Maybe... Just Maybe - Part One

Jake Martins flicked the switch setting the small motor into action and raising the shutter to signal the start of a new day. The slow moving metal folded in on itself as more and more of the morning sun was allowed to spread and the light flooded across the white tiled floor like a tsunami across the flat lands, unbroken except by the occasional shadow cast by the elongated legs of the wooden table and chairs.

Once the motor finished its only task he flicked the switch off once more, opened the double doors and stepped out onto his generous terrace, the stone floor below already hot from the morning sun slightly burning the soles of his bare feet. It was a typical April morning in Marseillan, quieter than the peak season of the high summer months but still a satisfactory twenty five degrees. Marseillan was the usual small town in the South of France, small ‘mignon’ harbours and streets that echoed the architecture of nearby Spain. A typical town where the locals each knew one another, stopping for long conversations whilst paying for their goods at the local marché, an act that often caused Jake Martin significant distress as he hurriedly purchased his own groceries. The locals all knew Jake, he was the Anglais who moved to town seven months ago, barely left his apartment, except to buy the necessities such as food, drink and toilet roll. Other than his name, his country of origin and the fact that he ate, drank and shat, the only other thing the locals were sure of was that he was strange, a stranger in every sense of the word that seemed on edge, an Anglais who no one truly trusted and yet none could accurately give a reason why. Jake knew of the locals feelings, of their fears, the difference between them was he knew exactly why he was not to be trusted.

Jake Martins now looked out over the still body of water that made up Étang de Thau, a large lagoon a mile across, he lifted his hand and dropped the two tablets into his open mouth, washing them down with the last of the chilled bottle of water he held in his other. It was tranquil looking out across the water, so still as the light danced and flickered playfully across the subtle waves. The only chaos he ever saw would come from the boats speeding across the centre of the lagoon, often with a body clinging to the rope behind as the tourists and locals a like water skied, or very commonly kite surfed in the distance. These water sports did not cause any distress or aggravate Jake’s condition, not only due to his medication but mainly due to the fact this chaos occurred in the distance, the joyful screams a mere echo. The water directly in front of his apartment was far calmer, silently screaming a regular routine of four slow moving boats that each had its proper place to moor each day, a regimented tranquillity that Jake Martins would have been proud to have organised himself.

As Jake’s vison scanned across this peace, noticing two of the four boats had already left the miniature harbour his eyes were drawn to a foreign object in the left side of the harbour. A simple shape in the periphery of his vision that sent a screaming pain into his left temple. His eyes caught up with his periphery and there on the side of the harbour, no more than one hundred feet away lay the abomination. A rickety aged sail boat, echoing a historic time. The hull was painted, well once was painted in what must have been a striking aqua green with a red stripe dissecting the middle spanning from the front to the back, the paint was now peeling and faded in most patches, revealing the bare wood below. From the deck two large masts sprang like branchless trees growing in a sparse forest, their roots hidden below the deck. At the front, and the most distressing feature for Jake was the man, the man was stood, moving perfectly in harmony with the rise and fall of the boat as it reflected the small motion of the almost still water. The figure did not seem to be moving, he wore light blue shorts, a close to perfect match to the ship’s hull, white vest and navy cap. His right arm was well tanned and his hand tucked behind him in his back pocket. His head was tilted toward the shore staring, staring (Jake was sure) directly toward the third floor balcony where Jake Martin’s now stood.

Jake stole his eyes away, turning and returning into the safety of his living room, the cool tiles beneath his feet a stark contrast to the fired stone on the terrace as the morning sun had not had chance to heat them. Jake sat on the small two seater sofa where the sun could not quite reach. From this new position he could still see through the doors and railings and out across the water, but the new addition to the harbour was now hidden behind the wall of the small kitchenette, a small comforting gift but one that was not enough to satisfy Jake as even the thought, the knowledge of the intruder still waiting out there was enough to cause him upset. Closing his eyes he sat upright and began to take deep breaths, in for ten and out for ten, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in for ten, out for ten, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in for ten, out for ‘what was he doing just stood there…’ out through the mouth, in for ten, out for ten, ‘and so still, why so still?’ in through the mouth, and out through the no, ‘no he shouldn’t be there!’.

Jake stood, his fingers lifted to his mouth, biting, chewing the nails that had grown quite well over the last few months, even to the point where had had to trim them down, now no trimming was required as his teeth made short work of what was left, before long he would be moving to the skin below. His feet naturally paced around the floor, instinctively moving, seemingly to need no trigger from his brain’s neurons, a blessing as there were none to spare, all of his mind was focussed, focussed on one thing, the figure and his monstrosity, the stranger and his boat.

He was desperate to have another look, to confirm the boat was still there, despite the fact he knew it would be, he didn’t need to see it, he could feel it there, rocking up and down on the gentle waves, and him, that figure moving in time. His feet heard the call for confirmation and had already started to carry Jake across the floor to the small window positioned above the sink in the kitchenette, a window that had a clear site of the ship, the wooden frame not only framing the glass but causing the illusion of a painting, the subject of which was none other than the decaying boat that had no place being there. The site of it physically sent a shiver through Jake’s bones and that was before he managed to identify the figure, still stood in the exact same spot at the very front of the hull, staring. A pain crashed once more in Jake’s right temple as he ducked down in front of the sink, a motion reflecting that of a teenage boy who had just been spotted spying on the girl next door.

‘Why?.. What does he want? He’s ruining everything’

‘Maybe he’s hear for you?’

‘What?’

‘Maybe he wants to see you back in that place… back with those crazies’

‘…’

‘Maybe… Just maybe… he is here to make you a crazy… a real crazy this time… maybe he knows the truth… the truth that you liked it in that place… the truth that you liked the routine, the regiment… maybe… just maybe… he is here to help you, to help you return there!’

Jake Martins shook his head violently, side to side until the pain that he felt in his left temple had spread like wild fire throughout his skull. The pain remained but the voice was gone, however without even looking he knew the ship and the stranger were not.

The sound of nature could be heard creeping through the open doors, the gentle splashing of the water as it caressed the rocks on the shore, the soft cries of the gulls circling and diving for any remanence of food they could scavenge. The sounds seemed distant, soft and calming and so Jake allowed himself to focus on them, his rational mind desperately clawing onto anything that would stop him falling into the pit he was dangerously close to. Jake first focussed on the sound of the water, gently lapping, he could picture the movement, hitting off the rocks and bouncing off the sides of the boats, the four boats, not five. He felt his heart slowing, a regular rhythm returning and the tight sensation in his bladder easing. The screeching of the sea gulls came now, louder than he had expected, before they had sounded a little softer, more distant now they seemed they were right outside, but it was ok, in his mind they were still gently floating in the air on the light breeze, barely moving. It was idyllic, the usual site he had seen every day for the last seven months. Then, however, it flickered into vision in the top left, for a split second the stranger’s ship was there, ruining the tranquillity. Jake squeezed his eyes tighter, as if he held his lids closed tight enough then the unwanted intruder would be squeezed out like a lemon spilling its juice. For a moment it worked, the ship was gone, but now, now the water was no longer calm, the waves were growing, the water breaking on the rocks, the white foam splashing out on to the path as the lagoon spat and the angry waves thundered down onto the rocks and crashed into the hulls of the boats sending them into an endless rocking. The birds were no longer floating, more circling, flying into one another as they fought over their prey, the once distant, softly soothing calls replaced by aggressive threatening shrieks like demons in the sky even their eyes seemed to turn red as the sky darkened with clouds. The unwanted boat had now returned and no amount of squeezing would discard it this time, its mooring and anchors holding strong.

Jake Martins opened his eyes, the bright sun filled room burning his retina for a moment as he adjusted to the light surroundings. The vision was gone but there was no comfort to be had, the cause remained. Jake stood, keeping his back facing the window he was confronted by the clock on the wall, it read twelve fifteen but that could not be right, he had opened the doors just before nine a.m. He checked the time on the oven, again twelve fifteen, he had been obsessing for hours, and it was also time for his medication, walking across to the desk he reached out picking up the bottle from the side of his type writer only to find it was empty, despite it being half full that morning.

‘Maybe he took them, maybe when you had your eyes shut he finally moved, not only moved but entered your apartment and took your pills?’

‘No... No why would he? How could he?’

‘You’re the writer, you’re the one with the imagination you tell me how… but as for why… well maybe… maybe it’s like I said… maybe he wants to send you back to where you desperately urge to be.’

The empty bottle fell from Jake’s hand as he stood turning toward the door, he was not going to let this stranger win, he was certain of it. He would go back out, out onto the balcony and face the stranger on his intruding boat, he would, well, he would if his feet would obey but they seemed stuck to the spot, looking down he saw branches coming up though the tiles, sending cracks and splintering the white surface as they wrapped around his feet, branches like the branches of the ship’s masts, gripping and grabbing his feet in a tight embrace, anchoring him in place.