by Michael Cole
Hal fumbled along the floor, tossing aside various tools. Finally, he grasped the rounded flashlight handle. He leaned against the engine and pressed the button, shining it against the side wall. The red paint of the rusty wall came into view.
That caved in towards Hal in a sudden motion. The metal siding pressed inward into a bizarre cone-like shape, then breached. Flaps of metal peeled apart like flower pedals. Water burst into the room, preceding the snout of the enormous red shark that penetrated the vessel. Hal didn’t have time to notice the irregularities, such as the protruding antennae and rigid exoskeleton. He only saw the black eyes open and close again, and rows of teeth bulging from red gums. Hal jolted in fright and yelled out, dropping his flashlight. It spun in the swishing water, illuminating both Hal and the beast in brief circular flashes.
It bit down on his torso. Teeth tore into his wrinkly flesh, drawing blood. Hal squirmed in its grasp. His yells were ceased as the entire room flooded with water.
With its prey in its mouth, the shark twisted its body violently until it shook itself loose from the breach. It opened its mouth and chomped down, creating a hundred more simultaneous puncture wounds. It repeated this motion, until Hal’s body broke into several bloody parts. The shark swallowed each one.
It circled about, making sure it didn’t leave behind any bit of its meal. It determined there was nothing left and swam off in search of more sustenance.
The Brisk Cold continued filling with sea water until the added weight overcame its buoyancy. Water flooded the cargo hold, causing the stern to dip first. The bow tipped up and slowly lowered at a forty-five-degree angle, tilting to starboard.
Many of the loose items in the wheelhouse fell toward the back with the pull of gravity. On the countertop, the opened whiskey bottle, Hal’s last prized item, fell on its side, spilling its contents.
CHAPTER
9
Golden brown whiskey splashed down into the three-ounce glass, leveling off at the rim. Forster held the glass up, eyeballing her tiny reflection. She sat by herself at the far side of the counter in a bar called Lionfish. Brown lights hung from the ceiling, mixed with yellow lights to produce a gold-like shine. This detail annoyed her. Assuming the place was named after the fish of the same name, they had the colors wrong. Lion fish were more red and white than brown. She had seen the owner slip in and out of the back hallway, where she presumed his office was located. The only employee present otherwise was the bartender, who kept to himself as he cleaned the counter. She ignored the drive to bring the inaccuracy to his attention, but immediately realized doing such a thing would be foolish.
She drank the whiskey. The burn down her throat was another reminder that she was no longer a drinker. She only managed to get a third of the glass down before stopping. She chased it down with some water, then checked her watch. It was approaching 11:00. Her instinct screamed at her to return home and get some desperately needed sleep before getting up the next morning. However, this was a rare moment she was feeling truly relaxed and wanted to savor it. With last call being at midnight, she knew she had some time.
The bar was mostly empty, typical for a Monday evening. A few people sat at the booths, while a few more huddled at the bar. Night owls and retirees, most likely. As long as they didn’t bother her, Forster didn’t mind. Getting out in town was rare, with the tension between local residents and resort staff being so high. They most likely didn’t recognize her as a resort employee. Whatever the case, she was just happy to be left alone. She slowly downed the rest of the glass, while trying not to think of the failures in her life that led to this misery. Day in and day out, her mind would fixate on the assault that ruined her career. She fantasized about somehow being able to travel back in time and do things differently. Of course, that fantasy only made the mental agony worse.
All I had to do was walk away. Her mind scolded her with this alternate choice. Sometimes it sounded as if her father was talking to her. It was those moments that made sleep hard to come by.
A slight buzz started setting in. It provided a small escape. Being a light weight drinker was helpful in this regard. It allowed her mind to drift away, although there was the mindful thought of how much whiskey she should consume. She recalled celebrating her doctorate, where it seemed to take a fifth of Bourbon to get her wasted. Prison certainly set her back. Now it seemed a few shots did the trick. But she didn’t mind, as she appreciated the quick timing.
She heard the ringing sound from the front entrance, as a man entered the bar. She only saw him in her peripheral vision and didn’t pay much attention beyond his basic looks. He was a well-dressed man in his forties, with a black shirt tucked into blue jeans. She heard him walk up to the bar. He didn’t take a seat, rather he put both hands on the counter. She tilted her gaze toward him, curious. He didn’t appear aggressive, but distressed. The bartender recognized him.
“You okay, Jeffrey?” he asked. Jeffrey shook his head.
“Do you know if Luke got my resumé?” he asked.
“I believe so,” the bartender said. “I don’t know what the status is. I don’t think he’s looking to…”
“Can I please speak with him?” Jeffrey said, cutting him off. The bartender paused, clearly unsure of what to say.
“He’s a little busy at the moment. He’s about to leave for the night.”
“I just need a minute with him,” Jeffrey said. His tone was very insistent. Realizing there was no quicker way to satisfy the individual, the bartender stepped around the corner to the hallway. Forster casually watched as he returned, followed by the manager. By the way the top few buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned, it seemed that the bartender wasn’t lying when he said he was getting ready to leave. Forster finished her glass, unable to keep from overhearing the conversation.
“Hi Jeffrey, what can I do for you?” the manager asked.
“Hey Luke, I’m here to follow up on my application,” Jeffrey said.
“Jeffrey, I told you before, I don’t have anything for you, man,” Luke the manager said. His voice displayed sympathy, but also a frank attitude. Subtle hints of desperation began to present in Jeffrey’s body language; most notably, a small nervous shudder. It was not the answer he wanted.
“Luke, listen, Sir…” he paused, trying and failing not to sound desperate, “Listen, I haven’t been bringing anything in to market. The fish just aren’t there anymore. Now my wife received news that she might be getting laid off from the grocery store. I can do anything. I can even just do a few hours a week in back stock.” Luke scrunched his face and shook his head.
“Listen, man, I’m sorry,” he said. “Believe me, I want to help ya, but there’s nothing here. I’ve already cut down the hours of most of my steady staff. Full time employees are now working part-time. If I add you in, it’ll cut into their hours. You see how there’s only a few people here? Business is down by a third, because people are in a similar predicament. I’m sorry.” There was a slight nod from the bartender as he proceeded to wipe things down. Understanding there was no chance of finding work with the bar, Jeffrey backed from the counter.
“I understand,” he said. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, Bud,” Luke the manager said. He left to return to his office. Jeffrey stood defeated for a moment. He turned to the door, then suddenly looked back, doing a double take at Forster. She could feel his eyes burning into her temple. She felt herself become suddenly alert. He slapped a hand down on the counter near her. She barely managed not to flinch. It was not her first unfriendly encounter with local residents. She looked up at him, more annoyed than confused at his actions.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She noticed his polite demeanor was gone, replaced by a hostile stance.
“I know who you are,” he growled. “You’re the marine biologist lunatic, who supposedly loves animals, who works for somebody who helps kill them. I saw that video of you kicking a shark today. Very friendly of you. What are you doing here?” Thir
ty seconds ago, Forster was feeling sympathy for the man. It had quickly rescinded.
“I was enjoying some peace and quiet,” she said. “Something I don’t seem to get very often.”
“Good,” he said. “’Cause you got no business being here. You assholes are the reason our fishing community is falling apart.”
Normally, she would respond to these accusations by explaining that she had no knowledge of Felt’s affiliation with Wan Industries, and equal knowledge of the illegal dumping of toxic waste until after it was discovered. But she had grown tired of explaining this to people who continued to hold any Felt employee responsible. Now it was instant anger when approached on the subject.
“Seeing that I can at least afford a drink, I’d say you’re the one with no business being here.” Hostility radiated from both of them. All eyes in the bar turned toward them. Jeffrey straightened his stance and creased a smile; it was not a friendly one.
“Oh, you have real nerve,” he said. “Before you came to this island, I was doing great. My wife and I were bringing in decent incomes. Then your buddy gives Wan a place to dump her garbage, in exchange for a few extra bucks to build his so-called paradise.” He held up his hands to mimic air quotes. “Now, we might have to foreclose our new house.” He stopped and looked at the other patrons. He raised his voice as he spoke to the room. “Hey, guys! Everybody! You see this person here?! Are you aware this person works at Felt’s Paradise?”
Some people didn’t respond, intending to keep out of the quarrel. A few others, however, called out some derogatory comments toward Forster. Her temper gradually slipped away. The difficulty to find sleep did not help, nor did the intake of bourbon. She could feel her hands starting to shake from the adrenaline. She steadied herself and simply tried to pour another glass, hoping that Jeffrey would grow bored and go away.
“What? No more classy remarks?” he said. Clearly, her plan was not going to work. She turned her head slightly toward him, just enough to look him in the eye.
“Listen pal, I’m sorry about your situation,” she said, “but if you don’t move along, it’s gonna get a helluva lot worse.” A mocking “Ooooooooh” sound echoed across the room from many of the patrons in unison. The bartender was the only person who appeared particularly uncomfortable. He moved over to Forster’s end of the counter.
“Listen, guys, can we please break this up?” he asked. He looked up to Jeffrey. “Jeff, come on man, I know she’s just a…” he cut himself off for a quick moment, though Forster already knew he was going to say something unfavorable toward her. “It…it’s just not worth it, man. Just go home, alright?”
Forster started to sip on her glass. Jeffrey reached down and slapped it out of her hand.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, bitch….”
A hard left cracked his front teeth, quickly followed by a right to his stomach. Jeffrey found himself bent over as if about to puke, with a hand covering his bloody mouth, and another on his bruised gut. He barely had time to groan as Forster lifted her right knee into his face. It nearly flattened his nose, and put him on his back. He hit the edge of a square table on his way down. It crashed down, sending a full pitcher of beer falling down on his head.
In a manner like déjà vu, the memory of the assault on her teammate came flooding back. The blood on his face, the painful yells, the hands covering his injured areas. Then there was one last thing; the inevitable group of people who immediately responded to the fellow’s aide.
Many of the patrons stood up and marched over. A couple went over to Jeffrey, while others stood across from Forster, seemingly in a standoff. The manager burst from his office and saw the chaos unfolding.
“What the hell’s going on here!” he yelled.
Forster eyeballed the many people who stared her down. Clearly, they didn’t care for the circumstances of the incident. They instantly took sides with their fellow fisherman. A few women stood behind the group of men.
“Get her out of here,” one of them said, pushing her man forward. With fists clenched, Forster looked him in the eye.
“You next?”
********
Images of red and blue flashes seemed to burn into Forster’s eyes as she sat in the back seat of the blue patrol SUV. The flashers illuminated the side of the building, alternating between red and blue while a couple of deputies stood outside the vehicle. She had watched them take statements from multiple patrons. While they did so, she couldn’t help but heckle each one to herself, knowing they were giving a sob story of how the nice, poor fisherman, who is down on his luck because of the fishing crisis, was viciously assaulted by the mean Felt employee. She was already aware of the high probability that everybody was giving a biased account of the incident. Her only concern was that some of these deputies might possibly be just as biased, and choose to believe them. There was nothing she could do but sit, with her hands cuffed behind her back.
She glanced to the right of the vehicle, where an ambulance was parked close by. Inside its large square box, Jeffrey was being looked over by two paramedics. On his way in, she clearly heard him lie, flat out, that she assaulted him ‘out of nowhere’.
Forster kept quiet, and also kept calm. With it not being her first time cuffed in a police vehicle, she had a good idea of what to do. Her main relief was that Chief Nelson was on scene, speaking with Luke the manager inside the bar. She witnessed his animated antics as he shouted at the Chief about the damage she caused. The phrase that stood out the most was his desire to press charges. That didn’t bother her so much as the expression on Nelson’s face when he realized that she was the suspect. It was a combination of shock, displeasure, and worst of all, disappointment. Though he was only twelve years older than Forster, it still made her think of the disappointment her father likely would feel. That was worse than any jail sentence or fine.
For what seemed like forever, Nelson conducted his interviews inside the bar. At first, Forster was anxious to find out what was going to happen. Now, in a police vehicle of all places, she found herself starting to drift off. Images of dreams started glimmering, intermingled with sights and sounds of real life. Then, finally, she snapped back into reality after hearing Chief Nelson exiting the bar. He was anything but the bumbling, confused cop she had helped earlier. His very presence exuded authority. The manager stepped out after him, stopping just outside the entrance as Nelson proceeded down the steps.
“Okay fine!” he called down. “But still, she is not permitted in my business! I own this bar, and I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone I choose! We don’t serve her kind!” Nelson scoffed, not bothering to look back at him.
“Alright, I’ll let her know,” he said. The manager stepped back inside, slamming the door behind him. Nelson walked to Forster’s side of the vehicle and opened the door. She looked up at him.
“I guess this wouldn’t be a good time to call you Joe, huh?” she remarked. He didn’t laugh. Forster realized the humor was not going to do her any good. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. Nelson gestured for her to step out. She planted her feet on the ground and stood out of the car. Her knee still ached from the fight. “So, what’s going on? Am I getting charged, or what?” Chief Nelson stepped behind her and removed her cuffs.
“Believe me, that’s all he wanted,” he said. “Same with Jeff. Thanks to me, that’s not the case. I had him show me the video feed.” What he omitted was the manager’s initial refusal to show the footage, knowing it would display the truth of the matter. Only when Nelson insisted that he needed to see it in order to complete an investigation, did the manager reluctantly comply. “I looked at it, and I saw the whole thing. The guy touched you first. Simple as that.”
Forster moved her wrists to ease out the strain from the cuffs. “Well, I guess that’s that.” Chief Nelson raised a finger.
“Oh yes, he wants me to tell you…”
“I’m not allowed here anymore,” Forster completed his sentence. “Yeah, I heard him. Intere
sting decision considering he insists his business is losing money. But whatever.” She looked around for her car, until she remembered she parked at the end of the lot. She turned to Nelson. “I’m assuming I’m free to go?” Nelson nodded. “Sorry for the trouble. Thanks for your help.” She started walking away.
“Hey, Julie?” Nelson called back to her. She slowed down and looked back, allowing Nelson to catch up to her. They both continued walking down the lot. “So, what the hell were you thinking, hanging out over here tonight?” She grimaced.
“What do you mean?”
“Gimme a break. You know exactly what I mean,” he said.
“What? Am I under house arrest, or something? Is there some law against me going anywhere other than home or work?”
“No. But with everything that’s going on, did you not think that anything was going to happen?” Forster stopped and faced him.
“You want to know why I was here? First, I haven’t been here before, so I thought I wouldn’t be recognized. Second; my phone doesn’t get a signal over here. I couldn’t sleep at home, because every half hour I would get texts or phone calls from either Felt, or one of the aides at the aquarium. I can’t get any sleep.”
“You think I don’t know what that’s like?” Nelson said, pointing at himself. “Why do you think I’m here right now? I was finally getting some decent sleep when I get a personal call from Luke in there,” he pointed back to the bar. Both a pro and con of being an island police chief, every person knew him almost on a first name basis and knew how to get in touch with him personally.
It was a reversal of earlier that afternoon. Now, for the first time, Nelson spoke to her with exasperation; something she was not used to. Normally, whenever they encountered each other, it was laughs and good times. But the stress of both their lives had caught up with them.
