Authors: Moore-JamesA
I was on the
Isabella
and polishing the brass
railings when I spotted Davey.
He looked
remarkably fit for a dead man.
In all the
confusion from those days I'd never found out what happened to him, but he told
me.
The waves had taken him down and
into the water during that sudden storm and he fought hard to stay afloat.
According to what he had to say, the Coast
Guard picked him up early the next morning, and he wound up in a hospital, with
no recollection of who he was or how he got there.
His parents
found him after almost a month, and while it had taken a while, he'd eventually
gotten most of his memories back.
It's plausible
enough, I know that.
There's no reason
to doubt him, but I still do.
We parted
company on that spring day and haven't talked except to nod at each other when
we cross on the street.
I wish I could
give a reason, but the only one I really have is that I know he's lying through
his teeth.
I don't know what he's
hiding, but I do know the Coast Guard didn't pick him up.
I checked with them when he disappeared, and
even with my memory being less than perfect, I remembered them saying that the
storm was incredibly isolated and they found no one.
Davey is alive
and I guess that's a blessing, but there's just something about his story that
doesn't fit and I can't make myself let it go.
I guess maybe I'm getting a little less trusting in my old age.
It wasn't much
after spring came around that I got the letter from Demetrius.
It was short and to the point.
Inside the envelope
was
an article from a
His words were simple:
"I hope you're well.
Come see us when you have a chance.
Thought this might interest
you."
The article
talked about the unusual circumstances surrounding the death of one Martin
Edward Ward, a college professor who was found dead in his home.
The man managed to drown in six inches of
water in his tub.
According to the
paper, he apparently slipped and cracked his head open on the edge of the tub
and then just choked to death on the water he sucked into his lungs.
I've still got
the paper folded in my wallet.
When I
think of Belle and the weight of her loss becomes enough to crush me, it makes
me feel a little better to read that piece.
I guess I'll
have to thank Buddy if I ever see him again.
In the
meantime, the busy season is getting ready to start and I have a new crew to
hire.
There are plenty of prospects and
it shouldn’t be hard to come up with a few competent people to help me.
Local charters
only from now on, of course.
I won't be
taking anyone fishing up the coast for a long, long time if ever again.
I can't just stay at home, a man has to make
a living, and like my father and grandfather before me, I'm a fisherman first
and foremost.
Besides, I
think Belle might actually come back to haunt me if I sulked around the house
for too long, and I've had enough of ghosts to last me a lifetime.
I prefer to think she's in heaven if there
really is such a place.
But what about Golden Cove?
What happened to it?
Will I ever
go back?
Golden Cove is
still in the same place, and the tourist business is getting a little better, I
suppose.
Not so many claims that the
place is haunted.
Who knows, maybe the
police there have gotten a little more caring.
I can't say, as I haven't been back.
Will I ever go there again?
Maybe.
I just don't
know yet.
Part of me wants to check
everything out again and see if there are still any lights late at night on the
Devil's Reef, or strange fogs that come and go at their own whim.
Most of me
just
wants
to do what I have always done and try to
put the pieces of my life back together.
My grandfather
used to tell me that the oceans knew all the secrets the world had to
offer.
I've learned how to listen for
them and these days, I keep a few surprises hidden on board, just in case those
secrets come back to bother me again.
—
THE END
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