Where was this coming from?
“Sir?” I said, pushing back the blankets. “Are you all right?”
“Can you hear them?” He didn’t turn his head. “Their voices… I can hear them. They’re calling me.”
A shadow fell over the room as fog encased the ship, blocking out any view from the porthole. “Sir, I think you should—”
Rachel.
The voices that had woken me were near now. Just outside the porthole, even. A thousand voices, no, a million, called to me, singing jubilant songs in a cacophony of languages. Men, women, and children were calling to me, bidding me to come. Among their songs, the sound of my grandparents’ voices were clear to hear.
I slid to my feet, and Captain Gorman and I walked out of the sick bay. Dot and Peggy were standing by their station, their eyes glazed over as they listened. They bowed their heads a fraction as we walked past.
Captain Gorman led us down the passageway to the flight deck. We didn’t talk. Instead, I just listened to the singing. Such old songs—songs of praise, of happiness, of lost children now found and safe. My brain didn’t know the words, but my heart did.
My people were waiting for me.
Captain Gorman opened the final door. A thick bank of fog had encased the entire ship, but instead of the murky cold I knew from life, this fog was warm. Hug-like. Welcoming. In the distance, at the barest edges of my vision, I could make out an island in the fog.
Commander Muree met us on the flight deck. “I hear my brothers,” he said softly. “The Muree triplets have been apart for so long.” He looked at Captain Gorman. “Ed, it’s been an honor.”
Captain Gorman bowed his head. “Go. Thank you everything, George.”
Commander Muree walked ahead of us, disappearing into the fog. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could just make out the sound of three men shouting for joy.
Captain Gorman took off his hat. “If you excuse me, Petty Officer. I hear my wife calling, and it’s rude to leave a lady waiting.” Tears were streaming down his face.
“Go on,” I said, tears falling down my own without ceasing. “Go.”
He left me on the flight deck, disappearing into the fog immediately.
The calls of the people were all around me now. I could hear laughing children, singing women, men calling to each other. I could almost feel them touching me, jostling me in their excitement.
Come home, Rachel. Come home. It’s time. It’s time!
There were two voices I could not hear, and their lack of presence spoke the loudest of all to me.
I closed my eyes. “I want to speak to the fog, please.” If the ship could appear as a person, so could the fog.
The shouts fell away. There was a whisper of sound, and then a man’s voice said, “I am here.”
I opened my eyes. He was hooded and cloaked, his face in shadow. Still, I sensed no danger from him. I pulled my shoulders back. “I made a deal with the ship. I stay on here until my parents pass on. Then you come for me.”
“The ship has released you from your obligation.”
“Why?”
“You did not truly want to stay.”
“The terms were that I would stay until my parents died. They haven’t changed. I don’t want to be seen in bad faith.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
“One last thing, though.”
“Yes?”
“Are you the Angel of Death?” The Angel appeared in many Jewish stories. If this was him, I needed to tread lightly.
I saw the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “You may call me that, if you wish.”
I let out a long breath. “If that’s so, how can I be sure that you don’t feel cheated or anything? In all our stories, you always end up getting what you feel you’re owed.” Usually via killing someone in a bloody, ironic way.
“Your contract with the ship supersedes my claim, Rachel Goldstein. There is no cheat here. But don’t worry, I’ll be back for you before too long.” He said it in such a way that it sounded like a consolation, not a threat.
Before I could say anything further, he melted away into the fog. Immediately, the fog rolled back, pulling away from the ship and dissipating like steam. The island was gone, replaced by iron-gray water and the call of seabirds.
I was alone on the flight deck, a small person on a vast sea of tarmac. On the other side of the flight deck, a few sailors were speaking to each other, no doubt recounting whatever it was that they’d heard in the fog.
I dragged my feet all the way to the door again, the pain in my shoulder flaring anew. Peggy and Dot would fuss horribly, but as long as I had a soft bed to land in, I didn’t care.
My hand was on the knob when Captain Hollander’s voice made me pause. “Petty Officer.”
“Captain?” I looked around.
He was lingering in the shadow of a jet, still in his flight suit. He came up to me. “I was out here overseeing repairs on the squadron when the fog rolled in. Did I hear Gorman and Muree with you?”
“They went home, sir.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I couldn’t just go and leave my ship, could I?”
“It’s my ship. I’m the captain.”
“No, it’s my ship. It’s the Rickover.”
He fought a smile. “Agree to disagree.” He pulled out a small box from his pocket. “This is yours, by the way. It was salvaged from the room you were found in.”
I raised an eyebrow and accepted the box, then opened it. My magic cradle glowed softly, its white light lighting up the area around us. “You saved it!”
“That, and all the spheres, plus enough money to buy a small country.” He sighed. “Or should I say, enough money to buy new weapons from the dealers in Port des Morts. Turns out, I personally blew up the security team and all they’d taken with them.”
“You don’t sound very cut up about it, sir.”
“I’m not.”
It was my turn to quell a smile. “Thank you for retrieving it, sir.” I slipped the necklace over my head and secured it under my collar. “And sir, I really am sorry about what happened. I got a good lecture from Captain Gorman about it. I’ll, uh, dial it back in the future.”
Captain Hollander nodded. “That’s good to hear. And thank you for the kick in the pants when I needed it. If there’s ever anything I can do, just tell me.”
We shared a warm look, and I turned to go back inside. However, a thought struck me, and I turned around. “Sir, there’s one thing.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to take some leave while we’re near Hampton Roads. Let’s stop at a port of call.”
As before, I could see the effect of the wind, but I could not feel it. I understood this now to mean that I was not part of this world in the way I’d been before. The sounds didn’t meet my ears correctly, nor did the earthy smell of parched grass, fresh dirt, and wilting bouquets of flowers tickle my nose as they would’ve had I been alive in this place.
I walked through the quiet graveyard, pulled by a preternatural knowledge of where my earthly remains had been interred. Even if I didn’t know, it would’ve been easy to guess; there was a fresh grave in the northwest corner of the cemetery, the simple marker bearing more stones than any other grave around it.
I came to a halt at the foot of my grave. The small marker wasn’t the permanent one—that would be installed next year. Instead, a simple plate now bore my name, birth and death dates, and rank in both English and Hebrew. My parents would’ve had the option to inter my remains at a national cemetery, even the one in Arlington, but they wouldn’t have entertained any other choice besides the Jewish cemetery near our home. Surprisingly, they’d honored my career by placing an anchor on the marker.
I kneeled down and brushed my fingers over the stones left by my mourners, which were so many that the plot appeared to be cobblestoned. I’d had many friends in life, people from school, my synagogue, my neighborhood, and other places. My family
would’ve flown in from all over the country.
What had they said at my funeral? The older adults would’ve whispered to each other that my parents were horim shakulim, orphaned parents. How sad, they would’ve said. Perhaps death will come to them early, they would’ve whispered. Their only child, lost so young, so tragically.
I removed my Bronze Star letter from my pocket and laid it on my grave. There it would stay, forever, unless I or another ghost removed it. I stood and inhaled deeply, trying to lock onto a scent. Perhaps my mother had been here recently and her perfume was wafting on the breeze.
I’d prepared a message for my parents, as formal as the letter I’d just laid down. But I needed it to be formal—otherwise there was a high risk of me crying while I spoke. Formality provided distance.
“I have a message for all of you,” I said. “I’m speaking to the living, and I know my words will stay here long after I’ve gone back. I forgive you for the words you said when I joined the Navy. You spoke in anger and fear. You called me selfish and ungrateful. Let me assure you that I have never been ungrateful for all you gave me. As for being selfish, I don’t think it’s wrong for an adult to follow their heart and make a way for themselves in the world. But please know that I’ve left this letter here as a testament to the honor I will always try to bring my family.”
My family would come here again and again, and perhaps, deep down, they’d hear the sentiment echoing down through the realms, landing in their heart and entrenching themselves there. A blessing from the beyond, my soul kissing them.
The breeze picked up, and I looked up at the green leaves of the tree that stood guard over my grave. My liberty period was almost up—it was time to leave.
I closed my eyes and felt myself slide back through space, onto the gangplank of the Rickover. The quiet of the cemetery was replaced by the clamor of bells, whistles, sailors calling to each other, and jets taxiing on the flight deck. Nearby, in the hangar bay, sailors were forming up in their dress whites for the exit into the Oceanus again.
I walked up the gangplank and signed back onto the ship. The liberty officer snapped his logbook shut. “You’re the last one. Go get into formation.”
I was already in my dress whites, knowing that this moment was coming. Besides, I wouldn’t have visited my grave in anything less.
One of the chiefs blew a whistle and directed us to stand alongside the edge of the ship, at the rails. “Hold out your arms and stand arm’s length apart, then stand at parade rest.”
I took my place at the rail, gazing out at Naval Station Norfolk. Across from us, the living dockworkers were preparing the dock for the USS Taft, which was scheduled to come in to dock today. I could see it out in the river, slicing through the water.
The Rickover’s horn blew. A dockworker piling rope at a pillar stopped and looked over his shoulder.
We began to move, silently sliding away from the dock, unencumbered by the friction from this world. I stood at parade rest, my face blank. Captain Hollander had ordered this ceremony, one last nod to the ship the four of us had called home.
We neared the Taft, and I almost broke into a grin. A glowing figure was sitting on the rails, waving to us. Rollins was still in his bloodstained uniform, but otherwise he looked great.
Bit by bit, the ships passed each other, so close, yet so far—separated by the sheer but ironclad veil of death. I held my head up a little higher. The Taft was coming home from deployment in despair, bruised and bleeding from the heavy losses she had taken. Little did they know that four of their own were still sailing, in a way more alive than we’d ever been. The fighting spirit of the Navy.
Soon the ship was behind us, and we were in the open ocean. Virginia Beach passed us, the tall hotels and attractions of the boardwalk bright and clear to all. My senior prom had been in one of those hotels. I’d been in the queen’s court. That part of me was now buried in a cemetery in Norfolk. The deeper part of me, the eternal part, was what remained.
The ship picked up speed, and then I felt the pressure of the weak spot all around me. Virginia Beach grew smaller, a fractured image inside an endless sea of lost souls.
Well, not all were lost. I knew exactly where I was.
I was where I was supposed to be.
THE END
Thank you for reading Sea of Lost Souls! If you enjoyed the journey, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. The review rating determines which books of mine receive sequels, so if you want more books in the Oceanus series, please leave a review!
Are you ready for the next chapter in Rachel’s story? The next books is called House of the Setting Sun, and it will debut in late 2019. In the mean time, keep reading for a preview of my superhero urban fantasy series, Battlecry.
Acknowledgments
A second series isn’t easier to write than the first, and I must acknowledge the people who helped me along the way.
First and foremost, all glory and thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ. Without daily prayer for inspiration and guidance, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.
Secondly, I dedicated this book to Sarah Spivak for a reason—it’s her book more than mine. Sarah, I never could’ve written Sea of Lost Souls without your incredible and never-ending support. You put up with my dumber questions, answered everything with patience and understanding, and helped form a beautiful narrator. I hope that Rachel is the kind of character you would’ve wanted to read growing up, and that you saw a measure of yourself in her.
Special thanks go out to Angela Sanders, my editor. Angela, you’re proof that God is real. I never could’ve dreamed that my editor would be a retired Chief. You brought this book to the next level, and I’m terribly eager to keep working with you. Similarly, special thanks go out to my beta readers Katherine and Emily. Your comments helped mold this story into something really great.
Many, many thanks go out to my husband Alex. One half of Rachel was formed by your stories of being in the nuclear navy, and I hope that you also found someone to root for in the nukes I created for you. I love your navy stories. Being married to you is a great adventure all by itself.
Finally, endless thanks go out to my fans and readers. You’re why I do this, and I adore you all.
About the Author
Emerald Dodge lives with her husband Alex and their two sons. Emerald and Alex enjoy playing with their children, date nights, hosting dinner parties for their friends, and watching movies. They are a Navy family and look forward to traveling around the nation and meeting new people. When she’s not writing, Emerald likes to cook, bake, go to Mass, pray the rosary, and FaceTime with her relatives.
Her favorite social media platform for interacting with fans is Tumblr. Message her on her Tumblr page!
If you’d like to receive Emerald’s newsletter, please sign up here. Emerald regularly sends out newsletters with updates on her books, exclusive book promotions, and book bargains.
About Battlecry
For one superhero, the good guys can be deadlier than the bad guys.
Jillian Johnson, known as the mighty Battlecry, was born into a superhero cult. She craves a life of freedom, far away from her violent and abusive team leader, Patrick. With no education, no money, and no future to speak of, she's stuck in the dangerous life... until she meets the mysterious and compelling Benjamin, a civilian with superpowers. When Patrick confronts her, she fights back--and then runs for her life. One by one, her ex-teammates join her until a new team has formed.
But Patrick will not let his upstart teammates get away so easily. Humiliated and hellbent on vengeance, he waits for his chance to strike back and kill the new team, and he is happy to murder superheroes and civilians alike. On top of that, Benjamin has joined Jillian and her comrades, angering his own lethal family. Jillian's enemies begin to close in from all sides.
Desperate and in hiding, Jillian must shed everything she thinks she knows about what it means to lead. Can she rise up to the challenge of defeating Patrick? Can she save Ben
jamin from his family? Or will she die like every other superhero who's dared to challenge the cult?
If you like the gritty, understated superheroes in Netflix's Jessica Jones and the raw urban fantasy of Veronica Roth, you'll get sucked into Emerald Dodge's Battlecry!
Pick up Battlecry, and join Jillian's team today!
Battlecry - Chapter One
The eighteenth bomb exploded.
Flattened against a wall beside a stinking dumpster, I crouched and maneuvered my finger beneath the fabric of my mask to remove a piece of shrapnel caught there. I was so grateful the media couldn’t photograph superheroes.
A nineteenth bomb exploded down the street.
I straightened and peered around the corner. The bombs didn't frighten me. I’d faced worse in my six months as a superhero on my city’s team. Adrenaline surged through me during battles leaving no room for fear. My teammates were out there. A volley of explosions had forced us to scatter fifteen minutes before. They now hid somewhere among the twisted wreckage, abandoned ambulances and police vehicles, smoking shells of cars, and shards of glass. Before I made any decisions, I had to know their whereabouts and condition.
I sprinted across the broken road. The blood rushed in my ears so loudly I could barely hear the maniac’s yells from where he stood on top of the overturned armored car. Civilians huddled sporadically around the scene, clinging to each other. Others were pinned beneath rubble, trapped there when the man’s fireballs exploded and threw out shrapnel.
My quick glances towards the armored car revealed that I stood the closest to the masked bomber, since I couldn’t see anyone else. It was up to me to do something, even though I was just as vulnerable to fireballs as the rest of my teammates. I didn’t mind the death-inviting responsibility. My teammates were, with one exception, far more likable than me. My death wouldn’t make that much of an impact.
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