The Mariner

Finally, the captain grunted and pulled her head firmly into his lap, emptying himself inside. He let go and she fell onto the floor, coughing and spluttering, her lungs taking in gasps of air between harrowed sobs.

However the beast wasn’t to be so easily placated. He tucked himself back into his trousers and stood, face blank and rigid. All sinister myrth gone. The Mariner’s breath quickened as he watched him kick the victim, first in the stomach, then the breasts before finally her face. Over and over he’d kick and stamp, her initial cries turning to wheezes, ending with a final listless whimper. Soon the only sound she made was a mushy squelch, though that was more attributable to his boot.

When her body finally relinquished its fragile grip upon her sorry life, the captain suffered an orgasmic judder and with his handkerchief dabbed sweat from his brow. Then, as if nothing had happened, he strolled back and took his place in his seat.

“Enter.”

The Mariner tensed. Was the captain speaking to him? Had he known he was hiding outside all this time? Absurdly, the Mariner was primarily concerned with being caught with an erection, evidence plain to see that he’d enjoyed the scene.

But before he could move, the door opened by itself. No, not by itself, there had been someone beside him the whole time! It was a woman, dressed in rags and bound in chains.

It was her! The woman he’d just seen murdered! She walked into the captain’s room solemnly, legs shaking. It was then the Mariner noticed the murdered body had disappeared, all evidence of the terrible crime erased.

The captain looked up at her with a scowl of frustration and disappointment. And something else. Excitement? The Mariner understood why. He knew what was on the captain’s mind. He’d seen what had happened. What was about to happen again. Who were these people? Ghosts? Visions? Memories?

The scene unfolded several times that night. Each time exactly the same as before. Each time the Mariner became aroused by the sexual violence, and each time his reluctance to masturbate diminished.

Repetition became tradition. Conditioned to love the pain.

The visions stopped when the Mariner, like the captain, finally found release.

Patient Number 0020641

Name: Donna Selwyn

Treatment is taking longer than anticipated due to the limited scope of viable opportunities for rehabilitation. The nature of the addiction makes her the trickiest patient so far, but I’m confident progress can be made.

The physical injuries are healing well, most of the bandages are off and although the scars will remain, I’m sure they can be concealed cosmetically. The problem will be finding appropriate cosmetics in this primitive town, but perhaps with enough time a trading ship will carry the goods to meet her needs.

My biggest concern is to find a proper outlet for her compulsion, without that any progress will be minimal. As with Grace, I am forced to be creative.

T.

13. HAZY PROMISES

SMOKE FILLED HIS NOSTRILS. SOMETHING was burning, his throat hurt and his eyes stung, lids clogged as they tried to open. Had he finally died and gone to hell, a fiery cavern deep beneath the waves? Or was the ancient and sturdy Neptune the fuel to the fire? Could he be about to sink?

Deep whooping coughs juddered his chest and the Mariner rolled onto his side, pulling his legs up in pain. The movement was slow, and the alcohol in his system sent the world spinning, twirling over and over. Knees met his chest, vomit gushing from his throat coating each like protective pads. Where were his devils? Why hadn’t they woken him with howling at the first hint of smoke?

Utter disorientation gripped him. He was not aboard the Neptune at all. He was in a bar, drinks lined carefully behind a long varnished counter. The glass from the bottles sparkled and danced as the flames illuminated the walls with their incendiary glare. There was no bar within the Neptune (if there had been, it would have been drained years before), no such luxuries upon a slave ship. This was somewhere else entirely.