Keegan Myers
"Mr. Myers," I heard from behind me, mere seconds after I had dropped the empty wallet into the dark waters below. All my senses buzzed for a moment. I thought the voice belonged to Twig at first, and that he had come back for round two, but the subtle accent and deep tone disbanded that idea pretty quickly. I turned around, wiping the surprise off my face.
"Who're you?" I asked, taking in the enormity and presence this guy had. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he was tall—taller than me. Now, there are two kinds of strength. One kind is derived from hours of lifting and flexing and repeating, hours spent in a gym on all the fancy equipment. I like to think of that as wanna-be strength. It's usually just for show, and it's never worth shit when it matters most. The other kind of strength comes from a hard day's work. It's there after you spend a couple months in the field, be it a battle field or a farming field. It's the true kind of strength.
And I could tell that this guy was honest-to-God strong.
"Jean-Claude Baptiste. First Mate to Captain Sanders," he said. I picked up the accent a little more. Definitely French. He held out his hand.
I grasped it with my own. "Keegan Myers. But it, uh, looks like you already knew that, didn't you." I smiled a little, a real smile. Maybe there would be someone on this God-forsaken ark that I didn't want to toss overboard immediately after learning their name.
"Yes," he admitted. "Mr. Pritchett informed me of your...profile."
I leaned back against the railing to disguise my surprise. I knew that Pritchett must've known something about me, but I didn't know it's extent. And I didn't know he'd be sharing his knowledge with anyone else.
"You're all set, Keegan," the doctor said, like he did every time I had to endure his annoying presence. Twice a month. Supposedly, there were still bits of bullet in my leg, and it "needed to be monitored". I hated the appointments. I always left in a state of frustration. Today was no different. I glared at the doctor and walked out of the examination room. He was well aware of the problem I had with these appointments. There was rarely a visit where we didn't argue about it.
I had barely gotten back to the registration desk to set the date on my next appointment when the doctor called my name from behind me. I turned around, but it wasn't the balding man in a white lab coat bustling toward me. No, it was a prestigious-looking guy, leisurely ambling my way with his hands in his suit pockets. I had never seen him before.
"Mr. Myers, I'll cut right to the chase." He voice was like a strong winter wind. He spoke sharply, like an angry parent. "My name is Nathaniel Pritchett. I've been monitoring your recent activities, and I do believe that fate demands our paths intersect, in one way or another."
I wasted no time interrupting him. "And, uh, in what way would that be, Jehovah's Stalkers?" I asked him, raising my eyebrows.
"If you'll walk with me, I have a proposition that I think you'll be quite fond of," Pritchett said, not paying any mind to my quip. I agreed. Like I had anywhere else to be. Curiosity almost always got the best of me anyway. I followed him and his suit out of the hospital and we fell into step on the cracked sidewalk. "I have theorized that there is an island off the coast of Africa. Several passenger airlines have disappeared in the past several years, and I think that's where they are, to this very day." His voice took on an excited tone when he talked about the Mysterious Island. My breathing had quickened. If he noticed, he didn't let it show on his face. He continued. "I am in the process of gathering an elite group of diverse people, each with their own unique skill sets. I would like to offer you a spot on the ship bound for the island."
"Why me?" I asked. What's the catch, I wondered.
"That, Mr. Myers, is something you'll have to discover for yourself." He gave me a knowing look that stopped my heart. He stopped walking and took a manila envelope out of his suit jacket. He held it out for me to take. "This should answer all further questions you may have."
I took the envelope slowly. "What's in it for me?" I asked him.
He had begun to walk away. He turned back around. "Three million dollars and an adventure you won't soon forget."
My eyes narrowed. "What's in this, uh, profile you got on me?"
"Many things; occupations, the locations of all your previous and current houses, a complete medical file, criminal record..." Jean-Claude said, crossing his arms. "Now I have a question for you, Keegan. Why are you here?"
My jaw squashed the wad of gum in my mouth. An air bubble popped as I pressed my back teeth together. "You mean besides the dough?"
"If...that is not the only reason, then yes. Besides that," he said with that accent of his.
"Right," I said slowly, buying some time to come up with an answer. I didn't want to sound all sappy and explain an undying love for adventure or a need to try new things, or something cliche like that. And I sure as hell didn't want to tell the truth. "Well, God knows this, uh, math club needs someone to keep 'em in line." He made a 'hm' noise. I don't know if that was his way of laughing, or if it was because he saw through my thin shield. I hoped to the heavens that she wasn't in my profile. I immediately shut down that train of thought.
"You and the doctor are already fighting?" Jean-Claude asked. It was more of a statement, but I could tell he wanted a response. And this was a topic that I didn't have to lie about.
"Yeah, well, sometimes, you just gotta let 'em blow off some steam, ya know? I just hope he stays outta my face for the rest of this cruise," I said, stretching my shoulders. "'Captain Sanders', huh?"
"Yes. What about him?"
"I haven't seen him yet. Is he gonna make his rounds any time soon, or is he one of those shy, recluse types?" I asked.
"Trust me, when the captain would like to meet you, he will meet you," he said, tilting his chin down ominously. My mouth twisted into a little sneer. How bad could a captain be? "It was good to meet you, Keegan, but I have other passengers to speak with." And with a nod, Jean-Claude walked away. I decided to give myself a little tour.
After exploring the upper decks, I could tell my shadow was getting longer on the cinnamon-colored planks. The sun was sinking into the sea and the coast was nearly out of sight. I had to get up early to catch my flight here, so I decided to hit the bunk early. Changing into Adidas shorts and a generic gray T-shirt, I propped up my pillows and leaned against them. Something was wrong with my charging cord, so my phone was only at 21% after half a day of being plugged in. I stretched the tangled wire over to my position on my bunk so I could check my phone. After about half an hour of checking social media with the crappy wifi on this rowboat, I put my phone down on the little wooden table and settled down farther into my bed. I drifted off to sleep pretty quick. I was no stranger to sleeping in foreign places.
~•~
If there was one thing that being a SEAL taught me, it was to sleep lightly. The slightest noise would wake me up, and I was certainly not a pro at distinguishing bad sounds from normal sounds. So, when Twig came in about an hour after I had fallen asleep on top of my covers, my eyes snapped open and I leaned up onto my elbow. My other arm flung out near my stomach. He shot me a glance and walked over to his bunk on the other side of the room. I laid back down and went to sleep.
~•~
I awoke again, several hours later, from a bad dream. That's why I wasn't really sure if the scream was a figment of my nightmare or if it came from outside the cabin. That's why I hesitated in getting up. When I did, I did so quietly. I crept over to the door. For the life of me, I couldn't remember whether the door had creaked when Twig came in. I took a risk and swung it open fast, hoping that the speed would negate the squeaks. I was blessed with silence. My eyes were wide as I crept out of my cabin. I made my way slowly towards the deck, and just as I got to the corner of the corridor, someone ran into me. I grabbed their shoulders, and pulled them in a semicircle so their back was to the wall. I heard a gasp. Definitely female. I loosened my grip. My arms slid back to my sides as she looked up. Her face was illuminated by the weak moonlight. She looked terrified and confused.
"Did you scream?" I asked her in a low voice. The last thing I needed was a crowd of people being woken up by this commotion. She furrowed her brow, as if she couldn't remember whether she had screamed or not.
"Yeah...I guess I did," she says, scouring the planks for an answer.
"Why? What happened?" I fired questions at her. I looked around again. I didn't see anyone else, and the waves covered any sounds I would have otherwise heard.
"I don't know...there-there was a...guy, a-and he was...dead," she said, shaking her head. She must've realized how crazy it sounded as she said it. My mind was numb with surprise.
"Where?" I demanded. She shook her head again immediately at my question.
"No, you shouldn't go out there. There's-there are already people taking care of it," she said quietly. My mind was in complete military-mode. My thoughts were racing. Was it murder? If so, who was the killer? Hell, who was the victim? And just as that thought came to mind, reality slammed me in the chest.
There was a murderer on the boat.
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