Sacrifice
Title: Sacrifice, Part I
Genre: original fic
Rating: R for language and violence
Warnings: Artistic license taken, abused, and then set on fire for good measure.
Summary: It was suppose to be the vacation of their dreams. Instead, Frank and Sharon discover they are inhabiting a nightmare of immeasurable proportions.
Disclaimer: Since I’ve gone Lovecraftian, I think it’s safe to say it’s all fiction. Or so we can hope.
Near San Juan Islands
Fall, 2012
Sharon shaded her eyes with her right hand as she gazed towards the horizon. The sunset was actually breathtaking, and to her delight seemed to happen at a snail’s pace.
“This was a wonderful idea,” Sharon shouted over her shoulder.
Frank grinned. “And you thought we’d drown a mile out!”
“It didn’t help you were humming Gilligan’s Island,” Sharon shot back. “And you’re tone deaf!”
“Sucks to be you!”
Sharon laughed loudly. She was amazed at how often she found herself laughing when Frank was around. It wasn’t that he was another Steve Martin, but his continuous patter of good humor brightened her mood until it was easy for her to laugh, even at the slightest provocation.
It was exactly the opposite affect her mother had, for Mrs. Johanna Troy had the inhuman ability to find all the weak spots in her daughter, and needle them until Sharon broke into tears of impotent rage.
“We should eat dinner,” Frank said, “before we completely lose the light.”
“Sounds good,” Sharon readily agreed. She scampered down to the cabin and opened few cans. She heated them in the microwave and set them out on the cubby table. Frank came down, briskly rubbing his hands together.
“A bit nippy out there,” Frank said. “It’s a lot colder than I thought it’d be.”
“You only sailed the Gulf of Mexico,” Sharon said. “Remember?”
“True,” Frank said. He pulled out two bottles of water from the cooler and started on one while handing the other to Sharon. “How are you doing?”
“Seasickness is gone,” She answered with a gusty sigh and took a long drink of water. “Thank God for that.”
“Hallelujah,” Frank chorused. Then he prompted sat down and wolfed his chow with such speed that Sharon lost her appetite.
“Umm … going somewhere?” she asked when he was done.
Frank looked down at his empty plate with something akin to a surprise. “Oh hell. I guess I’m really hungry. Or I was.”
Sharon shook her head and began eating hers but could manage only few bites. She looked up from her plate when she was done to find Frank frowning.
She was about to speak when the boat rocked. It was a slight movement, but the look on Frank’s face told her it wasn’t a small problem.
“What is it?” she asked, hating the nervousness threading her voice.
Frank wordlessly ran up to the deck. Sharon followed.
The sight that greeted her drained all strength from her legs.
In the twenty some-odd minutes they’d be been below deck, the entire horizon had changed. Where there was dimming sunlight, now was an ominous line of black clouds. Sharon looked at the storm roll towards them and was strongly reminded of the time when she watched smoke pour out from windows of a burning house.
Traces of lightening stitched across the blackened sky, but the storm was too far off for the sound of thunder to reach them. However, she had no doubt the din would be horrific.
“Frank?” Sharon asked weakly. “What are we…”
“We’re turning around,” Frank interrupted brusquely.
Even as the boat’s engines powered up, Sharon knew their effort to outrun the storm would be fruitless. Frank seemed to have come to the same conclusion and grabbed the radio.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is Boondocks. We are…”
The radio exploded in static. Frank grimaced before repeating.
Sharon took a deep breath before looking back. The storm seemed twice as close, and she could now feel thunder reverberating against every bit of exposed skin.
“Sycamore…” the radio crackled weakly, forcing Frank to place his ear next to it. Sharon held her breath, terrified that she’d involuntarily cause the loss of the only lifeline that seemed to be left to them.
“Got it!” Frank shouted.
He punched the engines and began steering the boat sharply to the left.
Sharon crowded next to him. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a small island, Sycamore,” Frank explained, a frown crowding his brows and fear choking his voice. “It’s a few miles from here. Hopefully there’s going to be a harbor we can find shelter in.”
“If there isn’t?”
“We’re going ashore.” Frank kissed her hard on the forehead. “Fuck the boat. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life paying it off. I’m not risking our lives for it.”
Sharon watched Frank strain the engine to its utmost speed as the boat began dancing on the tip of swells that seemed to get bigger with each passing.
When the rain hit Frank ordered Sharon to go below. Initially she didn’t want to but watching Frank’s white-knuckle grip on the helm told her she could not afford to attract his attention away from the controls. So, she went downstairs. It was only when she was out of the rain that Sharon discovered she was crying.
She looked out a porthole and saw a swell that completely swallowed the view. With a small scream Sharon scrambled to the other side of the cabin. Then she felt the boat lurch dangerously to the left and threw herself on the floor in order not to be dashed against the walls.
Things fell out of the unsecured cabinets while the secured ones rattled their contents like a maraca.
The entire cabinet sank into darkness, forcing Sharon into even deeper fright. She was scrambling onto her knees to join Frank above when she caught a glimpse of light from the corner of her eye. At first she thought she’d imagined it but after her eyes got used to the darkness Sharon saw the flash again.
She ran topside and was immediately drenched by the storm. “Do you see that?”
“Yes!” Frank shouted in order to be heard above the storm. “It’s not a lighthouse but it’s definitely land!”
And that was all the conversation that could be had as Frank focused getting the boat into safety. Fortunately for them the lights that guided them indeed led to a harbor. The waves were still high but not as monstrous as they were in the open sea.
As the boat pulled up against a dock, two figures came running from the dark. They grabbed the rope tossed to them and tied down the boat.
Frank helped Sharon leave the boat first before jumping onto the walkway.
“Jesus Christ, where did you come from?” a woman asked as she led them away from the marina.
“We were out at sea when the storm overcame us!” Frank answered. “It came from nowhere!”
“Welcome to El Nina!” was the cheery reply.
Frank and Sharon were led up a steep incline of slippery wooden stairs until they reached the top. A dirt path led them to a cottage sturdily made of stone and brick.
Sharon took a deep breath when she entered the house. “Oh, thank God.”
Frank embraced her and kissed her soaked hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”
Sharon managed a weak nod as a reply. The man handed over blankets and rustled them over to the fireplace while his wife disappeared to the back of the house. She returned few minutes later with a tray.
“Here, have a drink,” the woman said, offering large mugs.
Sharon drank deeply and immediately felt warmth crawl into her fingers and toes. “Oh, this is great. What is it?”
“A concoction of my wife’s,” the man answered. “Don’t bother asking. In our forty-one years of marriage she never told me what it is.”
“My name’s Emily,” the woman introduced herself. “The rude man sitting over there is Arthur.”
“I’m Sharon and that’s my boyfriend, Frank.”
“Where are you from?” Emily asked.
“Boston,” Frank answered. “We were in Seattle for a week then sailed out of San Juan for a two-day tour.
“We hadn’t been out for more than few hours before all hell broke loose.”
“You’re lucky, you know that?” Arthur said. “Storms like that could tear apart tankers.”
“We really are grateful for your help,” Sharon said. “How did you see us?”
“It was me,” Arthur explained. “I have a grim hobby of sorts: one that started with my grandfather.
“He was out on a night like this one and the only reason he survived was because of the Mihevc Lighthouse that used to stand next to this cottage. Anyway, he became the lighthouse keeper after he retired from the Navy.
“A fire burned down the lighthouse and it was never rebuilt. He bought the cottage from the government and made home here. And he kept watch like he always did. He taught what he knew to his son as a hobby of sorts. And my dad taught it to me.”
“So every night he looks out the top window, even for only few minutes,” Emily finished for her husband.
“It doesn’t sound morbid,” Frank said. “Not at all.”
Sharon heard the earnestness in Frank’s voice and hid her smile by drinking Emily’s concoction.
As soon as the rescuees were calm enough, they were taken upstairs and given pajamas. Emily took their soaked clothes in order to clean them. She promised they’d be dry by morning.
Not that Sharon cared. She was bone tired and would’ve been only too glad to let Emily do the laundry. She thought Frank was in the same condition and was about to fall asleep when she heard him say:
“I know this is a bad time to ask, but will you marry me?”
Sharon rolled over and into his welcoming embrace.
“Yes,” she whispered fiercely. “Yes.”
Genre: original fic
Rating: R for language and violence
Warnings: Artistic license taken, abused, and then set on fire for good measure.
Summary: It was suppose to be the vacation of their dreams. Instead, Frank and Sharon discover they are inhabiting a nightmare of immeasurable proportions.
Disclaimer: Since I’ve gone Lovecraftian, I think it’s safe to say it’s all fiction. Or so we can hope.
Near San Juan Islands
Fall, 2012
Sharon shaded her eyes with her right hand as she gazed towards the horizon. The sunset was actually breathtaking, and to her delight seemed to happen at a snail’s pace.
“This was a wonderful idea,” Sharon shouted over her shoulder.
Frank grinned. “And you thought we’d drown a mile out!”
“It didn’t help you were humming Gilligan’s Island,” Sharon shot back. “And you’re tone deaf!”
“Sucks to be you!”
Sharon laughed loudly. She was amazed at how often she found herself laughing when Frank was around. It wasn’t that he was another Steve Martin, but his continuous patter of good humor brightened her mood until it was easy for her to laugh, even at the slightest provocation.
It was exactly the opposite affect her mother had, for Mrs. Johanna Troy had the inhuman ability to find all the weak spots in her daughter, and needle them until Sharon broke into tears of impotent rage.
“We should eat dinner,” Frank said, “before we completely lose the light.”
“Sounds good,” Sharon readily agreed. She scampered down to the cabin and opened few cans. She heated them in the microwave and set them out on the cubby table. Frank came down, briskly rubbing his hands together.
“A bit nippy out there,” Frank said. “It’s a lot colder than I thought it’d be.”
“You only sailed the Gulf of Mexico,” Sharon said. “Remember?”
“True,” Frank said. He pulled out two bottles of water from the cooler and started on one while handing the other to Sharon. “How are you doing?”
“Seasickness is gone,” She answered with a gusty sigh and took a long drink of water. “Thank God for that.”
“Hallelujah,” Frank chorused. Then he prompted sat down and wolfed his chow with such speed that Sharon lost her appetite.
“Umm … going somewhere?” she asked when he was done.
Frank looked down at his empty plate with something akin to a surprise. “Oh hell. I guess I’m really hungry. Or I was.”
Sharon shook her head and began eating hers but could manage only few bites. She looked up from her plate when she was done to find Frank frowning.
She was about to speak when the boat rocked. It was a slight movement, but the look on Frank’s face told her it wasn’t a small problem.
“What is it?” she asked, hating the nervousness threading her voice.
Frank wordlessly ran up to the deck. Sharon followed.
The sight that greeted her drained all strength from her legs.
In the twenty some-odd minutes they’d be been below deck, the entire horizon had changed. Where there was dimming sunlight, now was an ominous line of black clouds. Sharon looked at the storm roll towards them and was strongly reminded of the time when she watched smoke pour out from windows of a burning house.
Traces of lightening stitched across the blackened sky, but the storm was too far off for the sound of thunder to reach them. However, she had no doubt the din would be horrific.
“Frank?” Sharon asked weakly. “What are we…”
“We’re turning around,” Frank interrupted brusquely.
Even as the boat’s engines powered up, Sharon knew their effort to outrun the storm would be fruitless. Frank seemed to have come to the same conclusion and grabbed the radio.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is Boondocks. We are…”
The radio exploded in static. Frank grimaced before repeating.
Sharon took a deep breath before looking back. The storm seemed twice as close, and she could now feel thunder reverberating against every bit of exposed skin.
“Sycamore…” the radio crackled weakly, forcing Frank to place his ear next to it. Sharon held her breath, terrified that she’d involuntarily cause the loss of the only lifeline that seemed to be left to them.
“Got it!” Frank shouted.
He punched the engines and began steering the boat sharply to the left.
Sharon crowded next to him. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a small island, Sycamore,” Frank explained, a frown crowding his brows and fear choking his voice. “It’s a few miles from here. Hopefully there’s going to be a harbor we can find shelter in.”
“If there isn’t?”
“We’re going ashore.” Frank kissed her hard on the forehead. “Fuck the boat. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life paying it off. I’m not risking our lives for it.”
Sharon watched Frank strain the engine to its utmost speed as the boat began dancing on the tip of swells that seemed to get bigger with each passing.
When the rain hit Frank ordered Sharon to go below. Initially she didn’t want to but watching Frank’s white-knuckle grip on the helm told her she could not afford to attract his attention away from the controls. So, she went downstairs. It was only when she was out of the rain that Sharon discovered she was crying.
She looked out a porthole and saw a swell that completely swallowed the view. With a small scream Sharon scrambled to the other side of the cabin. Then she felt the boat lurch dangerously to the left and threw herself on the floor in order not to be dashed against the walls.
Things fell out of the unsecured cabinets while the secured ones rattled their contents like a maraca.
The entire cabinet sank into darkness, forcing Sharon into even deeper fright. She was scrambling onto her knees to join Frank above when she caught a glimpse of light from the corner of her eye. At first she thought she’d imagined it but after her eyes got used to the darkness Sharon saw the flash again.
She ran topside and was immediately drenched by the storm. “Do you see that?”
“Yes!” Frank shouted in order to be heard above the storm. “It’s not a lighthouse but it’s definitely land!”
And that was all the conversation that could be had as Frank focused getting the boat into safety. Fortunately for them the lights that guided them indeed led to a harbor. The waves were still high but not as monstrous as they were in the open sea.
As the boat pulled up against a dock, two figures came running from the dark. They grabbed the rope tossed to them and tied down the boat.
Frank helped Sharon leave the boat first before jumping onto the walkway.
“Jesus Christ, where did you come from?” a woman asked as she led them away from the marina.
“We were out at sea when the storm overcame us!” Frank answered. “It came from nowhere!”
“Welcome to El Nina!” was the cheery reply.
Frank and Sharon were led up a steep incline of slippery wooden stairs until they reached the top. A dirt path led them to a cottage sturdily made of stone and brick.
Sharon took a deep breath when she entered the house. “Oh, thank God.”
Frank embraced her and kissed her soaked hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”
Sharon managed a weak nod as a reply. The man handed over blankets and rustled them over to the fireplace while his wife disappeared to the back of the house. She returned few minutes later with a tray.
“Here, have a drink,” the woman said, offering large mugs.
Sharon drank deeply and immediately felt warmth crawl into her fingers and toes. “Oh, this is great. What is it?”
“A concoction of my wife’s,” the man answered. “Don’t bother asking. In our forty-one years of marriage she never told me what it is.”
“My name’s Emily,” the woman introduced herself. “The rude man sitting over there is Arthur.”
“I’m Sharon and that’s my boyfriend, Frank.”
“Where are you from?” Emily asked.
“Boston,” Frank answered. “We were in Seattle for a week then sailed out of San Juan for a two-day tour.
“We hadn’t been out for more than few hours before all hell broke loose.”
“You’re lucky, you know that?” Arthur said. “Storms like that could tear apart tankers.”
“We really are grateful for your help,” Sharon said. “How did you see us?”
“It was me,” Arthur explained. “I have a grim hobby of sorts: one that started with my grandfather.
“He was out on a night like this one and the only reason he survived was because of the Mihevc Lighthouse that used to stand next to this cottage. Anyway, he became the lighthouse keeper after he retired from the Navy.
“A fire burned down the lighthouse and it was never rebuilt. He bought the cottage from the government and made home here. And he kept watch like he always did. He taught what he knew to his son as a hobby of sorts. And my dad taught it to me.”
“So every night he looks out the top window, even for only few minutes,” Emily finished for her husband.
“It doesn’t sound morbid,” Frank said. “Not at all.”
Sharon heard the earnestness in Frank’s voice and hid her smile by drinking Emily’s concoction.
As soon as the rescuees were calm enough, they were taken upstairs and given pajamas. Emily took their soaked clothes in order to clean them. She promised they’d be dry by morning.
Not that Sharon cared. She was bone tired and would’ve been only too glad to let Emily do the laundry. She thought Frank was in the same condition and was about to fall asleep when she heard him say:
“I know this is a bad time to ask, but will you marry me?”
Sharon rolled over and into his welcoming embrace.
“Yes,” she whispered fiercely. “Yes.”