The Eleventh Guest

The Story

The air in the second-class train cabin was insufferable to Professor James Miller. His handkerchief was already soaked through, but the trip was not even half way done. The blazing summer heat had a lethargic quality to it, but as much as he wanted to, it was impossible to doze off. Professor Miller glanced at his letter one more time.

Dear Professor Miller,

Congratulations on your recent promotion to senior lecturer.

The paper wrinkled in his hands as his grip on it tightened. They'd never know how close he was to losing his chance at the promotion.

In honor of your recent success, I would like to invite you to my residence on Soldier Island for holiday. I hope you remember me; you were my favorite professor, and I'd appreciate the opportunity to repay my enlightening experience in your course the week of August 8th.

Sincerely,

U.N Owen

Of course, he didn't remember Mr. Owen. How could anybody expect the professor of the most popular class in the entire university to remember every stuffy student that walked through his doors.

He would never forget one, though. Eleanor. The name itself brought so many thoughts and feelings to his head he couldn't see straight. She was too perfect - flawless even. But that time was over. He ruined her, and she broke him. She had to go. He had to banish any memories of her.

Professor Miller snapped out of his feverish thoughts. He looked around, and suddenly the other passengers lazily collected their belongings from above and below. Sure enough, the train had come to a coasting halt. He dabbed his face one last time before taking his suitcase from the overhead compartment and exiting the train car. Instantly, he took in the salty ocean air. He looked up at the sky - gray as the moon; how disappointing. He looked over to the docks by the station. There was the ferry for Soldier Island. Professor Miller briskly made his way to the boat and was intercepted halfway by the apparent captain. The captain took his luggage from him and matched Miller's clipped pace. Not the talking sort, Miller thought.

He took his seat on the boat and observed the others going to Soldier Island. Mr. Owen must be throwing a party for everyone he knew, he thought, judging the various ages and backgrounds present on the ferry; it must be a mixer. To his left was a stuffy elderly lady who smelled strongly of musty books and prunes. In her lap was a bible, the outer edges frayed and twice as thick as the spine from all the mementos inside. Miller rested his head on his right arm to move away from her. Directly across from him was a the only other woman on the boat. She was making small talk with an elderly gentleman, presumably with a military background. He studied her without much interest. She had Eleanor's nose and hair. No, he couldn't let himself think like that. He should have never even looked at her. He closed his eyes and listened to the boat cutting through the waves, slipping into a light sleep...