It was a perfect moment. They are more rare than people realize. The world hangs poised, time stretches
forever.
Paul
Delacroix and Derek Rayne stared at each other. Two men, a hundred years of history between them. More than that; a millennium.
Paul
appeared as solid and real as Nick, as the rest of the ship and the crew. Derek was transparent, shimmering, the
colors muted, fading to gray and white.
But he could be seen.
“He
can see you,” Nick breathed.
Derek
kept his distance. He knew this was an
opportunity but the outcome wasn’t decided.
It could work in their favor or could backfire spectacularly.
“Can
you hear me?” he asked Paul.
Paul
could see the lips moving but there was no sound. He frowned slightly.
“Can
.. you .. hear .. me?” Derek repeated.
Paul
read the words and shook his head. Nick
decided to stay where he was. The
officer seemed rooted to the deck but, whether in shock or surprise, Nick couldn’t
tell.
Derek
held up a hand, signaling for Paul to stay where he was. Then he turned to the desk, found a sheet of
crude paper and a pencil stub and began to write. Paul hesitantly came closer, unable to tear his eyes away from
this outlandishly dressed apparition.
Derek finished writing and pointed at the paper. Paul’s gaze drifted downward.
‘My
name is Derek. My friend’s name is
Nick. I can hear you even though you
cannot hear me. What is your name?’
“Paul,”
he said. “Paul Delacroix. I’m the First Officer.”
Derek
smiled and nodded. “It’s all right,
Nick.”
Slowly,
taking it wide, Nick moved around to his Precept. Paul’s eyes widened at the sight of a second ghost but he didn’t
run.
“I’m
Nick,” Nick said, watching the man and nodding in reassurance.
Paul
looked from one to the other. “Why are
you here? Why have you chosen to haunt
this ship?”
Derek
turned to the paper again and wrote quickly.
Paul watched the words form.
‘We’re
not ghosts. We are from a hundred years
in the future, and we were investigating reports of a ghost ship which haunts
this stretch of ocean. There was an
accident.’
Paul
frowned and looked up. “Which ghost
ship? I have not seen any others.”
Derek
paused then wrote again.
‘This
is the ghost ship we were investigating.
We were on our launch when the Santa Theresa materialized and hit
us. Somehow, we were snatched from our
own time and brought here. Now we’re
trying to find a way to get back. We’re
not ghosts. This ship is real to
us. You seem real to us. You simply cannot see us as we really
are. We don’t know why we’re invisible
to you. We only found out when you came
into the cabin below.’
Paul
read this several times. He wasn’t sure
how to phrase the next question. “Why
is this ship a ghost?” he eventually asked.
“If you’re from the future .. and the boat we hit did appear strangely
built .. you will know our fate.”
Derek
glanced at Nick. “How much should I
tell him?”
“You’ve
already told him way too much,” Nick replied.
Paul
watched this mute exchange. “Sir, I ask
in genuine need. What is our fate?”
Derek
picked up the pencil.
‘A
storm is coming.’
“You
are harbingers of doom!” Paul softly
exclaimed.
‘No! A storm will hit on September 30 and will be
bad, lasting several days. The Santa
Theresa will sink on October 4. We’ve
seen the wreck on the seabed at Lopez Point.
This is history to us.’
“So
the storm is a killer,” Paul breathed.
‘We
thought so, now we’re not sure. What is
in the hold? Who are your passengers?’
Paul
shook his head. “That, I cannot tell
you. I have not seen them. All I know is .. that they are dangerous.”
‘How
did they get on board?’
Paul
hesitated then shook his head again, this time in defeat. “The Captain arranged it. This is not a passenger vessel. We haul cargo. But, in San Diego, the Captain was approached by a
messenger. He then went to meet with
some people. He extended our liberty
there .. and, when the Santa Theresa was empty, the passengers came
aboard. Not even the Captain was
here. He ordered us all ashore.”
‘I’ve
read your journal,’ Derek confessed.
‘Why are you not giving them food?’
“Why
are they barricaded in down there?” Nick asked.
Paul
shrugged. “Captain Marriott was told
all they wanted was passage to Monterey.
There, they would leave the ship and be met by .. others who would be
responsible for them. He was told, and
he told me in confidence, that they would see to their own food and water. They would keep to themselves, in the hold,
and would not trouble us for anything.
I must assume they brought their supplies with them. But Captain Marriott did not want to take
any chances. He ordered the lower deck
be kept unoccupied and the hatches sealed.”
He shrugged again. “He knows
more than he is telling me but he will not share what he knows, I think,
because he believes it will protect me and the crew.”
‘How
much do the crew know?’ Derek wrote.
“That
they should not be inquisitive, that their lives are at risk if they do go down
there. Of course, it has been
difficult. Men with only a few facts
invent the remainder. To a degree, that
has worked in their favor because they are frightened but frightened men are
men who react in unpredictable ways.
Tension is high on board. If
they knew you were here as well ... It
could lead to mutiny.”
Derek
nodded soberly. ‘We will do our very
best not to make your situation worse.
We do need food and water, a place to sleep. We would go back to the cabin in which you found us but the
hatches are guarded.’
“You
may remain in here,” Paul offered.
“Mr
Delacroix!”
The
perfect moment was shattered. Paul
jumped, badly startled, and Derek and Nick vanished. Paul swallowed, half believing he’d imagined it all but then the
pencil rose and wrote ‘Thank you’ on the paper.
“You’re
welcome,” he said softly, picked up his cap and went to make his report to the
Captain.
“Nick,
go with him,” Derek murmured.
“You
don’t trust him?” Nick inquired, frowning.
“I
don’t trust the Captain.”
*****
John
Marriott listened to the report from his First Officer. “The sentries are all in place?”
“Yes,
sir. Your orders have been passed on
exactly.”
He
grunted. “Very well, Mr Delacroix.”
“Sir,
there is one other matter I must bring to your attention.”
Nick,
leaning against the stateroom table, his arms folded, tensed slightly.
“I’m
listening,” the Captain invited.
“Mr
Farnham has spoken with me, sir. He has
the notion that a big storm is coming.
He studies the weather, sir. It
is a pastime of his. The reason, he
believes, that we are presently becalmed is because the wind has been .. sucked
away by the storm. He is convinced,
sir, that it will strike us sometime soon, certainly before we reach Monterey.”
Nick’s
watchful gaze shifted back to the Captain.
“Mr
Farnham, sir, also says that we could make better use of the current if we
changed course to farther out to sea,”
Paul went on. Nick nodded his
agreement, thinking Mr Farnham was a pretty smart guy.
“Mr
Delacroix, you know which course I have ordered.”
“Yes,
sir, I do, and we are following it.”
“I
will not change that order.”
“Captain,
please, if we move farther out, we may reach port safely. If we continue along this heading ..
disaster may strike.”
Nick
glanced at Paul and saw the bleak despair in his eyes. He knows the ship’s going down, he knows
when, he knows he’s probably gonna die, but he won’t say a word. He’ll obey his orders.
John
Marriott paced to the elegant transom window and stared out at the pathetic
wake the Santa Theresa was trailing behind her. It should be rich, foaming.
It was dying a pauper’s death.
“Mr
Delacroix, I am not a heartless man. I
know I am known as Ol’ Iron Britches by the men, and, in some respects, it is
true. But I am not heartless. I am a sailor and a captain. This ship and everyone on board are my
ultimate responsibility, and that includes the passengers. A storm is something I can deal with. We have all sailed thru bad weather. We can cope, and we will cope. The passengers, however, are much more
dangerous than a storm. On balance, I
must choose to keep my orders as they are.
We will reach Monterey later and probably very battered but we will
reach port. If we go farther out to sea
and the passengers decide they no longer wish to remain in confinement, we will
all die and never reach port.”
Paul
nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Do
you? Honestly?”
“Yes,
sir, I do,” Paul replied sadly.
“My
respects to Mr Farnham for his timely warning.
Have the boats checked over .. should things not go as anticipated.”
“Aye,
sir.”
“That’s
all. You’re dismissed.”
Paul
saluted, turned smartly, and walked out.
Nick decided to remain. Derek
hadn’t told him to do that but he had said he didn’t trust the captain. Therefore, Nick chose to stay and check him
out.
He
was a big, bluff man, red of face and with bushy eyebrows, a mixture of iron
gray and black. Below them, his eyes
were small, beady and dark. He had a
hooked nose and a full mouth. A man of
passions.
Rachel
would be so proud of me, Nick thought.
John
Marriott returned to his cabin and sat down at his desk. Nick wandered closer. Marriott removed a Moroccan leather-bound
book from a drawer, opened it, and picked up a quill pen.
Bingo,
Nick thought. The ship’s log. He leaned in, reading over the man’s
shoulder.
‘The
First Officer reports a storm is coming and requests a change in course. I have refused. A storm is nothing compared to what it is in the hold. I think I must have been mad when I agreed
to take them but I could not turn down the purse they gave in payment. If it costs the lives of everyone on board,
including the things in the hold, so be it.’
Nick
straightened. He sold ’em out. He sold out for money. This is one sonofabitch who won’t go down
with his ship, not by choice. He’ll be
the first one in the boats. What a
bastard ...
He
eased toward the door, watching Marriott the entire time. When the man was occupied in putting the log
away, Nick opened the door and slipped out.
Back
in Paul’s cabin, Derek looked round as Nick came in. “Well?”
“That
First Officer is impressive. Despite
what he knows, he never said a word.
The Captain is a real piece of work,” Nick went on, sounding disgusted. “He’s doing this for money, being paid over
the odds. He could change course, get
’em to Monterey faster, but he won’t. I
think he’s hoping the storm’s gonna get rid of his cargo for him, and all this
as well. He’s sold out, Derek.”
Derek
nodded, frowning. “So .. what sinks the
Santa Theresa? The storm? A mutiny?
The passengers? Or the Captain?”
*****
It
was remarkable how easily the mind and body adapted to being invisible to
others. Derek strolled along the upper
deck the next day, moving aside to avoid collisions, stepping back when someone
crossed his path, and he did this all without thinking. He was walking on autopilot.
September
26. By now, Alex will be in Morro Bay
and trying to piece together the truth from the facts. And we all know that, at times, the facts
give a very false picture. The facts in
this case are that Nick and I rented a launch, went out on the water, and
disappeared on a perfectly calm day. It
doesn’t begin to even hint at the truth.
Somehow,
Alex must reach the truth that we’re on the Santa Theresa, a hundred years in
her past. She could use her sight, and
probably will, and I pray she doesn’t make the same error I did and assume it
is the past she is seeing. There again
.. it is the past but it is also my
future. It is where I am, where I was
taken. It will take an extraordinary
leap of faith on her part to believe the truth, and extraordinary powers of
persuasion to convince Rachel, our scientifically grounded, impartial skeptic. If she is wise, she will use Peri to assist
her. If anyone can make a leap of
faith, it is Peri. Her powers of
persuasion .. can be a little forthright but she always gets her argument
across. Rachel must believe.
And
then, having arrived at the truth, and recovered from the shock, those three
women must unite to find a way to make the right circumstances so we will
return to where we should be. The
obvious solution is to repeat the earlier experience and hope Nick and I make
the journey back. But it may result in
Alex, Rachel and Peri being trapped here with us. All that will do is ensure Nick and I have company when .. if .. we go into seclusion in a remote
place. We may all yet die in the
shipwreck. Nothing is ever guaranteed.
Derek
paused to look at the land a half mile away.
It seemed a lot closer. He felt
he could almost stretch out a hand and touch it.
And
then there is the unknown answer to the question I asked yesterday. What sinks this ship? It will
sink. That is historical fact, it
cannot be changed. Nick may see the
Captain as a greedy, money-hungry bastard but, in truth, he is only doing what
he has done every year for the past century even though, to him, it is the
first time. Making sure the Santa
Theresa does nothing different. That
she will sink where she does, when she does.
It doesn’t mean he is responsible for her sinking, although his actions
do play a part.
It
could be the storm. Easily, it could be
that. It is the most obvious reason why
the Santa Theresa sinks. This coast is
renowned for it. Nick and I found only
one skeleton when we explored the wreck.
There were no boats laying in pieces on the seabed. That seems to suggest the crew manage to get
away. Maybe Paul Delacroix does manage
to get home to his wife and children, that they all survive. I can only pray it is so.
Frowning,
Derek walked on, wrapped in his thoughts.
In
Paul’s cabin, Nick was stretched out on the bed and almost at the point where
he was drifting into sleep.
Mutiny. Or the Captain. I’ll .. put my money on mutiny cos I was enlisted and not an
officer. This crew has good officers
who are looking out for ’em. Captain
doesn’t give a damn except for his money an’ living long enough to spend it. Y’know, I am almost hoping I’ll still be
here so I can make sure that bastard dies with this ship. There again, maybe I won’t have to. Maybe the crew will do it for me. He could’ve made the biggest mistake of his
life giving rifles to those men. He
deserves to drown, not have a quick death by firing squad.
It
wouldn’t take much to make this crew rise in anger. Paul would hate it. He’s
a by the book kinda guy, straight as they come. This must really be sticking in his throat. But he has to see it’d be for the best, for
him, for his crew, for the ship, and for the passengers .. whatever the hell
they are.
C’mon,
Alex, get it together. You gotta come
thru for us. I’m not saying you owe me
for all the times I’ve saved your neck from a noose. I’m just saying .. you got no choice left. You’re in charge. You got a lotta good people around you who can do a lotta
things. Use ’em. Push ’em if you have to. Get ’em outside that comfort zone. There’s no one else who can, Alex. You gotta bite the bullet, make the hard
choices, find a way an’ make it happen.
I don’t wanna die seventy odd years before I’m born. I wanna go home, see Merli, hold her in my
arms, tell her I love her .. cos I didn’t do that when I left the city. I thought I’d be back in a few days. I miss her ...
Nick
rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
He was bone weary. Being a ghost
wasn’t as much fun as he’d imagined it would be.
How
you gonna do it, Alex? What plan could
there be? Derek said this was breaking
new ground an’ that means you got nothing to rely on, nothing you can use as a
precedent. You gotta make it up as you
go. Get it right ... You have to cos I’m tired of being here, I’m
tired of being invisible, I just wanna go home. I want television, a cold beer, hot pizza. I want my car. I want movies and being able to talk to people whenever I
want. Me. The guy you always say is so silent. Sure, I’ve got Derek but .. there will come a time when we run
outta things to say. It’ll either be a
long way off or in eight days. I’m
relying on you here, Alex. Don’t let me
down ...
Thinking
this, turning it into a prayer, Nick finally fell asleep.
Sitting
in his cabin on the port side of the Santa Theresa, Nate Tucker whistled
silently between his teeth and thought dismally of this disaster of a
voyage. It had started well enough down
in southern Mexico. They’d offloaded their
cargo and picked up goods to take to San Diego. From there, it would’ve been an empty trip home to Monterey and,
there, Nate Tucker would be leaving the Santa Theresa. He was in his early fifties and, for now,
he’d had enough of the sea. It wouldn’t
last, he’d known that. The sea got
inside you, it affected the way you thought, the way you moved. Being on land felt strange because it didn’t
roll like the deck of a ship. For the
first week, Nate would be stamping around and feeling slightly foolish. He had been looking forward to being paid
off. He’d thought he’d use the money to
buy a small fishing boat, spend the winter getting her ready, then, in spring,
he’d go to work for himself.
But
then everything had gone wrong. A one
day liberty in San Diego had stretched to three. That, in itself, hadn’t been so bad. It was the being ordered ashore, of having the Santa Theresa
declared off limits to everyone. The
crew hadn’t objected but Nate had been instantly suspicious. He’d wanted to stick around the dock, but
that had been overruled. The next day,
Nate had found out why.
He
glanced up at the Third Mate who was snoring and scratching himself in his
sleep. Slowly, Nate shook his head.
The
cargo. What had been meant as an easy
last voyage had turned into a nightmare.
There was cargo in the hold.
Living cargo. Dangerous cargo.
Paul
Delacroix had taken him aside to relay the Captain’s orders. The entire lower deck, home to at least
eighty men, was to be evacuated and left empty. Not only that but every access hatch, every opening between the
hold and the lower deck had to be sealed with sandbags. Nate, reasonably, had asked why. Paul had told him it was the Captain’s
orders. Later, once they were underway,
Paul had told him a little more.
Nate
had only half believed it but, as the days stretched and they had sailed past
Los Angeles and Santa Barbara, Nate’s belief became complete. The cargo was deadly. No other way to say it. He could hear them, shuffling around,
moaning faintly. If they got out,
everyone on board would die. Simple as
that. Nate just wanted to get to
Monterey, get his pay, and leave this the hell alone. Then, to almost confirm his view that the Santa Theresa was
cursed, the wind had died completely.
Then it had hit a ghost ship and now they were being haunted.
It’s
an omen, he thought darkly. The cargo
started it. It is not doing God’s work
to have them on board. He rose heavily
and went out on deck. He needed to
shout at someone to make himself feel better.
Mark
my words, Nate said to himself, disaster will come of this. God punishes those who sin .. and the
Captain’s made sinners of us all.
Nate
Tucker wasn’t the only one thinking dark thoughts about Captain Marriott. Paul Delacroix was entertaining them as
well. He stood on the upper deck, the
sun glittering on the shiny brass buttons of his uniform coat, and watched the
lackluster bustle going on before him.
He suspected the bustle was for his benefit. It wasn’t that there was a lot of work to do.
There
was something ineffably sad about a sailing ship with all four masts fully set
with sail yet no wind. They hung like
huge, empty sacks. Occasionally, one
might lift slightly, flutter and snap.
Heads would rise, eyes filled with a straining, yearning hope, only to
lower once more, the hope dashed, as the sail sagged and didn’t move again.
The
weather is not the Captain’s fault, Paul reflected. He does not make the wind blow, he does not cause it to go
away. But he could order a change of course. Easily, he could do that. I cannot for the life of my children, the
most precious things in the world to me, understand why he refuses. He says, should the cargo escape the hold,
the crew must have a chance to swim to shore.
These men are all good swimmers.
They can swim a mile as easily as half a mile, it will simply take them
longer. Yet, if the coming storm is too
bad, we are to ready the boats. Why can
we not alter course and use the boats to make good our escape to land? His arguments make no sense to me.
If
we change course, the current will bear us north toward our home port. Moving faster will fill the sails with at
least a breeze. We may reach home
before the storm hits, or becomes too bad.
But he will not do it. He
prefers to hug the shore and take his chances with our lives.
I
could order a small change. Take us
just a little farther out. If we do it
gradually, he will never know. Or ..
when he sleeps, we sail farther out to sea, move faster at night, then come in
again during the day.
Mutinous
thoughts, Paul, he warned. All your
life, you’ve obeyed your orders. Done
things by the book. You risk a lot.
If
he wasn’t so shortsighted, I wouldn’t mind half so much. He’s right – we have all sailed thru bad
weather. This will be more than
bad. This storm is a killer and it will
kill this ship. Does the Captain not
realize that a storm will bring the cargo to a state of panic? They will want to escape with the rest of
us.
He
shuddered, imagining the choking claustrophobia down in the hold, the violent
shaking of the ship as she battled thru seas made mountainous, her decks
awash. They will be beating on the
hatches, screaming for release ...
Surely,
it is better to reach port earlier than risk that? Why doesn’t he see it?
Does he want us to die?
Paul’s eyes narrowed. Maybe he does ...
He
heard the bell sound and, even though his appetite had quite vanished away,
went below for an early supper.
*****
“How
far have we traveled, do you think?” Derek asked.
Nick
thought. “This is September .. 27, our
fourth day on board. Just about twenty
two, twenty three land miles, I guess.
That’s just under twenty nautical miles.”
Derek
grunted, looking irritated. “Why does
the sea have to be different from the land?
A mile is a mile.”
Nick
grinned. “Just one of those
things. What’s eating you? Bad night?”
“I’m
getting bored, Nick. You were
right. You said, on the Shamrock, I
would get bored, then irritated. Well,
here I am. I want something to happen.”
“If
you ask me, I’d make the most of this.”
“Well,
you would say that. You were in the
Navy – ”
“I
didn’t spend that much time on ships,” Nick cut in with a dry chuckle. “I didn’t join up to go to sea. I was more in subs an’ on choppers an’ in
little inflatable boats than on ships.
This is new for me as well but I couldn’t see me doing it forever. And I won’t.”
“Then
why make the most of it?” Derek inquired.
“Well
.. it’s gonna get a little rough in a couple of days. Right now, it’s calm, sea’s flat, no wind. That means no pitching an’ tossing. That’s gonna change, big time,” Nick
replied, folding his arms and leaning against the rail. “All these guys, sitting around, nothing to
do, they’re gonna be worked so hard they won’t know if they’re coming or going,
whether it’s day or night. We’ll have
to find somewhere outta their way.”
“Paul’s
cabin?” Derek suggested.
“Maybe. I’d prefer to be out here.”
“In
the open?” Derek exclaimed.
“If
I see Alex, I’ll take my chances over the side.” Nick shrugged. “We’d
regret it if we missed her just cos it’s a little wet an’ windy out here.”
That
was a sober reminder and it refocused Derek’s mind on their situation. He hadn’t forgotten it exactly, but it had
been more an interesting, intellectual challenge than real. He realized that, in less than four days,
he’d become used to the routine on board, to these people even though they
couldn’t see him, and to simply being here.
It was equally becoming difficult to remember what it was like in the
twenty first century. No, he corrected,
it wasn’t becoming accustomed, it was becoming resigned. Nick had a personal reason to want to go
home. It kept his mind firmly on
track. Derek had only his work.
“You’re
right.”
“You’ve
said that a lot these past few days,” Nick remarked.
Derek
shrugged. “You must be maturing.”
Nick
laughed out loud. “In your dreams!”
“Seriously,
you’re right. We must remain out here,
no matter how bad it gets. Day and
night. One of us must be on watch the
whole time.”
Nick
nodded and swept his gaze along the deck.
“In the bow, that’s the best place.
The deck rail’s high enough,” he said, giving it practical
consideration. “Pitching an’ tossing
will be pretty bad. Most stable point
would be the middle section of the deck but we wouldn’t see much and there’ll
be a lot of traffic thru there.”
Derek
was silent.
“What?”
Nick prompted. “You get seasick? So did Admiral Nelson.”
“I
was just thinking, that’s all.”
“Of
..?”
“If
this ever happens again, I must bring a jacket or a sweater. We were woefully unprepared for this, Nick.”
“Well
.. yeah. We never expected it to
happen.”
Derek
frowned. “Peri would say that was
sloppy planning. Just because it never
has before doesn’t mean it won’t happen this time. It just means it hasn’t happened before. We should have at least considered the
possibility, however remote and ridiculous it seemed at the time.”
“Hindsight’s
always twenty twenty, Derek. Next time
we go looking for something like this, we’ll expect it an’ be ready.” Nick hunched his shoulders and pushed his
hands into his pockets. “Probably be
disappointed that it doesn’t happen.
This .. is likely to be a once in a lifetime experience.”
“I
hope you’re right,” Derek murmured.
“Bound
to be,” Nick responded with a smug grin.
“I’m on a roll.”
*****
Paul
Delacroix wished he could see the ghosts again. He’d been told – by them – that they weren’t ghosts at all but
he didn’t know what else to call them.
Invisible men from the future might be more accurate but ghosts was faster.
Paul
was in a terrible quandary. Like most
men of his time, he believed there was a spiritual world and, in company
ashore, would be happy to discuss it, even take part in séances to search out
the spirits and question them. It was
almost polite entertainment. But he was
also a practical man, a sailor, and ghosts had no part anywhere in his
professional life. Yet, here, now, he
had ghosts on board. As for them being
from the future .. well, now, there was a pretty kettle of fish. Paul had no problem thinking of them as
ghosts. Men from the future .. that was
different. That sounded almost against
God. It sounded science fiction,
something Verne might write or H G Wells.
But
there was his quandary. He needed to
know what they knew. Or might know.
Paul
didn’t want to just talk in case they weren’t there. As it was, he risked being labeled a madman for talking to
himself. Any attempt to explain would
only make it worse. This was a ship at
sea. Ghosts had no place here, not on
Captain Marriott’s ship. He never knew
if they were in his cabin at the same time he was. And he wanted to ask more about the Santa Theresa’s demise.
The
ghost named Derek had stated it was history to him. That meant it had already happened.
Paul
stared at the land creeping by. It was
a blistering day, the sun so bright it glared and bleached the sky white.
It’s
history to him, he reasoned slowly, but not to me. There may yet be something I can do to change the future. I need to know more. He said there is a wreck on the seabed at
Lopez Point. That is so close to Monterey! God must really want to punish us ...
What
causes us to sink? The storm. It has to be the storm. There is nothing else capable of sinking
this vessel. But was she abandoned
before she sank? Did the crew get
away? The cargo ..? Are we doomed to repeat this over and over
because we abandoned the ship and left the cargo down there to drown? Is this ship really cursed ..?
He
tore his troubled gaze away from the view.
I have to know. Deadly or not,
they do not deserve to be left to die like animals. I will release them myself, even if it means I must die with this
ship while everyone else escapes. I
will scrub this stain from my soul, this .. sin of omission. I should have been stronger. I should have spoken out, raised my
objections. The Captain would have
ignored me but I would have done my duty to God. I could have died with my conscience clear. I may yet redeem myself. I may yet find my place in Heaven. But I have to know .. and I cannot see the
ghosts to demand answers from them.
His
gaze wandered around his cabin.
“Are
you here ..?” he whispered. “Write me
if you are.”
Derek’s
earlier words had been folded and carefully placed in Paul’s journal. A fresh sheet of paper and the pencil lay
ready on the desk, but the pencil didn’t move.
Paul sighed.
I
am fast running out of time, he despaired.
In two days, we will be under nature’s attack and fighting a losing
battle. How can I decide what is best
if I do not have all the information?
He
stared at the paper on his desk, his eyes showing his agony.
Paul
.. if they will not write you, you write them.
You need to speak with them .. so leave them a note.
He
sat down at the desk and began to write.
Tell
them what time to be here .. and then refuse to let them leave until they tell
you what you have to know. They have
already admitted they cannot walk thru the hatches. It is simple then. Once
they are here, lock the door .. and have your pistol ready.