I wake up on a raft in the middle of the ocean. All I see is water in every direction. I tilt my head up. Small clouds take shape in the centre of view and in my periphery. I look one last time and stare at the sun. My memory must have been wiped clean because I don’t know how I got here. I check my clothes for any possessions but find only an insignia in my shirt pocket with my name and profession engraved: Tom Reed Jr., Private Detective. The name doesn’t ring any bells but it sounds American.
The raft is small but capable of carrying me for a few days at least. The waves caressing the sides could tip potentially me over, but I guess it would require something more effective to do the job, like a storm. I try to remember the events leading up to this moment, but my mind draws a blank. Maybe I was drugged onboard a ship I was on and thrown into this raft. But why? What could possibly motivate a person to commit such an act? Perhaps I was crossing the Atlantic Ocean to investigate a case in Europe. Yes, that must be it. And the people who drugged me considered me a threat that would expose their criminal activities. Why did they place me on this raft though and not just dump me in the ocean and get it over with? They could have said I fell overboard in a drunken haze. Maybe pity saved my life momentarily.
***
It’s daytime. No sign of civilisation. I miss my wife Rose a great deal. I estimate that it’s been one or two hours since I woke up. My one chance of survival would be a ship passing by, with a passenger or captain who could spot me. But the chances are so infinitesimally small that I might as well consider myself doomed. I feel anxious, depressed, dehydrated, and starved. Maybe sleep is a better option than being aware of my inevitable demise. Yes, I’ll sleep, knowing that when I wake up, I’ll be in a worse state than now and closer to my death. That is, unless divine intervention rescues me by washing my body ashore on a remote island somewhere nearby.
***
It’s nighttime. The sky’s filled with thousands of stars. They stir the same emotions in me as an exile would feel who fondly remembers his home country. Any attempt at navigation is futile, since I can’t steer the raft: I can only travel in the direction the wind and waves push me. I’ve resorted to drinking sea water. I consider going back to sleep, as there’s no land in sight, and the hunger combined with the sea water I’m consuming is making me delirious.
***
When I next wake up, I’m in the middle of a massive storm. Giant waves smash my tiny raft. Thunder roars overhead. I have no chance of getting out of this alive.
***
Tom Reed Jr. is cast into the ocean. The currents drag him in numerous directions before finally washing him ashore on a remote island. He’s still delirious as he wakes up gasping for air. As he focuses his eyes, he notices a tall figure approaching. Just as the figure gets within speaking distance, Tom faints.
***
Tom is standing on a ship crossing the Atlantic Ocean, holding a drink. His wife Rose calls him. They chat briefly about his assignment in Europe, in which Rose had decided to accompany him. As Tom sips his margarita, two masked figures appear from behind and grab him by his collar. They scuffle briefly before overpowering Tom and chugging him into the black water below.
***
As he wakes, stranded by the same shore, he feels the same exhaustion he felt previously. But this time, he fights against the delirium and staggers to his feet. He then notices the same cloaked figure approach him, brandishing a large scythe. Scuffling backwards, he notices a boat next to the figure. Tom considers his options. He decides to stand his ground. He questions the figure, who gives no response and simply stands still among the rising tide by his feet. The cloaked dervish points to the boat and gestures for him to get in. Tom complies, thinking he has little to lose. When Tom’s inside the boat, the dervish pushes the boat into the water and gets inside as well. They drift slowly into the ocean and away from the island.
Tom asks multiple questions, all of which are met with silence. The boat continues to get dragged further away by the currents until the island is a mere tiny spot. He feels the same sense of delirium taking over his senses as the hours go by. They drift for days, weeks, months along the same empty ocean until Tom loses track of time. He gazes along the horizon and sees neither ship nor land, yet a peculiar detail strikes him. They’ve been travelling in permanent night, with no sun rising at any time since they left the small island. The moon, which is full, yellow, and unnaturally large, lies right ahead of the direction the boat is traveling. Tom notices a storm up ahead, which the boat is drifting towards. As they get closer, Tom begins to panic. He questions the cloaked figure and begs him to change course.
“When you reach the other side of this storm, you will be the same person who entered.”
This is the first time Tom hears the dervish speak. It’s with a brooding, almost inhuman inflection, something resembling that of a wild animal or a beast. But it’s strangely comforting, as this is the first voice, other than his own, that he has heard in months.
The storm slowly engulfs them. Roaring thunder sounds in their vicinity; it’s viciously loud and pierces Tom’s eardrums. Gigantic waves tower above the boat, yet as they crash against the side and fill the boat with water, the passengers remain unshaken. They continued drifting along a linear path right through the storm as lightning strikes every few seconds. There’s something distinctive about the strikes: each strike is a different color, forming a fierce rainbow inside the darkness. Then, light beams through the black clouds, shining a spotlight on the tiny boat. Tom begins to feel protected, as neither the waves nor the lightning damage the boat.
They drift further along when the boat begins to sink. As the water floods around Tom’s feet, the boat sinks deeper and deeper until finally the passengers are submerged below sea level. To his amazement, Tom can still breathe and doesn’t feel any water filling his lungs as he drifts deeper towards the ocean floor. Suddenly, the boat strikes the sea floor and stops. The dervish beckons Tom to follow. They both exit the boat, trailing along the sand until a sunken cruise ship emerges in the distance.
Tom is overcome with a feeling of serenity as he staggers towards the shipwreck. As he trails closer and closer, the dervish stops and gestures for him to continue by himself. Hesitating slightly, Tom moves past the guide and steps inside the shipwreck. He moves up a staircase, taking each step carefully and precisely until he’s above water. The wreck has transformed into the extravagant ship he remembers from earlier. He moves along a corridor into the dining hall, which, to his surprise, is filled with guests who are dining and exchanging conversations. Gazing more intently, he notices a woman sitting by herself at the dining hall. His wife, Rose.
The figures within the dining hall all wear pagan masks and speak in an esoteric language that Tom is not familiar with. They refuse to even glance at him. Tom focuses on his wife and starts moving closer. As Tom arrives at the table his wife is sitting at, he spots distinct differences in her appearance. He sits down and studies her face. Her eyes are normally hazel brown. But her right eye is now jet black and her left eye has a shiny yellow color, resembling a midnight moon. As she looks into Tom’s eyes without saying a word, Tom can feel her gaze exploring the depths of his soul.
“Rose, Darling, am I dead? Am I in limbo, waiting to cross into the afterlife?”
Rose lets her hands form into unusual positions. She covers her face with her right hand, and her left hand points towards the left side of the dining hall where a painting hangs. It’s a Wassily Kandinsky painting. It portrays a ship in the middle of an ocean, with a bright sun above that appears to be acting as the ship’s guide. Tom looks intently at the painting, but before he can logically evaluate the painting’s meaning, Rose stands up and gestures for him to follow.
Tom swallows a glass of top-shelf whiskey on the dining table before he pulls his chair back and starts walking. They exit the dining hall and slip through the ship’s corridors when Tom notices something peculiar: each door’s room number is marked with the number 13. They continue, as two passengers who are going in the opposite direction pass them. Tom only catches a glimpse, but it’s vivid enough to notice that one of the passersby has the eyes of cat—long, stretched, dark pupils that glance in Tom’s direction but seem to scan through his mind rather than actually look at him.
Finally, they reach Rose’s room at the end of the hallway. She quickly pulls out a skeleton key and opens the door. They pass the threshold.
“Why are there no lights in this room, Honey? It’s like I’m moving with my eyes closed.”
As the door behind him closes, Tom follows Rose into the darkness. Rose sits by a table next to her bed and lights a single candle, which dimly lights the edges of the room. Tom sits on the other side of the table and gazes at the wall beside the candle. Tom notices that artwork covers the now illuminated wall. The paintings aren’t by famous painters. They’re original artwork—mesmerising images of skulls, tombs, and nooses. One oil painting strikes Tom as remarkable: a cat with dilated pupils and electrified fur devouring its prey, a pink rat.
“Did you pick up painting, Rose? I didn’t think you enjoyed art. You always complained I was in the studio too long.”
Rose lets out a loud obnoxious laugh, then claps her hands together against the burning candle, extinguishing it and immediately making the cabin submerge into darkness.
The sound of the neighbors arguing in the cabin next door can be heard as Tom and Rose get dressed and ready for lunch in the dining hall.
“God, don’t they ever shut up?” Rose exclaims.
Tom tries to ignore the couple while buttoning his dress shirt. He looks at the clock. It’s noon. “Try to tune them out. We’re almost ready.”
They shuffle along the corridor past the ship’s cabins. They pass the spiral staircase and finally reach the dining hall. It’s nearly full of passengers, yet the couple spot a table in a far corner, where they sit down.
Rose picks up the menu. “Woah! This is all so diverse and exotic! Singapore Rice Noodles, Pan Fried Teriyaki Chicken, Lamb Biryani …”
Tom decides on a crab linguini.
As the hours pass, Tom and Rose order red wine and talked about seemingly mundane things: his assignment in Europe, where they’re going to stay for the first few nights in the Ukraine.
Rose suggests they make an excursion to the deck of the ship. “Come on, it’s evening. If we leave now, we’ll catch the sunset.”
Tom agrees and pays the bill before getting up from the table and exiting the dining hall.
Tom and Rose make their way up to the deck of the ship and watch the glistening sunlight gently stroke their skin while conversing about the beautiful evening. Tom is transfixed by the illuminating effect the sunlight has on the water below. He gazes intently, observing the sea and waves reflecting the sun, making an ocean of glistening diamonds. The longer he stares at the water, the more colours he sees. He wants to get closer to it, but he’s already standing by the rail at the edge of the ship. Still, his body motions him closer and closer. Rose glances around the deck to see if there are any other passengers admiring the sunset before turning back towards the spot Tom had previously occupied.
“Isn’t this just the most beautiful evening, Tom? Tom …?”
Gabriel Wing 