Ocean Drop
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It was a week later when he heard the knock on his cabin door.
“Come in!”
The door opened to admit Mr. Gower, who looked as though he had seen some trouble aboard ship recently; a slight sheen of sweat glistened over his brow and he walked with what seemed like more haste than usual. “Good evening, Captain,” said the first mate.
Foster stepped back from his desk into his chair as Gower entered and closed the door behind him. “What is it, Mr. Gower?” asked Foster, his hand resting casually upon his sword hilt. “What’s happened to bring you here so late at night? Have we found any sign of our friends yet?” The man shook his head. “Then what?”
Gower cleared his throat nervously, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot before saying anything. “We have just received word that there has been an accident at your family estate, sir.”
Foster sat up straight and leaned forward in his chair as he tried to process this information. An accident? What kind of accident would occur at my family’s home while I’m away sailing the open sea? He thought for a moment trying to make sense of Mr. Gower’s words. “I see,” replied Foster finally. “Did they say how it happened?”
Mr. Gower shifted his weight again then glanced at the floor as he spoke, avoiding looking directly into Foster’s eyes. “They said… well… they’re not sure exactly what happened yet, sir. But it seems your sister, Mrs. Farraday, was involved somehow.”
The news sent a chill down Foster’s spine and he began to shake slightly. Foster had always considered his family to be one of the most peaceful and safe-living families on Earth. The very thought that something might happen to them, while he was far away, made him feel helpless and sick all at once.
“Are they sure of her involvement?” asked Foster quietly. “Or could it be something else altogether?”
Mr. Gower didn’t reply. Instead, he stood still and silent for several long seconds as if waiting for the captain to speak first. It wasn’t lost on Foster that the other man’s hands were fidgeting with each other in his lap—one shaking, the other gripping tight around his thigh. Foster decided it was time to address the matter. “Is this true?” asked Foster finally.
Gower nodded. “Yes, sir. We received a telegram from one of your men who went down to the house today.”
“And what did he tell you about what happened?”
Again, Mr. Gower shifted uncomfortably, then took a deep breath before answering. “It seems your sister’s husband was killed in an automobile accident last night in Boston.”
“Accident? What accident?”
“That’s the thing,” said Mr. Gower. “Apparently your sister was riding with him at the time.”
Foster felt as though his heart stopped beating for a full minute. When it restarted, it seemed to beat in triple time and with such force that Foster couldn’t even breathe. “What… happened?” he managed to ask between gasps.
“No one’s quite sure yet, sir,” continued Mr. Gower. “All we know is that it appears to be some sort of freakish accident; a tree branch fell across the road in front of their car and struck the vehicle just as it rounded a bend.”
“Was she injured?”
The question came out without warning. Foster hadn’t planned to say anything until he had heard more facts—but something within him wanted answers now and wouldn’t let him hold back.
Mr. Gower hesitated. “She was taken to the hospital immediately, but…” The first mate paused. “But we don’t know how badly she is hurt. She may have been seriously injured.”
Foster felt like a thousand pounds were pressing down upon his chest and he was unable to draw enough air into his lungs. His vision blurred momentarily, forcing him to blink several times until the dizziness passed. “Take me to the hospital immediately! Take me to my sister!”
Without waiting for an answer, Foster reached out and grabbed Mr. Gower by the arm, pulling him out of the room toward the stairs. The first mate followed slowly, seemingly reluctant to leave Foster’s side after hearing such disturbing news. “Where are you taking me?” Gower called back.
Foster ignored him completely and ran down the stairs, out onto the deck, then along the docks to where the ship’s boat awaited him. As soon as he boarded the small vessel, Foster pushed off and shot into open water.
He knew they’d have no trouble catching up to the steam launch as it headed north along the river. Once in sight, he ordered the crew to pull alongside and jumped overboard. Moments later the two craft met, and he climbed back aboard, pushing the boat away from the dock as he stepped inside.
“I want you to head straight for Boston. Keep going. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Tell the captain that I need to speak with him as soon as he arrives in New York.”
With that, Foster pulled the hat down low over his brows and headed back toward town, making sure to keep his distance from the shoreline and the boats in case anyone should notice the sudden speed and direction change in the water. Within minutes the captain and crew had caught up and they quickly sped northward, leaving Foster alone in a state of shock.
***
As he sat on the bed in his bedroom, Foster struggled to comprehend everything that had occurred since waking that morning. A short time ago he had been a passenger on a luxury liner traveling to Europe to take part in a scientific conference.
Now he found himself a fugitive on a cargo ship traveling thousands of miles away from his home and family. He knew nothing about the man responsible for murdering his parents or what he hoped to achieve in doing so; all he knew was that someone needed to pay for the crime.
It would have to be him—it had to be. That realization made Foster feel slightly better as he stared at the ceiling. At least it was something positive to focus on: revenge.
Forcing his mind away from such thoughts, Foster turned his attention back to matters at hand. There was still much work to do—the investigation, the trial, the search for whoever was behind the killings, and most important of all, locating the woman he loved. With all that ahead of him, there didn’t seem to be any time left for grieving, especially with his sister still fighting for her life in Boston.
With that, Foster decided to make his way down to the main deck to see if he could learn more about what had transpired while he’d been asleep below decks. If he could find out where the steam launch was now heading, perhaps he’d be able to catch up to them before they reached their destination.
He dressed in his finest suit and stepped outside, where he encountered the first mate waiting for him. “How long will we be here?” asked Foster, glancing around at the empty streets and buildings. “It seems odd that we’re being held up at this port.”
“Yes, I think you might be right,” said the first mate as he watched the few people who were still walking the sidewalks hurry past. “Perhaps I should have gone ahead and told you sooner.”
The first mate looked down at the deck of the ship where a handful of men stood conversing quietly among themselves. One of those men happened to look up and catch Foster staring at him and quickly returned his gaze downward.
“We’re being kept here until a cargo ship arrives in another week.”
Foster nodded. “What are we carrying?”
The first mate shrugged. “You’ve never seen it. I doubt you’ll ever be allowed to see it once the cargo is loaded.”
Foster frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with this cargo?”
“Nothing is wrong. It’s just that it doesn’t belong here. We’re not authorized to carry it.”
That was news to Foster. “And where does it come from?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Foster. That’s classified information.”
Foster sighed, feeling defeated but knowing there wasn’t much more to say. “Well then, I’ll be back to the cabin in a bit. Let me know when we can move on.”
Once back upstairs in his room, Foster changed clothes and began working through the notes from his research on blood types he had collected over the years. There was still some value in it, even though he’d never managed to find a way to determine someone’s blood type by looking at them. Perhaps the answers could lie somewhere else.
He had learned that a person’s blood group was passed from generation to generation in each child born in the family. However, it seemed that there was little use in studying blood types unless one had access to an entire database of blood samples taken from multiple people.
For example, if a criminal were apprehended and their blood type determined, then there was every reason to assume that other members of that same blood group had also committed similar crimes. Unfortunately, he hadn’t discovered any such database yet, and without it it would be difficult to narrow things down enough to find a connection to the killer.
While searching through the papers, he noticed something sticking out from beneath several others on the desk. The paper was stained with coffee and crinkled with age. It was a photograph—the only thing in all his research papers that had survived unscathed during the fire.
Foster smiled as he lifted it from the table, admiring the old image of a young girl sitting on a large rock at the edge of a lake. She appeared to be about five years old with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. It was difficult for Foster to tell for sure because of the fading condition of the picture, but there was no denying that she resembled his younger sister, Elizabeth.
He stared at the photo for a moment and then put it back on the pile with the rest of the pages, wondering why he’d never thought to save it or give it more consideration earlier. After all, he’d seen this little girl dozen of times growing up, and it wasn’t like he had a shortage of photographs taken when they were children together.
But there was something different about this one. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was something about the image of this little girl that made him want to protect her…protect her the way he did Elizabeth. But why?
As he considered it further, the answer became apparent. This was the little girl that he’d been searching for—this was the girl who could solve all of his problems, the girl who might help him to finally get Elizabeth back safe and sound.
“Elizabeth!” he shouted as he rushed into the main cabin and searched the room. He looked through all the drawers of his desk and even went so far as to remove the bedding and look under it.
Then he ran back into the bedroom and rummaged through the closet and dresser drawers again, checking inside the clothing and looking underneath them as well. Finally, he gave up, his frustration mounting along with his panic. Where was she? Had they left without her? What if they’d already taken her away somewhere?
There was no time to waste. He grabbed a small lantern from the kitchen and hurried outside onto the dock. He lit the oil lamp and placed it near the gangplank, hoping that it would shed light on the surrounding area. Once he had everything ready, Foster walked over to the railing and looked down into the darkness beyond, waiting for the first glimpse of Elizabeth.
He had barely finished his preparations when something caught his eye. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but as he continued to stare at the water below the dock, he realized what he’d actually seen. Something was moving in the blackness, slowly swimming toward the shore.
Foster held his breath as it grew closer and closer until suddenly its head broke the surface. And then, to Foster’s complete astonishment, he recognized her. The little girl in the photo! He watched as she climbed out of the water and stood on the sandy beach near the boat, her arms raised high above her head.
As he stared, dumbstruck at this miraculous sight, she turned to face him and grinned with her missing front tooth.
Foster was overcome with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached out and pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing her tightly against his chest.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as he held her in his embrace.
The End