Again

The sea lapped against the side of the small rubber life raft. The salty spray slapped across his face waking him up again. He had no idea how long he had been at sea, he didn’t know how he had ended up in the life raft, but he was here and he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. He had stopped looking over the side of his boat as the empty horizon had almost pushed him towards madness. He lay looking straight up at the blue sky, there wasn’t even a cloud to keep him company. In his moments of clarity he knew it was just waiting for the slow death of dehydration he was looking forward to.

Thunk.

He wasn’t sure his brain had processed the noise, but there it was again.

Thunk.

That tell tale squeak of the raft’s rubber colliding with something solid. He flipped onto his front and looked over the side. It couldn’t be could it. It was a yacht. A pristine beautiful yacht. He placed his hands on the wonderful solid hull and shouted but found no reply. He tried again, still nothing. He used his hands to manoeuvre the dinghy around the yacht until he found a way to climb up. He heaved his weak and aching body onto the deck and slumped in a heap for a moment laughing and gasping. He had been there for minutes before he realised he still had no welcoming committee. He pulled himself to his knees. The yacht looked in perfect condition,Its sails were down but intact, the deck looked clean and well maintained. Perhaps the crew were resting below decks and hadn’t heard him. He clambered to his feet and stumbled over to the steps down to the living quarters.

The steps opened up into a surprisingly spacious room with a small kitchen to the left of the stairs and ahead a table with four seats around it, one sofa and behind that were two adjacent doors that he assumed led to the cabins. His attention moved straight to the kitchen. Fresh water. He stepped over to the sink and grabbed a glass from the side. He turned the tap and out flowed fresh clean water. He gulped it down before remembering that he needed to be careful Not to drink too much too quickly. He put the glass down and turned to the cabins. He shouted out again. Still no response. He walked over and knocked on both doors, nothing. He tried the handles and found they were locked. Puzzled he sat down at the table and paused for a moment to think.

The table was clear apart from a sheet of paper and a pencil. He reached out and brought the paper closer to himself. In it was written one sentence: “Don’t open the cabins” and beneath it was a tally, it counted up to 26. He wasn’t sure what this meant but he put the paper down and sat mulling over how fortunate he had been. Suddenly he felt hungry. He rose up and moved over to the cupboards. They were filled with cans of fruit, meats and vegetables. He had water and food, but no crew mates. He was certain he could sail this ship but who did it belong to and where were they? He decided he needed time to recover and within seconds of lying on the sofa he was asleep.

He awoke with a start. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep but it was now pitch dark and he had an enormous sense of foreboding. He lifted himself up and searched the walls for a light switch, he had never been afraid of the dark but right now he was feeling very uncomfortable. The yellow artificial light flooded the room but his sense of discomfort did not dissipate. Why was this perfectly good ship unmanned in the middle of the ocean? Why were the cabin doors locked and why was he told not to open them. He climbed up onto the deck and looked up at the stars, this would usually centre him and help him to focus, but not tonight. Not now. All he could think about out were the cabin doors and his own sense of dread. He had to go back down.

Why couldn’t he open the doors? Was there a gas leak, or was there a breach and

water getting in? No, neither made sense. An hour led to two and he could not think of anything other than what was behind those doors. As the sun began creeping up over the horizon he had made his decision. He was going to open them.

He tried manipulating the lock on the right hand door but he was not a thief and nothing was happening. With a resigned sigh he stepped back and then with a grunt shoved his shoulder heavily against the door. It shuddered open to reveal an empty and completely made up cabin with a double bed and a small wardrobe. He took a nose full of air and smelled nothing untoward. Before stepping back and looking at the second door. He decided that this time he would go straight for the brute force. Just as he was preparing for the shove he noticed something in his pocket. There was a key. He shoved his hand in and retrieved it, he held it in front of his face, where on Earth had it come from? He didn’t want to but he knew he had to see if it fit the lock of the cabin. Just by looking at it he knew it would fit, whether it would turn was another matter. With a sickening clunk the key turned right round and the door was unlocked. He pushed the door and turned on the light.

Like the other cabin there was a wardrobe and a double bed, but this bed was not empty. He could see the shapes of people under the clean white sheets. Slowly and cautiously he stepped towards the bed. He placed his had on the sheet and with a tug he pulled it away. Lying on the bed was a young boy of no more than four and a woman in her thirties. They were both dressed and were both clearly dead. He looked at them mindlessly for a moment, not really registering what he was looking at. Then it hit him. They were dead. But not just that, he knew them. They were his family. His beautiful wife and their son. But how? What? He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing and then it hit him. He realised what he had done. He saw the bruises around their throat and it came flooding back. He was filled with rage and sorrow, fury and fear, then a determination to put himself to the mercy of the sea. But had he not done this before. He stopped. This was all too familiar. He walked back out of the room, tears streaming from his eyes, he looked at the table and the note and it became clear. He picked up the pencil and added a 27th mark to the tally. He placed the pencil down, climbed the stairs and to the front of the yacht. In a single movement he hurled himself over the side and with a splash he hit the water and allowed himself to sink into the black depths.

The sea lapped against the side of the small rubber life raft. The salty spray slapped across his face waking him up again. He had no idea how long he had been at sea, he didn’t know how he had ended up in the life raft, but he was here and he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. He had stopped looking over the side of his boat as the empty horizon had almost pushed him towards madness. He lay looking straight up at the blue sky, there wasn’t even a cloud to keep him company. In his moments of clarity he knew it was just waiting for the slow death of dehydration he was looking forward to.

Thunk.