Haunting Savannah: 8 Dark and Seductive Tales

by Lia Davis

  Chapter 7

  Holden stretched, and reached for the ceiling of the small cabin. He was moderately pleased to once again, be able to see his hands this new day. Pulling back the porthole cover, he realized he was well into the new day at that, judging by the lilt of the sun, whose rays were well above the opening where the morning’s first light should shine through. He had no way to gauge how late he had stayed up. The lights on the far side of the river had never been doused, and the crowd, while eventually growing thinner, had never fully dissipated either. He simply couldn’t fathom any reasons why.

  He had stood, sat, and stood again through the long dark hours, watching the unending traffic up and down the river. Even seeing with his own eyes, he could not believe the size of the ships that passed by. His mind struggled too, with the mass of the ships, and the lack of proportionate displacement. To his thinking, the river should have swelled up and beyond the banks repeatedly, but never did.

  Long before he emerged to the deck again, he heard the cacophony of noise from across the water. Though he expected that nothing would have changed, he dressed first just in case. He wistfully wished for a cup of coffee. He didn’t need one, any more than he had actually needed to lie down for sleep, but there was something about standing at the prow with a cup of steaming coffee in hand that was quintessential to mornings on the water. How strange after so long to wish for something cliché.

  He checked the weights, and made sure that he hadn’t drifted during the dark, before moving up the starboard side of the tug. Everything was right as rain, just as he expected it to be. Looking across the water, he shook his head. It would take far more than a day of watching this crowd to understand, or appreciate this new reality. It was too foreign.

  Hands on the rails, he watched the hustle of bodies moving along the western shore. Like the day before, no one seemed to notice he was there. Part of him wondered if it was a fluke, and he had somehow tripped into seeing this time, but he was misplaced, and not meant to see, or ever participate in it. As he watched, he couldn’t decide which was worse, seeing it but not being a part of it, or never having seen it at all, left to drift through the mist as he had for who knows how long? Eventually, he decided neither.

  Activity on the water had slowed dramatically. Through the night, ship after ship trekked up or down the river like a line of ants stocking the colony for the coming winter. He had been content to watch them, but was newly content to see beyond them. Catching his attention, a huge stone structure with large walls of shiny surfaces glinted back at him. Strange little decks with rails stuck out at even intervals and seemed to climb sixteen levels high. He wondered openly at it, and how it remained steadfast without somehow collapsing on itself was a curiosity.

  Allowing his gaze to drift left and right, there were others. Not all were so big as the first one, but many looked as though they could be, if they just grew a little. Part of him was debating how to go about investigating them. It had been an extremely long time since his one foray down the gain way. He vacillated. Did he dare consider trying to leave the ship? With the veil of fog lifted, or parted, could he bring himself to attempt it, if he could see what was at the end of the plank? If he left the ship, would he be able to return? And, once he stepped off, would he still be as though he weren’t present, or would he, once again, become corporeal?

  The heat of the day had not fully set in, yet he was damp with perspiration. He had not eaten, nor felt the need to consume anything in ages, and yet, he felt nauseous and sick to his stomach. The memory of stepping off the gain way with just a single foot, one time, rushed forward and buckled his knees. If he hadn’t been holding the rail, he knew he surely would have been on all fours heaving.

  A moment later, having let go the rail to reach up and wipe his brow, he did just that. In the span of a moment, his knees found wood, and his hands grasped for purchase against the worn, but well-polished surface of the deck. Just when he thought his hell was ended, a brand-new one appeared. No longer trapped in the mist alone, he was within shouting distance of hundreds of people who could not hear, see, or interact with him. Now, the idea of leaving the ship to reach them and try was debilitating. Death would have been preferable.

  Chapter 8

  Esme watched Captain Henry struggle against an unseen adversary. One moment he was standing, watching the crowd. The next, he was on all fours, cleaving for purchase against the wood deck of the tug, eventually rolling to his side in a ball. She couldn’t process the information. Was he ill? Was that what had taken everyone so long ago? A plague? Was the change she sensed coming an apocalypse brought to bear by a 150-year-old tugboat captain? Whatever was going on, he did not look well.

  She debated calling out to him, not fully convinced that he could hear her, or respond. She elected instead to watch. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do. Tonight was Halloween. As she wasn’t seeing anyone, much to the distress of her parents, she had no plans to go out. And, since she lived in the hotel where she worked, it wasn’t like she would get trick-or-treaters either. Resigned, she ducked inside, refilled her tea, and grabbed a book before returning to the balcony. She would watch, and wait, assuring herself that she would know what to do if, and when, the time came.

  She was frustrated to realize she had reread the same two pages a half-dozen times and had absorbed nothing. Every few lines she caught herself glancing up to check on the tug and its captain. By midmorning, he had recovered to stand on the deck, and nearer to lunch disappeared into the wheelhouse. Whatever the morning episode had been, it had ebbed with as little indication of the source as had been available at the onset.

  Esme was staring. She realized it absently, not knowing how long her attention had been so focused. A myriad of questions ran her mind, not the least of which was how long the tug would be visible, or if it would now be here forever. Also, would it sit anchored in the inlet, or ever venture out into, or across, the waterway? The longer it sat, buoyed up and down across the fanning currents from the passing ships, the more intent she became on getting answers, though navigating the slope of the eastern riverbank down to the inlet to do so was a dicey proposition at best.

  By dinnertime she was determined. Shoving sweaty, swollen feet into hiking boots, after changing into khakis and a long sleeve, she grabbed a bottle of water, her keys, and identification, heading for the door. Hesitating at the parking garage entrance, she detoured to the Riverwalk for one last look. As picturesque as it had been all day, the small tug rose and fell with the crashing ripples of wake that moved from the channel to shore with Captain Henry standing on deck, his attention fixed, focused upriver. She had to admit, even from the distance, his profile was still exceptional.

  She wished she had remembered bug repellent as soon as she exited her vehicle. The un-tamed terrain on the eastern side of the river was a veritable enclave of mosquitoes, and she was certain she was the only fresh meat they had encountered in ages. She slathered a medicinal smelling hand sanitizer across her hands and face, hoping it would be a fair substitution. Everything else was covered. Her cheeks tingled from the alcohol.

  In long sleeves, and long pants, she really wanted to leave her hair up for some semblance of comfort, but decided that saving her neck from bites might be worth the weight, and heat, of her hair. She pulled loose the ponytail, letting the long locks fall. If she weren’t determined to get answers here and now, she was fast approaching her own internal white flag. The air-conditioned comfort of the car all but had a hook and line to draw her back. She set off quickly before she could change her mind.

  If there was a trail to follow, she certainly couldn’t find one. The underbrush was thick and difficult to navigate. More than once, she had to stop to re-tie her boots or disentangle her hair from the mad cataclysm of branches. Thankfully, the distance between the road along the crest, and the shoreline below was relatively short. Unfortunately, footholds were nearly nonexistent. Several times along the short jaunt her footing gave way and
she was left flailing and scrambling to stay vertical. One time too many in fact, as the last time she took a quick slide the final ten feet or so, nearly ending up in the river itself. She was surprised, embarrassed, and a bit angry to hear the captain’s robust laughter.

  His response to her predicament surely answered one of the questions. He could definitely see her. Time to find out the answer to another. “It’s not funny!” She shouted back.

  His laughter stopped abruptly, the jovial expression across his face was replaced instantly with shock. As she watched, he crossed the deck to the near port-side rail and stared her down. “You can hear me?” He asked, sounding astonished.

  “Of course I can hear you, what a silly question. I’m not deaf.” She snapped. “I can quite clearly discern your laughter at my expense.”

  “A thousand pardons,” he almost sounded reticent, “I didn’t realize.”

  Esme fought to control her temper. “You might consider that it would be impolite to laugh even if I could not hear you. But, as I’m sure it was far more amusing to observe than to endure, I will let it pass.” She responded in a huff as she tried to get her bearings.

  Finally on her feet, a scant few inches from the water’s edge, she turned to face him fully. If it was shock that she had noticed before, the expression on his face now was pure confusion. He looked her up and down. Not to be outdone, or endure his inspection without returning the favor, she mirrored his actions back to him, doing her best not to laugh as his mouth fell open. She barely managed to suppress the chuckle as he stammered to ask his next question.

  “Can you see me?” He finally managed with amazement.

  Deciding it was now or never, she jumped in with both feet. “Yes. Quite clearly in fact, Captain Henry.”

  The only thing whiter than his already pale face, were his knuckles from grabbing the rail for support.

  Chapter 9

  “Dress me up and call me Sally…How do you know who I am?” Holden dropped without thinking of his words as he leaned over the port side rail. The commotion of the comely female crashing through the thicket, before she slipped, slid, and came just shy of splashing into the river had stunned him. Her responding to his laughter, had added shock. There was no suitable word for the level of astonishment he experienced when she addressed him by name.

  Her next words, leveled him where he stood. He had no sense of how to respond to her question when she asked, “Permission to come aboard?”

  His thoughts unclear, his mind as addled and muddy as the river bottom, he replied with a question of his own. “What time is it?”

  Her face betrayed her confusion, but she lifted the edge of her sleeve to look at her wrist, the action making no sense to him. She replaced the fabric before looking up to respond. “It’s nearly 7:30.”

  “7:30?” He queried as he processed her response. “No, I mean, what year is it?”

  Comprehension dawned across her features. “Oh. It’s 2015.”

  “Lord have mercy.” He muttered under his breath as he wrestled with the implications. “But, then how do you know who I am?” He added, a bit louder.

  Her responding smile was tender. “That Captain, is a long story. Perhaps, if you would lower the gain way, we could sit and talk, and we can help one another understand.” She said softly, her hands out in gentle supplication.

  “I’m not certain that is a wise idea. I don’t know the effects it could have on you.” He answered honestly.

  “Surely your vessel is as sturdy as ever.” She stated more than questioned.

  “For me, nothing about it has changed. Though, unless you are, as I am, I’m not sure if you would actually manage to come aboard, or land in the water you so narrowly missed before.”

  Her expression changed, her delicate features scrunching together and relaxing in turn as she thought. He waited patiently for her next words, taking in her appearance as she did. Her strange clothing did nothing to hide her alluring set of curves, the long cascade of her soft brown hair making his hands twitch to run his fingers through. She surprised him again when she spoke next.

  “So, you supposition that you are not wholly corporeal?” She asked.

  “Your leap of understanding leaves me at a distinct disadvantage. Can we not talk as we are now?” He inquired.

  Her laughter was soft and lilting before she spoke. “Yes, I suppose that would be possible, though awkward, and significantly uncomfortable after a time as I believe the conversation would not be brief. Would you consider tucking into a sloop on the other side?” She gestured across the river. “At least there, perhaps I could pull up a chair. Or, perhaps you could disembark to join me on land.”

  He fought for control as the old familiar feeling cropped up and began to stir his stomach. Could he? With the veil parted now, allowing him to see the destination, could he set foot again on land? Fear had never been in his vocabulary before that ominous moment in the thick, obscuring fog. He vacillated his response. “We could try.”

  Her shoulders shrugged, and an arm came up, pointing across the water to a small jetty on the other side. “There is a short dock just there at the north end of the Riverwalk. You should be able to pull in easily. If then you are unable to leave your ship, at least I can sit down, and not be fighting the insects like I am here. Would that work?”

  Nodding, he acquiesced to her suggested compromise. “I’m willing to attempt it. Will you be able to get back up the embankment?”

  She shot him an unreadable look. “Yes, I will. I really am far more coordinated than this trek would betray my abilities to be. Give me to the top of the hour to return to the far side of the river, and get into clean clothes. I’m afraid my backside is well caked with mud and everything else I slid across to reach this point.”

  Holden easily determined that he was going to enjoy watching her retreat. Obviously, he couldn’t say so. “I will give you to the bottom of the next hour. The traffic along this channel is intermittent. That should give me time to navigate safely across, and you time to change and return to the shore. Is that acceptable?”

  “It is. I’ll see you then.” She answered, turning without further comment. As she suspected, her backside was indeed streaked brown and green from her rapid descent to the river. Still, it was alluring and tempting. His belated thought had her turning when he called out. “Tell me your name. You know mine, it only seems fair.”

  “Esme, Captain. My name is Esme.” She answered before resuming her trek up the slope. ‘Esme’ he considered, smiling. It suited her. It also suited him, even as it had been his grandmother’s name.

  He stayed in place, leaning on the rails, watching her retreating form until she was no longer visible. The sway of her hair only served to accentuate and call attention to the curve of her hips as she climbed. He found he needed to adjust himself long before she was out of sight. He determined he would require until the bottom of the next hour to get himself, and his thoughts, under control. His mind had detoured from his questions as soon as she had turned around.

  Chapter 10

  Esme felt the captain’s gaze on her as she climbed. A smug, satisfied smile bloomed across her face. She probably shouldn’t be, but she was content to know he was watching. In 1865, he had been a commanding, and intimidating male. In 2015, he was every bit as commanding, but no longer intimidating. Instead, he was enticing. What she had been unable to discern from across the river, had been easy to observe, and appreciate, in closer proximity. Though now pale, his well-chiseled features were still striking. She found him extremely attractive. Time had not diminished the broad cut of his shoulders, nor the taper to his waist. Even clad in the ancient seafaring clothes from his time, there was no mistaking the power of his build. She was certain that his musculature would rival anyone now, and probably had then.

  Unthinking, she hopped into the car and sped off, only belatedly realizing that she had just covered the driver’s seat with vegetation and mud. Her thoughts raced as she crossed the expa
nsion bridge, rummaging through her closet for an appropriate change of clothes in her mind. She shouldn’t be concerned with her appearance for what would likely be a confusing, and lengthy discussion, but she was. She found her stomach was aflutter with the idea of being closer to him shortly.

  Just before 8:30, she watched him navigate into the berth at the small pier. Her knee length skirt, and loose, soft, short-sleeved blouse ruffled in the breeze. Neither she, nor most she knew, would consider it dressed up, but the outfit made her feel pretty. She recognized the appreciative glance when he noticed her, before he schooled his features.

  The tug secured, he moved to stand near the rail. She couldn’t help but notice the apprehension in his expression as he looked at the dock. She wondered to herself what would cause his hesitation. “Will you come ashore?” She asked softly.

  “If my arithmetic skills have not failed me, it has been one hundred fifty years since I last put foot on land. I find I am more than a bit overwhelmed at the notion.” He replied, surprising her with his honesty, and the exposure. “Perhaps we could begin here. You said there would be seating?”

  She chuckled at his expression as she let the camp chair bag slide down her arm, removed the contents, and set it near the sloop on the dock. There were likely a great many things that she knew of, and took for granted, that would be small marvels to him. Still, watching him from the corner of her eye as she set the chair, she couldn’t help but be amused. Taking a seat, she waited for him to pull up a chair of his own.

  Once settled, he wasted no time. “I find I am still curious to know how you know who I am.” He opened without preamble.

  Esme snickered behind her hand. “Once upon a time,” she began, “you were quite aggrieved to find me aboard your ship.”