Uncharted Waters

by Scott MacKenzie

  I’m fixated on Tenn. I’m amazed by her ability to lie. I’ve always felt there is no such thing as a secret, that deep down, everyone knows where they stand with each other. That is, until now. She is the finest actor I have ever seen. There is no sign of the fear or anxiety that I saw just a few moments ago. Her performance is impeccable. She smiles, she moves with grace, she controls the conversation. I’ve never seen deception look so beautiful.

  I’m also taken by the voice of Sylvester and the way in which he engages with Tenn. It is a higher pitch when talking to her. There is a battle happening. A battle of charms and wit. They clearly do not trust one another and are using each other in some way. Sylvester is dominant, but Tenn has more strength than I realized.

  “Where is Jesse?” Tenn asks. She touches her hair and moves her hips slightly.

  Seduction is almost always associated with evil. From snakes with apples, to sultry spies, it’s almost always a sign that someone is trying to trick you. A seducer wants you vulnerable and unguarded. They want you to happily give them all the control while they take what they want from you. Sometimes it’s as simple as validation, other times the stakes are much higher. The stakes are high right now, but still a complete mystery to me.

  “I killed him,” Sylvester answers.

  Tenn breaks character slightly. There is a long pause, the sounds of clanking ropes and slapping waves suddenly seem louder.

  “Why would you do that?” Tenn asks.

  I can hear Sylvester step onto the deck, and Tenn steps closer to him. I can no longer see her, save the edge of her long, flowing skirt. I think she’s trying to keep him away from the companionway so he doesn’t see me. I can no longer see Stan — he retreated into the shadows of the narrow hall that leads to the aft cabin before Tenn went on deck.

  It’s becoming more and more difficult to hear their conversation, so I quietly walk closer to steps. I tilt my ear and listen closely.

  “I found out he’s been making deals behind my back. I’ve known for some time that his day was coming. You see, Tenn, if you cross me, if you go left-field on me, if you talk big then let me down when it counts? Well, I’m going to do what must be done. There’s only one way out with me. You follow through with your promise. You hold up your end of the fucking deal.” He speaks clearly and without hesitation.

  “Why are you here, Sylvester? I’m getting ready to leave,” Tenn asks. She has apparently given up on seduction.

  “You should feel lucky I killed your new sailing friend rather than you. No more surprises. Just do what you promised.”

  I hear him walk around the deck. I don’t expect to be able to remain hidden for much longer.

  “Who’s here!” he shouts.

  I know what has happened. He’ spotted our tender that is tied to the port side of Crazy Lady.

  “When do the lies stop with you?” he screams at Tenn.

  I hear him hit her. It’s not a slap, but the smack of a punch.

  It’s time to fight. I grab the handrails and get ready to throw myself on deck and begin a battle to the death.

  Bang.

  The sound of a gunshot causes me to pause halfway up. For a moment I wonder if I’ve been shot but quickly realize the bullet wasn’t meant for me. I throw myself on deck and squint from the direct sunlight. Tenn is lying on the wooden deck with a bloody nose, looking up at me. Sylvester has his back to me, and for the moment is unaware of my presence. Stan is hunched down, sitting on the deck with his back against the steering pedestal. His hands shine red from the blood pouring from his belly. There is a handgun on the deck beside him. His eyes meet mine.

  Stan, what have you done?

  Bang.

  Sylvester fires again, and Stan slumps down lifelessly.

  It’s like the world moves in slow motion. My soul is broken. Stan clearly crept up from the other passageway and tried to take out Sylvester. His plan was brave, but it failed.

  My feet barely touch the ground. I’m like a tiger pouncing on his prey. Strong but light and completely committed to the kill.

  I know things are moving fast, but through my eyes they happen in slow motion. I see Tenn’s gaze follow me, her hand stretched out like a Renaissance painting. Sylvester is halfway turned around and has realized I’m very much alive and a danger to him. He raises his hand; his white knuckles grip his gun as he tries again to end my life.

  I’ve not yet made contact, but I know how this will end, and I can tell by how Sylvester is looking at me that he, too, knows how this ends. This is the day he dies.

  I hold his wrist and push his elbow back until I hear something snap. All his bravado is gone. He drops his gun, his body becoming weak. I know I have more strength than most men, and right now, I feel like I can break this man in half. I grab his neck and stare into his eyes as I strangle the life out of him. I can feel his trachea break under my fingers and watch as the life drains from his eyes.

  Even when I’m sure he is good and gone, I keep my grip tight. Then, I throw him overboard and into his powerboat where he lands face down.

  My blood is firing through my veins. All my muscles are tense. I’m deep in a primal fight or flight state, and clearly, I chose the former. I’m like a soldier who’s still standing in the aftermath on a battlefield. There’s simply too much to process. I can’t bear to look at Stan, where he lies dead just a few feet from me. My soul hovers just outside my body.

  “Valerie, ohhh Valerie . . .” The song is loud and echoes off the cliffs.

  I don’t have to look — I know the sound very well. Each beat pulls my hovering soul back into my body. The party boat is slowly pulling away from us. The pontoon is packed with drunken tourists who have colorful plastic drinks in one hand and their phones held up in their other. They aren’t laughing and dancing like they normally are. I don’t know how much they saw, but clearly, they saw enough to cut their cruise short.

  The party boat captain finally kills the music and turns the boat around. As the boat makes its turn, the passengers pivot to keep their phones on me. Even as they disappear out of the bay, I can see some of them still aiming their phones our way.

  Tenn cries softly, still lying where she fell. Everything has changed. This is no longer paradise. I’ve taken a life. I watched the best man I know be murdered. There are two dead bodies next to me, and I’m broke and homeless. I look back at Tenn, who is shaking in shock. Clearly her world has also just changed.

  I am surrounded by horror.

  I’m lost and I have nothing.

  I feel dread.

  I feel pain.

  I feel anger.

  Eleven

  As I spoke with the older mustached officer, I can’t help but notice the irony. It’s true, what Stan said. Calling the police for help would have been foolish and naïve. But this ugly mess is impossible to walk away from. Two dead bodies, two smoking guns, and a sunken luxury yacht are not things that go unnoticed. Normally I would be locked up, and when I was unable to come up with cash, they would simply throw away the key. But I know I’ll be walking out of the police station with very little trouble. The booze cruise tourists filmed the entire ordeal. By the time the police arrived, videos were uploaded and shared around the world countless times. It was clear I acted in self-defense, and the crooked hands of the local law enforcement are tied.

  I sit in this windowless interrogation room for what feels like hours. I can’t be sure how long because there’s no clock, just the one plastic chair where I sit, a low hanging light bulb, and an old metal oscillating fan that hums loudly. I haven’t tried to open the door, but I assume it’s locked. My Spanish is terrible, but I’ve been overhearing a heated conversation happening behind the closed door. I know they were ordered to let me go some time ago, but they are holding me here anyway with the hope that I somehow incriminate myself. I can tell the officer with the thick salt-and-pepper mustache is taking this as a challenge. When he returns, he walks like a fighter squaring up with an opponent. I imagine
he normally has an ill-fated tourist reduced to a puddle of tears at this point, and he’s frustrated that he has not yet broken me.

  “I’m still confused by your relationship with this woman,” he says suspiciously through his thick accent.

  “She’s a friend.”

  “Friend? She’s not acting like your friend right now, Mr. Stark. She’s in the next room telling us all about what you two have been up to. She’s making a deal at this very moment where you take the fall and she walks away from all of this. That doesn’t sound like a friend to me.”

  I can’t be certain that Tenn isn’t in some kind of trouble and somehow using me as leverage, but I have seen too many movies to fall for this. I know I just have to wait this out and I’ll be walking out that door eventually. I take a slow breath and cross my arms. He is clearly frustrated that his tactics aren’t working.

  My interrogator crosses his arms and looks to the ceiling. “To be honest, Mr. Stark, it is rare I agree with the laws I am expected to enforce. Drugs, violence — they are ways to thin out the weak. It is … evolution. But you have broken a sacred law. To be honest, if the man that you killed had killed you instead, I would have shaken his hand.”

  The sound of the oscillating fan seems to come from inside my head. This man is getting to me. I’m not clear on his meaning, but there is a coldness in his eyes that is beginning to cut through.

  “Sacred law?”

  “Thou shall not covet another man’s wife.” His voice goes deeper and has the tone of a menacing preacher.

  I take a moment to process what he is saying. I try to conceal my surprise, but he knows he has found a crack in my shield. His eyes are cold and there is a hint of a smile when he speaks.

  “You’re running around with another man’s wife, spending nights with her on his boat. When he found out, he reacted just as I would. You should have been killed on that boat, not him.”

  I keep my eyes away from his glare. I don’t say a word. Husband? The man I killed with my bare hands right in front of Tenn was her husband?

  There’s a knock at the door, but he holds my stare for several long breaths before he leaves the small room and addresses his colleague.

  I exhale in relief when the door closes and I’m left alone. Learning that Sylvester and Tenn are married deepens my distrust for her, and I begin to wonder if she is indeed fabricating something in the next room.

  I can hear footsteps approach the door and I know it’s my mustached interrogator, not one of his colleagues, by the heavy authoritative falls of his feet. The door opens and he stands in front of me again, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

  “Mr. Stark, I will allow you to leave this room a free man. But if I see you again on Pender, Saturna, or the water in between, I will take that freedom away. I promise you I can make this happen quite easily. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  I meet his eyes for the first time. “I understand,” I answer.

  I stand slowly and walk toward the door. He watches me and I get the impression he could strike at any moment. I look down and walk slow, feeling like I’m trying to escape a sleeping bear’s den. When I leave the room, I keep my head down because all the officers are watching me with disdain.

  I quickly make my way out of the building, the exit door of the old police station refusing to close properly behind me. The fresh air fills my lungs and I’m relieved that interrogation room is behind me. My movements are slow and heavy as I walk down the broken and uneven concrete steps. I have no home, and no family. I feel like a dead man walking.

  The sky is covered by clouds and it’s rather dark for this early in the evening. The streets are still wet with what must have been a downpour. This small city serves as a hub for all the surrounding island resorts. Travelers don’t stay in Pender. Save the small area around the marina, there is little to be desired. I would think tourists in transit are nervous as they travel from the airport to the port, keeping the doors of the vehicle locked and the windows up. Here, right in front the police station, is a particularly rough looking part of the small city. Lost souls and derelicts wander the dirty streets praying to find whatever poison they are slowly killing themselves with.

  I can’t seem to process what has happened to me. I keep wanting to go back to my boat, like a reflex. There’s a gravitational pull to home base. But she is gone. Stan is gone. I don’t know where to go, but I can’t stay here, so I head to the sea. I’m more inland than I have ever been on Pender, but I instinctively know the right direction. JFK famously said, “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch — we are going back from whence we came.” Today I will go back to the ocean to watch, to think, to feel.

  “Vince!”

  Her voice stops me in my tracks, but I don’t turn around. I bow my head and push back my hair. I blame her for everything that has happened, but deep down I know she is more victim than villain. My soul is lost, and she is another lost soul. Lost souls seem to find each other. If nothing else, there are questions I need answered and she is the only one who can do that.

  “Where are you going?” she asks, talking to my back.

  I turn so she’s looking at my profile. For some reason I can’t seem to face her. It’s like I want to show her I don’t trust her, and I won’t let her in. My words are stuck in my throat, and I can’t seem to make a sound. I’m angry with her; I want to tell her that she is my ruin. I want to tell her to never speak to me again. But I need to know what’s behind the madness. She is far from an angel, but there’s a part of me that believes she’s backed into a corner and just trying to survive.

  “Vince please . . .” She trails off.

  This might be the first time I’ve seen her at a loss for words. There’s something vulnerable about her standing there on the broken sidewalk under the flickering streetlamp.

  “Coffee?” I ask.

  Her shoulders fall slightly as she sighs in relief. She walks my way, and together we walk in silence toward the sea.

  It doesn’t take long before we see the dark outlines of the ocean, and in the distance, we can see the familiar shape of the marina. We don’t speak on the way there. We both need to process everything that has happened.

  By the time we reach the small portside village, we are both exhausted. We end up at the very same patio where we had lunch only yesterday. I

  It’s a dark night. I’ve never been to Pender at nighttime and it feels different. Most of the shops are closed and the bars are full of local fisherman. The area loses its charm at night, but I’m still happy to be here. I feel a sense of home being next to the sea.

  It’s been over an hour since I left the police station, and not a word has been spoken between us. When we sit down, she finally breaks the silence.

  “There she is,” she says, looking over my shoulder toward the marina.

  I turn around and instantly see what got her attention. Crazy Lady is tied to the dock. It must have been towed here by the police. It was a floating crime scene, and it was more convenient to have it close by. I turn back to Tenn. The lines on her face tell a story that is complex. Struggle, torment, and fear are in her eyes as she gazes at her ship floating in the calm water below. It’s time she tells me her story.

  “Who are you, Tenn?” I ask.

  Her eyes leave her ship and focus on me. She looks like she is searching for an answer.

  “I really don’t know anymore, Vince,” she answers with a brittle tone.

  “Who is Sylvester?” I ask firmly.

  I can see her eyes well up, and she fights back her emotions. Before she can answer, a server comes to our table.

  “Rum on the rocks,” she orders.

  “Same for me. Who is Sylvester?” I ask her again as the server walks away.

  “We were married,” she answers.

  “Were?”

  “Legally, we still are. We have been separated for years.” She rubs her eyes and takes a breath to center hersel
f.

  “He didn’t seem like your type,” I remark.

  “It was a long time ago. It was very brief. God—we barely lived together. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, then he showed up again. It’s complex, Vince. I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about the beginning?” I suggest.

  Two glasses full of rum and ice are put on the table. Tenn takes a long, slow drink. By the time she puts the glass back on the table, her eyes are closed, and she seems to be lost in a memory.

  “I grew up in Hartsville, Tennessee. Except for occasional weekend trips to Nashville, it was all I knew. My world was very small, just me and Nana. We lived in the same small house she grew up in. Nana lived her entire life in that old house — she literally was born and died in the very same room.”

  Tenn breathes in sharply through her nose, then takes a quick drink. It’s a quiet night and I’m listening very closely to her. The ice rattling in her glass is loud when she slides it back on the weathered table. Tenn looks down at her half-empty glass and speaks, staring at her rum as if it were a teleprompter.

  “Hartsville wasn’t so bad, but my dreams were too big for a small town. I only had one more year of high school when I left for the big city. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone except Nana. She drove me and my bags to the bus stop, and we said a teary farewell in front of a Greyhound. I knew I was doing something she had always dreamed of doing herself. I was moving to New York to be a star.”

  Tenn looks up at me with a slight smile on her lips and a glimmer in her eye. There seems to be a part of her that is on that Greyhound right now. I’m sure she wishes she was. I imagine her as a young woman on her way to start her new life in New York, and I can’t help but return her smile. I don’t want to push her too hard. This is a dark time for both of us, and that glimmer in her eye is fragile.