paced around the suite a few times and collected my thoughts.  I picked up the phone again, this time not even trying to dial.  “How can I help you,” the voice asked again.

“I’d like some newspapers and magazines,” I said.  “Can you get them for me?”

“I’ll see what we can arrange,” was the reply.

“Please do that.  And I’d like to order some breakfast,” I said.

“What would you like,” asked the voice.

“Eggs benedict, champagne and orange juice,” I said.

“Right away,” said the voice, warmly, as if glad to be able to easily grant my request.

“With the newspapers.  And the magazines,” I said.  I reeled off a list.

“I’ll see what we can do about those,” the voice said, not as confident of being able to deliver on my request.

“Thank you,” I said as nicely as I could.  “I appreciate your help.”  I smiled as I spoke so she’d hear it in my voice.

“You’re welcome,” came the reply, warm and friendly once again.

Half an hour later there was a knock at the door.  I opened the door to a woman dressed all in black, pushing a cart with a room service tray and a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne sticking out.  Once in the room, she pulled a newspaper out from under the cart.  It was a copy of the New York Times.  I grabbed it out of her hands and sat down on the couch.  I paged through it as she set the dining room table and opened the champagne.  I didn’t notice her leaving, but looked up from the paper a little while later and saw the cart and the woman were gone.

The article was in the entertainment section of the paper.  It was entitled, “Reality Goes Too Far:  Will “Soul Survivor,” Survive the FCC?”

The problem with the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) is that any real problem the commission has to deal with has already happened.  By the time the FCC takes action, the damage has already been done.  The 2004 Superbowl half time show wardrobe malfunction was an instructive case in point.  By the time the FCC got involved, there was nothing left but the bad aftertaste of a tasteless performance.

In the case of the rape of Baby, broadcast live two nights ago, somebody should have seen it coming.  In fact, examination of previews that ran the week preceding the broadcast explicitly foreshadow “a crime to be committed on live television, never before seen in real action.”  In hind sight, that was an amazingly accurate prediction for a live episode of a reality program.  How is that possible?  Perhaps all is not as it seems.

Review of the live program as it was aired reveals the work of a highly professional team and the hand of an experienced director guiding the action of this “reality program” from behind the scenes.  The question of whether or not the rape scene was planned is an important one, because with it go questions about the players’ roles.  Was Baby a willing participant playing a part?  Or did Jack believe her to be?  And what happened to Jack?  Where is he now?  No one seems to know the whereabouts of either the supposed victim or perpetrator at present.  Was more than one crime committed, if any crime was committed at all?  These are the kinds of questions that will keep viewers coming back to see the season finale and whatever sequels follow, in hopes those questions will be answered, in addition to the question of who will win the million dollars by being the Sole Survivor.

In this sense, the FCC is a victim as well.  Its hands are tied.  In reality, the FCC  won’t prevent subsequent episodes of the show from airing, although it will likely subject them to a more rigorous advance review which may effect their content.  The only real penalty the FCC can impose upon Moth Productions, the company behind “Soul Survivor,” is a fine which that company and the program’s sponsors will consider money well spent.

A question for us to ponder as a society is what our role is in creating demand for the kind of programming “Soul Survivor” gives us.  Based on the ratings for the live episode, millions of us enjoyed watching a woman being raped on television.  In fact, as word spread from household to household of what was happening in the course of the one hour broadcast, more viewers tuned in to “Soul Survivor.”  The next episode’s ratings will give us a real indication of our national appetite for sex and violence, which is what “Soul Survivor” promises as its story line.

Women’s groups across the country are concerned by what’s happened, and rightly so.  The moral and social barriers that obstruct commission of a rape are weakened by watching a rape, as sociologists and psychoanalysts will attest.  How many heterosexual men felt their loins stir as they watched the broadcast?  Nine months from now, will there be an upsurge in the number of births versus the average, with babies being born as the result of passions unleashed by viewing the live episode of “Soul Survivor?”

Finally, how will the likely “Soul Survivor” sequel, the trial of Jack Callister play out, assuming he survives the program, literally?  Will we punish, pity or applaud the once promising young politician from one of America’s most prominent political dynasties.  If he has really perished, what then?  The answer to that question goes far beyond the scope of FCC authority.

Stay tuned.  Perhaps, in the meantime, the way the FCC can be of actual use is by getting to the bottom of exactly what the hell is going on out on the Farallone islands, so that, when the “Soul Survivor” DVD is issued, we, the audience, can know what was fact and what was fiction in what took place.

Baby put down the paper and walked over to the eggs benedict, still warm on the table.  She downed the mimosa already poured for her and refilled her glass with just champagne, downing that one quickly too.

“I can’t wait to talk to Marty,” she thought to herself, stretching like a cat.  “Let’s see what kind of bookings he gets me now.”

Cassie Clark:  There’s been a new, remarkable development out at the Farallone islands on “Soul Survivor.”  Three contestants have deserted the island and the program.  I’m at the small plane arrival terminal at San Francisco International Airport, watching a helicopter land not far from the terminal.  Three people are getting out and walking in to the terminal.  A production assistant is stopping them and asking them to come in to this room with me, one at a time, to be interviewed about what’s happened.  It looks like they’re agreeing to be interviewed.  Here comes the first one now.  (pause) The first of the deserters is Marc Ryan.  Marc, you worked so hard to get to “Soul Survivor,” and to stay in the game.  I understand you’ve always been known as a really hard worker.

Marc:  That’s true, Cassie.  I have always worked hard at whatever my goal has been at the time.

Cassie:  So what happened that made you decide to desert “Soul Survivor?”

Marc:  My goals changed.  Being on the island was a great experience for me.  I was challenged in ways that enabled me to prove some things to myself, about what I was willing to do and to go through.  But as every day went by on that island, I kept asking myself the same question.  One day I got a different answer.

Cassie:  What was that question you were asking yourself?  Was it whether it was worth it?

Marc:  Close, but that’s not it.  My question was what I was really doing it all for.  In the beginning, I was doing it for myself, to prove I could do anything to win what I wanted.  The day before yesterday, the answer I came up with was I was doing it for my family.  To prove myself worthy of being a part of the family I gave up for my work.  I realized the best thing I could do to prove myself worthy of them was to go to them, beg their forgiveness and ask if they’ll have me back.

Cassie:  Marc, you’re divorced, is that right?

Marc:  Yes, I am.

Cassie:  Does your ex-wife have any idea you’ve decided this?  Are they expecting you?

Marc:  I don’t think they have any idea.  I hope that, by the time this program is aired, I’ll already be with them.  In fact, I’ve got a plane to catch.

Cassie:  Well, Marc, best of luck to you.  I hope it all works out.

Marc:  Thanks Cassie.

*                      *                      *

Cassie:  Baby, thanks for joining us.

Baby:  No problem, Cassie.

Cassie:  I’m usually not at a loss for words but I feel like I don’t know where to begin.  I’m not sure what question to ask you first?
Baby:  Try one.

Cassie:  Okay, having been raped on live television in front of millions of viewers, how does it feel to be interviewed now?

Baby:  It was live?  You’re telling me it was broadcast live??

Cassie:  I am.  Oh my.  You didn’t know.  I’m sorry that’s a shock to you.  I’m going to give Baby a minute to compose herself.  Let’s turn the camera and audio off.

*                      *                      *

Cassie:  We’re back with Baby, who just learned that the crime committed against her was being broadcast live as it was being committed.  Baby, I am so sorry you found out that way.  Baby has some things she’d like to say.

Baby:  Thanks Cassie.  Being raped was a terrible thing.  I’ve always thought of myself as strong in spirit.  It’s part of what made me a good performer.  I wasn’t afraid to be sexy in front of people, or to share my talents by singing and dancing.  I enjoyed being on stage.  I got a real thrill out of getting a crowd going.  This wasn’t like that.  I’ve never wanted to be a victim.

Cassie:  You didn’t know it was being broadcast live at the time?

Baby:  No.  None of us did.  Now that I think about it, though, I’m kind of glad.  At least there will never be any doubt about what happened to me.  There’s proof.  You told me millions of people saw it happen.

Cassie:  That’s right, Baby.  You have a really brave attitude.

Baby:  I’m not brave.  It’s humiliating but I guess it’s better it’s out in the open.  I am hopeful that what happened to me will bring more attention to how vulnerable women are, even now, and how important it is that we support legislation, judges and laws that provide women their rights and protect women’s bodies.

Cassie:  Wow.  I’m really impressed with what you’re saying and the stand you’re taking.

Baby:  Cassie, what happened to me was awful.  I’ll never forget it and I don’t think I can ever live it down.  But if I can make something, anything good come out of it, I can keep on going.

Cassie:  Maybe more women, hearing you speak like you just did after what happened to you will speak out or take action when they’re threatened or if a crime has been committed against them.

Baby:  I hope so.

Cassie:  One more question.  What made you desert the program?

Baby:  After what happened to me the outcome of “Soul Survivor,” isn’t important anymore.  Winning a million dollars by being the last one left on that god-forsaken island didn’t seem like such a prize after all.  I’ve got more important things to do with my life.  I wanted to change the way people think about me.  That’s been done.

Cassie:  It sure has.  Sounds like you’re beginning a campaign.

Baby:  A campaign against rape and for women.

Cassie:  Let me know how I can help!  Best wishes to you.

_{*                              *                              *}

Cassie:  Our last guest for this special episode of “Soul Survivor,” the Deserters, is Daryl Stocks.  Daryl, I’ve interviewed you before during the baseball season.

Daryl:  I remember.

Cassie:  I’m really surprised to be interviewing you today.

Daryl:  Me too.  I thought I’d be doing interviews after having won the competition.

Cassie:  You did really well in the landing and had shown yourself to be a strong team player in your interactions with others on the island.  But you didn’t seem to get along with Jack.  Why was that?

Daryl:  I don’t want to speak ill of Jack.  I’m sure he had some good qualities.  Maybe they just didn’t come out on the island.

Cassie:  What did you see in him?
Daryl:  I thought he acted like a spoiled rich kid most of the time.  After what he did to Baby I felt like justice couldn’t be too quick or too harsh in dealing with him.  He took advantage of that woman in a way no man ever should.  Being on that island, I thought we were entitled to give him the justice he deserved.  As it turned out, we didn’t have to.

Cassie:  And yet, Baby showed him mercy.

Daryl:  There are angels here on earth.  She’s one of them, in my view.

Cassie:  Then lightning struck!  What did you think when that happened?

Daryl:  I thought there is a God and there is justice in the world.  Not that I ever doubted, but that event made it really clear.

Cassie:  Do you think you’re responsible for Jack’s death?

Daryl:  I’m not sure what happened to Jack, but whatever took place, I know God willed it to happen.

Cassie:  It will be interesting to see what the authorities think.  Have they contacted you?

Daryl:  No, they haven’t.

Cassie:  What happened that made you decide to desert the island and the contest?

Daryl:  I thought I could judge another man, then I saw the hand of God and I thought it was a miracle it wasn’t striking me down the way it struck Jack down.  I needed to get off that island at the first opportunity to set some things straight in my life.  I’m grateful to Marc for giving me that opportunity.  He’s the man with the helicopter and I’m grateful to him for it.

Cassie:  Tell us about how it happened.

Daryl:  We all heard a strange sound this morning, didn’t know what it was at first.  It turned out it was a helicopter landing on the island.  This pilot dude shows up at that door and asks for Marc.  Can you believe that?  Asks if Mr. Ryan is there.  Says his ride to SFO has arrived.  Marc asked if anybody else wanted to go.  Baby said she was going.  I thought, “Good for her!  Best thing for her to get the hell of that island!”  Then I thought, what about me?  What was I hanging around for?  What was more time on that island or that prize money going to buy me I don’t already have?  Nothing, I thought.  Nothing.  I already know I’m a survivor.  I’ve already got enough money.  I thought I’d do better to come back and face up to my own problems right here.  Try to get some things straight between myself and God.”

Cassie:  Are you talking about the steroid scandal?

Daryl:  I am.  I’d like to put it behind me.  Not just for me, but for Cal and everybody else who is caught up in it.

Cassie:  Do you think you’ll ever really be able to put it behind you?

Daryl:  I don’t know, Cassie.  I’m praying on it.  I trust in God it will work out for the best.

Cassie:  I hope so, Daryl.  It sounds like a courageous path you’re taking.

Daryl:  It’s time to do what’s right.

Cassie:  I’d like to thank Baby, Marc and Daryl for being my guests today.  Each of them has shared their thoughts with us immediately upon leaving the island.  These interviews will not be broadcast until after the outcome of “Soul Survivor,” is known.  By the time these interviews airs we’ll be able to provide some additional perspective on what has happened to Baby, Marc and Daryl since we talked with them today.  Thanks for tuning in.

The last time I really screwed up, my father advised me to make a public apology.  He told me if I took responsibility for my actions and promised to change, my constituents would forgive me, and even forget my wrong doing over time as I established a record of doing good work.  I took my dad’s advise.  I went back to rehabilitation.  I got clean of the pain killers, sleeping pills and recreation-enhancing substances I’d been on.  Going through every day and every night stone sober was hard.  It was a harsh reality versus the time distortion and blurred edges I was used to.  Time passed slower.  It took a lot more effort to do simple things, like grocery shopping and going to the post office.  Not that I had other pressing things to do.  I didn’t.  I spoke with Andy Thomas, my political handler, twice on the phone.  He advised me to lay low for a while, to not even try to jump back into office immediately after my release from rehabilitation.  That’s how I ended up on “Soul Survivor.”  I was at home, watching television, and saw an advertisement for auditions being held in Boston.  I went to the auditions and got called back three times, was videotaped, and finally got the phone call two weeks later that I’d been chosen for the show.

I saw “Soul Survivor,” as an opportunity to continue on the path of making a fresh start.  It was something interesting to do before getting back into political campaigning.  I didn’t tell my parents or Andy I’d been cast.  I left letters for my housekeeper to mail to them letting them know where I’d gone the day I left for the West Coast.  I didn’t want to have to deal with the inevitable questions, doubts and criticisms I’d have heard from them if I’d told them in advance.  It was a decision I’d made.  I was sticking to it.  I could just imagine my father’s face while my mother read the letter to him.  I can just see him pacing up and down, drink in hand, fuming and cursing.  That’s completely his style.  Always has been.  Andy would react differently.  He would sit back in his chair at his desk, his chin in his hand, and look off to the right, thinking about what kind of spin we could put on this and how it would benefit my future campaigns.  He’d have concerns, but since I was already gone, he’d work on finding the bright side of my being on “Soul Survivor,” and putting it to work for us.

It’s now been a week since I was helicoptered in to Alcatraz.  My jail cell, which is what it is, no matter how comfortable, seems smaller to me every day.  It’s like it’s closing in on me.  The view of San Francisco, so beautiful at first, is like torture to look at now.  I can see ferries, sailboats and wind surfers on the water, and people and cars moving around the city itself.  They’ve given me a pair of binoculars.  I look out on the Marina district.  There is a house with a row of large windows on its second story I like to look at when it’s dark.  Sometimes I can see people moving around.  I imagine them holding drinks, having a party.  All that visible activity makes my confinement all the more painful.

My cell mates, the pilots, are able to come and go.  One of them is with me in the cell at all times.  They work twelve hour shifts, changing at midnight and midday.  The assistant pilot, Chet, the younger of the two, was more sympathetic to me at first than Frank, the head pilot.  Chet and I watched the “Soul Survivor,” episodes together, back to back the second day I was here.  When we watched the live episode, at the part between me and Baby, Chet got a hard on.  I couldn’t help noticing, even though he tried to hide it.  He was embarrassed.  He got up from the couch and went into the bathroom.  He came out a while later, got on the ellipse machine and worked out for almost an hour.  Then he took a shower, a cold one, I’m assuming.  That night he didn’t want to eat dinner with me, didn’t want to watch more television with me, didn’t want to play cards.  Before I went to bed I confronted him.

“Chet, can I talk to you?”

“About what?” he said.

“About what happened on the show,” I said.

“It’s not what happened on the show that bothers me,” he said.  “I’d been briefed.  I knew what had occurred.  It’s my reaction to watching that bothers me,” he said.  “It makes me wonder if I wouldn’t have done the same thing, if I had the chance.”

“The way they edit those episodes, you don’t get the full picture,” I said.  “She’d been coming on to me since we got on the island.  Did you see the way she licked the beer off her face when she got sprayed?  Did you see what she looked like with her shirt all wet?  She wanted some action and she got it.”

“That’s how you really see it,” said Chet.

“I was there,” I said.  “That’s the way it was.”

“That’s not how it looked in the lighthouse.  It looked like she was trying to get away from you.  It didn’t look like she wanted to have sex with you.  It looked like you forced yourself on her,” Chet said.

“That’s how she wanted it to look,” I said.  I meant it.  That made perfect sense to me.  “I think she knew it was being televised live and she thought it would play better if she resisted.  After all, she is a performer.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Chet.  “I do know I got turned on watching.  I think less of myself for that reaction.”

I lay in bed that night and thought about what happened on the island.  I thought about millions of people having watched.  And I got turned on too.

The next morning Chet still wasn’t talking normally to me.  It seemed like looking at me caused him pain.  He did everything he could to avoid it.  So I made it easy on him.  I grabbed a book and went back into my bedroom.  At lunch time, I heard Frank come in to relieve Chet, but this time Frank wasn’t alone.

“Where is he?” I heard my father ask as the door shut on the cell.  I got up and walked out of the bedroom.  My father was standing in front of the windows looking out on the bay.

“It’s a hell of a view,” he said.

I didn’t get too close to him.  He didn’t have a drink in his hand but he had that tension he gets when he’s holding himself back from striking out at something or somebody.

He turned to Frank.  “Anybody ever really swim off this island?”

Frank shook his head.  “No.  If the water were warmer it might be possible for a strong swimmer, but with the water temperature what it is, and the current and the fact that anybody coming off this island has been confined for a period of time so they’re not in tip top shape – drowning is pretty much guaranteed.”

“What if you got picked up by a boat in the bay?” I asked.

My question gave him pause.  “That might work,” he said.  “If the water was smooth enough for you to get to the boat, and you weren’t in the water so long that hypothermia got you.”

“That’s my son,” my father said.  “Always planning his next escape from responsibility.”  He looked out the window again, then back at Frank.  “Can I have some time to talk with him alone?” he said to Frank.

“Sure.  I’ll go in the bedroom,” Frank said, and headed for a bedroom.

“Thank you,” my father said, one authority figure to another.

“When your mother and I got your note letting us know where you’d gone and what you were doing, it gave us hope,” he said.  “We hoped you really were making a fresh start.  It made me proud to think you were doing something I never would have thought of.  You were right, if you’d told us in advance I would have advised you against doing it.  But as I thought about it, and watched the first few episodes, I thought, my God, my son is a brave man.  He’s gotten himself involved in something that will give him the opportunity to show the country what kind of man he is.  I thought, he’ll win this thing.  What a boost that would have been for your political career!”

“Dad,” I said.  He cut me off with a hand swipe that, had I been closer, would have connected in a slap.

“But it didn’t play out the way I hoped it would.  Every episode your weaknesses became more obvious.  You acted like a spoiled child, getting in the way of the adults around you, surprised they weren’t all focused on taking care of your needs.  You weren’t capable of helping yourself.  You didn’t do anything to help anybody else.  I hoped you’d come out of the program looking like a hero.  Instead you rape a woman on live television.  This isn’t like the time that Kennedy kid got drunk, had sex on the beach and maybe it was consensual, maybe it wasn’t fully consensual but close enough to forgive and forget.  You committed a rape in full view of millions of people, captured on cameras from multiple angles and preserved so it can be viewed by the jury that will sit in judgment of you!”

“I was the one who was there and it wasn’t rape,” I said.  “She’d been coming on to me since we got on the island.”

“I know what I saw and what I saw was a rape,” my father thundered at me.  “I never thought I’d have to witness such a horror as that!  My own son –“  I thought the windows might break with the violent force of his emotion.  I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and run out of the room to get away from that voice.  But I stood my ground.

“Did you know what you saw when I went over that lighthouse balcony?  Did you think I was dead?” I said.

“Your mother and I both did, until we got the phone call from Moth Productions.  At first I thought the call was a hoax.  But then I was shown a live webfeed of you in this room watching the evening news on television.  That was two days ago.”

I thought I felt the floor move underneath my feet.  I staggered.  I had to sit down.  I grabbed for the arm of the easy chair and managed to land in it instead of on the floor.  “There are cameras here, in this room,” I said.

He didn’t answer me.  In hindsight I guess it was so obvious I should have known from the beginning.  I imagined the hours of images of me eating, sleeping, watching television, talking with Chet, talking with Frank.  I tried to think of all our conversations and what excerpts from them would make their way onto television and into the hands of the press or attorneys.  I’d been in the cell for ten days.  That made two hundred and forty hours, over fourteen thousand minutes of footage of my captivity, with eleven days to go.  My stomach constricted.  I felt like I had to go to the bathroom but the possibility of there being a camera in the bathroom made me not want to go.

“So why are you here,” I asked my father.  “They’re recording this too.  How is this scene supposed to play out?”

“I’m here to tell you your political career is over,” he said, towering over me.  “Andy resigned.  He said there was nothing left to try to save.  You damaged his political career too, in ways he may never recover from.  I’m here to tell you I’m ashamed you’re my son.  I want nothing to do with you.  Every time I’ve tried to help you, you’ve done something worse than whatever you’d done to get yourself in trouble in the first place.  I’m not helping you any more.  And I have a message from your mother,” he said, handing me a folded up piece of paper.  I got up from the chair, took the piece of paper and put it in my pocket.

He walked over to the bedroom and knocked on the door.  “I’m ready to go,” he said when Frank opened the door.  Frank pulled a small walkie talkie out of his pocket and spoke into it.  “We’ll get you on your way,” he said to my father.

My father went back to looking out the window on the bay.  I went back into the bedroom, leaving my father in the living room with Frank.  I sat on the bed and opened the note from my mother.  “I wish you were not my son,” she’d written.  That was all.  I heard the main door to the cell open and close.  I figured Frank was left in the living room.  I heard the television turn on.  I lay down on the bed and fell asleep for a while.  When I woke up the sun had just set.  I went out into the living room.  No lights were on.  The lights from the city sparkled in the twilight across the bay.  The house I liked to watch was dark.  I was hungry so I turned towards the kitchenette.  That’s when I noticed the door to the cell was ajar.  I walked over to it.  It was open just half an inch.  I opened it the rest of the way and stood there a moment, expecting Frank or Chet to tackle me in the doorway.  Nothing happened.  Before I walked out of the cell I turned back to the living room and waved at the cameras I couldn’t see.  I could feel them watching, recording my every move.  I walked out the door leaving it open behind me.

It was easy finding my way out of the building.  I stepped outside and felt a rush as I stood in fresh air for the first time in over a week.  The Alcatraz beacon shone out towards the Golden Gate bridge.  I counted the seconds it took the beam to rotate around.  It took seven.  It seemed as though I was the only human being on the island.  I was sure that wasn’t true but that was how it seemed at that moment.  I walked behind the cell building until the pavement ended, to the edge of the island.  The edge of the island was hard dirt with some dead trees jutting out at odd angles, like spears thrown and abandoned where they sank into the earth.  I could hear the water lapping at the edge of the island.  I knelt down and put my hand in it.  It was shockingly cold.  I stood up and stripped my clothes off.  I stood naked, for a moment, rough ground underneath my feet, facing out towards the ocean and the Golden Gate bridge.  Then I jumped in the water and started swimming.  I imagined a boat waiting for me just ahead, with no lights because it didn’t want to be seen.  My father was on that boat, watching my progress in the darkness.  “My son is a strong a swimmer,” he says to the captain of the boat.  “Jack likes to swim in the Atlantic.  Always wanted to see what the Pacific would be like.”  He sounds happy and proud.

I wondered who would win “Soul Survivor.”  If I had to place a bet, I’d put my money on the horse trainer, Ned.  He was a lot smarter than he seemed at first.  Level-headed.  He had a way with people.  He was probably using his animal training techniques on us to manage the situation and keep himself from getting voted off.

I thought about Baby.  She could play the victim or the vamp.  She could play the victim now and the vamp later.  It didn’t matter.  She’d keep doing what she’d been doing since she was a teenager, using her body and her looks to disarm men and make women jealous.  It was a hell of a way to make a living.

I thought about my disappearance from Alcatraz and that it would give my apparent death by fall from the lighthouse the opportunity to become real.  I wondered how that would get sorted out.  I figured it came down to which was worth more:  the footage of me at Alcatraz or the intrigue of my apparent death on the “Soul Survivor” location.  Maybe they’d find a way to sell both version of what happened to me.  That was a problem for the producers to solve.

The water, cold at first, began to feel warmer.  It didn’t seem like I was making much progress when I looked at the mainland, but when I looked back towards Alcatraz I could tell I’d come a long way.  The bay was relatively calm, no white caps, only gentle laps of small waves.  The sky was clear, fog-free.  A flock of pelicans flew into my view, high up in the air.  Another, smaller group, glided inches above the water not far from where I swam.  The first few stars became visible.  The moon was rising over the city.  I was swimming against the current, my muscles straining with effort.  I heard a “pop” in the water not far from me and made out the head of a seal, big dark eyes shining as it looked at me with curiosity.  After a moment it ducked back under the water.  I put my head in the water.  It was getting harder to lift it out, each time taking effort away from arms and my legs.  I took more strokes in between breaths, so as to spend less energy lifting my head and put more into my crawl.  It felt good to be moving forward in a direction I’d set, completely under my own power.