Maybe... Just Maybe - Part Three

It did not take Jake Martins long to finish the first bottle of red wine and already he could feel the effects. It had been a couple of months since his last drink, that added to the lack of food meant that each time he closed his eyes the harbour itself and everything around would spin, as if Jake was able to feel the Earth’s rotation in full for the first time. He let the empty bottle fall from his hand crashing down onto the terrace, the only thing stopping it from shattering was the towel Jake had placed there earlier that day. Before the bottle had made its impact he was already reaching for the second, the water of course remained untouched.

As he brought the bottle forward he lay it down on the side of the terrace whilst he fumbled for the bottle opener, letting out an audible sigh as he had to avert his gaze to find the tool, tearing his eyes away from the stranger for a mere moment. Not that it would have mattered if he had looked away for longer, even if he had returned to his apartment, Jake Martins was certain the figure would remain in the exact spot, the same spot he had stood the entire day, his stare unwavering.

Jake angled his wrist and pulled the cork, wrenching it from the small rim causing the fine liquid to erupt over the edge, splattering both the towel below and Jake’s legs with its blood red content. Jake didn’t flinch as the wine splashed against his bare shins, there was no time, no space to allow any distractions. His mind was truly focussed, raising the bottle to his lips only on instinct. Those thoughts, that dialogue, if an internal thought can be classed as a dialogue were repeating over and over in his mind, a seamless loop changing only marginally each time around and on occasion being verbalised, almost making the thoughts tangible.

‘What does he want?’

‘You know he wants you to go back… he knows you…’

‘Maybe he does… and if he does… what do I do… why does he just stare… No! How does he just stare? But why is he here? Why me?’

‘Maybe… just maybe he wants you back…’

‘But he can’t… can he… well if he does then…’

And so the loop continued, each time becoming less and less coherent. Jake Martins was so focussed he had not noticed he still held the open bottle opener in his hand, never placing it down after removing the cork from its screwed blade. Now he was tapping it, an unconscious movement in his wrist, a tick similar to how someone nervously awaiting an interview may tap their leg up and down. The pointed edge tapping on his thigh dug deeper on every movement until blood trickled down his leg, mixing with the red stains from the wine already beginning to dry. Jake remained completely oblivious to the hole he was burrowing in his own leg.

‘You… You… can FUCK off!’ Jake shrieked across the water. His words already beginning to slur as the alcohol took hold further.

‘I know what you’re doing…! Fucking dick… I know you want to send me back there… well yess… yes I fucking liked it… it was fucking easy! A routine that had to be followed… but I could have that in fucking prison...! Doesn’t mean I want to go there… does it?’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Maybe… maybe you do want to go to prison…?’

‘You can fuck off too… you and him… him that stranger… both of you can go fuck yourselves.’

He raised the bottle to his lips once again and poured more of its content down his throat, stumbling backwards he tripped over the chair and fell once more, this time crashing his head into the table. Dazed, Jake Martins lay unmoving, staring up at the vast emptiness of the sky above, stars twinkling in the seemingly constant canopy. Jake found himself envious of the tiny speckles of light that seemed so tranquil.

Jake gently rose, his head in splinters, both from the wine and the crack he had taken on the table. Once on his feet he looked down once more, his heart gave way and he actually sighed audibly. Of course the figure was still there, still stood in the exact position and why not. Jake Martins now let out a short scream in exasperation, grabbed the half empty bottle of red and finished its remains, paying no heed to the agony being sent from his head. He then returned to his apartment, pacing over to the cupboard and pulling out the crow bar he kept with his tools. The next moment, tool in hand he was through the front door.

Jake Martins walked down the stairs, his docile pace wrongly suggesting a calm disposition, the true turmoil hidden deep inside, masked by purpose. As Jake reached the bottom step his focus was briefly interrupted by the ladies voice.

‘Bonj…’  was all that escaped the elderly ladies lips before the crow bar struck the left side of her skull, burying inside, in an instant crushing not just the bone but also any life contained within. Jake didn’t miss as much as a stride as he smoothly pulled the metal from his neighbours head, not even taking the time to see who it was. The next instance he was through the front door and out on the street, the moonlight reflecting off of the deep red drops dripping down from the matte black metal as Jake Martins paused for a moment, standing on the path in his piss and blood stained shorts, feeling the gentle breeze drift over his skin, staring out at the stranger and his vessel as a scream rang out from the stairwell behind.

Jake approached the vessel, reaching the gangway he let out a short yell, his jaw moving down and to one side before closing, another nervous tick that occurred when he was most stressed, his eyes never faltering, not even a blink.

‘You… Oi… I know you are on there!’ he screamed, hammering the crow bar down on the metal railing, the metal on metal sending the loud clang through the air as the violent vibrations travelled through the bar and into Jake’s hands causing a sharp pain that reached down to the bone and nearly made him drop his weapon.

‘I said I know you are on there, now come off, stop standing there and tell me why you are staring, who the fuck are you?’

When no response came he made his way onto the boat, his walk hindered by a slight limp as the pain in his thigh began to seep into his consciousness. Jake was now on the boat and without a pause he made his way over to where he had seen the figure. He was met by nothing, no one was there, the figure he had seen so vividly from across the water, the stranger that had haunted him was nowhere to be seen. The only thing he could find was a light blue barrel, a small white towel hung against the mast with a wooden beam held on an angle and used for some sort of rope hold.

Jakes mind span, almost falling once more as his eyes desperately searched the surrounding deck. He could see no one, and then, stepping over the boards he felt one loose, looking down, beneath his feet, it was not a board but a closed hatch, no latch to lock it in place, the wooden surface blending with the rest of the deck. His heart began to pound yet again as he slowly reached down, calmly raising the wooden door with one hand whilst wielding the metal bar in the other, prepped like a cat ready to jump its prey.

The wooden door slowly raised, the moonlight slithering inside gradually lighting a small storage hole. The light spread further as Jake raised the lid. As the moon crept into the corner of the hole Jake jumped back, dropping the lid shut, stumbling forward, taking a deep breath he grabbed hold of the hatch once again. He had seen him, the figure, well not the figure, but his face, those eyes. With no further hesitation he lifted the hatch throwing it upwards and forwards to reveal the hidden compartment, in an instant he was thrusting his arm forward, the crowbar swinging and thudding into the wood beneath. He took a moment to look, there was no one. The moonlight now lit the entire hole leaving no corner to hide and yet the figure was gone.

Jake fell backward, resting his head against the wooden deck, lifting his hands to his face he gripped tight, so tight it hurt as the remanence of his nails penetrated his flesh, screaming a silent scream into nothingness before composing himself once more. Rising to his feet, the blood now dripping from his thigh onto the wooden deck leaving stained drops. He had to find him, he had to be there, the stranger that had taunted him all day. The desperation now took hold as he stormed around the deck kicking over any objects that stood in his way. He even crossed to the side of the ship and looked down, half expecting, half hoping to see the face in the water below. Looking up he noticed he was now stood exactly where he had seen the figure, seeing the view he thought the stranger would have seen for the first time.

“Maybe… just maybe.’

The voice startled Jake as he slowly turned seeing the truth for the first time. The objects he had been so quick to disregard, the light blue barrel, seemingly the same colour as the stranger’s shorts, a small white towel hung against the mast, the same shape as the stranger’s torso, the wooden beam held on an angle, the same angle as the figures arm, the wood the same tone as his skin.

Jake Martins stepped back, nearly stumbling over the edge with the realisation, had the stranger ever been there? It couldn’t have all been an illusion, the towel, the barrel, the beam?

Jake cried out hammering the crow bar down on the barrel, hitting anything that he could reach.

‘Maybe… Maybe you are the one that wants you to go back to that place… maybe you know you really are a crazy… maybe… maybe you should be back there… maybe… just maybe it’s where you’re meant to be.’

As these last words rattled through his thoughts an understanding, a realisation that the figure had been nothing more than an illusion, a series of objects creating an appearance of a man from a far. An illusion had led him to this. And the woman. Jake turned to face his own apartment block, seeing a small crowd beginning to gather at the front door, a mixture of neighbours in their robes responding to the scream. That’s when he saw him, not with the group on the street but higher, on a third floor terrace, on Jake’s terrace, the figure, the stranger. The blood drained from his body, he could feel it as it trickled, first from his head, down his body, legs and finally leaving his feet bare, replaced by nothing. The figure stared down directly at Jake. Jake found his momentarily empty body was filled with adrenaline as he lifted his legs ready to make his way back to his apartment for what he was sure would be the final confrontation, a mixture of relief and anger fighting to take control. He found he could not move. He desperately tried to take a step, to move his arms his head anything, but all to no avail. He was stuck, stuck in place, branches again wrapping around his feet, this time making their way up to his arms anchoring him to the spot, not that he could see them, unable to even move his neck, but he could feel them crawling their way over his skin. All he could see was his apartment, the figure stood motionless once more.

In the distance Jake could hear the faint sound of sirens. As they grew closer, Jake, for the first time that day, saw the stranger move, not just slightly, but turn and casually walk into his apartment, leaving Jake alone, alone at least until the police came to take him away, or to try. Not that they would find him, anyone looking out from the apartments could point out the figure on the front of the boat a figure that wore blood stained shorts but if they approached, entered the boat they would find nothing, just a series of objects, some stained cloth, old wooden beams and crates, for now Jake Martins had become the illusion. Jake Martins had become the unknown stranger on the front of the boat, never moving, only staring as the figure took control of the life that was once his.