Chapter 6

September 23 / 24

“You okay?” Nick inquired, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I’m fine,” Derek replied.

The younger man and much more experienced diver checked his Precept’s gear. He nodded. It was fine. The man inside the wetsuit .. Nick wasn’t convinced.

“You sure?” he remarked. Nick tried but he couldn’t stop the grin.

“Nick,” Derek began patiently, “there are some things in this life which I can do very well with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back better than anyone else. And there are some things which you can do better. This is one of them. I defer completely to your expertise in this matter. You are the teacher and I am the student. I am fine. And,” he went on, “the reason I am fine is because you are with me. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be my diving partner.”

Nick nodded slowly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. Can we get on with it?”

“Sure, right after the safety lecture.” Nick glanced off the dive platform at the ocean. It was presently calm with only a very slight swell. The horizon was clear. Not one sign of a storm cloud. “First thing you gotta expect is the cold. Wetsuit will give you a little protection but you’ll still feel it. Second, even on a good day along this stretch of coast, the visibility’s only about thirty feet.”

“Is this a good day?” Derek wondered.

“We’ll know soon enough. Third, the sea floor’s pretty flat around here but .. a hundred, a hundred fifty feet or so out, it drops fast. We won’t be going out that far but, just in case, this is a tether. Ten feet of line. You won’t get lost. Our maximum depth of dive today is sixty feet. At that depth, we got an hour max of air in the tanks. I’ll keep an eye on the duration an’ depth, you can watch for .. obstacles.”

“Wrecks.”

“Right,” Nick grinned. “Remember, hold your mask on when you step off the platform and breathe out. Once you’re in the water, just breathe normally. Don’t hold it in. Okay?”

Derek nodded. “Okay.”

“Check the underwater flashlight.”

Derek switched it on and off. “It works.”

“If you want to get my attention, pull once on the tether. If you want to surface, pull three times. If you feel me pull three times, we’re going up. Doesn’t matter what you’ve seen or if you wanna stay longer, we surface.”

“Check.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Derek took one last look around the boat then walked awkwardly to the dive platform. He settled the mask over his nose and eyes, then put the regulator in his mouth. There he waited till his partner had joined him. There was one final check of the tether and they gave each other a thumbs up. A couple of seconds later, he hit the water, and the cold hit him back like a punch in the gut. His world echoed strangely, and was lit with blue and green. He looked around and saw Nick was watching him. Derek gave another thumbs up and Nick nodded, indicating the direction to go. They set off, swimming at a leisurely pace.

This was part of the investigation but it was more a familiarization exercise to get Derek used to the water, the currents, the cold. Nick was checking direction and duration, all the technical stuff. Derek was free to enjoy the experience, safe in the knowledge that, as a combat diver, Nick knew what he was doing and that he’d done it in far worse conditions than these.

It was Nick’s project but he couldn’t dive alone. As soon as he’d seen the report, he’d been on it like a dog trying to get the last bit of marrow out the bone. Every spare second, he’d been looking for more evidence. Eventually, it had grown to consume his days.

Rachel had been keeping a weather eye on both Derek and Merlin, making sure neither overdid things. When Nick had finally broached the subject, Rachel had suggested idly that Derek should accompany him. Not because Derek was sensitive to spectral manifestations but because he could use some leisurely time out, away from the house and its latest events. He was the best person for the job.

Derek had readily agreed to the suggestion and, soon, both men were avidly engaged in going over Nick’s findings, making plans, and putting together an itinerary. They’d left San Francisco yesterday morning and had driven south, both quietly excited. The atmosphere wasn’t quite that of a boys’ adventure but it came pretty close. Two guys, on their own, no women around … There had been a lot of talking and laughter in the Range Rover as well as more conversation on the reason they were going.

According to all the accounts Nick had harvested from his lengthy trawls on the Internet, the spectral apparition of a ship was seen beginning September 24 and ending October 4. The accounts ranged from Morro Bay in the south to Lopez Point in the north. The reports dating September 24 thru 29 told of a ship in good shape, sailing slowly albeit with all her sails set, under apparently calm conditions. The later reports spoke of a ship in difficulty, some or all of her sails torn, one or more masts broken, and battling her way thru a growing storm. The accounts specifically mentioned the weather because it seemed tied to the ghost ship. One person had said it was strange watching the ship pitching around on an obviously stormy sea .. when the sea itself was smooth.

From this, Nick had theorized that on or around October 4, she’d sunk. The images seen detailed the last eleven days of her life. That stretch of coast was notorious for wrecks and strandings, and the Pacific wasn’t gentle. Its storms could be sudden and over quickly, or they could rage for days. He’d checked back thru the weather records for five day storms, and cross-checked them with known shipping disappearances. Nick had been able to narrow the possible candidates down to three. There had been only one lost during a five day storm – the Theodore Marshall, a schooner lost in nineteen thirty four. There had to be more but the weather records hadn’t gone back far enough. Unexplained shipping disappearances listed a further two – the Santa Theresa, a barkentine vanished in nineteen oh one, and the Maria Dolores, a schooner disappeared in eighteen eighty six. Both entries had mentioned ‘inclement conditions’ at the time.

They were at the northern end of their search area, diving in an attempt to discover the ship’s identity. Nick had chartered a boat from Monterey and cruised down to Lopez Point. They’d made an early start to use as much of the day as they could. They’d chartered the dive gear as well. Hopefully, if all went well today, they wouldn’t need to dive again. The plan was to pack up about an hour before sunset and return the charter, then drive down to Morro Bay, charter another boat and … Well, go ghost hunting.

Nick knew the ship didn’t appear every year. This year might well be a dud. If it was, he’d mark it in the diary for next year. This might be an investigation over years rather than days.

He checked the time and the depth. It was an automatic reaction, almost like his body ran on a timer.

In the Range Rover, heading south, they’d discussed the reasons behind the haunting, chewing over the motives why this ship randomly appeared between the two dates but did nothing else. It seemed a genuine haunting, like the countless stories of white ladies and gray friars. They didn’t seem to want anything, they just appeared. Exorcisms of the haunt didn’t appear to work. Blessings didn’t work either. They didn’t ‘scare’ people although they did startle quite a few. They didn’t stand menacingly by beds in the middle of the night. They didn’t moan or whisper or scream. There was no smell. No indication of violent, unexpected death. There were cold spots .. but that was about it. They were simply ghosts. Phantoms from a long ago age still walking the same route as they had in life. This ship seemed to be more of the same. Sailing the same patch of ocean on the last eleven days of her life before the storm finally battered her beyond her ability to survive and she went under.

“It was a violent end,” Derek had remarked.

“But not unexpected. Sure, seamen these days would be better equipped to cope with tough seas but, back then, they could only pray an’ hope they’d make it to shelter or that the storm would pass over or blow itself out,” Nick had replied. “After five days, an’ with that much structural damage, it’s entirely possible that the crew took to the boats or even took their chances in the water, an’ left the ship to its own devices.”

“They abandoned it,” Derek had mused. “Perhaps the ship’s soul was offended by their lack of faith and so it haunts the scene of their treachery.”

“It still sank,” Nick pointed out. “That bears out the sailors’ faith in that they knew they wouldn’t make it.”

“All right. Unfinished business. That’s the other reason for hauntings. If the spirits don’t want justice, they need to complete some task or reveal some information, something presently unknown.”

“I can’t see what this ship could have left to do,” Nick had commented.

“Maybe there was a cargo of contraband.”

“Buried treasure?” Nick had grinned.

“It’s possible,” Derek had agreed mildly. “If there is .. and we make sure it gets either to wherever it was intended or to the authorities, the task will be complete and the ship can .. not rest exactly but it could stop haunting this area of coast.”

“We’ll see. First we gotta find the wreck an’ ID it.”

Derek wasn’t a professional diver. He had a little experience, mostly acquired in the calm, jewel bright, clear waters of the Caribbean. He wasn’t a wrecks and treasure man. He found pleasure and relaxation in watching coral reefs, either natural or manmade. The idea of deliberately sinking ships no longer needed so wildlife could use them as shelter was one he wholeheartedly approved of. His view was that all life was precious and should be protected, that man took too much from the world and gave back too little. Scuttling ships to become artificial coral reefs was a good idea, and more governments should do it.

But this was relaxing too. It was impossible to hurry or bustle. It was great exercise. And, while it was cold and the visibility wasn’t perfect, Derek found he was enjoying this experience. He’d spoken the truth. He wouldn’t have been as relaxed if it had been anyone other than Nick with him.

The seabed wasn’t flat. It had hummocks and hollows. It also had nothing resembling a ship. They surfaced, changed tanks, and went in again, trying another search area. Nick was directing operations, choosing the location and quartering it, missing nothing. Again, they struck out.

When they surfaced, Nick called time out for an hour. Derek was shivering and so they had hot coffee and rolls. Nothing too much, nothing to cause cramps. Then they studied the chart.

“What if we cruise another mile south?” Nick suggested. “We’ve covered these areas an’ there’s nothing. Despite the history of this coast, there were very few ships which sank. Most got stranded, beached, hit the rocks, then got pounded on an’ broke up. People combed the beach for timbers, reused them to build.”

“You’re the expert when it comes to the sea,” Derek responded, holding his blanket tightly around his body. “We’re under no real pressure to ID the ship today. We can always return to search for it later. What cannot be delayed is getting to Morro Bay by the morning.”

Nick nodded. “We’ll try south one mile,” he decided and moved to the control panel. Soon, the Bonadventure was creaming thru the slight swell.

*****

Derek felt a tug on the tether. He looked round at Nick and saw that he was pointing off to his right. Derek peered thru the murky water and followed his partner to investigate what he’d obviously seen. As they drew closer, the water cleared. Derek’s eyes widened.

It was, undoubtedly, the bow section of a wooden ship for all that it was half embedded in the sand. The long bowsprit thrust out proudly, covered in barnacles but unmistakable. There was a carved figurehead – Neptune, possibly, or Triton. Nick swam up to it, putting out a hand. Then he signaled they would swim along the side of this section to see if the stern section was nearby. The ship had broken into more than one piece, its spine shattered.

Fish moved leisurely thru the portholes. Another manmade habitat for wildlife. Not exactly a coral reef because it was too cold, but a home just the same. Derek wanted to pause and look into the interior but Nick was swimming on, determined to find the rear transom and the ship’s name.

They soon discovered a middle section, smaller than the bow. There was no sign of the masts. Maybe they’d been lost prior to the wreck. Ropes and sails would have rotted so there was no evidence of those anywhere.

And then, looming up thru the murk, they saw the aft section of the ship. Nick still automatically checked the time and depth. They had about fifteen minutes of air left this time round, plus two more sets of full tanks on the Bonadventure. Towing Derek behind him like a tender behind a launch, Nick swam to the transom and looked up. The name had once been proudly painted, possibly even gilded, but that had worn off many years before. But it had also been carved into the timber.

In big letters, they read the ship’s name. Santa Theresa.

Nick gave a thumb’s up, then pointed toward the surface and then at his watch. Derek nodded. He knew they’d be coming down at least once more. With the Santa Theresa broken into three, getting inside wouldn’t be a problem. And, now they knew where it was, they could return as many times as was necessary to solve the mystery of why her ghost still felt obliged to sail.

They surfaced and swam back to their launch.

“The Santa Theresa. Four masted barkentine. Built eighteen sixty two. Sank nineteen oh one.” Nick sounded quietly jubilant as he reeled off the facts.

“A hundred years ago this year,” Derek remarked.

“Yeah.” Nick paused, thinking. “Maybe that’s a good sign that she’ll make an appearance. It’s her centennial year.”

“Do you know what she did?” Derek inquired as Nick helped remove the almost empty tank.

“She was a working vessel, not a pleasure craft. Hauling merchandise up and down the West Coast. Crew of around one fifty, two hundred.”

“That many?” Derek was surprised.

“She had four masts and a lotta sail,” Nick grinned. “It took that many to keep her trim.”

Derek sagged under the weight of the new tank. “Can we take a look inside this time?”

“Sure. You want the tether? We’re safe enough there. It’d mean we could separate for a while.”

“Is that safe?” Derek wondered.

“We’ll be in the same section. I can come find you. I’ll know where you’ll be – looking for buried treasure.”

“Not necessarily,” Derek replied.

“Yeah, right,” Nick laughed.

“Leave the tether, but we stay in sight of each other.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“Let’s go.”

The cold didn’t have so much of an impact this time. Maybe it was because they were no longer searching. Now they were exploring. It was a vast difference. They chose the rear section and entered one of the two lower decks still accessible above the seabed, going thru the wide space and feeling genuine awe at what had survived the storm and a hundred years of the Pacific’s not always loving embrace. Long bench tables and stools lay scattered around. Metal bowls, cups, eating implements. Rusted, yes, and covered with barnacles but there. In the captain’s stateroom, right across the stern, china plates and crystal glasses were smashed. The table was tossed into one corner. Chairs were still recognizable as chairs, even if the velvet of the cushions had perished.

Derek found one plate which had survived the wreck and he took it, thinking he would donate it to the Maritime Museum in Monterey.

Nick, being Nick, found a rusted pistol and examined it. The Santa Theresa was shown as having ten cannon. Not many for a vessel that size but she hadn’t been a ship of war. The cannon were more for defense against pirate attack. There were three of the big cannon on this deck amid the ruins of tables and benches. Hand weapons .. well, he guessed the officers must have carried them, together with swords. He wasn’t sure if they would’ve carried them as a matter of routine on board but he’d gotten his piece of treasure.

The Museum would love to have one of these big guns, Derek considered. Now we’ve found the wreck, I can see it being the scene of organized expeditions.

They moved on, retracing their path and going into the deck below.

After exploring for ten minutes, Nick tapped him on the shoulder. Wedged into a corner was a skeleton. Not all the crew had made it out then. Derek revised his earlier thought. Properly supervised expeditions. This ship was also a gravesite.

As he thought about this, the vision crashed without warning into his mind. One moment, he was looking down sadly at the skeleton, the next ... He saw men working, scampering up ropes to tend sails. He saw the ocean, vast, blue, heaving slightly. An old ship with four masts.

To be expected, Derek mused as his mind shifted him back to the present. Here I am, in the ruin of her death throes, what else should I see?

Nick touched his arm and Derek saw his eyes were concerned. He gave the younger man a thumb’s up.

Finally, Nick swam to the upper deck to check out the damage the storm had wrought. He’d noticed all the portholes had been left open, and that was odd during severe weather. If a wave had hit broadside, the main and lower deck and the hold would’ve been flooded. Topside, stumps were all that remained of the masts in this aft section. Railings were splintered. Hatches left open. Again, odd in severe weather. There was a reason behind the saying ‘to batten down the hatches’. But maybe they’d been left like that when the crew had fled, evacuating in a hurry. Maybe the one skeleton they’d found was that of the captain who, in the best tradition of seafaring, had chosen to go down with his ship. Or, Nick reasoned objectively, maybe he’d been forced to stay behind by a crew turned mutinous. Five days of being pounded by the worst the Pacific had to give – and could be very generous in the giving – would make any man just a little crazy. Nick himself was no different. When a storm hit Angel Island and showed no sign of abating, he started to feel like his home was a prison. Mildly mutinous thoughts tended to surface in his mind as well.

It seemed the Santa Theresa was simply a victim of circumstance. Nature could be cruel and she struck out at good and bad alike. Nick couldn’t find any damage below her waterline indicating she’d sailed into or been driven onto rocks. He couldn’t find any signs of the longboats either. Therefore, the crew – or some of them – must have gotten away by boat, even if they had then drowned. One thing was for sure, they hadn’t been on board when she’d gone down.

He signaled to Derek that they should be making moves home. Derek nodded. Both cradling their trophies, they headed for the surface.

*****

They arrived in Morro Bay around nine fifteen that Sunday night, September 23. Conversation had been stilted during the journey. It had been a long day and one not spent being idle. By the time they arrived, pulling up at a motel on the northern side of town, they were struggling to stay awake. However, they had enough energy to eat supper at the all night diner just over the road, and, there, they managed to talk.

“There’s a boatyard not too far from here,” Nick remarked. “Jordan’s Boatyard. It’s recommended. I'll check it out in the morning, first thing.”

Derek nodded, his eyelids drooping. “I believe I’ll sleep well tonight.”

“Me too. Swimming, diving, it tricks you. It’s a very relaxing way to spend time yet your body’s always working hard. Tomorrow, we can chill a little.”

“This isn’t a vacation, Nick,” Derek commented.

“We’re not driving this, Derek. It’s the Santa Theresa. All we can do is be around to watch.”

“I suppose you are right. Well .. I am ready for my bed. I'll see you in the morning. How early a start are you planning?”

“I’d like to be underway by ten.”

Derek grunted as he began to rise. “It’s revenge, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Nick grinned.

“For all those late nights and early mornings I’ve forced on you over the years.”

“Nah. It’s those all nighters. They’re the ones I remember with particular affection.”

Derek laughed softly. “Goodnight, Nick.”

“You too, boss.”

Once Derek had gone, Nick took the chart from his jacket pocket and signaled to the waitress for another cup of coffee. All the reports said the ship – the Santa Theresa – appeared first just north of the bay. Therefore, he considered, we should wait .. just about .. here.

“New in town?”

He glanced up. “Yeah.”

“Staying long?”

“Tonight for sure. After that, it kinda depends.”

The waitress smiled. “On what?”

“Lotta things.”

“Your, er, friend – ”

“Derek?”

“If that’s his name, yeah. You’re .. just friends?”

“Yeah,” Nick laughed. “He’s my boss. We’re here on business.”

She glanced down at the chart. “Strange kinda business.”

“You’re right,” Nick agreed. “Very strange.”

*****

At eight the next day – Monday – Nick was at Jordan’s Boatyard to look over the various launches available for hourly, daily or weekly charter. Having found one which more than filled his needs, he went to the office to negotiate the terms.

“What are you planning to do?” Zeke inquired.

“Just go out on the water,” Nick replied. A good night’s sleep had worked its usual magic. He felt enthusiastic and upbeat.

“How many?”

“Two of us. Me an’ my boss.”

“Corporate day out.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay. You know how to sail a launch like the Shamrock. She’s practically brand new.”

“I was in the Navy. Plus we have a launch where we work. Smaller but still powerful.”

Zeke nodded. “What time will you be bringing her home?”

“Six.”

“Two hundred.”

“That’s a little steep,” Nick remarked.

Zeke considered some more. “One seventy five. You want cheaper, take a smaller boat.”

“One seventy five with parking for our vehicle included?”

“Absolutely.”

“All incidentals included as well?”

“Sure.”

Nick handed over his credit card. “We’ll be back in around an hour to load up. Is that enough time for you to get her ready to go?”

“Yes, it is,” Zeke confirmed.

Back at the motel, Derek was awake, showered, shaved, and dressed. He’d packed up his bag and put it in the Range Rover, and was simply waiting for Nick to return.

“I got us a real nice launch,” Nick reported as they went over to the diner for breakfast. “They’re prepping her now.”

“Excellent.”

“The Shamrock.”

“With four leaves, I hope,” Derek commented, smiling quickly.

“Of course. I figure we got time to choke down some food, get over to the yard, buy some supplies in the grocery store, and load up before ten.”

“Remind me to take the video and the stills cameras,” Derek requested. “I feel lucky.”

After breakfast, and the provision of a Thermos of hot coffee, they drove to Jordan’s Boatyard and parked. They left their bags in the back under a rug, and locked the vehicle securely. They shopped for sandwiches and went to embark on the Shamrock and the next stage of their ghost hunting adventure. Derek recorded Nick casting off the forward mooring line.

“What ..? I’m the star of your newest home movie?” he laughed.

“You are the other legitimate member of a serious research team investigating the site of an important paranormal event,” Derek corrected.

“Just cast off the other line, will you?” Nick said, smirking for the camera.

“What time do we have to return?” Derek asked, casting off and following Nick into the main cabin.

“I said six. I figure we can stretch that a little if we have to.”

“Did you take an option on other days?”

“Maybe you’d like to negotiate with Mr Jordan. If I do it, it’d probably bankrupt us.”

The Shamrock eased away from the pier and picked up speed. Derek recorded everything – the main cabin, the cockpit out back, the upper sundeck, the lower living quarters, Nick at the wheel. Nick steered a course north north west, and, just north of the bay and around four hundred yards from the shore, he cut the engines and let the Shamrock ride the swell.

“Should we drop the anchor?” Derek asked.

“I think we’re okay to drift,” Nick said after a moment’s consideration. “We’re big enough to be seen by other launches, too far in to be caught in the main shipping routes, and too far out for casual swimmers, people on jet skis, and rocks.”

Derek put the camera on the shelf and sat down at the table. “I could get used to this lifestyle,” he confessed.

Nick sat down too and leaned back. “No, you couldn’t. You’d enjoy it for a week, get bored after that, then irritated. The only reason this is fun is because it’s work wearing a disguise.”

“I think you know me too well,” Derek responded.

Nick got out a pack of cards. “Let’s see if I can read your poker face.”

“For money?” Derek queried, an eyebrow rising in challenge.

Nick laughed. “I’m not that rich.”

“For .. the pleasure of my company and being out on the water on a beautiful day.”

“Sounds good to me,” Nick agreed.

“We’ve both already won then,” Derek remarked. He sighed happily. “It is .. pleasant to be away from the others.”

“Oh?” Nick’s eyes twinkled with a devilish gleam.

“No deep, dark secrets. As you say, this is doing work which wears a disguise .. but, even so, this is very nice. I like Alex and Rachel, and Peri, of course, but being in that house does tend to .. keep the mind focused. Even if I want to set it aside for an hour, one of them always gives me something to do or to think about, and it’s difficult to say no.”

“And I don’t do that?”

“Not as much. Besides,” Derek went on, studying the hand he’d been dealt, “men tend to talk about different things to women.”

“For sure,” Nick grinned. “We talk about women. They tend to discuss guys.”

“And fashion. Have you noticed that? Clothes are .. very important to women. It is vital to them that they have the right thing to wear for certain occasions.”

“Peri would shrivel up an’ die if she couldn’t shop for clothes,” Nick agreed.

“Proves my point,” Derek nodded. “Full house.”

Nick shook his head and threw down his cards.

*****

It was gone eleven thirty and, finding themselves just slightly bored with the inactivity outside, they’d started on the sandwiches. The card game was going well though, with a lot of good natured teasing on both sides.

Derek had gone out once to check the sea, so had Nick. If the Santa Theresa was going to put in an appearance today, it wasn’t going to be yet. Unfortunately, none of the reports had indicated the time of the sighting, only that it had been day or night.

The current seemed to be easing the Shamrock farther out to sea than in toward land so the few mild doubts Derek possessed about submerged rocks were settled. If you’re going to be out on the water with a former sailor, trust what he tells you, Derek silently lectured himself.

Returning to the main cabin, Derek resumed his place at the table and the card game continued. So did the conversation. It was entirely because they were there on their own that they felt they could talk so freely about the others.

“Alex is gonna love this,” Nick remarked. “Yeah, she’s been on her own there before but it’s rare for you to say she’s in charge.”

“Is it? Rare?”

Nick picked up another card. “Sure. Usually, I’m in charge if you say anyone is, but normally you just go an’ don’t say. I guess you assume we’ll decide between ourselves, and they assume it’ll be me. Not this time. Alex has the hot seat, an’ she is gonna love sittin’ in it.”

Derek glanced up. “Does she have ambitions to be Precept someday?”

Nick blew out his cheeks. “Maybe. Why?” He grinned. “You thinking of retiring early?”

“I didn’t mean at San Francisco,” Derek responded with a quick smile, “although nothing’s ever guaranteed. I was thinking more of another house. Alex does have the intelligence and the insight for the job. She can think on the move. And her dedication is unquestionable. My God, Nick, sometimes it take a pry bar to get her away from that computer.”

Nick stared, highly amused, then laughed. “You mean .. you don’t mind us having a life outside those walls?”

“Of course not!” Derek exclaimed.

Nick laughed again.

“I’m not saying it’s easy to get out, it isn’t. If it isn’t the weather keeping us confined, it’s some urgent matter. But, if neither of those factors are present, I have no hesitation in agreeing to time out, whether it’s an hour, a day, or a week. The Legacy would suck the life from our bones if we let it,” Derek went on. “In everything, there must be balance. For all the dedication we give, we must take time away or we will all get to be old without living. Experiencing .. that’s different,” he qualified. “The Legacy has never held back when it comes to giving its members experiences they’ll remember forever and, in truth, would really prefer to forget. But living is important too. Rachel is a very good example of proper balance.”

“Yeah, but, with the best will in the world, Rachel isn’t full time Legacy,” Nick countered. “Don’t get me wrong, I can’t fault her. She is always available when we call but she doesn’t live there like we do. She has her practice, Derek. A family. And, even you have to admit, sometimes it clashes.”

“She does her work, Nick. How can I ask her to do more than she already does? I can’t. She does everything I need her to do, plus her practice and Kat give her balance, keep her objective. Sometimes, yes, her priorities clash head on with ours, but, equally, sometimes we are too close to be impartial. Rachel gives us balance.”

“Three of a kind,” Nick said, putting down his cards.

Derek folded and dealt out another hand, then poured a cup of coffee from the Thermos. He sipped, wincing because it was hot, then put the cup on the table.

“I guess you’re right,” Nick agreed. “I never thought about it that much. I tend to see Rachel’s place like I do Paradise Drive – an extension to the island. When the house was destroyed, she let us use it as a base of operations. We worked from there.”

“All of you?” Derek queried mildly.

“Not exactly. Alex an’ Rachel worked from there. I .. had my own projects.”

Derek regarded him, his dark eyes serious for a moment. “You are very resistant to change, aren’t you? When Philip decided to leave, you fought against it the hardest even though you said hardly anything to him. You always feel it more acutely than the rest of us when it’s forced upon you. When Julia died, for example.”

Even though it was in the past, Nick still felt a remnant of guilt. “I couldn’t ... I didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

“You were right the first time. You couldn’t do anything to prevent it. You know that. She has forgiven you, and me. I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I don’t mean to rake over old wounds. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, you’re right. I see the Legacy .. that house as my family. My own family was .. dysfunctional and, now I’ve found somewhere I feel I belong and I’m among people I enjoy being with, no, I don’t like the idea of it breaking up.”

Derek blinked, his body tensing.

“What ..?” Nick frowned. “You see something?”

The Shamrock shuddered, shivered. The video camera toppled sideways and fell off the shelf. Derek turned his head. The cup skittered and took a dive onto the carpet. Nick put his hands on the table and started to get to his feet. There was a .. tearing sensation, as if someone had taken a huge, cosmic-sized chainsaw and was ripping at the fabric of space and time. Feeling a little sick and more than a little disoriented, both men leaped to their feet.

“What the – ?” Nick began.

And the world vanished.

Continue to Chapter 7 Return to Home