1. The bar squatted at the edge of the docks like a sodden cardboard box, its weathered planks warped and graying. A haphazard patchwork of repairs defined the structure – mismatched wood, rusted corrugated metal, and what looked suspiciously like parts of an old boat – gave the impression of a building held together by sheer stubbornness.

The pub's neon sign was the only thing that looked new, an electric-blue fish perpetually sipping from a uranium-green bottle. It proclaimed "Sloshed Sea-bass" in a headache-inducing purple that pulsed arrhythmically, as if even the electricity couldn't be bothered to function properly here.

Lenox pulled out his phone as the duo approached the bar. He ensured that his location services were turned on and that his parents and friends were able to track his location. He also sent a text to his girlfriend, Penelope.

"Going to the sketchiest bar ever. If you don't hear from me in 2 hrs, contact the police."

He immediately received a reply: the message failed to send. Lenox cursed under his breath as he remembered Penelope's refusal to accept his money for overseas service.

The door hung slightly askew on its hinges, requiring Davy to lift and push simultaneously to open it. As they crossed the threshold, Lenox was struck by the abrupt transition. Outside was the vast expanse of sea and sky; inside was a world compressed, dark, and intimate.

He stepped into the gloomy room, happy to at least be out of the ferocious ocean breeze. Lenox found, rather than dampening, that the wind seemed to increase indoors. The interior of the Sloshed Sea-bass was a cavern of wood and shadows. What little light made it through the grimy windows was quickly swallowed by dark, smoke-stained walls. The air was thick with the ghosts of a thousand cigarettes, despite a prominently displayed "No Smoking" sign that looked older than Lenox himself.

Mismatched tables and chairs were scattered about, each bearing the scars of countless drunken nights – knife-carved initials, cigarette burns, and stains of indeterminate origin. The bar itself was a massive, twisted slab of driftwood, polished to a dull sheen by countless elbows and spilled drinks. Behind it loomed a wall of bottles, their labels faded and peeling, promising libations both familiar and frighteningly exotic.

And there, like the presiding spirit of this den of inebriation, stood the bartender. He was a mountain of a man, his muscles rippling beneath a tapestry of faded tattoos that told stories of a life lived hard and fast. His bald head gleamed in the dim light, and as they entered, he regarded the pair with an impassive expression.

"Er... Davy. Are you certain this place is still open?" Lenox said, eyeing the dilapidated interior. "Or is all of this some grand scheme to kidnap and ransom me? I had thought Maurice a better sort than that, but money makes men do strange things."

At this comment, the statuesque man behind the bar guffawed. His laughter, deep and resonant, seemed to shake the very foundations of the rickety structure. "A rich boy who knows Maurice, and has lured Davy from his hole! You must be the new owner of the Emerelda."

The man performed something between a mocking curtsy and a bow, pretending to doff a hat from his bald, shining head. "What brings you to my fine establishment, m'lord? Come to collect dues from your serfs? Well, what can this yonder servant procure for his highness? How about a round of me worst garbage, at a 200% markup?"

The muscled man seemed utterly possessed. Any other man performing his lines would have provoked second-hand embarrassment among his audience. But the sheer delight this man took in his actions, coupled with his imposing physical presence, made his words and gestures seem like the most natural thing in the world.

Lenox was taken aback by this raucous display. The accompanying chuckle from the man echoed in the bar and transformed to the laughter of a famed comic's audience. Feeling the ire of an incorporeal mass, Lenox turned eraser pink.

Up to this point, Lenox felt like he was dealing with his move well. It wasn't what he expected- Not even close. He had thought he would have a traditional college experience, at least to some degree. His parents had other ideas for him, that was fine. Reginald had an expectation of who he should be, that was fine. His chef had dragged him along to an orphanage he learned he owned, which was incredibly stressful, but fine. Now he had to babysit Davy, which was FINE.

Everything had been fine. Lenox was used to responsibility, he was not used to being a joke.

"I am rich. That's right. I have money." Lenox's voice crescendoed. "I don't need a reminder of that. I certainly don't need a half-baked pirate dancing around his shitty bar insulting me before he knows my name." Now, Lenox's voice was a shout. "What is wrong with you people!? Everyone on this island is a fucking freak. YOU'RE ALL WEIRD. Can you just lay off for ONE SECOND. FUCK. Not a single person has been normal, not a single, 'Hello, nice to meet you' it's all 'do this' or 'rich brat'. I just got here YESTERDAY."

Lenox was an overhot boiler. With his last words he punched the wall. His fist went clean through the old weathered wood of the Sloshed Bass. The wood snapped, the dry lumber making an explosive noise as the stress of years was released. The structure shook, and for a moment it seemed like the whole structure would collapse on top of the trio.

The pain that shot up Lenox's arm brought him out of his rage. His fist was bloody, coated with splinters of wood that gave his hand the appearance of a red porcupine. He sunk into the nearest chair and rested his forehead into his other hand. He guessed that he should have felt bad for his outburst. He didn't. Lenox was relieved to voice his frustrations.

He had a moment where he dreaded having to explain himself to Maurice once the bartender threw him out. Lenox was about to get up and leave when he heard the clank of metal on wood, and looked up to see a pair of dingy pewter tankards filled with what smelled like pineapple juice.

"Ne'er 'ave I seen two fellas more in need of a drink... today." The bartender said as he dropped a bandage on the table. "Now stop bleedin' all over me floor. Ye' can call me Ishmael." He smiled, and his grin was interspersed with shiny gold caps.

Lenox noticed that Davy was in the chair next to his, and had two empty metal shot glasses in addition to his tankard. As Davy began to drink, his demeanor changed, and he started to speak more freely.

"Jeez, you had me worried. I thought you were imposing." Davy chuckled to himself. "You're lucky we didn't come in the afternoon, the evening crowd wouldn't have let you live it down for at least a month."

"Aye" said Ishmael, "but ye won't hear a peep from me. Ye saved me a great deal of trouble."

"How so?" Aaked Lenox, wincing as he picked splinters out from his wounds.

"Well," said Ishmael, "I was thinking about getting a new window, now I get it for free." Ishmael barked another laugh. "Honestly lad, this shack ere is wrecked worse at least once a week. It be part of the experience."

"The experience?" Lenox questioned, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"Ye think me mother spoke like this?" Ishmael asked, a twinkle in his eye. "Me and the lads put on a lil' show for ye school boys. Ye'd be shocked how much they pay to get their arses handed to them after drinkin' a bit o' booze."

"So this is a tourist trap?"

"Not exactly" Davy said. "It's like a haunted house, they come here for the experience. They can pretend they know the 'rough side' and they don't get beat up too bad. Not to mention, breaking a bunch of furniture is a good stress reliever."

"And," Ishmael said, "it keeps them away from our other bars."

From there, tankards were emptied and refilled, conversations ebbed and flowed, and the dim light filtering through grimy windows remained stubbornly unchanged. In this hazy realm between one moment and the next, Davy's demeanor began to shift.

Davy gave a nervous laugh, "Um, about what you said before..." He chugged the remainder of his drink and his gaze fell to the floor. "I know I'm weird. Humans are so difficult. There are so many rules, and you can say one thing and they hate you forever. Just like that. Even after years."

His voice cracked as he continued, "But Danae was different. She would've never left me." Davy's eyes welled up and he started to weep. It was an ugly, sobbing weep. "Someone took her away from me," he sniffed, barely managing to prevent mucus from pouring down his face. "They killed her."

Lenox froze, his hand hovering in limbo between trying to comfort Davy and keeping his distance. He'd never been good with emotional displays, and this raw outpouring left him at a loss. Davy's speech devolved into muttering and crying until Ishmael, moving with surprising gentleness for such a large man, handed him some tissues.

After blowing his nose and wiping his tears, Davy took another shot, his movements becoming increasingly unsteady. "Sorry *sniff*... Sorry *sniff*... It's difficult to talk about." He struggled to regain his composure, his breath came in shaky gasps.

"Lenox," Davy continued, his voice steadier but still thick with emotion, "I have told everyone in a position of power on this island that something is going on, and none of them believe me. I talked to the chief of police, he laughed at me. I talked to the Provost of the University, she banned me from the premises. I tried talking to Headmistress Dubois, but she told me to drop it."

Lenox's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of Davy's words through the haze of alcohol and emotion. "I don't get it," he said, choosing his words carefully. "from what I've heard it sounds like Danae just ate something bad and died. That's really sad, but it isn't exactly unheard of."

"Aye," Ishmael said. "I'm sorry lad, but these thing 'appen. I had a gorgeous dog. The most beautiful Pomeranian you'd ever see. Dumb as a rock, she was. She ate a whole sock. Came 'ome and she was gone. I understand."

Davy's head snapped up, his eyes fiery with grief and frustration. "No. You don't get it. Danae didn't just go around eating anything, she was careful. But that isn't all. I got a book on poisons from the library. There are a bunch of plants that could've caused it, but they don't naturally grow here. You'd need a good gardener. And the only good gardener around here is- "

"Delilah" Lenox sighed, the pieces starting to fall into place. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. "Are you completely sure it couldn't be chocolate or something? You don't seem all that confident."

Davy avoided direct eye contact, his words starting to slur together. "Well it's hard to be sure. I don't know poisons, and I can't run any tests. You've seen my house. It's awful. I can't afford to do anything. The Sherriff won't do an autopsy on Danae."

A pit of apprehension arrived in Lenox's stomach as a question formed in his mind. "Would an autopsy even do anything at this point?" Lenox asked, almost afraid of the answer. "Hasn't it been multiple months?"

"Well..." Davy said, his fidgeting became more pronounced. "it wouldn't normally... but..."

"He stuffed 'er in his freezer." Ishmael called from behind the bar, his tone a mix of concern and grudging respect.

The howl of a chilly ocean wind filled the ensuing silence. The smell of the briny ocean met with the slight stench of decomposing algae from the low tide, as if the wind had sensed the turn in conversation and wished to provide a more fitting atmosphere.

At last, Davy spoke, his speech lazy with intoxication, "I didn't wanna do it. But it was all I could think of."

Lenox saw the shame on Davy's face. A guilt borne of a selfish desire to see some sort of justice. In that moment, Lenox felt a strange mix of pity, disgust, and an odd sort of admiration for the lengths Davy had gone to for his pet.

After a long moment of consideration, Lenox spoke, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his mind. "Fine," Lenox said, "I'll pay for it. Should be able to send her to an off-island lab. They'll deal with it." He paused, an idea forming. "Does Bayside have a historical association?

"Huh?" Davy said, answering the question on pure instinct, his mind clearly struggling to keep up with the conversation. "Uh... I think."

"I'll make a donation to them for the restoration of the lighthouse as well. Seems like its liable to crash into the sea or collapse any day now."

Lenox was finally back in his element. He was the one throwing others for a loop now. His father had always told him to be proactive and always on the attack in a negotiation. And all relationships were negotiations, weren't they?

The money was a small thing. Lenox got a monthly stipend of a million dollars, and he felt that restoring the lighthouse could be a good way to get some goodwill from the town while helping Davy. All told, he was happy to have control of an interaction again. Even if that was all he gained from the expenditure, it was more than worth it.

Davy, on the other hand, seemed frozen stiff, his alcohol-addled mind struggled to process Lenox's offer. As the implications slowly sank in, his expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, and finally to suspicion.

At last, Davy spoke, his voice was aggressive and pointed.

At last, Davy spoke, his voice aggressive and pointed, though slurred by alcohol. "So thass it? Yu juss come around n' solve all ma problms like that." He tried to snap his fingers, only succeeding in rubbing them together clumsily. "Juss like magic? Presto, ere ya go?"

Lenox tensed, suddenly aware of the bar's reputation for fights and roughhousing. He readied his muscles, prepared to defend himself against the potentially volatile Davy. The air grew thick with tension, Ishmael watching the exchange with keen interest from behind the bar.

Then, unexpectedly, Davy's face split into a wide, lopsided grin. "Awesome."

"What?" Lenox replied, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Davy's demeanor.

"Iss cool, having a rich bess friend cool," Davy slurred, giggling to himself. "I wass mad for everyone who not have." His giggles devolved into a fit of hysterics, the emotional whiplash of the evening finally taking its toll.

Lenox shook his head, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. The alcohol was affecting him too, the world starting to spin slightly around him. "Alright, 'best friend,' I think you've had enough. Let's get out of here before you start proposing marriage."

Ishmael chuckled, wiping down the bar with a rag that seemed to do as much dirtying as it did cleaning, "Ye best be takin' him home, lad. He's in no state to be wanderin' about."

Lenox nodded, fishing out his wallet to pay for their drinks. As they stumbled towards the exit, he braced himself for the harsh light of the midday sun. To his surprise, he was greeted instead by the dim light of evening, the full moon peeking over the horizon as if preparing for its nightly ascent

"Whoa" Davy said, squinting toward the evening sun, "Where we going?"

"Still want to see my house?" Lenox offered, partly out of politeness and partly because he wasn't sure where else to take his inebriated companion.

"Yah. Probably can't find any of the plants I was lookin ta find, but I wanna see." Davy mumbled, leaning heavily on Lenox for support.

As they stumbled toward the road, Lenox's eyes widened at the sight before them. A black Rolls-Royce Phantom idled in the street, its presence as incongruous as a swan in a muddy barnyard. The vehicle was immaculate, not a speck of dust marring its deep navy blue paint or pristine chrome grill. It seemed untouched by time, impervious to the grime and wear that affected everything else in this town.

"Shit." Davy said, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, "I think I'm seein things."

"No." Replied Lenox, a mix of relief and resignation in his voice. "I think that must be our ride."

As if summoned by his words, the driver's door opened, and Maurice stepped out. He walked to the side of the vehicle with fluid grace, opening the back doors and beckoning Davy and Lenox to enter.

"How?" Davy muttered, his alcohol-fogged brain struggling to comprehend Maurice's timely arrival.

"Don't ask," Lenox said with a sigh. "He gets all weird when you ask."

"How do you do?" Said Maurice, sporting a smile that spoke to personal pride. "I trust you two have gotten on well, Young Master Lenox. Davy."

"Doing good Maurice," Lenox said, trying his best to keep his composure in an addled state "Davy is fine company, though I'd worry about bringing him to the lighthouse like this. Being drunk near such steep drops seems unwise."

"Indubitably so, Young Master Lenox." Maurice agreed. "Might I suggest a night at the Emerelda for Davy here. We have no shortage of guest rooms."

Lenox felt a wave of relief at the suggestion. The thought of leaving Davy alone in his current state had been weighing on him, and he dreaded the strict demeanor that seemed to infect most of the staff at the Emerelda. Even Maurice, casual though he was by the standards of the manor, had a strangeness about him, a barrier that prohibited truly casual conversation.

"That is an excellent suggestion, Maurice," Lenox said as he helped Davy into the car before sliding in himself. A thought struck him, bringing a smile to his face. "I think I'll put the theater to work. Can you make popcorn?" His smile widened as another idea occurred to him. "Ooh, and do you think Sam would like to join?"

As Maurice closed the door, Lenox caught a strange expression of befuddlement on the chef's face. When Maurice got into the driver's seat, he replied with a hint of confusion in his voice, "Doubt it. She usually has the night shift, so she sleeps during the day. As for the popcorn, I might check in with your companion before making a decision." Lenox looked over to see Davy, his eyes closed, his head lolling as the car turned. Maurice continued, "We can address your hand tomorrow. It was an early day today, so I'm sure you're tired."

Checking in with himself, Lenox found his body seemed saddled with an invisible weight. He kept himself up to escort a comatose Davy to a guest bedroom. The task seemed monumental in his exhausted state, but Lenox pushed through, guiding his new friend through the labyrinthine halls of the Emerelda with Maurice's quiet assistance.

Once Davy was safely tucked away, Lenox trudged to his own room. The events of the day – the lighthouse, the orphanage, the Sloshed Sea-bass – all blurred together in his mind as he mechanically went through his bedtime routine.