chapter 4

The next day was much as it was the day before. I woke up tired and sore, although thankfully not hungover this time. Scully had me strip the siding down of a 32 footer on the dry dock. It was old wooden sailing ship and was well overdue for re-planking. It belonged to an old couple who it seemed barely had the time or energy to take it out on the water and were planning to have it restored and gifted to their nephew as a wedding present. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect as judging by the timbers I was pulling off the boat probably wouldn’t have lasted more than a year or two in the water. There were already some holes forming and some gaps and splits in the woodwork. Luckily none below the waterline.

The next few days were largely uneventful I slowly made my way around the re-planking work. It was slow and tedious work forming shaping and cutting the wood to fit but I enjoyed it all the same. It was nice to have a long project to work on. There was a pleasant sense of stability that came with waking up each day and knowing exactly what you had to do for the day.

After spending the best part of the week in a flow state of sanding, sawing and planking; it had completely slipped my mind about the events the previous week. I had gotten a quarter way through the bottom planking when the thought struck me. It had been almost a week now. Perhaps there had been some news or update on the disappearance.

I took my gloves off dusted myself off, pulled the tarp back over the ship and made my way over to the harbor masters office. As I walked across the docks I peered over at the old fishing boat still tied up down the northern end. There was something unnerving about it. It was like staring at a crime scene or car crash. There was something deeply unnerving about it but it was hard to look away.

The door clanged against the bell as I walked into the office.

"Glen my lad, take a seat boy. Black, green or grey?" He said pointing over to his collection of assorted tea bags.

"I'll take an earl grey, cheers Scully"

"Right you are my boy right you are." He said tossing a bag into mug. "How's the re-hulling going on the Desmond’s boat?"

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"It's going alright" I replied reaching out a hand to receive my tea. "About a third of the way through the process now."

"Good to hear good to hear"

"So.... did you hear anything about the...."

"Nothing, the coast guards have been up and down the coast no sign of him. One day he goes out fishing and he wasn't seen nor heard of for a month. Well... I s'pose he still ain't been seen none." He grumbled to himself before taking a sip "Investigations comin' to a close at the end of the week."

"So that's it they don't find anything for a week and they give up"

"Afraid so. He has been missing a month already. Can't expect 'em to keep going forever with nothing to go on."

We chatted business for a little longer. Scully had me help him winch the Jetson's boat the 'Schooner or later' onto dry dock for repainting. We got it winched up tucked away in a spot on the dry dock and I made my way back home to Ussain.

I pulled out some bread and some sausages from the fridge and set to making myself a sarnie for dinner. As the meat hit the frying pan the oil spat up and singed my arm. I recoiled back at my now frying forearm, dropping the.spatula in the process. Grabbing a clean towel I ran it under the tap and slapped it on my arm to cool the burn, hissing in pain all the while. After a few moments of grunting and grimacing the popping noises coming from the pan reminded me of what I was doing. I flicked the hob off and crouched to the floor to search for the fallen spatula. It was wedged in the gap between the cooker and the cupboard. As I pulled it from the crevice I noticed that it wasn't the only thing stuck there.

I thrust my un-burnt arm into the gap and fished it out. It was a book. It was that book. I had been so busy with the mooring and with work that I had entirely forgotten about it. I tossed the thing to the side for the moment and went to rescue my dinner.

A few minutes and a thoroughly charred sausage sandwich later I sat down at the table with the book. I took a deep breath, steeled myself and cracked open a beer as I readied myself. The last time I read from the book McGregor’s boat crashed on the beach. I ran my fingers over the books cover, hovering over the edge for a minute before flipping the book open to the next page.

'March 11th - Supermarkets seafood aisles turn up empty. News casters outside of Lidl’s. Dillon cooks ratatouille because he couldn't get sea food for his bouillabaisse.

"Whats a bouillabaisse?" I said to no one but myself before being interrupted by a loud clattering from above. I stood up to investigate what on earth was making that kind of noise at ten o clock in what was essentially and empty harbor. As I climbed out onto the deck I looked around for the source of the noise. It sounded like clanking metal and it was getting closer.

I peered out across the dim harbor squinting across the sparsely lit expanses of wood and concrete. It took a while to make it out but as it edged it's way closer the streetlights dotting the water front I could make out what seemed to be a shopping trolley being pushed by something, something small, something black.

"Squawk!" the shadowy figure said turning to another running in behind it.

"Are those...penguins?"

The little birds stopped. They looked at each other for a moment and then turned and appeared to be staring at me.

"Hey!" Came a low squeaky voice from behind me.

I turned to find something small and black perched on ledge behind me. Swinging something very hard, very fast, right at my head.