He felt as if he'd been sleeping for a very long time.
He sat in a wooden chair at a wooden table, both well-polished, with a thick blanket slung around his shoulders. It smelled a bit, but he didn't mind; the warmth was very much worth it.
"You're pathetic," a voice said.
It was nice and peaceful in here. He could barely feel the sway of the boat; it was more like the movement of a cradle being rocked slowly back and forth, the gentle, wordless murmur of the ocean its accompanying lullaby.
"I can't believe you're still hiding in here."
And the smell of the air—that was pleasant, too. He tilted his head upwards ever so slightly, taking a cautious sniff. It was salty.
"You coward."
There was a bar across the room, against the wall; the shelves were full of bottles, knocking gently against one another in the continuous motion of the waves. He regarded the sight curiously, suddenly wondering what alcohol tasted like.
"You're not even listening to me, are you?"
He had no further impulse to move, however. It was far too enjoyable to just sit here at this fancy table with his smelly blanket, and…
"God, this is hopeless."
If he got up now, things might not be so nice, maybe. Maybe, he reasoned, if were to go over to the window overlooking the ocean, the sky might not look quite so blue.
"You've gone crazy, haven't you?"
The blank innocence present on his face lessened slightly. That wouldn't be pleasant.
"Stark raving mad."
His shoulders hunched almost involuntarily, and he brushed a handful of matted blonde hair out of his face, blinking as though confused. As long as he stayed in this very spot, everything would be just fine, and…
"I wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't hear a bloody word I'm saying."
… And… … what?
"… Even if… I came here to… to…"
Ralph turned around in his chair abruptly, making its legs rock on the polished wooden floor. "Jack?"
But there was no one in the room with him—or, indeed, any sign that someone had been there at all.