Ocean At Night
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I am on the ocean at night. I am in a small boat with three other men. We have been drifting for some time, but we are now close to shore. The water is calm and warm; it feels good against my skin. I look up and see stars twinkling above me.
It’s quiet out here tonight, peaceful. Then I feel something beneath the surface of the water beside me. A hand reaches up from under the waves and pulls me back down. I can barely make out the outline of a man’s head bobbing through the water next to mine. He looks like he has dark hair tied back in a ponytail, like mine.
“Are you all right?” I ask him softly. “What’s your name?”
He grunts. His eyes are glazed over. His teeth are white as snow and his mouth is open slightly showing a row of straight, sharp teeth that could be used to bite through wood or meat.
We’re moving quickly now, so fast I’m not sure whether this place is even on land anymore. As we come into view of what might be a dock, the water opens up and we pass through a tunnel made from solid rock. Above me, there are lights in the sky—like stars but more defined somehow—and below me I see a city lit up by lanterns. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and it’s beautiful.
Then it hits me: I don’t want to leave this place! This moment—the peace and beauty surrounding us both—is something I can’t bear to break away from. But the pull from the man next to me isn’t strong enough to keep me here, either. I try to move toward him, but it doesn’t work. Something holds me back.
There is another man standing next to him on the pier who grabs me and hauls me backward into the sea. He kicks and struggles, trying to get free, but I’m being dragged too far into the water. My head goes under, and everything grows black around me. I can still hear the two men arguing. They speak some sort of foreign language—one I’ve never heard before.
The one holding me keeps kicking me, but I know if he just let’s go I would be able to swim to the surface and breathe again. I kick back harder, trying to break loose from his grip.
I can’t breathe anymore. I feel myself growing weaker every second that goes by. My lungs are burning, and they’re starting to shut down. Just give up…just let yourself die. You can stop fighting. Let the world end. That way you won’t hurt anymore. The thoughts swirl around in my mind as I sink deeper and deeper below the surface.
A light comes into view above me. It’s bright and warm and inviting. And when I reach up to touch it, I realize it’s my father’s face looking down at me, smiling with tears in his eyes. He says something to me, but I don’t understand, only that his voice sounds sad, almost regretful.
I smile back and start to cry, then drift off into sleep.
When I wake, I can feel something wet against my lips. I wipe them with my hands, then lift them to find that they are sticky and smeared with blood. I’m sitting in a chair, staring up at the ceiling of a dark room illuminated only by flickering flames on a fireplace.
There are no windows, but the fire casts enough light for me to see where I am. The chair I’m sitting on is old and worn, like something you’d find in an abandoned church. I remember now why it looks familiar, and it brings me sadness.
My mother was a devout Catholic and she took me to church once a week, even though we had no real reason to be there. She told me God loved me, and that Jesus Christ would welcome me home to heaven after I died. I didn’t believe her, but it comforted her to know she believed that and to think about how much I would be missed while I was gone.
I can’t help thinking about her again, but the sadness I felt earlier turns to fear because it dawns on me that I’m dead. What happens after death? How do people cope with losing someone they love so much?
Why can’t I just accept that I’m dead and let go of this life? It seems so strange now to think about dying. Everything that happened in my last moments of consciousness feels like it was just a dream.
The door opens behind me, startling me, and I jerk up out of my chair. It takes me a few seconds to regain control and look around. A man stands there, watching me. When he sees that I recognize him, he smiles, which makes my heart beat faster. He has a kind face, but there is something familiar about him.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he says. “How have you been?”
He reaches down and lifts me from my seat, then carries me over to the bed and lays me down gently. I close my eyes and wait for him to tell me what will happen next, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and walks across the room, leaving me alone.
After a few minutes, I sit up and turn to look at him, but he’s already gone.
As I lie there looking around the room, my mind wanders back to the events that brought me here. In my confusion, I start thinking that maybe I’m not dead after all. Maybe this is a new beginning.
If so, there are things I need to learn before I can truly be ready to begin anew. Like what happens after you die and how to deal with the loss of someone you love. And how to stop feeling so weak and helpless.
I take a deep breath and relax. I know it’s time to move past these thoughts and focus on what’s in front of me.
I sit up and look around the room, then look over at the desk in the corner and notice two books lying on top of it. One is open at the first page and it reads, ‘How to Die: A Practical Guide for the Unwilling.’ That must be the book I was reading before I got pulled under the water. I pick it up and turn to the first page.
It’s written in English, and I read over some of it again, then decide to go ahead and start at the beginning. There is a drawing inside the book with a stick figure holding its hand against a rock that’s labeled, “Your Life Force.” The picture reminds me of when my father lifted me out of the ocean.
This is interesting. It talks about the concept that we each have a limited amount of life force. This energy flows through us constantly like a river, moving through our body from head to toe. When a person dies, their life force passes through the center of their body and drains away.
At least that’s what it said here. So I guess that means my father was the one who passed his life force to me. I try to think back on what happened right before the current grabbed hold of me and yanked me under the water.
Was it Dad trying to pass his life force to me? Or was he just trying to save me, in case he couldn’t bring me back himself?
The thought makes me feel sad. I know it doesn’t make sense logically. But it does seem logical if we consider that everything in this universe has a purpose and a reason for existing. If I were to die without having the chance to experience all the wonders of life, I’d want to do whatever I could to make sure another person wouldn’t miss out either.
And it’s not as if I haven’t had a lot to live for in my short years. My friends are the most important thing to me right now; without them, I don’t know what I would do with myself. They’re what keep me going, even when I feel like giving up. I don’t ever want to lose any of them, especially not the ones who are closest to me.
I set the book down and look around the room again. As I glance across the room, the door opens, and another man comes inside.
He walks over to the bed, kneels down beside it, and looks down at me. He’s younger than the other man—probably only a few years older than me—and his hair is dark brown with gray streaks in the middle. I recognize him instantly, though I’d never seen him before in my life.
I reach out my hand toward him. “Hi.”
His eyebrows knit together and he shakes his head. “You have a lot to learn before you should say hello.” Then he turns to leave.
“Wait!” I yell after him, and he stops halfway across the room but doesn’t turn around.
He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but no shoes. His long black hair hangs over his eyes, so I can’t see what color they are. He’s carrying a small box with him, which he sets on the floor next to his chair.
When he stands up again, he walks over to the bed and kneels down in front of me again. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Tessa,” I reply, hoping I remember right.
He nods his head. “Good girl. You should always remember your name. That way people will always know where to find you.” He picks up the little box he brought and looks inside. Then he sets it back down on the floor and takes off his shirt, revealing a thin tattoo of a bird on his chest. He pulls his jeans off and steps into a pair of black boots, and then sits back down in the chair.
Now that I’m looking at him more closely, I can tell that there’s something different about him. He doesn’t really look like the others I’ve met here. And there’s a faint blue glow coming from him too, though it seems to be coming from underneath the skin rather than the actual blood vessels in his face.
He picks up the little box again and opens it. He reaches his arm out toward me, and a soft blue light flashes from his fingers and hits me in the forehead. Immediately, a wave of warmth moves throughout my entire body and then dissipates.
All I can smell is cinnamon and vanilla, and my stomach feels like it’s full of butterflies. The sensation lasts only a moment, though, because it’s gone when he takes his arm away.
“There we go,” he says, standing up and putting the box back in his pocket. “That’s better. You shouldn’t eat anything or drink anything else until I check you out first.” He walks over to the window and pulls the curtains shut before turning around to face me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair. “Does it hurt anywhere? Did you swallow anything before you came here? Are you in pain?”
“No, I feel great,” I reply honestly. “But why are you asking all these questions? You didn’t ask any of those things last time I was here, did you?”
“Well, last time you weren’t quite awake yet. I thought you might need some more time to heal yourself before answering any questions.” He smiles gently at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you feeling better soon.”
He reaches over to pick up his phone, and I notice he has one of the new smartphones on it, which makes me think that this isn’t the first time he’s come here. “Okay, let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
My jaw drops open for a moment. I knew this person would be coming here sooner or later, but I didn’t expect it to be this soon! I close my mouth quickly and take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Who sent me?” I ask, my voice is a bit shrill.
He chuckles. “I’m going to ignore that question. What I really want to know is who sent you? And why?”
I’m starting to realize that maybe this guy is just as much an asshole as I thought he was. It seems he’s already forgotten everything he promised me earlier today, except for the part where he wanted me to talk to him. So now I have to figure out how to trick him into helping me escape, without giving away all the answers that he wants.
I stand up slowly, taking a step closer to the edge of the bed before realizing there’s nowhere else to walk to other than the floor.
“Well?” he asks.
“You asked me what my name was earlier,” I start, trying to stall him while I decide if there’s actually anything worth talking to him about. “And you said that the reason you were asking me these questions was to make sure I wasn’t a spy or someone else you didn’t want in this place, right? Well, if you’re trying to protect us from outsiders, then I guess you could say that my name is Tessa.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” he replies. “Why do I care who you are?”
I frown slightly in confusion. “Because,” I reply carefully, “you told me earlier that you had to protect everyone here from strangers, right?”
He laughs softly. “I didn’t tell you that.”
I look at him in surprise. “Then how did you know what to do?”
“I didn’t tell you that either,” he says. “You assumed that.”
“Oh, so you’re not protecting us from outsiders at all then, huh? Because I’m not an outsider, and neither are those boys that kidnapped me.”
His eyes widen briefly, but then he closes them and shakes his head. “No,” he says flatly, opening his eyes again. “You’re right. You aren’t an outsider. But I am protecting everyone else here. I just didn’t say that to you, because I thought you’d get scared and run off before I could explain.”
I stare at him for several seconds. This guy seems really confident about himself, even after all the shit he’s pulled on me today. Maybe I should be more afraid than I am, but somehow, I don’t seem to be.
“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” I say slowly, stepping towards the edge of the bed again. “I’ve been through some scary stuff in my life, and nothing you can say will scare me anymore.”
I take another slow step, still trying to stall him.
He stands up quickly, putting both hands on my shoulders and pushing me back onto the bed.
“What are you doing?!” I gasp in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, looking down at me, “but it won’t work. You can’t trust anyone here. Not yet.”
My heart begins to beat faster. I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, and it sounds like he has something planned.
“I don’t need your help getting out of here,” I say quickly. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”
He nods his head firmly. “That’s exactly what I meant to say, but I also wanted to be clear that you shouldn’t go around telling people your real name, either.”
I frown in confusion. “But… why? Does that happen to you when you tell people your name?”
He looks at me for several long seconds. “Yes,” he finally replies with a nod. “It does.”
I swallow hard; this guy is seriously weird.
“Okay,” I whisper, trying to sound as casual and nonchalant as possible. “Now that that’s over with…”
He chuckles, nodding his head sharply. “Of course! Why did I think you’d want to get to the point?” He turns away from me and walks towards the door. “Come on, follow me.”
I watch him leave the room silently, still trying to figure out what’s going on here. I’m starting to feel like the whole ‘Tessa’ thing was just another part of this crazy guy’s plan to confuse me.
After a few moments, I get up off the bed again. I grab my clothes and pull them on quickly, slipping on my boots while I’m tying my hair up in a tight bun. I glance back at the bed one last time before I turn and walk after the strange man, wondering if I’ve ever seen him before or not.
The two of us make our way through the large building, moving along the rows of cells where people wait in line. I notice that most of them look like they’ve been beaten and hurt badly, and I try to remember which ones were the ones I saw before being dragged into this place.
I stop in front of the cell I’d seen the boy in a couple of days ago; the one that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since he was there. The only difference between now and then is that he doesn’t look so bad anymore—he looks almost normal, except for the fact that he’s missing an arm.
I look at the guard standing by the door for a few seconds, but he continues to ignore me completely. So I step forward and knock twice on the iron bars that separate me from the man inside.
For several seconds, no one responds to me; I start to get nervous again. What if he isn’t in there? After staring at the bars for so long, my eyes are starting to cross. Then suddenly, there’s movement behind me; someone steps past me without looking, and I hear the lock of the cell door click loudly as it unlocks from the outside.
I turn to see the strange guard that had been standing with his arms crossed against the wall earlier walking out of the door next to me. The man glances around at the rest of the guards standing in groups throughout the room, then moves down to stand near me. He gives me a strange look, but keeps his eyes on the ground.
“Hey,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry about that. That wasn’t my call.”
I shrug. “Not a problem, really.”
“Do you know how to use a weapon?” he asks, looking me over carefully. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but you’re going to need it soon enough.”
I shake my head slowly. “No,” I reply with a small smile. “I don’t think I could even hold one if I tried, but that might help you, right?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Unfortunately, you’ll find that the longer you stay in this place, the more weapons you need to carry with you all the time. And the stronger you are—and you will get stronger—the more you need them. But you don’t seem to have any, do you?”
I nod my head. “Just some knives tucked away in my pockets.”
He sighs loudly and rubs his forehead with his fingers. “You don’t understand,” he starts, “it’s not that you have no choice to bring your own weapons here with you; it’s because we take them from you, every single day.”
“Take them?” I ask, surprised. “How can you possibly do something like that?”
His mouth tightens angrily as he stares at me. “Because these men here,” he points to the group of men standing near us, “have killed dozens of innocent women and children,” he whispers. “And they’re about to kill more.”
I stare at him in shock. I’ve never heard anything like that before, so this must be what he meant when he said this place is different than anything else. My heart begins racing as I imagine all the terrible things I’ve been hearing about all these years. How can anyone do those kinds of things?
Then suddenly, I realize why he’s saying this to me. He thinks that I’m part of this place. That I’ve done horrible things just like those other guys. I’m shocked—there’s no way that could be true. I’ve never hurt anyone in my entire life, let alone murdered people in cold blood.
“What makes you think that?” I ask softly.
He turns toward me with a look of anger and contempt that surprises me. “Are you deaf?” he yells, startling me. “Don’t you hear all the stories that come in here from the streets? Don’t you see all the dead bodies they bring in every day?”
The guard grabs my arm and jerks me forward slightly as he continues yelling at me. “It’s not like we don’t know who you are! You’re no angel, either. And don’t give me that bullshit about it being someone else’s fault!”
His face has softened somewhat, but still, he looks angry—like he knows for sure I’ve done terrible things. Maybe it was just the fact that I had knives hidden on me that made him assume that, but maybe there was another reason.
Maybe the guards already know what I’ve done; it’s just that none of them dare tell me until now. It feels strange knowing that they probably know, and yet no one has ever confronted me about it directly.
The End