Fins (A Siren Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

Night finally came. A crescent moon appeared in the sky when I left the Anchor. I walk down the main street to the old shack of my former dwelling, only to bump into Mr. Robards closing the general store for night.

"Soot!" The owner acknowledges me. "Haven't seen you return to the shack in a while. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, Mr. Robards," I tell him. "I've been staying with friends in town. That is why I haven't been sleeping here."

"You haven't been staying with those Negroes or those Indians?" He frowns. "You need to stick with your own kind!"

His words are appalling. Not only did this man exhibit such hatred for good, decent folk but my "own kind" as he refers them to never shown me an ounce of kindness or compassion since coming to Bristol Cove. I doubt that anyone should care who I choose to associate myself with.

"Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Robards," I lie to man to appease him. "But I'm fine."

"Just remember," Mr. Robards tosses another word of advice to me. "God is watching, and He knows what sins you're doing, Soot! Getting close to a Negro or a savage is wrong in the eyes of the Lord!" With that said, he turns on his heels and marches off to home.

"And judging others based on their appearance is just as wrong in God's eyes, Mr. Robards," I venomous blast back, as I watch him vanish into the night. I shake my head at his ignorance and head inside.

Maneuvering in the dark, I find the oil lantern that I usually keep hung on the wooden post and light it. Immediately my eyes turn to my old haunts. The dirty, rusty bed against the wall, the rotted iron stove in the corner, and the broken window covered by a tattered quilt. I take a seat on the filthy mattress and observe the ancient wood planks and broken boards. Compared to my nicer accommodations of Adelaide's basement, this old place reminded me of who I used to be.

Broken, lonely, sad, accepting my fate for Death to come. Now I had moved on to something better. I had found purpose, a goal, a possibility of a future. More importantly, I believe I found love.

My mind returns to Campbell. His chiseled jaw, handsome face, and tendrils of wet, blond hair. His sea-blue eyes always glancing at me with such devotion and care. For once it felt good to be needed, accepted, and loved. I don't ponder on this too much as I feel the pressure of something small in my back pocket. I remove the item to examine it.

A sea-fairing journal.

The one the stranger gifted me. Under the light of the lantern, I open it and read the first page.

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February 1849

This is my first entry as an official wickie for No Man's Island, a desolate piece of land in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean near the Virginia Coast. My name is Captain Alexander Gruner, formerly sea captain for the schooner, The Maiden Queen.

I face my guilt as a disgraced captain for The Maiden Queen and my part in the deaths of 200 of my crewmen. Nine years ago, I charted the ship out to sea in the Pacific to the island of Hawai'I, carrying on board both American seamen as well as a few European officials. A heavy storm hit, forcing us to crash onto a reef near the island coast.

With no choice and not enough lifeboats, I ordered the 200 members on board onto six lifeboats fitting about 10 each inside the six boats, myself included. The rest herded into makeshift rafts. Knowing full well that not everyone would survive, I made the difficult decision of cutting the ropes attached to the rafts to save of the lives of the 60 that made it off the ship.