Sea Witch

by kashkow

Another of my old stories. This one a Halloween fe and death are never easy when you are Lee Crane

The Sea Witch

By Ellen H.

Authors Note: With apologies to you all who will read this. I didn't have time to get it betaed, last minute story that I didn't start until the 25th. Blame all nasty spelling and misplaced commas on me. Everyone have a wonderful Halloween!

Admiral Harriman Nelson stood in the nose of his magnificent submarine, Seaview, and watched as the rain pounded down on the clear hull plates that made up the 'windows' that gave her such a distinctive look. After a lifetime spent at sea, he was not surprised at the ferocity of the storm that had come in on the submarine as it lay at anchor in Paraganset Bay, Maine. What had surprised him, and the weather forecasters, was the speed in which it had built into a truly dangerous system. The North Atlantic was known for the ferocity of its early winter storms, the 'nor'easters' of legend. Storms brewed in the cold waters of the sub arctic came sweeping in over the deep waters of the coast and raised waves of huge proportions. It was somewhat ironic to Nelson that while hurricanes could cause such incredible damage once they came on land, they could be comparatively easily survived by even the smallest of seagoing boats, such as a sailboat. It might be not be comfortable, or fun, but it could be done. The fierce Nor'easter on the other hand would cause some flooding and wind damage on land, and could prove devastating even to the largest seagoing vessels. Waves well in excess of 50 feet had been reported during the larger storms, and it was suspected that those had been some of the smaller ones possible. Nelson was well prepared to believe that anyone observing a larger wave would not have survived it.

The clinical interest in the survivability of surface vessels was usually not something that peaked Harriman Nelson's seemingly endless scientific curiosity. His boat was well capable of diving below the effects of even the largest of waves, remaining untouched in even the heaviest of storms. But now it was a subject that was growing ever more important as the fury of the storm built. It wasn't that he was worried about his submarine. Paraganset Bay was protected by a peninsula of solid Maine granite that hooked around to the North creating a safe harbor for ships and boats of all sizes. Not that the Seaview had come here for sanctuary. Indeed they had been there for almost three days before the storm had come in. They were working with a team from Woods Hole Institute to study some old shipwrecks off the coast. The Seaview had helped deploy some new technology that gave the marine archeologists the ability to send sound waves through the massive offshore alluvial deposits that had covered the wrecks, and give them an unprecedented look at where they were lying and how best to access them. The Seaview had then retreated here, to the nearest facilities, to be on hand to retrieve the system, and to aid in any excavation that they may wish to undertake. Nelson had placed the Seaview at their service because his own family had plied these waters in the past in clipper ships and coastal scows, and had lost numerous members to the sea here. It was like helping to uncover his own past. Now, his altruism and self-interest might be going to cost him another life, a life he could not afford to lose.

As they had waited for the scientists to take all the readings and shuffle through the data, the crew of the Seaview had been allowed to take a long overdue liberty. The nearest large city, Portland, Maine, was not the hotspot that New York, Boston, or even Norfolk would have been, but the crew had managed to find things to keep them busy. Hiking, fishing, camping, and day trips were interspaced with a slower but hardy nightlife. The local fishermen were at first unsure how to take the crew of the sophisticated machine that took up such a large section of the bay, but after a few fights and some posturing the newcomers had been absorbed into the local bars and night clubs. Nelson himself had taken a shuttle down to Boston the day before yesterday to check on some family real estate holdings at the request of one of the family lawyers. He had returned to the boat that evening just in time to walk in on what was an ongoing battle. The CMO, Will Jamieson, was stalking up and down in the nose, as agitated as he ever got. As Nelson could have guessed, the source and target of that agitation was seated at the table in the nose with piles of papers before him, watching with amused golden eyes as Jamieson stalked to and fro.

Lee Crane, the captain of the Seaview, sometimes appeared, even to Nelson's familiar eyes, to be too young for the weight of responsibility that he undertook. Looks were deceiving. The slim young man was an incredible captain, and Nelson counted himself incredibly lucky to have him. Lord knew that the Navy tried regularly to lure him back to full duty status with promises of new submarines, but Nelson had a secret weapon. The Seaview. The large gray boat had become part of the young man, his flesh and blood. Her metal plates had become his home, and he wasn't going to give her up even for the best that the Navy could offer. He was as devoted to her as Nelson, her creator, was. Maybe even more so. That was where the doctor came in.

Will Jamieson took his duty to the officers and crew of the Seaview seriously. He was an exceptional doctor, skilled in emergency and field surgery, and loved being at sea, as long as he was under it in a submarine. Not for him the high seas, waves, and fresh sea air. Give him enclosed space and reconditioned air, and he was happy. He ran the sickbay with an iron fist in a velvet glove, and his biggest frustration was his most frequent patient, the captain of the Seaview. Lee Crane was a trouble magnet. In even the most innocent of circumstances he could find trouble that usually led to at least a minor injury. The trouble was that Crane often found himself in less than innocent circumstances, sometimes by choice. The young man, besides being the captain of the world's largest submarine, a master diver, and a Reserve Naval Commander, was also an agent for the ONI, the Navy's secret intelligence arm. He was called upon a few times a year to undertake missions that many people would have considered suicidal. Crane just considered them his duty. The fact that he more often than not retuned to the boat, physically exhausted, injured, and mentally wiped out from those missions was a sore spot with the doctor. Crane had tried time after time to convince the doctor that the best medicine as far as he was concerned was to be able to run his boat, with the least amount of interference from the doctor and his….potions. Jamieson on the other hand, insisted that the captain actually be well before being put back on the duty roster. The basic difference of opinion had led to some spectacular disagreements, many of them being settled by the admiral himself.

The current thing that had Jamieson wound up was the fact that Crane had not taken what he, Jamieson, considered liberty in over two months. When the Seaview had last been at liberty, Crane had been on a mission for ONI. After he had returned, with a bullet graze and an impressive array of bruises, he had thrown himself back into his job, and had refused to budge from his submarine for more than a day at a time. He often even slept on board when they were in their homeport. He was more comfortable there than in his apartment, it was closer to his office at the Institute, and was just more convenient, he argued. Jamieson had done everything short of carrying the man off the boat to get him to take some time. He had then enlisted Chip Morton, the executive officer, and best friend of Lee Crane, to try to get the captain off the boat and into some recreation. Since Morton was now perched on the ledge of the windows, not bothering to hide his amusement, Nelson suspected that he had failed in his mission.

It was sometimes hard to tell what side of the argument Chip might come down on. He too was concerned for Crane's health, and looked upon him as a younger brother, with all the worrying that could engender. But Chip also understood how Lee felt about the boat, and his responsibilities to the officers and crew, mostly because he shared the feelings. If Lee truly didn't want to go, and he was in no danger of burning himself out, then Nelson suspected that Jamieson could cajole all he wanted and Chip wouldn't help. Nelson slid into a chair, and Jamieson stopped in mid-tirade.

"Finally, maybe someone with some sense appears. Admiral, as CMO of this boat I am just this short of ordering the captain to take shore leave if he won't do it voluntarily." He said to Nelson. The admiral looked over the paperwork that Crane had in front of him. He could see that the larger of the two piles was completed, and signed off. He also could see that Crane had done some of his, Nelson's, own work as well. He met the golden eyes that were watching him expectantly. Something was lurking in the golden colored depths, and Nelson suspected that he was being drawn into something, but he decided to try anyway.

"Lee, we are here for another four days, and you seem to have finished a good portion of your work, as well as some of mine. Surely you could find something to do off the boat for say at least a day? Would that suffice Jaime?" The doctor nodded, his eyes also narrowing as he caught something of what Nelson felt. The admiral saw the strange something leap in Crane's eyes, and suddenly recognized the deviltry he had seen there many years before in a certain young midshipman. Oh yes, something was going on. Crane's face gave nothing away however. He looked at Jamieson.

"One day that's all you want? Just ONE day? Then you will leave me alone and let me get on with my work?" he asked. Jamieson looked at him closely, suspicious. This all seemed too easy, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded.

Crane exchanged glances with Morton then turned to smile at the doctor. " All right I guess I can bring the sailboat back a day early, instead staying out two days as I had planned." he said, with a small smile on his face. Jamieson straightened and scowled at the younger man.

"What do you mean, sailboat" he said.

"Chip found a place that rents small sailboats, 25 to30 footers." Crane said. "I was thinking of taking it out for a couple of days but if you say only one then I'll just come back tomorrow night….." he broke off as Jamieson growled. Both Crane and Morton broke into laughter. Nelson joined them and smiled at Jamieson.

"He's got you there Jaime." The doctor harrumphed and stalked off in a huff. Nelson knew he was satisfied just to get the captain off the boat, but he would be mad enough to punch a bulkhead for a while. God help anyone who turned up in sickbay with anything short of a full emergency. Nelson shared a smile with his two officers. Boys would be boys. "Will you be going along Chip?" Nelson asked the blond man, who shook his head.

"I have better things to do then get wet and cold and see more of the sea than I already do. There's a nice local girl by the name of Sue who's going to show me around tomorrow, and maybe the next day and the next. I'll leave the sailing to Lee." Morton said with a grin.

Nelson nodded. He wasn't worried that Crane was going out alone. The captain was an experienced sailor in every sense of the word, having piloted sailboats in most parts of the world. The sleek vessels were the only surface vessel that Crane would get on with any enjoyment. Nelson knew that the weather was supposed to hold for the next several days, and it would be a relaxing get away for the younger man. He nodded in approval. "I think that you can stretch it to two days Lee. After all it might take that long for Jaime's blood pressure to drop back to the normal range."

Crane laughed again, and threw down his pen. He stretched his long lean form, grimacing as his back muscles protested the movement. Yes, it would feel good to get out and sail. The physical work involved would feel good, and the peace would be just as good. He was, and always had been, a solitary man. He was comfortable in his own company, and he enjoyed being alone on occasion to reset his inner being, and there was no place better to do that then on the ocean. He glanced at the chronometer on the bulkhead. It was almost 2200 hours. He rose to his feet. "I'm picking up the boat at 0600 tomorrow, I think I'm going to turn in now. If I don't see you before I go have a good time." He said to Morton, who nodded. Crane turned to Nelson. "You're welcome to come along if you want." Crane offered the older man who also shook his head.

Nelson knew how Crane valued his time alone. "I'm going to drop down to Woods Hole tomorrow and check on some of the data. I'm interested to see the results. I'll see you when you get back. You will be keeping in touch, correct?" All the Seaview's officers were required to be reachable at all times unless prior arrangements were made.

Crane nodded. "O'Brien is on duty tomorrow. I already gave him the boat's name and set up a check in frequency with Sparks. I'll be checking in every eight hours. I'll be sure to give my position and course at each check in." Nelson nodded in approval. Lee being alone was one thing, but he wanted to know he was all right.

Crane collected his papers and headed up the spiral stairs. Morton soon followed behind, and Nelson sat there for a while, considering the day. He would look back on it later as the calm before the storm, literally.

Chapter 2-

A sudden burst of rain against the hull plates snapped Nelson's mind back to the present, and the storm. It had started coming in the previous night, moving with a quickness that had caught them all off guard. The weathermen had been stunned. Every one was talking about the mystery storm that had brewed up almost overnight out of a seemingly calm sea. Crane had checked in the previous night, at anchor in a small natural harbor. He had reported partial cloudiness, and light winds. This morning, the rain had been pounding down, and the winds had picked up considerably. Crane had called in on time, but the report had been short. He was running before the wind at first light, using all his skills to control her speed and course in the rough seas. He told Sparks that he was seeing waves in the 10 to 15 foot range. He estimated five to six hours at his current speed before he made it to Paraganset, if things remained the same. By the time he should have been in sight of the harbor it had become clear that conditions had changed drastically. The waves at sea were being reported at 25 to 30 feet. The wind seemed to be blowing out of all the quarters at once, screaming it's fury and loaded with the rain that fell in buckets. Nelson watched as it pounded against the hull. He had considered taking the Seaview out to sea to search for the small boat, but had abandoned the idea almost at its birth. Nothing was less seaworthy in a storm than a submarine on the surface. Lee would have had a fit if he even knew that Nelson thought of it.

There was a sudden call from the radio shack. "Admiral. It's the Skipper!" Nelson dived for the mike.

"Lee. It's Nelson, are you all right? Where are you?" he asked anxiously.

He could barely make out Crane's voice from the sound of the storm. "I'm fine admiral! I'm still on course for Paraganset, but the winds are making it hard. I have the pumps on full and she's handling well right now. I think another…." The signal faded for a moment then came back "….I think I see an island ahead. Should be Tenquanset. If I can get on the lee side I'll have a clear shot to the bay. What the hell…" The signal faded again. Nelson waited for it to come back, but there was nothing. He lifted the mike.

"Lee, are you there? Lee?" He said. There was no response, He tossed the mike at the wall hook and headed back toward the radio shack. Sparks was working frantically when he arrived. Finally the young officer looked at Nelson and shook his head.

"I got nothing, sir. I can't get him back. It's almost like the channel is open but he's not answering."

Nelson slammed his palm against the bulkhead. "Get on with the Coast Guard. The hell with Lee's pride, I want them to go out and check him out. I'll talk to them myself." Sparks nodded and tuned to the right frequency and started calling. Nelson went back to the chart table, where O'Brien had been standing by. The younger officer looked anxiously at Nelson, who shook his head.

"Any luck in locating Mr. Morton?" Nelson asked. He wanted Chip here, not just for Lee, but for himself as well. Chip's cool head in a crisis had meant the difference between life and death before, and it might again. O'Brien shook his head though.

"No one knew the last name of the lady he went with, and with the phones out we're not having a lot of luck reaching him. I have a radio call in to the state police to be on the look out for him, and left a message at the harbormaster's."

Nelson nodded absently, his mind once more out on the open ocean with his captain. Would any of this be in time? There was always the chance that Lee would fool them all and sail the boat into the harbor as if he had been out on a simple overnight trip, and what was all the fuss? Nelson really hoped so.

Chapter 3

Almost as suddenly as the storm had come in, it blew out again. It was if one moment the rain was coming down in buckets, and the next the sky was blue and the sun shining. Nelson climbed up into the sail and went on deck. It was cold, but the wind was dying down. He looked out toward the mouth of the bay, hoping to see a sail. It had been almost two hours since the last transmission, and no one had spotted the boat. The coast guard, overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the storm had sent a cutter to the area as soon as possible. They had reported no sightings of the craft between the mainland and Tenquanset Island, and had searched as much as their time had allowed before being called away to rescue a fishing boat. Morton was currently at the Harbormaster's trying to arrange for several fishing boats to go out and search the area, with Nelson footing the bill of course.

Chip had shown up an hour ago, just as the storm was beginning to wane. He had been unable to get back until the main road from Portland had been cleared of debris from a mudslide. He had volunteered to get the search party together, and was trying to hide his worry. All the rest of the crew had also returned to the boat, word about their missing captain having spread quickly.

Nelson looked around at the calming sea and the blue sky. It was almost as if the storm had never been. Fascinating. He would love to see how the meteorologists explained this one, AFTER Lee was home. He saw that a small boat was coming toward the sub, and he recognized Chip's sturdy form in the bow, along with a man that Nelson realized was the local Coast Guard commander. Chip must have met him on the dock. Nelson went below.

Minutes later he was joined in the nose by Morton and a man that Chip introduced as John Wallace. Wallace shook Nelson's hand, and spoke with the very definite down east accent of a local. "I heard about your man being out on a sailboat during the storm. Is he any good?" the man said forthrightly.

Nelson nodded. "Lee, Captain Crane, is a very good seaman. He's had years of experience in all types of conditions. He grew up just south of here in New Hampshire. He's sailed these waters before." He said, trying not to be defensive on Lee's behalf.

'I understand that he said he had spotted Tenquanset, before you lost the signal. That could be a problem." The commander said, and took the seat that Nelson indicated. He began unrolling a chart he had brought with him. After laying it on the table he pointed out the harbor where they sat and then ran his finger over the map the relatively short distance to a small island. The experienced eyes of Nelson and Morton could see what he meant as they looked at the shallow water markers around the north side of the island. "There are rocks everywhere along that side. It's a ship graveyard from way back. It's well marked on the charts, but I don't figure he had much time for charting earlier, even if he knew they were there, the winds might have drove him onto the shallows. It's happened for years."

"Are there any lighthouses out there?" Nelson asked.

"Two small automateds on the North and Eastern sides of the shallows. In that storm he could have sailed between them and never known it." The coast guard man said, studying the chart.

"Is there any way to contact someone on the island? Have them look around and see if they spot anything? That would be faster than boats could get out there." Morton suggested. It wasn't a large island, but he was sure that there had to be someone with a boat available. But the coastguardsman was shaking his head.

"Ain't anyone out there but old Aggie, and there's no easy way to contact her even if you wanted to." There was a slight amusement in the man's answer.

"What I want, Commander." Said the admiral soberly, "Is my captain back. If we need to contact this Aggie and have her take a look, let's do it. Meanwhile we can get the boats organized here and get the search underway." Nelson was somewhat irked that the Seaview, with all her sophistication would be useless in this search if Lee was where he said he had been. There was no way for the submarine to run in those shallow waters.

Wallace was shaking his head again. "You don't understand, admiral. It's not that I don't want to contact her. It's that there isn't any way to do so short of going to the island. She doesn't have a radio, and of course it's too far out for cell phones. Wouldn't do any good anyway." Wallace looked around as if to be sure that no one was listening. "The folks around here call her the 'Sea Witch'," He raised a hand as Nelson started to blast him for being frivolous while Lee was missing. "I know, don't look at me like that. I didn't say I believed it. But it doesn't change the fact that you can't reach her, and she's the only one out there. Crazy old woman."

"You mean to tell me that she is the only occupant of that entire island? And that she has no way of contacting the mainland in case of emergency?"

Wallace nodded. "Yes, that's what I'm telling you. The local legend says that she's been there for over two hundred years. That she was one of a group of Wreckers that worked off the island back in the late 18th century. They say that she is trapped on that island by a curse from a man she and her relatives nearly killed by tricking his ship onto the rocks after he spurned her advances."

Nelson knew that the wreckers were groups of men and women who intentionally drew ships onto the rocks so that they could legally salvage the goods on them, all with complete disregard for the lives lost in the process. They often did that by setting up false 'lighthouses' on parts of the shores with no safe passage, thus drawing a ship to it's doom as it looked for safe port. Such activities were one of the reasons that the Coast Guard had been established. That part of the story was probably true, looking at the charts of the area, it was the perfect set up for such people. The rest of it was of course pure superstition. "All that aside. We may wish to contact her and see if she saw anything. Will you be able to send out any search helicopters?"

Another negative shake of the head. "I'm sorry. We're stretched thin. I have all my choppers out and the cutters as well. As soon as I have something available I'll route them in this direction. They'll of course keep an eye out for anything while they are working on the current rescues. You never know where he could have ended up. Until then, it sounds like your best plan is what you've already come up with. You might want to see if Hamish, the harbormaster will go out with you to Tenquanset. He's dealt with Aggie before when she comes in for supplies, might be able to get more out of her than strangers would." He hesitated for a moment. "You uh…. might want to notify your captain's relatives of the situation."

Nelson's agonized blue eyes met Chip's then swung back to the Coast Guard commander. "His relatives already know, thank you Commander. Please let us know when you can get some boats out to help us. You can contact us through our regular channels. We'll be keeping in contact with the sub." He rose, and watched as Chip showed the man up the main ladder. Nelson closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't think that Lee was dead. He had to keep thinking positive. It was the only way he would be able to go on.

Chapter 4

For Lee Crane the storm came to an abrupt stop in mid wave. One moment he was in the cockpit of the boat, talking on the radio to Nelson, fighting to hold to his course. He knew that the small island ahead was surrounded by shallows and rocks, and had planned a course toward the deeper water in the lee of the island. With the wind howling from every direction it was hard to keep to a course, but he had been managing it. In a way he was enjoying it all. He had spent all his life on or near the sea, and it was more familiar to him than land. He was the most comfortable there, even in the midst of its fury. His blood sang with the challenge of his boat against the waves and wind, and he was winning! Another few hours at the most and he would be at Paraganset Bay. Getting through the harbor mouth would be a challenge, as he would have to tack against the prevailing winds through the narrow channel. It would be like threading a needle, but he would make it. He smiled to himself as he thought about Jamieson's reaction to his little getaway. Not exactly the restful sail that he had in mind, Crane was sure. Crane was going to have to figure out a way to tell the man that spending a day being tossed by waves, soaked by cold water, and blown by the wind, was fun!

Just as he was telling Nelson his plans, He was almost blinded by a flash of light so brilliantly white he was forced to close his eyes. "What the hell…" he heard himself say then there was nothing.

No wind, no waves, no cold sensation from his wet clothes under his cold weather gear. He was floating, but not on a boat. He was suspended in a sea of blackness, with no sensation of movement or connection with anything outside himself. As he struggled to figure out what had happened he suddenly realized his eyes were closed. He struggled for a moment to open them, and as he did, the world as he knew it, came back. But he wasn't on the boat. He was lying on something soft, with something warm spread over his body. His open eyes showed him a wooden ceiling with open framework from which hung bundles of dried weeds and flowers. Herbs, his mind substituted. One side felt warmer than the other, and he turned his head in that direction to find himself looking into a fireplace with logs burning fiercely. A small cast iron pot, hung from its handle on a hook was over the fire, and he caught the odor of something like stew. His eyes continued on around the room, taking in the old-fashioned wooden furnishings and hurricane lanterns lighting the area beyond the fireplace. It seemed to be a multipurpose room, having a cot, upon which he laid, a table meant for dining he supposed, an area that looked like a kitchen, and a comfortable chair pulled up in front of the fireplace with a small stool in front of it. There was only one door leading into the room, and heavy curtains that blocked any light, if there was any to block, covered the two windows. All together the room gave an impression of being very old and settled, as if it had been the way it looked now for a very long time. He could hear no wind, or rain, and wondered how much time had passed since his last memory, when he was at sea. He swung his legs around and sat up.

His head whirled for a moment, then settled down. He pushed himself to his feet, and realized that he was now dressed only in his jeans and the long sleeved sweatshirt he had been wearing under his cold weather gear. The clothing was dry, as were his socks. He found his deck shoes, also dry, under the edge of the bunk and slipped them on. He looked at his watch, trying to tell how long he had been there. He frowned. Unless he had slept for over 12 hours only a half hour had passed since he had talked to Nelson, the day indicator in his watch had not switched over so he supposed it could be almost eleven at night, but he didn't feel particularly rested. He stood, though not with out a moment of dizziness, and took a step toward the door. He wanted to know where he was, and it seemed the only way to do that was to get out of this room.

He had taken only one more step forward when the door swung open, and a figure was silhouetted against the light. Crane had to shade his eyes against the brilliant glare, and he remembered how there had been a flash of light before he found himself here. He blinked away the tears caused by the light, and could see that the figure had stepped into the room and closed the door. It, she, was an old woman, with gray hair falling around her face and cascading to her waist. She was small, no more than five feet, and thin. She was dressed in a long brown dress with a coat over the top of it. She was looking at him with intense green eyes.

"Good you're awake." She said, with the distinctive local accent. "That will make it easier." She put the basket she was carrying down on the hearth and took off her coat.

"Make what easier?" Crane asked. "How did I get here? What happened to my boat?"

She peered at him again from the clear green eyes, and then stepped up close to him. Before he could step back to regain his personal space she lifted her hand and placed it along his cheek. He found himself staring into her eyes, unable to move. His thoughts were slowed, and he felt like he was immersed in something thick. He vaguely heard her words as she spoke.

"Yes, you will be perfect. Young, strong, and while not of his blood, you are AS blood to one of his, the last of the line. YOU will be able to bring him to me. Then I will be free and have my revenge."

"Wh…What?" Crane managed to stammer. He thought he saw a flash of surprise in those eyes. She brought her other hand up to cup his face, and that substance seemed to get thicker, and his thoughts slower.

The green eyes seemed to glow and expanded to fill his field of vision. He felt himself start to slump as his body went limp and it seemed only the hands of the woman held him up. He tried to pull himself away from her, but couldn't move. The only thing he could feel was her hands on his face, holding him in place it seemed.

Just as suddenly as it had started, whatever was happening stopped, and he slumped to the floor, but it was not the wooden floor that he fell to, it was a floor of flagstone, gray and dirty. He tried to shake off the lethargic feeling that seemed to have stayed with him, and looked around the room. The formally wooden walls were now also of rock, rough and badly mortared together. The room furnishings seemed much the same as they had been, however, though the fireplace was smaller and there was no pot hung over the fire that burned there. Another difference was that he was alone. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. He dragged himself over to the cot and then on to it. He sat there as the world spun. He was getting very tired of this….whatever it was. If it was a dream then it was unlike anything he had experienced before. If he was dead…well, he had been there too, or close to it, and this wasn't it either.

The door to the room was pushed open and a figure stood there, silhouetted by the light, though this time it was a gentler, dimmer light. Déjà vu, Crane thought. This time when the figure moved into the room it wasn't the old woman however. This woman was much younger, somewhere in her twenties; with wild red hair the same color as Nelson's. She was of much the same size and she was wearing a dress much the same color as the one he had seen on the old woman along with a coat of the same color and cloth. Her face was pretty enough, but here was something about her he found menacing, maybe her eyes…. He started to stand when he saw her eyes. Those were the same green eyes that had stared into his before, the same eyes that had glowed, the same that had brought him here, though he didn't know how. As he looked at her, the face seemed to shift from young to old and back again.

"Who the hell are you? What are you? Why do you keep changing? What have you given me?" he asked, getting to his feet and moving away from her. He had felt the effect of her touch once, and wasn't going to allow it again.

"You recognize me! That's unusual. But then you are not like the others I have brought here. They had no connection to him, no call blood to blood. You've been touched before too; I have seen it," the woman said, and tried to approach him. He stepped sideways so that the table was between them. He felt foolish running from a woman half his size, but prudence seemed the best course.

"Where is HERE. What have you done to me?" he demanded.

She smiled at him and moved to sit in one of the chairs at the table. She waved a hand at the other chair. "You may as well sit. You are not going anywhere until I tell you to." He started to protest, and then thought about how the room had changed, and how he had felt at her touch. She obviously had some sort of power, had brought him somewhere. It might be best to humor her for now, and find out as much as possible. He sat. She smiled again. "You are wise. Which question do you want answered first?"

"Who are you?" He decided. Not that the answer would probably help him much, but it was good to know whom you were dealing with. Giving the enemy a name was the first step in defeating him, or her, as the case may be.

"I am Agatha Morrow. Late of Portland, and points south, but now of this place." She answered.

"And where exactly is this place?"

"Tenquanset Island" She said. She was still smiling as if his determined questioning was a joke.

"What did you do to me? I was on my boat, in the storm, there was a flash of light and then I was waking up in that other room. Now we're in a different place. Is this some kind of mind control experiment? You won't get anything out of me, it's a waste of time. You might as well let me go."

She shook her head. "No. You are the one I need. I want nothing from you beyond your cooperation. You will do what needs to be done, and then you may go back to your boat."

"What needs to be done?" Crane echoed.

She nodded. "In just over 12 hours a ship is going to be passing the rocks at the north end of this island. All souls aboard will be lost, except for one. You are going to make sure that EVERYONE dies."

Crane stared at her in amazement. "How do you know a ship is going to run aground, and that almost everyone will be lost? If you are aware of a terrorist plot of some kind I can put you in touch with the correct authorities, and they can stop it. You'll be protected if you're scared of someone." She was shaking her head before he finished.

"I know it is going to happen because it happened before, 200 hundred years ago. This time you are going to change it." She suddenly changed before his eyes to the old woman he had first met.

"Two hund…" he broke off. The woman was mad! What did she mean 200 years ago? He wasn't a stranger to the idea of time travel, but this was not Pem with his machine. This was some old/young woman playing some kind of game with his mind. He stood up and started for the door. He was surprised when she simply sat and watched as he went and opened it. Probably a movie set inside a cell or something like that, he thought.

But as he stepped through the door he realized that it wasn't a set. He was in a larger room, with long tables and benches, and those benches were filled with ten to twelve men in rough woven clothing. They paid him no mind as they ate and drank from the food spread on the tables. Women moved among them filling platters and glasses. The room was lit by smoking candles set in sconces on the wall, and the large roaring fireplace at the end of the room added to the smoke. The remains of what looked like a half of beef was still on a spit near the fire. Crane sank back against the doorjamb in amazement. He wasn't anywhere that he recognized. The clothes, the hairstyles, the setting, It was as if…..No, he wouldn't even think it. He turned as he felt a presence at his side. SHE stood there, a sly smile on her face. She was young again.

"What the hell are you?" He asked roughly. "How did you do this? Do you have some kind of machine?" He looked around, looking for something out of place. With Pem it had been the pocket watch. He just had to find out what this woman used.

She was shaking her head again. "I need no machine to move to this time, or to bring you here. It's part of the curse that I should always be here on this day. That I always know what is going to happen, but be unable to change it. They," she said with a nod in the direction of the men at the tables who, to Crane's interest, didn't seem to notice the pair in the doorway, one of whom was dressed radically differently than they. "Are the lucky ones, they are but echoes of what was. Here but not here. They are going about their lives as they did so long ago. They see me as I was then, and know no different. I can touch them, and they can touch me. I can not change anything that they did, or that I did." She turned her eyes to him. "But you were not there. There is no thing that you MUST do here, so you can change what is about to happen. They cannot stop you, you are but a shadow to them."

Crane, his mind whirling, stumbled back to the cot and sat down. He shook his head. "What do you expect me to do? How did the ship crash into the rocks?" He couldn't believe he was actually going along with this insanity. Whatever this was, it was mad!

"They…We were called wreckers. We made a false light on the rocks, indicating a clear passage, and waited for the ships to run aground. Then we would go and salvage the goods to sell." She said. There was no expression in her eyes as she reported that she and the others had essentially murdered the crews and passengers of the ships they lured aground. She must have seen the disgust in his eyes, for she scowled at him, once again the face changed back to that of an old woman. "You are not here to judge me. I have been judged, and found guilty, and sentenced to this … hell. By him. Who was no better then we were, him and his brother Shamus."

"And you expect me to do what to get you out of your hell? From what you say, you and those men killed innocent men and women for profit. Your punishment seems to be just, whoever the judge." he asked.

She turned her eyes back to him. They blazed with green fire. "Do you think that I have not had time to regret if I wished to? I simply did as my family had done for many years. I knew no different, had no place else to go."

"You knew it was wrong to kill people! You could have told the authorities. Even then they would have helped you get away. You just did the easy thing. Now you want me to kill the one person that seems to have escaped your trap. What is in it for you? Why do you want him dead? " Crane asked, not prepared to buy her line of circumstances being to blame.

She turned and looked into the fire. "This was the first time, the only time that I picked out the ship. I told them when it was coming, and helped them set up the light." Her voice was distant, as if she was speaking of some other person.

"How did you know about the ship? And why did you pick that ship out of the others that must have been coming through." The merchantmen of the East coast had been the major mode of transport two hundred years ago. Goods and people were moved up and down the coast in the sturdy three- masters. Paraganset Bay had always been a protected harbor. It would have been an attractive anchor place for any ship moving along the coast.

"The Atalanta was sailing to New Foundland out of Boston. There was….someone on board who…I was interested in, and a….friend in Boston sent word when the ship was sailing."

Crane thought for a moment and offered what he felt was a translation. "So, you had a source of information in Boston, that gave you sailing times and possible routes, and probably cargo. This source told you when this person you were interested in was sailing. And you arranged to have his boat run aground on the rocks leaving him with almost no chance of surviving. But he did, and he's the reason you are here. Is that what happened?"

She turned on him, a young woman once more, eyes angry. "I offered him everything. Money, property, power….me. And he turned me down. His brother carried slaves over from Africa and sold them like bolts of cloth, then pirated other ships with no remorse, and he sneered at what we had done, threatened to tell the guard about us. I was angry. He had to pay. He was a partial owner in the ship. Not only would he die, but his family would lose a lot of money as well and my revenge would be all the sweeter. The cargo was good, sellable. And so…..it was planned, and acted upon, and still he survived to curse me to this hell." She turned angrily back to the fire. Crane sat looking at her back.

"So you tried to get him killed once, and now you want to try it again with my help. What good would killing him do? You'd still be cursed it seems to me." He said finally.

"Perhaps you are right. Maybe I will still be here, but I will have the satisfaction of knowing that he died." She said bitterly

Crane stared at her. Then shook his head. "You can't change the past. Aside from the fact that it would be murder, if you change that one thing, there is no telling what the result of that change would be in my time. Hell, I might not even be born and that would create some kind of time paradox and from what I understand about time travel that could destroy the fabric that makes up our universe. Forget it. Send me back to my own time. I won't help you."

"The hell I will!" She turned on him and now she was back to that old woman. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed that as she turned the stone walls seemed to blur and for a moment they were once again the wooden ones that he had first woken up to. It was as if in her anger, the time shifted back to the present, if that wooden room had been the present. That might be something to use. He filed it away for later consideration, if he survived till later. Then he had to turn his attention back to her, as she came to stand before him. "I will have my revenge, and you are going to help me. I don't care what else happens, as long as HE dies." She reached out with her claw-like hand and grabbed his chin. "You will do as I say, or I will leave you here in this time and all you will ever be is a shadow."

Crane jerked his chin away from her hand. His own golden eyes blazed and he rose to his feet. "Don't threaten me." He waved a hand around the room. "You may be stuck here but I am not." He wasn't sure how he knew that, but it was as if another voice was whispering to him in his head. Another thought struck him. "How many times have you done this? How many other people have you brought here trying to get your revenge?"

She glared at him then turned away again. "Each year on the anniversary of the event I am drawn here. I have tried to change it myself, but no matter what I do, I can change nothing. Then I discovered that there were things I could do, powers I could access, and I found that others could be used….." she spun and pointed a finger at him. "It doesn't matter how many came before. They failed. You will not fail. You are of his bloodline, you will be able to do what the others couldn't."

"You keep saying that I'm of someone's bloodline but not quite, and I'm the last of the line. What does that mean?" He demanded.

She sniffed, and went to seat herself at the table. "Blood calls to blood, spirit to spirit. You are a son of his line in spirit if not in blood. You have more ability to act here because of it. It is why you will succeed when the others failed."

"Whose bloodline?" he asked, a suspicion growing in his mind. There could only be one explanation. A son of the spirit she had called him. Then she had said that his brother made his money in the slave trade….could it be? She had mentioned the name Shamus…..

"Patrick Nelson. Brother of Shamus Nelson, great great grandfather of Harriman Nelson, your…father of sorts." She looked at him, curiosity in her eyes. "It's a strange thing between you. You and he are as close as blood, and feel as if there WAS the connection, but you keep it hidden. Why the secret? What do you hide?" She seemed to eager for him to tell her, and even if he had been inclined to speak of the feelings he and Nelson shared with just anyone, he definitely would not have done so with her.

"My relationship with Harriman Nelson is none of your business, and it doesn't matter anyway. The answer is still no. I won't help you. You might as well send me back."

He eyes flashed again. "You will do as I say." She screeched, and coming close laid her withered hand on his chest. It was like being hit with a cattle prod, an unfortunate experience he had previously not enjoyed at the hands of a captor. He hadn't mentioned the prod in his reports, but he remembered how it had felt. He lost control of his muscles as the strange energy pulsed through him, he could feel his body spasming. His mind once again was in that place where everything was thick and he tried to think, tried to make himself move away from her, but he could not.

Finally the agony stopped and she stepped away from him. She was once more the young woman. Her constant changes added to his confusion. She stood for a moment looking down at him with an angry look on her face. 'You will do what I want, or I will bring ruin on you and yours. I will destroy that underwater boat of your, and all who man her, and I will make sure that they all suffer, none more so than Nelson." She spat out the name like a curse.

Crane struggled to regain his composure, and tried to speak. It took several tries to finally get a word out. "Leave them alone," he growled. "You harm any of them and you'll regret it." He wasn't sure exactly what he would do, but he would find a way to keep her from harming Nelson or the Seaview.

"If you do not aid me I will destroy all you hold dear. You will do as I say." She replied.

"I don't think so." Crane said. She reached for him again, and he tried to move away, but the effects of her last touch had not worn off, and he could not evade her. The agony began again.

Chapter 5-

Nelson stood in the bow of one of the small fishing boats that had been hired to search the area. They were moving along the edge of the rocky shoals, guided by the experienced hand of the captain who had fished these waters since he was a boy. So far nothing had been found to indicate that Crane or his boat had ever been anywhere near the island. They had tried to contact the woman who lived on there, but a visit by the harbormaster to the small cabin set on the cliffs above the rocks had come up empty. He had looked around, but had not found her. They had decided to go back to the search.

It had been almost four hours now since Crane's transmission had cut out, and there had been no reported sighting of his boat. The fishing boats, all captained by men experienced with the deadliness of the sea, had come out willingly, though the promised pay had garnered them a larger turn out than Nelson had expected. As he stood there and used his binoculars to search the surroundings, Nelson's mind was wondering. His family had plied these waters for over two hundred years. Nelson men had both plundered and profited from the northern states, and several had died in the cold waters in the pursuit of the wealth that Nelson had used to build the Seaview and form the Nelson Institute. It was somewhat ironic to him that that wealth would not now help him find the one thing he wanted so badly to find, and that the waters might once again have claimed someone he considered family.

He lowered the binoculars and started to turn toward the pilothouse, to suggest the next area to be searched when he found himself face to face with a man standing a foot away from him. Nelson had not heard anyone approach, and he was so startled he almost dropped his binoculars overboard.

"Careful laddie," the figure spoke. "Those look to be expensive. You can't make money by losin' it overboard through carelessness. Your great great grandfather would roll in his grave if he knew, that is if he was there."

Nelson brought his eyes to the man's face, and looked at a mirror image of himself! Dressed in clothing more appropriate to the time of Shamus Nelson than Harriman Nelson, otherwise they could have been twins. The other man looked of the same age, and they were the same height. Nelson remembered the encounter with his great, great grandfather, and wondered who THIS was. He glanced at the pilothouse, and saw the captain was looking off to port, evidently not having noticed the additional man who had appeared on his bow. Just like Shamus, evidently only Nelson could see this man. But he wasn't going to take the risk of someone seeing him conversing with the thin air. He couldn't find Lee if he was locked in a padded room, or under sedation in Jaime's sickbay. He took out his cell phone and held it to his ear as if he were talking to someone. Let them wonder how he got a signal.

"Who the hell are you?" Nelson growled. He didn't have time for whatever game THIS ancestor felt like playing with him.

"Now is that any way to talk to your great, great uncle now bucko? No wonder Shamus found you less than willing when he visited your boat." He looked around. "If this is it though, I don't see why he bothered in the first place." The man spoke with an Irish accent just like Shamus had.

Nelson muttered a curse under his breath then spoke aloud. "If you know about Shamus, then you know he only wanted me to take his place in the curse. Not exactly a loving gesture. You'll understand if I am a bit wary of your motives for popping in on me? And this isn't my boat. The Seaview is in the harbor." The other man laughed, a hearty sound that reminded Nelson of Shamus. It wasn't a comforting comparison.

"Aye, I can see as how that wasn't exactly what one would expect of your kin. But then old Shamus has been sailing these waters a long time with no rest. He gets a bit mean with it every now and again. But I'm not him, laddie. I'm here to help you, and your lad." Said the ghost; at least that was what Nelson assumed he was.

"How exactly are you here to help me?" He ignored the reference to his 'lad'.

"Well, you and yours are in a bit of a fix. If you want him back alive he'll have to make a deal with the devil, and that's gonna cost us all more than we can pay. I figure I'll even the score a little."

"What are you talking about? Do you mean Lee? Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"Oh it's not me that's done with him lad. It's her, the witch. She's got him and won't let him go until she get what she wants."

Nelson was feeling sick. What had his family brought down on Lee? Was this never going to stop? "What witch and why does she have Lee? What does she want, ransom?"

The other shook his head. "Money don't mean nothing to her lad. She only lives for revenge now. It could have been different. She needn't have been what she was. Now it's too late, and all she cares about is getting back at me."

"At you? You mean she's taken Lee because of you? Why?" Nelson demanded.

"She wants me dead, and thinks that your boyo is the one that can see to it." Came the simple answer, or at least the words were simple. Nelson tried to understand.

"Aren't you already dead? By some centuries as a matter of fact." He finally asked.

"Well, I am now lad. But I wasn't then. I'm beginning to think Shamus was puttin' one over on me when he said how clever you were an' all. Or maybe me brother is a bit dimmer than I thought. I'm laying it out for you. I can't be any plainer."

"You'll forgive me if I don't understand how someone who's been dead for over 200 years can be killed by a…a…witch, and how that involves my…captain." Nelson said in his most repressive voice. His great great uncle, Patrick, if he remembered his genealogy, smiled at him.

"There's the Nelson spirit. You sounded just like your great, great, great grandfather when he got all in a huff over something Shamus and I did. Didn't seem to have a problem spending the money we made, but he certainly had a mast up his.." he stopped as Nelson raised a hand.

"What EXACTLY does this have to do with my captain being missing?" he asked impatiently.

Patrick sighed. "I told you. The witch, the one that lives on the island, wants me dead. She can't do it herself, so she took your boy so that HE could kill me, or make sure I die in the waves more likely." At Nelson's blank look he sighed and continued. "She lusted after me lad. Not hard to see why that was now is it? Bein' the stunning figure of a man I am, I mean. But I had other things on my mind, other lassies to chase, and I put her off. Maybe not as kindly as I coulda, but it was kinder then leadin' her on. She took it wrong, and went to her people and told 'em when my ship was coming through. I knew what they did, but I never thought to have it turned on me and mine. They didn't usually work so close to their home, and I wasn't expecting it. A storm came up out of nowhere, a real howler. It were her doing I suppose, and we had to run for the nearest safe harbor or risk being swamped. We spotted the light and the captain turned us for the harbor, and not 10 minutes later we were on the rocks. I was thrown clear before the ship hit the main part of the rocks, and so I was able to swim for it." he paused, a puzzled look on his face. "I can't quite recall how I made it to shore. It's all kinda fuzzy. I seem to remember there was someone….. but it don't matter. Them's the facts."

"You're telling me that the old woman who lives on the island is a witch and that she's been waiting two hundred years to kidnap Lee so he can kill you in the past? That's impossible. Aside from the fact that the story is fantastic to begin with, you can't alter time like that. I know that you lived to an old age because you had a daughter, and helped raise my great grandfather. If you died in the past when you weren't supposed to, everything would change, there's no telling what it could affect. There might be no Seaview, which would mean that Lee wouldn't be here, now. He might not even be born. That would cause a massive paradox in time, it could warp the fabric of our universe."

"Well, I'm not sure what that all means laddie, but if it means that we're all screwed down to the last of the line, then I'm pretty sure that's what Aggie is after. Do you reckon that your boy is strong enough to deal with her? She's gonna be pretty persuasive."

"Lee can hold his own with anyone. But what is he up against? If there is some kind of…..magic is there anything he can do?"

"It's gonna come down to if he's brave enough laddie, if he's willing to defy her. She can't force him to do it, though she can put him in the place. She'll threaten him, and she can hurt him some, but she can't kill him. Of course she could just leave him there, in that time. Would be punishment enough for not doing what she wants I guess, since he wouldn't be but a shadow to anyone. Would be like being in limbo. Not a pretty way to spend eternity."

"How can I help him, there has to be something?" Nelson said, throwing all logical thought to the wind. When you were talking with a dead relative about a time traveling witch, logic wasn't going to help. He couldn't leave Lee in a place like that, and he knew deep inside that despite what the woman might do to him, Crane would not kill anyone.

Patrick nodded toward the island. "The house. That's her power. It's built where the old place used to be. The locals burned it and razed it to the ground not long after the Atalanta, me ship, went down. Her bones are buried there beneath it. If you destroy the bones, you'll free her. It was part of the curse."

"The curse?" Nelson asked.

"Aye lad. When I figured out who was responsible for runnin' my ship aground, and killin ' everyone but me, I cursed her. I cursed her to live that night forever or until her bones were dust whichever came first. So, if you find the bones and destroy them the curse is over."

"And that will bring Lee back?" Nelson said doubtfully, not sure if he believed any of this. Maybe he was getting delusional in his old age. He seemed to be discussing time travel, witches, and curses with a long dead relative. This really didn't say much for his sanity. But Lee was still missing, and there was no sign of him.

"Aye. She's spelled him and that fancy little boat of his to the past, when she goes her magic goes, and he'll be back here." Patrick looked suddenly at the sun. It was almost 1500 hours, and with the shortening days the sun was well over the meridian. He sighed. "I got to be going laddie. Time to make my appearance in this little drama." He looked narrowly at Nelson, evidently picking up on his doubt. "She took him because he's your boy, and you're my blood, you understand that don't ya? It makes her hold on him more powerful, and more pleasurable for her, to torture him. If you won't destroy her for me, do it for him. You don't want to let him end up like Shamus do ya?" He was suddenly gone, as quickly and quietly as he had come.

Nelson stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space, trying to his mind around the idea that he had just talked with a ghost, and had to go destroy the bones of a witch to save Lee. Finally, taking a deep breath, and putting the cell phone back in his pocket, he started aft, noting that Kowalski, who had been searching from the starboard side, cast him an odd glance. Evidently his ploy with the phone had not been completely successful. Pushing it aside, he entered the pilothouse, and went to stand by the captain.

"I need to go back to the island. There's something I have to do there. Can you bring me to the dock and wait?" he asked.

The captain, a man of his own age, looked at him solemnly with washed-out sky blue eyes. He seemed to be evaluating Nelson. "So, you think old Aggie has something to do with the disappearance of your friend?" he finally asked.

Nelson couldn't exactly give the man the whole story so he simply said, "I…have a reason to suspect she is involved."

The captain looked at him for a moment then turned his eyes back forward. "I been here since I was born." He said, in a thoughtful tone. "That old woman has been on that island as long as I can remember, and she's always looked the same. There's been a lot of talk about that, and other things. Things like how it seems that every year or so someone will be near the island, and just disappear never to be seen again. Always happens about now. One of my uncles was one of those who disappeared, broke my Grandma's heart they say." The blue eyes searched the horizon then turned back to Nelson.

"I got curious about that when I was in school, for some report on local history. You know how it is with kids, always ready to believe any old tale. I did some investigating. Looked in newspapers and talked to old folks around town. There wasn't anyone who could remember a time when Aggie hadn't been there, and all of them recalled as how the men had been disappearing at sea as long as they remembered and to add to it every time someone disappeared it seems there was a storm that blew up right suddenly. I verified that fact in the paper. Never came to any conclusion on it, but it struck me as rather odd. Seems there must be some connection, but I don't know what it is." The captain shrugged. He looked around checking their position then spun the wheel over. "We'll have to go round the island. You can't approach the dock from the north. Take about an hour or so. That soon enough?" he asked Nelson, and Nelson saw an understanding in those eyes.

"I hope so." Was all Nelson could say.

Chapter 6-

Crane found himself back in that thick blackness once more. The agony of the charge going through his body was fading as he became aware. He noted that it seemed he was being rocked. There was something familiar about the sensation, and it took him only a moment to realize that he was on a boat, a small one, and at sea. From the feel of the waves a storm was brewing. He tried to move, and his body rolled on its side. He pried open his eyes, and found himself staring at the emergency locker that was in the cockpit of the boat he had rented. He was lying on the deck, in the cockpit, of the boat. He reached out and grabbed the side of the locker, and drew himself up to a seated position. He felt as if he had been ran over by a few trucks.

The woman had continued pouring the energy into him until he had blacked out. Obviously she had transported him here while he was unconscious. She had made it more than clear what she expected him to do, and what the consequences would be if he didn't. An eternity spent here, with her taking her shots at him as she wished, no escape, and no hope of rescue. All he had to do was kill Patrick Nelson. Talk about damned if you do or damned if you don't. Feeling a little better he pulled himself to his feet and looked around. The boat seemed to be anchored in a small bay, open to the sea. The sky was gunmetal gray, and the waves were building even as he watched. It wasn't as big a storm as he had gone through before, but it was enough he guessed to drive a merchantman to find shelter in a protected harbor, to make it vulnerable to the deception that awaited it. The storm seemed very convenient for her, and he was beginning to wonder just how much power the woman had.

He went forward and raised the anchor, knowing that whatever he was going to do, he could not stay here. The waves would soon drive the boat against the rocks of the shore. He raised the sails and headed south, where he could vaguely make out the dark bulk of the island. From his prospective he could see the light at Paraganset harbor were it was supposed to be, and another on the edge of the island that would be the first one seen by a ship traveling toward the southwest. He was making good time as the wind was in just the right quarter to give him the best speed. He wondered if that was coincidence too. He tried to think as he guided the boat through the growing seas. He had to decide what he was going to do, what he COULD do.

He knew he couldn't do what she wanted. There was no way he was killing anyone. His first instinct, as both a man and a seaman was to warn the ship off. His boat would be able to move far quicker than a merchantman, even at full sail, and in these seas he had even more of an advantage. He could intercept the ship and give warning. But he knew he couldn't do that. To save the ship was to change history, and there was no telling how much of an impact the seemingly good act of saving lives could have. Back to that time paradox. He couldn't change what had been, not without possibly changing what was in such a way that none of them existed. He couldn't chance it, not even if it meant staying here as a shadow…like Kruger had been. He felt his lips quirk in a poor effort at a smile. The Flying Dutchman would have nothing on him.

He finally spotted the ship after tacking back and forth in the area. He stayed well out from her, hoping he wouldn't be spotted. He was using binoculars with heavy magnification. They would have only crude telescopes and their naked eyes. He played hide and seek among the waves to make it more difficult in case someone should get lucky. He had used the time waiting to try out the currents near the rocks, so that he would have no surprises when he moved in and …..did whatever he was going to do.

He watched as best he could while dodging around as the ship turned on a heading for what they though was a haven, and what he knew would be the ship's death, along with how many people? He waited until they had passed his position and moved in on their stern. If he was spotted, they would assume he was simply following them in, the odd, to them, rigging of his boat would not be as apparent from this angle either. He could see they were near the rocks, and it should be any time now. He heard a yell carried to him by wind, and knew that the lookout in the crows nest high above the deck had spotted the waves breaking on the rocks ahead, but he also knew it was too late. The ship could not turn. The currents would have her now, and the wind had swung to her back, pushing her even faster though the captain had cut back the sails to the minimum needed to have steering. She was doomed.

Crane tacked away as he heard the hull splinter on the first of the rocks with a horrendous crash. He swore he heard the ship scream as she met her death. His boat, Seaview, was a living breathing thing to him, and he knew that the captain of this ship probably felt the same, and it turned his guts to have been made to witness the deliberate destruction. He tore his eyes away from the horrible sight as she forced her way further into the razor sharp rocks, and searched the water, looking for man he was supposed to kill. He couldn't find him for the longest time, and then he spotted a figure struggling through the surf, being drawn towards the rocks.

No man could out swim that current with the wind pushing it in. In minutes he would be on the rocks, and following his fellow to death. This was Crane's last chance, to let nature do what he wouldn't, and meet the woman's demands. But he couldn't. First he knew that Patrick Nelson was supposed to live. He had read the genealogy that Nelson had commissioned, and remembered that Patrick had lived till the ripe old age of 80 before passing away in his bed. He had helped raise Nelson's great grandfather after Shamus had been lost. There was no telling the impact that might have had on the Nelson family. If he weren't there, then Nelson might not have built Seaview, might never have needed a captain, and might not have become the father he had never had before. Secondly, he couldn't leave a man to drown, any man, when he could act. To hell with the woman, and whatever she might do to him. Nelson HAD to be there. He HAD to build Seaview; he HAD to be the man that Crane honored above all else. Just the thought that Nelson was okay would make the eternity worth it.

He used all his skill to bring his small boat between the man and the rocks, fighting the winds. He was trying to figure out how to help the man and still keep them off the rocks when he saw that the man had seen his craft, and was swimming for the side. Crane lashed the wheel for a moment and dashed forward to throw the short rope ladder over the side. He was back the tiller before the other man could mount the first step. As soon as the man was clear of the water Crane heeled the craft over and started tacking against the wind to move clear of the rocks, and the killer current. He was concentrating on the task, and wasn't really aware of his new passenger until he became aware of a figure at his side, and turned to find himself face to face with a man who could have been Harriman Nelson.

Chapter7-

Nelson jumped from the boat as soon as it pulled up alongside the dock, followed closely by Kowalski and Patterson. He hadn't told them why they had left he search area to come back here, but they had learned over the years to follow without questions. The fact that they were looking for the Skipper made it even more urgent for them to do as the Admiral said. They knew if anyone was more concerned than they that Crane be found alive, it was Nelson. They followed him up the path that led towards the headland where a small cabin stood. It was only large enough to have one room, or two small ones at the most. There was a separate small building that appeared to be a privy. As they approached the cabin they could see that it rested on the remains of what had been a much larger building made of native stone. Some partial walls were all that was left of that building. Nelson pounded on the solid wooden door, but got no answer. He looked at Kowalski consideringly.

"I need to get in there. Can you break it down?" he said with a nod at the door. Kowalski looked at him in amazement for a moment then exchanged glances with Patterson. Then with a shrug he looked at the door. It looked to be made of solid planks, but with the right application of pressure in the right place….

"I can do it sir." He assured the admiral. If the admiral wanted in the building, then it had to be important. The others stepped back and Kowalski set himself and kicked the door twice. With the second kick it slammed open to hand lopsided in the doorway. Nelson stepped forward and pushed inside. He cast a glance around at the room. He was about to start looking for a way to take up the floor when he saw it. On the cot against the wall was a dark blue baseball cap. On the front written in gray lettering was the word "SKIPPER". He had seen the cap before, just yesterday, when Lee Crane had left to go sailing. He had been wearing the cap that the crew had made for him and that had been his gift at the last Christmas party. He had treasured it as if it were solid gold, though he had not shown more than simple appreciation to the crew at the time. Nelson went to the cot and picked up the cap. He stood holding it for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the printing. Patterson and Kowalski both looked at what the admiral held, and their faces became grim. It was the skipper's hat, and that meant that he had been here. But where was he now?

Nelson gently folded the cap and put it in his pocket. He turned to look at the two men, and saw the determination in their eyes. He gestured to the floor. "Tear it up. All of it." He ordered. They stared at him for a moment, and then began looking for tools. In a few moments Kowalski was prying at the first board with a long metal pole he had found outside. Nelson started throwing things out the door, to clear the way. He noted that it was getting darker outside. He somehow knew that they didn't have much time.

Chapter 8-

Crane could only stand there and stare at the other man for a moment, then he recalled the importance of what he was doing, and turned his eyes and attention back to their course. He was heading toward the mainland. He didn't think they could make Paraganset Bay, but they could run her aground on one of the small sandy beaches, and they would be safe. He felt the other man move to help him fight the tiller, and they worked together in silence for several minutes as the small boat worked against the wind using the angle of the sail to move forward. They were not going fast but they were moving. Crane made himself not look back at the wreck of the Atalanta, he had seen the name on the stern of the ship as she went to her doom. He couldn't watch her die, her and her crew. Finally the other man spoke.

"Harry said you wouldn't do what she wanted. That you wouldn't deal with the devil woman. I guess he was right." The other man said with a thick Irish accent. Otherwise his voice held the same deep timber as Nelson's, and Crane felt a stab of homesickness. He had defied the woman who had the power to free him from this place, and he would never hear that voice again. He looked at Patrick Nelson.

"You talked to the admiral, about me? When?" he yelled back over the scream of the wind. It seemed to have intensified since he had picked up Patrick Nelson.

"In your time Laddie. He needed to know what the woman was about so he could help to stop her plan. He seems fond of you." The man bellowed back. They were both using their full strength now to hold the boat on course. "She's a bonnie boat lad, but I think that we've made a bad enemy, you and I. She's not gonna let us go. She can't kill us herself, but she can let nature do it for her."

Crane nodded, and wiped the rain out of his eyes. It had started lashing down at them as if someone had turned a fire hose on them. He could barely see through the downpour. "Is there anything we can do?" he yelled, "If the admiral can get us that help we need, to be ready for it I mean?"

"At this point laddie, we just have to survive until he can do what needs to be done. She can turn the weather against us, but if we can make it to land, she can't touch me. Once she knows I've escaped her again she'll have to let up."

They continued grimly hanging onto the tiller, working the boat with all their combined experience. Finally the boat gave a massive shudder as it ran aground on the mainland. The two men were flung off their feet, and landed in a tangle of arms and legs on the deck. Waves pounded over the stern, soaking them even more as the water collected in the cockpit. They scrambled to their feet, and started forward, supporting each other, only to stop as another figure appeared on the deck before them.

It was the woman. She was young again, and her hair and long dress blew in the wind. Her face was a mask of hate. She glared at Patrick Nelson. "You'll not leave this boat alive Patrick O'Hara Nelson. I will have my revenge on you and yours," She screeched. Crane noted that the wind had died down a little. As the woman raved he thought he caught a glimpse of clear sky in the distance.

Nelson glared back at her in a fashion that almost made Crane laugh. Evidently that look was in the blood. "Woman. You brought this on yourself. If you had just left it be you could have had a full life and gone on to whatever waited you beyond it. Instead you had to have your revenge on me, and you have paid the price." Patrick growled. His voice softened then, and he continued "Give it up, Aggie . The lad saved me and you can't do anything about it."

"He'll pay too. All of your blood will pay. You are just as trapped here as I am, as HE will be," she said with a gesture at Crane, "I'll find a way to kill you, and him, there are ways without doing it myself, there are always other men I can lure here and bend to my will. Not all of them are as noble as this one, "she sneered at Crane. "And you won't be the only ones; I'll make sure the other Nelson knows what he lost, everything he could have had, and how his son will suffer. You will all pay for MY suffering all these years." She stepped forward and lashed a hand out at Crane, who felt the power surge through him before Patrick pulled him away, yelling as the pain passed through Crane to him.

"You leave him be witch! You'll not torture him in my presence. If I have to take my hand to you I will!" The older man threatened, and supported Crane as his knees sagged. The surge of agony had been even worse than before, stronger.

"I will do as I wish, and you can do nothing to stop me. Let's see how much pain he can stand shall we." She raised her hand and stepped forward. Crane was aware that Nelson pushed himself forward, blocking her access to him, just as the woman screamed in agony and clutched at her head. When she looked up she was once again in the guise of an old woman. She looked at Nelson in surprise "What have you done?" she screeched.

"It's not me lass, it's me great, great, doing what he was told. The curse said 'forever or until your bones are dust' and it looks like the time has come." Nelson said with satisfaction. "Now we'll both be free of this place."

"NO! NO! I won't let you get away! I won't let you winnnnnnnnn.." Her screeching voice faded along with her form. Nelson helped Crane sit on the deck were they sat looking around as the weather seemed to calm almost instantly. The clouds overhead moved away to reveal a sky full of stars. Nelson sat beside Crane and looked at him in the waning light.

"It's up to Harry now. He's started out well, he'll just have to finish it, and then it will be over for all of us."

Crane looked at Nelson. Seeing now the small differences that set him apart from his admiral. He searched his mind for something to say. "I'm sorry about your ship. I couldn't save it, not without changing time."

"Aye, Harry told me about the dangers of time changin' for all I understood what he was saying, twas a little highbrow for me you see. I guess that comes from bein' a scientist. I'm just a seadog, and happy with it. Let me make my money and sail my ships and that's all I need." He eyed Crane closely. "Seems that you and me are more alike than me and Harry. Good to know there's a true seaman in the family again, one that feels like I do." He fell silent as Crane stared at him, then he smiled gently. A smile that was so like the admiral's that Crane felt that homesickness again.

"Do you really think the admiral can do it, that he can free us both?" he asked finally. He wanted to go home to his family, his boat.

"Only time will tell laddie. Only time will tell. Now, tell me about that big fancy boat of yours."

Chapter 9-

It took them almost an hour to rip up the floor. Finally they had every board up, but no bones had been found. Nelson was beginning to wonder if his ancestor had deliberately sent him on a wild goose chase. He stood there looking over the wet ground, feeling the eyes of Patterson and Kowalski on him, when his own eyes fell on the hearthstones of the fireplace. They seemed to be flat stones like those that had made up the walls of the old building that had once stood here. The bones had to be under there. He grabbed the metal pole out of Kowalski's hand and started prying at the stones, trying to dislodge them. They were not mortared in, and the first stone started to move after he applied his weight to the pole. The two seamen were beginning to wonder if they needed to call Mr. Morton, or the doc. They had dug up an entire floor, and that didn't seem enough. How long was this going to go on? Kowalski stepped forward, meaning to ask the admiral if he didn't think it was time to be getting back to the Seaview, when Nelson gave a heave and the stone moved. Kowalski didn't look down, intent on his self imposed mission, when he heard Patterson gasp. A quick glance at the other rating had shown Kowalski that he needed to look, and he did. There was a skull grimacing back at him.

As he watched Nelson picked up the skull and slammed it against the dislodged stone. The skull broke in to several pieces; the largest of which Nelson picked up and slammed down again. "Quick." He ordered the ratings, "Get the other stones up. There should be more bones. Destroy them. No matter what happens, you have to break them to dust." He kept pounding as he spoke, finally picking up another stone and beating the smaller pieces into a powder. "Now!" he snapped as the two men hesitated. They sprung into action and pried at the other stones. The rest of a skeleton was revealed, and they started breaking and powdering the bones.

They had made good headway when the door slammed open and an old woman came screaming into the room. "Leave my bones be!" she screeched. "I won't let you take my revenge from me!" she flung herself toward them, and Nelson rose to meet her charge. He grabbed her and slung her back across the room, snapping an order over his shoulder at the two ratings.

"Keep going. I'll deal with her."

The men kept breaking and pounding. There was only a few bones left intact now, and they worked harder, raising a sweat even in the chill of the cabin. Nelson met the woman's every charge as she tried to get to them. Finally she seemed to give up and set herself against the wall opposite them. Her eyes were pools of anger and hate as she looked at Nelson.

"You won't get him back. You'll suffer forever for this. HE'LL suffer forever. I will have my revenge!"

Nelson shook his head, eyes blazing. "You will have what you have had for the last two hundred years, nothing!" He growled. "You've taken many men over the years, trying to get them to kill Patrick, why didn't you have them destroy your bones and free yourself from the curse. It was always there, the way out."

She glared at him. "I didn't want release. I know what waits for me on the other side, more so now than before. I wanted my due, and would have had it but for you and yours. If I could curse you myself I would do so." She spat, her voice full of malice. Behind him he heard the pounding slowing down, and knew that his men were close to finishing the job. Her form was becoming less and less opaque. He could see the wall of the cabin through her now. She howled her fury as the last of the bones were powdered, and she faded away to nothing. There was a complete silence.

Nelson looked around as the walls of the cabin began to waver. He gestured at the door. "Out. We need to get out of here. The men scrambled out the door, and almost as soon as they were clear the walls of the cabin wavered for one last time, and then they too were gone leaving only the stones of the old ruined building. The ratings stood staring with open mouths. Nelson nodded to himself. So, she was gone, but where was Lee? He looked around. He moved to the edge of the cliff, and looked down. There was nothing below but jagged rocks. Suddenly Kowalski grabbed his arm. The rating was pointing out to sea, a smile on his face.

"Admiral, look. It's the skipper's boat!" he cried excitedly. Nelson followed his pointing finger and saw the craft, seemingly adrift in the channel. He stared for a moment and then started down the path at a dead run. There wasn't much light left, they had to get to the fishing boat and get out there. He heard the seamen pounding down the path after him.

Twenty minutes later the captain was maneuvering his boat alongside the sailboat. His crew stood by with lines to secure the stricken boat. This close even in the twilight they could see she had lost her mast, and been battered by the sea. Nelson was the first to jump aboard, followed by Kowalski and Patterson. He headed for the cockpit. As somehow he had known he would, he found Crane there, sitting on the deck, one arm stretched up over the tiller, as if even unconscious he was trying to control the boat's course. Nelson crouched beside him and placed a hand to his throat. The skin was cold, but a pulse beat beneath it. Nelson struggled out of his coat, and wrapped it around the slim figure.

"Let's get him on board, and back to the Seaview. He's very cold, probably hypothermic." The two ratings gently lifted their captain and carried him to the fishing boat. Two of the crewmen from the fishing boat stayed on board as they cast off the lines, meaning to bring the boat into the harbor using her small maneuvering engine. It would be slow, but this way the fishing boat didn't have to tow her, and she wasn't left to be a hazard to navigation. They carried Crane below decks, and wrapped him in blankets. He was very still, not even shivering. Nelson sat beside him on the bunk, and brushed Crane's dark hair off his cold forehead. The slim face was pale, and there were dark circles under the eyes. Eyes, which Nelson wished would open, but they did not. Nelson had to be satisfied with the even breathing and the continuing beat of the heart.

Thirty minutes later they were alongside Seaview and Jamieson was crouched beside the bunk. He felt the pulse and counted the slow steady respirations. He frowned over the continuing chill of the skin, and shone a light into the unseeing golden eyes. He looked up at Nelson. "He's still too cold. I want him in the sick bay and we'll start with some warmed plasma, and a warm bath. I'll know more after we get his temperature up. The only other damage I see is this burn on his chest." Jamieson pulled up the sweatshirt to reveal a burn in the middle of Crane's chest. It was in the very recognizable shape of a human hand, a hand the size of a woman's Nelson noted with a sick feeling. What had she done to Lee?

It was almost an hour later that Jamieson allowed Nelson in to see Crane. The younger man was in a bunk, covered by several layers of blankets, and covered by a warming blanket. Nelson was pleased to note that Crane looked better, with more color in his face. When Nelson reached to touch his forehead the skin was warmer to the touch. "He's getting there, admiral, " Jamieson said. "His temperature was almost as low as I have ever seen a person survive. Leave it to him to push the envelope. He's almost back to normal. He'll sleep for several hours yet. He's showing signs of exhaustion on top of the hypothermia. He'll be fine." The doctor looked around. "I was expecting Chip to be here too, what happened?" He was used to the two men haunting sickbay when Crane was there. It was a tradition that sometimes drove him over the edge, but which he didn't try to change.

"The coast guard needed a report. Chip volunteered to fill them in since they wanted a senior officer." Nelson had appreciated the sacrifice that Morton made. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Crane's bunk. Jamieson eyed him sourly.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you that he won't know you are here, and suggest a little sleep on your part?" he asked. At Nelson's negative he nodded and went toward his office. "Let one of the boys know if you want coffee or a snack. They get you something from the galley." He went to enter the newest information in Crane's chart. Things were definitely looking better for his patient.

Nelson sat for along time simply staring at Crane's sleeping face. How did they get into these situations? It was bad enough that old ancestors were visiting HIM, but now they were after Lee too. Not exactly the legacy that Nelson had wanted to leave. If it weren't for the fact that Lee seemed to attract this kind of strange thing himself, Nelson would feel very guilty. He let a small smile cross his face. It seems they had that in common too. A son indeed.

Chip Morton, back from his conference with the Coast Guard, dropped in about an hour later. He watched as Crane's chest rose and fell gently, and held the relaxed hand for a moment. He and Nelson retreated to the other side of the room and stood looking back at their friend. "Well, if anyone ever wants to know if I can dance, all I have to do is tell them about THAT interview." Chip said, smiling. He had gotten the full story, unbelievable as it was, from Nelson before he left. The two men had come up with a vastly simpler story to be told to the Coast Guard and any media that might inquire. Wallace had looked at him with a sour eye as he told the story with its obvious holes, but had eventually signed off on it. He knew there was more going on, but had taken the measure of the Seaview's XO and knew he would not be getting anything more. Morton nodded his head toward Crane. "Is he going to be okay, admiral? I mean not just physically?"

Nelson could only shrug. "With the things we've gone through before, I'm not sure that this ranks as anything much different Chip. I think, I hope, he'll be fine. It remains to be seen when he wakes up."

"Which will be when?" Chip asked, anxious to know that his friend was going to be fine.

"Jaime says probably not until the morning. I'll be staying here tonight." Nelson said, and Morton hid a smile at the determined statement. Evidently there had been a 'discussion' with Jamieson about that. Familiar with such he kept his own council. He too would have liked to stay, but knew he needed to get some sleep so that he would be ready to go on duty in the morning. It looked like they would be on longer shifts for a few days at least in the control room. He didn't think Jamieson was going to let Crane out anytime soon, or at least wouldn't release him for duty. The two men went back to the bedside and talked quietly about boat business for several hours before Chip went to turn in. Nelson remained, trying to get comfortable in the chair. He knew he could take one of the bunks, in fact Jamieson had suggested it earlier when he came in for the last examination of his patient, but he was still reluctant to leave Crane's side. He leaned an elbow on the chair arm and propped up his head, closing his eyes.

He wasn't sure how long he had been that way, if he had slept or not, when he became aware of another presence in the room. He opened his eyes without moving and saw a figure standing over Crane's bunk. It was somewhat startling to see someone so like himself. As he watched, the figure reached out and ran a hand down the sleeping man's face in a type of caress. Crane didn't stir. Then the figure turned his eyes to Nelson, and blue eyes met blue eyes. A grin split the face of Patrick Nelson.

"I knew we could do it if we worked together boyo! Ain't too many things that a Nelson can't do when he puts his mind to it. I have to thank you for setting me free of that woman. I was vastly tired of the whole thing."

"I assume now that you are free that you'll be moving on to….wherever?" The admiral said rising to stand face to face with his ancestor. The other smiled that devil may care grin that Nelson so seldom allowed himself.

"Anxious to be rid o me already laddie? Where's your family feeling? I could be offended and decide to haunt your fine boat here. Wouldn't that be jolly now? I bet your boyo here would love it."

"I think we can do without a resident ghost, family or not, " Nelson said firmly, wondering what he would do if his uncle wasn't kidding. Maybe he better look up some information on exorcism.

"Oh don't go getting' you trouser in a knot. Shamus was right, you are a bit of a stick in the mud. I have better things to do than stay here and make your life interestin' " said the other to Nelson's relief. Patrick looked at Crane again, and then back at Harry. "You picked a good one there. You keep him alive so that he can have sons. The Nelson line needed some new blood, we were getting' a bit on the squirrelly side." As he spoke he was beginning to fade out. But before he was gone he spoke one last time. "I'll be seeing you nephew….sometime. Maybe this time next year…." He was gone, leaving Nelson to stare at the empty space, pondering his last words. As he did he noticed a calendar on the bulkhead behind where Patrick had stood. It was one of the type with just the current day displayed. The date it showed was October 31. Halloween, he might have known.

"I think we can consider that a threat." Came a hoarse voice from the bunk, and Nelson looked around to find a pair of groggy looking golden eyes looking back at him. He stepped over and gently took hold of Crane's hand, which squeezed his own.

"Lee!" he exclaimed. "You saw him? Patrick?"

Crane nodded and looked blearily around sickbay, taking in the low lights and lack of activity. "Middle of the night?" he asked, trying to get his bearings. He was glad to be home, but was so very tired. Nelson nodded.

"About 00:30," he said after a quick glance at the clock. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Don't think I'll fight Jamie on a nap right now." Was Crane's sleepy reply, Nelson could see he was fighting off sleep. He brushed a hand through the dark curly hair.

"I think that would be for the best. Don't want to mess up your winning streak by taking him on when he had the advantage." Nelson teased. Crane smiled sleepily then his face took on a serious look.

"I knew you would do it. Knew you'd save us both. Patrick said he told you what to do and we just had to wait." Crane said. "Thanks…" he breathed out the last word as he fell asleep. Nelson stroked the dark hair again then pulled the chair closer so that he could place a hand on Crane's arm as he sat.

"You're welcome Lee. You're very welcome." He closed his eyes and joined his captain in healing rest.

The End.