Man of the Sea: Abandoned Lighthouse, page 1
Man of the Sea
Abandoned Lighthouse
Nathan Kippley
Pirate Island Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Nathan Kippley and Pirate Island Publishing
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
. Chapter
1. CONCH MARINA
2. PRISON AT SEA
3. HAVANA DAY DREAMING
4. ALONE
5. FISHING VILLAGE
6. LOST AND FOUND
7. FRIEND?
8. KING OF THE SEA
9. BILLIE TO THE RESCUE
10. NIGHT LIGHTS
11. CONCH REPUBLIC
12. VISITOR
13. STREET LIFE
14. ROGER
15. HOSPITAL KEY
16. STRANGER DANGER
17. BURNING FOR YOU
18. SUNDOWN BEWARE
19. NET
20. FOOD STOCK
21. TWISTED SISTER
22. THEY WON’T LET ME OUT
23. IN THE HOLD
24. ABANDONED LIGHTHOUSE
25. THE SAME ANGEL
26. THE LEANING TOWER
27. PECHUGA
28. AN OLD FLAME
29. BRAVE THE SEA
30. AND IT ALL FALLS DOWN
31. THE STORM IS OVER
32. MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
33. UP OR DOWN?
34. SHOWDOWN
35. SPEED AWAY
36. WATERLOGGED
37. SAY IT AIN’T SO GUSTAVO
38. DREDGING THE PAST
THANK YOU
PROLOGUE
One Hundred and Ninety-Two days have passed since the night Joe went missing. Silas had a check mark for everyday and every day he told himself that he was one step closer to finding Joe, closer to finding "The Man of the Sea," he didn't know which one anymore; if either. In the one hundred ninety-two days that have come and gone, there has been no sign of Joe. Silas and a team have dived everywhere near Heaven's Gate and the wreck from that night; there have been no clues. Not only was there no sign of Joe, but there was also no trace of Lucky, otherwise known as The Man of the Sea. The biggest puzzle Silas cannot figure out is the knife. He keeps replaying the night, asking himself; did Joe already have the knife? Did Joe, in fact, leave the knife in the boat before he slipped away into eternal darkness? Or maybe Lucky left it as a sign that I am still here and I have your brother; that's the way Silas hoped. Not every day you hope the most prolific serial killer in the Caribbean has your brother, but in this one case, it beat the alternative. In the many dives of Heaven's Gate, Silas came upon a 1500’s Spanish shipwreck, it with loaded with treasure; paradise had a funny way about it, beautiful and bountiful, yet deadly and sinister. Maybe that's why so many flock to the tropics; maybe in the history books, we are modern day pirates and don't realize it. In all the searching, Silas became a treasure hunter and a rich one at that; along with his partner, Billie.
Since Billie's rescue at Heaven's Gate, she has a penchant for justice and vengeance. She has hired a fleet of three boats to scour the Caribbean Island to island to find any trace. They searched Heaven’s Gate to no avail. The only clue remains the name Captain Aldridge Folk. Billie has sent her teams to find anything and everything about the captain. His history is long and colorful, but he has been missing, presumed dead for thirty years; if he was alive, he would be ninety-four years old. The most interesting thing was he lived at sea on a ship for an unknown amount of time, anywhere from twenty to fifty years, depending on the date of death. One thing they have noted is if anyone remembers him, they won't speak of it. He was a very wealthy and influential business executive in Cuba before communism and the regime of Fidel Castro took over; after that, the Captain lived on his ship in exile and nothing more was ever heard from him. Billie hasn't forgotten about justice, but as time has gone on and with the discovery of the treasure that Silas and she found, she has redirected her boats to running a dive operation around Heaven's Gate and specifically the chain of shipwrecks in the area. Silas, however, has pressed on. He has traveled the Caribbean to all ends, stopping at island after island to learn anything he can. One thing he has heard over and over is it's an old wives' tale, and "The Man of the Sea" is just a story. He has yet to find anyone who has encountered him, but he has met plenty of people who have lost loved ones to the sea; their last story remains forever untold.
Things have been quiet in the Caribbean before, only to have terror ensue in spurts. Silas and Billie were both feeling the dead end, maybe "The Man of the Sea" and Joe died that very night; Joe must have grabbed the knife from the Man of the Sea's boat and left it as a sign to Silas. A last goodbye? Silas couldn't make sense of that part, and one other thing that has bothered him to no end was in diving into the wreck of the Man of the Sea's boat, the fireproof box that housed the life raft was empty. Did he deploy it before the boat sank? Did he really get shot? Silas had so many questions. No matter what he did, he couldn't quit thinking about it. He played it over and over in his head. He was often seen around town talking to himself. He hadn't had a shave since that day, and it appeared not a change of clothes either. People in town talked. Silas didn't care; people started comparing him to Darian Kane, and Silas understood Darian now better than ever. No matter what happened, Silas was going to find out the truth, or die trying.
Chapter one
CONCH MARINA
Silas shuffled around the boat deck, loading up supplies at the Conch Marina. He was so efficient he wasted not even one step. This was a routine he had become good at. He restocked his food supply, wich consisted of anything in a can and nothing gourmet—he had been living on Vienna Sausage and canned green beans for months. Even though he didn't intend to fish, he packed fresh bait. He always had dive gear and all his clothes; the boat was his home. His every possession in the world fit on his floating chariot. In his short time, he had turned into a seafarer; his hands rugged, face sun beaten and dirty; at least what you could see of it around that gristly beard. He spent little time on land. He spent little time with people, except for Billie. Silas had hired a Cuban dive expert for a while, Moose Machado, but he had been the only other person on Silas's boat for months and they had gone their separate ways. He was thankful for his time with Moose; he went from never scuba diving to being confident enough to dive alone. Diving alone was against all things considered safe, but Silas began liking the solitude and Moose preferred working for Billie. During their explorations of different wrecks and dive sites, they discovered what they believed to be the remains of the Spanish Galleon 1502 El Dorado. The El Dorado is one of the estimated 681 Spanish flagged ships to have sunken in the Caribbean between 1492 and 1898. They offer dive trips there now. It's ironic some spend their lives looking for treasure. Silas was looking for Joe and stumbled on it; dumb luck, really. Sometimes the best things happen when you aren't looking for them. Hunting for treasure, drinking too much rum, and living on a boat made Silas feel like a pirate. He didn't know if you come to the Keys a pirate or if you come to the Keys to become a pirate. Silas looked down the pier and his head sunk when he saw a short, heavyset man waddling his way. And sometimes the worst things happen…
"Silas! " shouted Gustavo as he waved his arms like he was flagging a New York cab.
He kept working as he turned his back to him.
"Silas, please, talk to me. Let me explain," he pleaded with enormous eyes and his hands cupped under his chin.
Silas still wouldn't face him.
Ever since Heaven's Gate, Gustavo has been trying to make amends. Every single time Silas comes to port, there is Gustavo. Although he says he can explain everything, Silas has never heard him out; nobody blamed Silas for not, and I don't think he would care if they did.
"Silas, I know you won't talk to me; haven't you ever made a mistake? I mean, a big mistake?"
Silas kept his back turned and went downstairs in his boat without responding.
"Silas, I will come here every day until you listen to me. I am wrong. I can't fix that and no apology will ever work, but let me help you now."
It fell on deaf ears. Silas stayed downstairs until he was sure Gustavo had left. He may hear him out one day, but not today.
Silas had finished packing everything. Anytime he loaded the boat, Joe danced in his head. His brother loved preparing for trips, and so did Silas. Joe always made a list and not a quick one—it was thorough and a living document. He spared no details and he would get so giddy with anticipation of packing each item. The big unknown, the endless possibilities the next day possessed. The big dreams and thought of how the trip would go, is never how it goes. Some meet, some exceed and some trips are only great in the memories, but the anticipation for a trip-never disappoints. Silas made no lists, since he lived on the boat. Food, drinks and fuel were about the extent of his stocking.
With everything done, Silas locked up the boat and went to meet his business partner before he would be gone for a few days.
Billie was waiting when he
The place was open air with a roof and old wooden rails around the outside, and they lined them with tables. The salty breeze swirled the air and smooth reggae filled the ears.
After a firm hug, he took a seat across from her. The bar was empty, probably because it was still morning. Billie looked at Silas' wrinkled face. She ran a finger through his beard. "Are you taking care of yourself?"
Silas nodded without emotion, just to move on.
"I think you need a break, Silas,
"I'm fine," he smirked,
"Are you?"
"Best as I can tell I am." he forced a smile and gripped his hands together on the table.
Silas had crow's feet extending from his eyes, deep wrinkles forming on the forehead. Billie thought he had aged 20 years. The patchy beard didn't help. It never grew in right in Silas's opinion, but he didn't care anymore.
"Silas, how long are you going to look for Joe?"
"Forever," he responded without hesitation before biting his lip and adding, "I guess."
"Where are you heading next?"
"Do you really want to know?" he asked as he locked eyes.
"I want to come with," Billie leaned in and intensified the stare.
Silas shook his head, "No. No way."
"Why, Silas? Why not? Where are you going?"
"It's my deal Billie, I got to get some information," Silas always had a bad habit of pushing any form of help away, either too proud, stubborn or maybe stupid.
"I'm your partner, and I need to know where you're at," she slammed her arms across her chest.
"I don't want you to get hurt," he said with a slow tone and shameful eyes.
"I don't want you to get hurt either, I care about you," Billie reached across the table and cupped his hands in hers.
"I'm sorry," Silas pulled his hands back and shook his head.
"Why won't you tell me?"
"You won't like it,"
"You're not looking for Joe anymore,"
Silas's eyes turned glassy as he looked up, teeth clinched. "How can you say that? I've devoted my life to finding him," Silas asserted.
"To finding who, Joe? Or, The Man of the Sea?" said Billie as she stood up and pushed her chair in.
"I am trying to help you, Silas. Let me know. You don't have to do this alone." Said Billie as she burned Silas with a fire in her eyes.
Silas sat with his head down, he shook side to side and then up at Billie and said, "I can't risk anyone else getting hurt Billie, but your damn right, I am going to find that son of a bitch" he said with an anger Billie had never heard from him before.
"Do me one favor; as a friend. Just let me know where you're heading, so I can send help if you need it."
Silas took a step towards her and nodded. "Havana, Cuba."
Billie looked at him surprised, "Okay," she said in a defeated tone, "thanks for letting me know".
They stared at each other, both mute, before Billie turned around and walked out. Silas dropped his face into his hands, sniffled, and then got up to head back to the docks.
When Silas got back to the boat, there was a note hanging on the door to the cabin, simply addressed Silas. He grabbed it and put it in his pocket. Before he left to meet Billie, he made sure everything was ready to go. This time, he was traveling further than the normal dwellings. This trip would be alone. His new friend Moose was staying in the Keys. He promptly untied the boat and fired up the motors. They hummed like an erect cat. Before you knew it, Silas was backing out of the old boat slip, between the lines of swinging coconut trees and long skinny palms. He rode the smooth blue water out through the no wake zone and put the throttle down, leaving a rooster tail ripple.
The new boat was deluxe; not that there was anything wrong with "Someday Came, ", but the new boat had every bell and whistle available. Silas programmed his destination into the GPS and it charts your path. The only thing she lacked was a first mate. Silas rode alone most of the time, and he named this boat "Find Joe". He was beyond stubborn; it had been this long, but he never gave up hope.
Chapter two
PRISON AT SEA
He rested his chin on his arm and gazed at the water; he no longer possessed a concept of time as it pertained to a calendar year; somewhere he lost count, so badly so you could have told him it was day two hundred or day four hundred and he would believe you. It's hard to think you could ever lose track of days when you're stuck in solitude, nothing to do but watch waves; but once you're defeated, days don't matter. The only question remains: how many days do you wait? Ten? A hundred? A lifetime? He didn't know if he would make it a lifetime; it already felt like it had been one. Every day was the same, an endless supply of MREs and water, enough for years of misery in his big metal cage. Whoever was keeping him here had given him just enough to stay alive. But it wasn't living, more of a sick and twisted game, absolute solitude confinement. He got more depressed by the day and the worst was he didn't even know anymore of who, or where, he was even trying to get back to. The room was empty except for a stack of MRE's that went clear to the metal ceiling and filled a corner. In the opposite corner was a stack nearly as large as five-gallon jugs of fresh water. It was enough for a few years of misery. The food was substance; the water was hot and tasted like plastic from years in the metal sweatbox. But it was eat and drink or die in the cell over the sea. Waves come and go, always dark blue, once they were beautiful — not anymore. His whole life he dreamed of a life at sea, careful what you wish for—he hadn't seen anything but the ocean for what ached like an eternity. What he wouldn't do to stick his toes in the dirt, or grass, or even on the concrete that he once despised. Sometimes the waves hit so big that they would splash in through the bars and the broken glass of his window. That had become life's prime point. He spent most of his days leaned up against the damp steel wall with his head on the windowsill hoping for a splash.
He had cleaned away any glass from the sill that the waves hadn't taken care of, and that window had broken long before this was his cell. Those days when the swells spouted water through his window became the only thing he looked forward to, that and Roger. The chance to feel the cool sea water splash through and onto his skin. He had jugs of fresh water and he was thankful, but he always loved the feel of salt on his skin. The only times he found he left the window anymore were to sleep and when there were big storms. When mother ocean was furious; the waves turn sinister, thunder echoes and rattles the metal frame in ways unheard before. Sometimes wave after wave of salt spray mist the room and other times the waves are so big streams rush through. It's only a matter of time till a big enough wave comes, he thought, or if he finally decides to ….
He's never been out of the big metal room. It seemed to be an old storage room. He sat and watched out the window, as always. There was a small mouse that scurried around the bars. He liked to talk to the mouse, and he gave him the name Roger and one day he hoped to hold him. He enjoyed watching him, always busy, going nowhere, but doing it fast. He envied his contention, his not wanting more; some days he found himself down right jealous of a mouse. Being human is a blessing and also a curse. Does Roger miss other mice? Or people? Then he watched as his friend crawled back out of the room through a tiny hole under the metal door, the only sliver of space he could fit through. He had tried everything to open the door, unfortunately he had little to work with. He'd bruised bloodied both shoulders without gain. He tried picking the lock with broken glass, but just got cuts. He spent days shouting at the top of his lungs and never even a response. The only noises he ever heard were the waves, Roger the mouse, and the hull of the old ship's creak. Maybe he was too accepting of his fate, but then every so often he would see a light way out across the dark ocean at night, and that small light–that was the only hope left. Of course, they always just disappeared, never even coming close; but he figured it was only a matter of time. Someone, someday, would have to find him, right? He laid down on his pile of MRE wrappers, stacked, rumpled, and crumpled; it was his bed. He squished them together by hand every night and by morning they were everywhere with nothing to keep them in a heap. It was like laying in a noisy pile of leaves. Broken glass from the window, MRE's and water were the only other things in the room. He laid there on his pile of MRE's which padded the steel floor about as well as a pillowcase with no pillow. Joe ran his finger over the fresh scar in his shoulder and of all the things he had wondered about … if he'd see Silas again … or another human — was Silas still alive - his biggest question was why someone wanted him to remain alive in the cell, and for how long?
