Damned at Sea

Mr. Larry Wilson stood on deck staring out at the dark sea. The moonlight reflected itself across the surface of the vast body of water shimmering like sprinkles of gold glitter dust. Empty. Straight ahead lays emptiness, the single thought registered in Wilson’s mind.

A tall figure approached. The figure smiled warmly. It was a man dressed in a cruise line uniform, white polyester shorts cut at thigh length and a white polo sporting a modest dark grey logo, “Melinoë Cruise.” “Sir, have you been acquainted with your room yet?”

Wilson looked down at his own apparel, a fully equipped black-tie tux. He ran his fingers along a seam. Good quality. Is it mine, when did I put it on? How did I even get here? I don’t remember. He pondered as he blankly stared off.

“Sir, your room?” The smile perfectly pasted on the steward’s freckled face.

“You will show me?” Wilson heard his own words roll out in a whisper.

“Yes sir, of course, right this way.”

The room was a simple sea room, unlike the souped-up suites he was accustom to. A single bed, smaller than a twin-size was pressed snug against the wall. Next to the bed stood a tall wooden gentleman’s chest, that seemed out of place. The piece was somewhat large but had a massive feel in this small room setting. Wilson was impressed with the craftsmanship of the odd piece. He was a man of taste; a man of class and he understood the time and talent involved in producing such a thing. Its marbled cherry finish was beautifully etched with lacy designs and peculiar elaborate symbols. The detailing was heavy on its single door and light on the three drawers only circling the sphere-shaped brass handles. Magnificent, but what was it doing in a basic fare room on a cheesy cruise vessel? The final piece of the room, a cheap faded black desk so small it was almost child-size, faced with its accompanying chair the room’s lone porthole.

Wilson’s eyes darted from corner to corner. He briskly rubbed his now sweating hands together. What is going here? I would never pick a room like this. There was, however, a familiar feel about the place, like he had been there before. He searched his thoughts chiseling at the feeling, yet the memory could not be pulled. Did I lose my memory?

“I can bring food to your room sir or you may join the others in the Grey Room for dining, drinks, and dancing.” The steward's offer interrupted Wilson’s thoughts.

“The others?” Wilson’s voice struggling to meet normal decibels, while his eyes still scanned the room for clues.

“The other passengers sir. They are in the Grey Room just down the hall here to your left, easy to find, you will hear the music once you start out that way. Might I suggest the chocolate lava if you go? It’s one of our signature desserts but we have plenty to choose from if chocolate does not suit you.”

“Yes, that’s fine, I will head over,” Wilson said distracted by a book he noticed on the desk. He walked over and picked it up for an examination. The book appeared to be a journal, leather and soft covered. Its color midnight black was deeper than the desk it rested on. And like the gentleman’s chest, the quality was astonishing. Engraved neatly across the cover in foiled pearly white letters was the name, Larry Wilson. My name. “Strange.” Wilson flips through its pages, all were blank. He turned to question the steward, but he was already gone.

Center space of the Grey Room, a male band dressed in shiny grey slim fit suits performed the song Everybody Wants to Rule the World, as tipsy people danced about the vinyl floor that was stained greyish blue. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filled the air. Laughter and incomprehensible chatter from the many tables could be heard weaving in and out of the music. The tables were cloaked with tablecloths of the running color scheme. All appeared to be occupied, so Wilson decided to visit the bar.

“What are you having?” The bartender asked flatly.

“Dry Manhattan.” Wilson reached for his wallet to tip out, but his pockets were empty. “My wallet.” He felt himself say out loud.

“Money is no use on this ship, everything is included, even tips. Just enjoy yourself.” A woman roughly fifty but well-kept leaned in to inform Wilson.

“How long have we been out at sea?”

“You know, I have been having so much fun, I’m not sure.” She giggled.

“You don’t remember? Don’t you think that’s odd?” Wilson questioned. “This whole ship is odd.”

“How is the ship odd?” She sipped her pink cosmopolitan.

“Well, that band, the music they play.” His face displayed disgust. “What kind of music is that anyways?”

The bartender placed the ordered drink in front of Wilson. Wilson nodded a thank you.

“They are covering Tears for Fears, the popular 1980’s band.”

“1980s?”

“I’m sure you are old enough to remember, you look about my age you would have been in your twenties.” She studied the fine lines on Wilson’s face and streaks of grey in his chestnut hair.

“What year do you think it is?”

“2019.” She answered without hesitation.

“But this makes no sense.” Wilson could tell the woman believed in what she said.

“Why, what year do you think it is?” The woman shook her head, causing her burette curls to bounce.

“1954.”

Pointing to the Manhattan, “I think you had too many of those.” She laughs.

“No, I didn’t, something weird is going on. Do you know where the phones are located?”

“The phones? I have my cell, but there is no signal on the ship.” She pulled her smartphone out of her pocket and held it in front of Wilson. The phone illuminated the time and a younger photo of the woman.

Wilson eyed the phone. What is that? Maybe he did time travel to the year 2019. He heard stories about mysterious things happening out at sea. Maybe he was out in his boat and crossed some phenomenon sending him through time. No. That did not make sense. How did the steward know his name and how did he have a room? And what about that black book with his name on it?

“Did you have a black book on the desk in your room with your name written on it?” He asked.

“Yes, I think I saw a book.” Her expression revealed some uncertainty.

“Did you look inside?”

“No, I was told by the steward there was a party in the Grey room, so I came here right away. I didn’t want to miss a party. My husband is an important politician, so, I’m the one always staging parties, nice to just sit back and enjoy one without having to plan it.”

“Is your husband here, on the ship?”

“No, I don’t think? I haven’t seen him.”

“You can’t remember if you boarded with your husband?” His brow raised.

“To be honest I don’t remember boarding. I remember the steward showing me to my room and informing me about the party. Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure how long I have been on board.”

“Was your steward covered in freckles?”

“Yes.”

“I think we need to find that steward.”

Wilson and the woman stood in the hallway that occupied the passengers’ rooms. The walls were lined with decorative black wallpaper and trimmed with white molding. “Well, he was spotted around this part.” Wilson turned in all directions.

“This here is my room.” The woman tapped on a door marked 203. “Maybe there is a way to call him from the room,” She shrugged.

The woman’s room was similar to Wilson’s, however, it had a bigger bed and lacked the gentleman’s chest. The made-up bed was closer to full size and took up most of the room. Close to the door was the exact desk Wilson had in his room. Sitting on top of it was a black journal. Wilson picked up the book. “Do you mind if I take a look?” He held it up for the woman to see.

“Sure, go ahead I’m going to peek around for a call button or something.” She scouted around.

The cover was branded with Lisa Roman in snowy foiled letters. “Is this your name, Lisa?”

“Yes.” She said showing surprise.

He flipped the pages. This book had writing in it but not on every page, some pages were blanks others fully written out and a few only a sentence or two. The words were handwritten with black ink which seemed to be from a drippy fountain pen.

He read the first page out loud. “Born June fifth, 1966, in Oakley California, name at birth Lisa Hernandez.”

Lisa Roman quickly reached over and grabbed the book out of Wilson’s hands. “What is this?”

She flipped to the middle of the book and read. “knowingly participated in embezzling funds from the Sunflower Kids Home Foundation.” She stopped reading and looked up at Wilson. “Is this a sick joke?” She snapped at him.

“If it is, it’s on me too.” He motioned towards the door. “You better come with me.”

Wilson’s room was just as he left it. “What are we doing here?” Lisa asked.

“I just want to check something out.” He picked up the black journal. “Wow, it has some weight now.” Weighing it in his hand he pumped it up and down. “Let see what we got here.” He lightly perused it, every page was now filled back and front. The words written in smudgy black ink. Remember. The feeling of Déjà vu was overwhelming. He looked at Lisa Roman. “I did this before; I can feel it.”

Lisa looked worried. “What does your book say?”

He opened it up. “Born June fifth, 1901, in Chicago Illinois, name at birth Larry Wilson.”

Lisa gasped. “Like my book.” Her eyes widened, “born 1901, you really did think it was 1954.”

Wilson nodded yes. He flipped a few pages and then spoke. “As a child ran with street gang “Dead Boys”, acquired a bag cash of $20,000 while participating in the murdr..” Wilson paused to view Lisa’s reaction. Her eyes blinked franticly. “That money was a steppingstone to my fortune, I grew it to a billion. It was blood money, and I took it anyway.” Guilt ran through him.

The sound of feedback blared. A voice spoke, “sorry about that feedback ladies and gentlemen, but we have arrived at our destination, fun in the sun awaits, please join me on level D to make your way off the ship.”

“We are here, but where is here? Let’s go check it out.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m going.”

“No, wait.” He threw the book down on the desk and it opened to the last page.

LARRY, IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LEAVE THE SHIP YOU MUST HIDE IN THE CHEST – Melinoë

“I remember. I do. We must hide in the chest, come on.” He reached for her arm.

“No, I’m not going in there with a murderer.” She stepped back.

“You have to, or..”

“Or what?”

“You’ll be taken to hell.”

“What?”

“I’ve been through this for years, please trust me.” He motioned again for her hand.

“No, you sound crazy.”

“I’m going in I hope you join me.” He opened the chest’s door and climbed in shutting it from the inside.

He could hear the door to the room open and someone step in. “Oh, Mrs. Roman. Please join us upstairs.”

“No, I want to stay on board.”

“Oh well, I’m afraid that I’ll have to insist everyone must exit the vessel, every last soul.” Wilson heard a loud hiss and Lisa Roman scream.

Mr. Larry Wilson alone on the deck of a ship. How did I get here? He couldn’t remember. A tall figure approached.