Beta- StacyO72- I keep her on her toes with my constantly changing tenses. I swear, I don't mean to do it or I didn't mean to or hadn't meant…..
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Must be lucky weather when you find
The kind of wind that you need
C'mon, show me all the light and shade
That made your name
I know you've got it in your head,
I've seen that look before
You've built your refuge,
Turns you captive all the same- Lonely In Your Nightmare- Duran Duran
A/N First, I have some very exciting news! TUITML was picked as one of the four June favorite fics for TwiFic Trivia! Follow just4TFT on Twitter and play along Tuesdays trivia at 9:30 ESTand Wednesdays wordsearch. I almost earned a point this week – almost! Lonely In Your Nightmare is one of my favorite songs, Duran or otherwise. I've planned on using that quote for this particular chapter since I began this story. I'm sneaking some more fishing stuff in on this one. I know. I keep doing it. Speaking of sneaky, this will answer some questions but most are still unanswered. Ch. 10 will also be EPOV. Follow me on twitter: shelly_duran (2 underscores) Thanks again for your reviews! My lovely beta, Stacy, is reading right along with me and we might just convince her to start writing again.
Ch. 9 Purgatory
Setting out; it is a tedious process.
There are almost one thousand hooks and two hundred buoys to connect to the mainline. I watch as Jasper and Emmett bait the hooks: alternating between boxes of thawed mackerel and squid, hooking them so the heads are hanging down, which better attracts the predators we ourselves are hunting. The hooks have a leader, a smaller line with a clip, which attaches to the mainline. Four baited hooks are evenly spaced on the mainline and then it's my turn. I attach a cylindrical shaped buoy that keeps the mainline floating at the right depth to catch tuna and sword. The buoys are bundled in packs of six. When I finish a pack, it's time for a hi-flyer. Jasper calls them beeper buoys, Emmett just calls them fuckers. They are radar beacons seated on a long aluminum pole extending out from a round buoy. Each beacon transmits its own unique radio frequency. If the line somehow gets separated or split, we can find it using the beacon. A lost line means thousands of lost dollars, not just in fish but in the equipment itself and in the fuel used to find it. It's my responsibility to know which hi-flyers we use and when and where they are set.
After almost six hours, we are close to finishing. Behind us, in the Atlantic, we've unspooled forty miles of clear 2.8 mm 650 lb. test mainline from what looks like a giant fishing reel mounted behind the wheelhouse. A hydraulic motor located below deck controls the reel, known as a super spool. We use the motor to not only set out, but to haul back. It unwinds and rewinds the line at a constant pace.
The mainline is now neatly divided by those baited hooks, buoys and beacons. Before we began, Carlisle spent half a day analyzing electronic temperature charts and data to find the thermocline the spot where the warmer Gulf Stream water meets colder northern currents. He even went so far as to drop a thermometer down sixty feet. The electronics measure only the surface temperature and he wanted to make sure it was the same below. A change of just ten degrees was the difference between a hold full of sword and a deck full of worthless blue dogs. After almost twelve days off shore, we have completed three sets. We had a decent haul the first two times but the line drifted into colder water during the third one so it was a bust. You know it's bad when Carlisle says fuck almost as much as Emmett. Carlisle doesn't like hauling back empty hooks and he is determined not to repeat the bad set. I've learned that a good yield would be about thirty fish from one thousand hooks. It sounds like so little but thirty fish equals at least ten thousand dollars. If we're lucky, it may be ten times more. That one Bluefin tuna last trip was worth more than that. So far, even being only half-share, I had managed to earn close to fourteen thousand dollars in just two months. I didn't really care about the money even though I knew I should. It couldn't permanently solve my problems but it could buy me a temporary escape if I needed to get away quickly. Aunt Esme was so sure that this was the safest place for me, but "safest" is a relative term. There was no true "safe" place, not now, maybe not ever. I still couldn't wrap my head around it all.
"Ted! Buoy!"
I snap back to the present. My name was also Aunt Esme's idea. It was similar enough to my actual name that I'd react when I heard it, but at the same time, people didn't necessarily connect Ted with Edward. I was supposed to tell them my full name was Theodore if they asked: Theodore Platt from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Edward Masen Jr. had disappeared from Chicago, Illinois ten weeks ago and his whereabouts were unknown.
From the look on Emmett's face, I can tell he has already called for the buoy more than once. I quickly clip it onto the mainline. It takes another fifteen minutes before I clip the last beeper of the set and it's disconnected from the spool. Emmett and Jasper head below to the quarters where dinner is already waiting. I lean against the railing and take a long drag of my cigarette while I gaze off into the distance. The sun sits low in the horizon. We have traveled almost three hundred miles off the coast of the United States to a small canyon Carlisle considers a sweet spot. There is nothing but darkening sea around us. The halogens affixed to the wheelhouse roof will soon be the only illumination for miles. We'll let the line drift overnight and haul back in the morning. I've got eight hours I will spend trying not to think. I flick my cigarette butt overboard and watch as it drifts away from the Vampress.
"Those things will kill you." Carlisle stands beside me, his own cancer stick glowing in the semi-darkness.
"Only if I live long enough." I can't help but smirk, although there is nothing funny about my statement.
"You'll get through this. Esme was right to bring you to me." Carlisle's voice is soft and low. "As long as you stay off the grid, they can't find you."
I reflexively look over my shoulder. I know the others are down below but even so, I don't want to talk about what led me my current refuge. I attempt to re-direct our conversation.
"Why didn't you get married?"
Carlisle stiffens beside me. He takes a drag before answering with his own question. "You don't know?"
"I know her side. I want to hear yours." I reply.
"What did she tell you?" His voice is rough. In the two months I've known my long-lost godfather, I've never broached this subject.
"That she gave you an ultimatum and you chose wrong."
He huffs at my words. "She still thinks I had a choice. I didn't." He pauses, gazing out at the shadowed clouds framing the setting sun. "You've heard of the Perfect Storm." It's not a question.
I nod. "Yeah. I even saw the movie. It was o.k."
Carlisle laughs. "The movie was shit. I was there. I lived it." He tosses the remnants of his cigarette overboard and grips the railing with both hands. I wait. I've got plenty of time for his story.
"I met Esme about a year and a half before. She was backpacking around New England for the summer and ended up in Gloucester. Your parents had already gotten married or else I'm sure your mom would have been with her."
I wince and nod. Fuck. I push my memories of the last few months down into my subconscious.
"I was a cocky kid. I'd like to think I wasn't an asshole although I'm sure some of my former… conquests might disagree." He glances over to the door leading inside. We're all watching what we say and how we say it while Rosalie is on board. "I had a lot of confidence when it came to girls. It seemed so easy. I'd smile, give them a few compliments, next thing you know, I'd have a new friend for the night. I'd go back out fishing a day or so later and we'd both move on with our lives. Esme wasn't like that. She saw right through my bullshit." He smiles, lowers his head and shakes it, remembering what was literally a lifetime ago for me.
"I wasn't longlining yet. I was still a deckhand on my dad's dragger. We'd go out for a few days, fill the hold with cod, then come right back. The trips were short, never more than three or four days. Sometimes my grandfather would still come out with us." He looks over at me, his eyes sincere. "Fishing really is in my blood. I'm a sixth generation Gloucester fisherman. I don't know any other way to live."
I nod, sensing how important that fact is. "So you fell in love." I offer.
He smiles. "She'd be at my favorite bar whenever I got into port. I'd spend all my time trying to get her to admit she'd wanted me. I was so busy convincing her she was crazy about me that I didn't realize how hard I'd fallen for her. She was smart, feisty, and sarcastic but at the same time, she had this compassion for others. She wrapped me around her little finger. Esme is my first and only love."
"Present tense." It is a moment before I realize I've said the words aloud.
Carlisle's eyes meet mine. "Present tense." He sighs. "The first year was fantastic. She had already graduated from school and got a job in Rockport at one of those chic little interior design shops. She wasn't more than a gopher but it was a foot in the door and she was close by. Then, I started longlining. The money was so much better than dragging and I loved it. It was my type of fishing. I like the hunt, the fight between man and beast. I could never go back to just hauling up a net full of groundfish. But longlining trips are so much longer. Esme hated being apart. She moved in with me so that we could spend every minute I was home together. It was as close to domestic bliss as I'd ever get."
He reaches over and tousles my hair. I'm startled by the affectionate gesture. "Your parents were still in New York. They came to visit a few times before they moved back to Chicago. Ed and I hit it off, despite being from such different backgrounds. Esme and Lizzie couldn't have been happier that we got along. You were born the next June. Esme being your godmother was never a question, she and Lizzie had been best friends since they were twelve years old. I was surprised when they asked me to be godfather but I was also honored. We flew to Chicago for the ceremony. While we were there, I asked Esme to marry me. I had bought the most ostentatious ring you'd ever seen. It was exactly what some idiot twenty-two year old with too much cash would get his girlfriend. Regardless, she told me she loved it. We were supposed to get married that December, after the end of the Grand Banks season." His face grows grim.
"I was out on the Hannah Boden when the storm hit. Back then there were no satellite phones, no email, nothing but sidebands to keep us connected and they have a limited range. Esme had no idea if I was o.k. or not until we finally got into port. She couldn't take it. The news was full of reports about the Andrea Gail's disappearance. She told me she couldn't marry me unless I stopped fishing- not just longlining, but fishing entirely. Well, you know the rest. I chose wrong, according to her but I couldn't live if I didn't fish. It's my entire existence."
"You never found anyone else?"
"I never wanted to. Don't get me wrong, I'm no celibate monk. I'm still a cocky bastard when it comes to women, but Esme's the only one I'll ever love."
"Does she know?"
"It doesn't matter. She believes I chose fishing over her. I hurt her and she hasn't forgiven me."
"Yet she hasn't found anyone else either."
"Really? You could have fooled me when she married that asswipe." Carlisle's voice is laced with venom.
"I'm surprised you even know about it. That was an impulsive Vegas wedding that was a mistake from the beginning. They were married less than three months over ten years ago. She probably just did it to prove she could." I add, because that was so Esme. She will do the exact opposite of what you want her to do as some sort of misguided demonstration of her independence.
Carlisle grimaces. "Your parents kept me informed. Your mom never gave up hope that we'd get back together. You're right of course. I saw her just before she did it. We argued. I tried to convince her that I could be with her and keep fishing. She didn't believe me. I didn't hear from her again until she showed up with you in North Carolina."
"Richie, Doc, y'all eating? I can't keep Emmett out of the chili forever." Jasper's head pops out from behind the wheelhouse door. We tell Jasper yes and head down below.
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It's almost time for everyone to wake up. I'm in my bunk, listening to the sleeping sounds of my crewmates. The four crew bunks sit in an L shaped space against the paneled walls of the quarters. Rosalie is in the bunk above me. Emmett and Jasper are next to us. Carlisle has a private captain's quarters just over to the right, next to the washroom, which is called a head on a boat. A small galley kitchen with a table attached to the wall rounds out the area. A modest flat screen t.v. with a dvd player is mounted above it. It's an efficient use of such a small space. I mull over my earlier conversation with Carlisle. I hadn't really known much about him before. I certainly don't think of my godfather as my uncle the way my godmother is my aunt. The fact that he was the star of a reality t.v. show just adds to the enigma that is Carlisle Cullen. He hasn't been completely absent from my life. Over the years, I would receive birthday cards. Sometimes they contained a check, other times there would be a gift. I got a Mako shark jaw for my eleventh birthday, which at the time was the coolest fucking gift ever.
Now I remember the look on Aunt Esme's face and understand why she hadn't been enthusiastic when I opened the box. I can't help but think it's ridiculous that Carlisle and Esme's relationship hasn't worked out. I'm not as naïve about love as I had been back when I lost my virginity but I still believe that some people are meant to be together, like my parents were. Esme might hate me for thinking it, but after spending so much time with Carlisle over the past few months, I can't help but take his side. He is a born fisherman. His nickname, Doc, was earned because of his skill with a knife. He can head, gut, and fillet a fish faster than anyone else and he does so with the precision a brain surgeon. How my aunt could think he'd be able to do anything else was beyond me. So, instead of getting married, they have spent literally half of their lives apart. Life is too short. Every day is a gift. I snort quietly. Maybe I've been here too long. I sound like Jasper when he's spouting off his twelve step rhetoric.
I get up and make the coffee. We will easily go through several pots today. Hauling back will take time. At least we will be so busy that I have to focus on my job. I had tried to sound apathetic when Bella cautioned me about losing fingers but the fact is I am terrified I'll do something that will cause a permanent injury. My music career is the furthest thing from my mind but I still hope that I'll somehow get through this insanity and get back to having a normal life again. I go through the motions of grabbing breakfast as the others start to wake up. We all eat quickly, knowing there is a lot to do. We throw oil gear and neoprene boots on over our clothes. Emmett relieves Carlisle in the wheelhouse so he can sleep for a couple of hours while we're doing the prep work for the haul back. Rose mutters something about shark tags and disappears above deck. Jasper heads to the engine room while I go check the hold to make sure nothing has shifted overnight and the empty pens are ready to be filled. I glance over at a Bigeye tuna, packed in sea ice and it reminds me of Bella eating sushi.
Bella. I close my eyes and pretend I can see her face in front of me. I have tried to ignore the pull I feel when I am with her. I don't want to drag her into my crazy existence. She deserves to be safe and free. It's selfish of me to want her. I don't know how it happened. I had barely taken notice of her that first day in port. She seemed like all the others. Emmett called them the wet panty brigade. It was crude but also true. It didn't matter if they were twenty or forty, Carlisle's fan girls were the same in every port. It was bizarre seeing all these women cream their shorts at the sight of my godfather. That night in the bar, I recognized her immediately but she wasn't our waitress, at least not at first. Then she walked over and called me Richie and Jasper and Emmett had to have their fun. Milwaukee was Esme's idea too. Apparently, I have a strong Chicago accent and most people on the East Coast can't tell one Midwestern accent from another. I was strung so tight by then, it was the last fucking thing I needed. I had been in such a fucking panic over those two Russian girls, scared to death, unsure if they were really Romanian and I was being set up. I guess mid-western accents aren't the only ones that are hard to tell apart. It wasn't until one mentioned Kiev that I realized it was just a coincidence. Still, everything bubbled to the surface and I had to get the hell out.
Jasper calls down to me and I confirm everything looks good in the hold. It's time to get up on deck and start chasing down our mainline. I edge over to the starboard side and wait while Emmett steers us in the direction of the last beeper buoy. He thinks it will take us another twenty minutes based on the radar position. The ocean is mostly flat, only small swells break against the hull and I'm grateful that I no longer need seasickness pills like I did on my first trip. I stare out ahead hoping to spot the buoy and my thoughts turn back to girl I met on that little island.
I didn't give Bella a second thought until we were in the office and I heard what sounded like an orgasm from behind her desk. I had never thought of sushi as erotic but damn if that sound didn't go straight to my dick. That was the first time I really paid attention. Her face flushed and her eyes, those deep brown eyes, just locked onto mine and I was lost. After that, it was a continuous battle between what I knew I wanted and what I knew I should do. I knew I was being schizophrenic around her. I'd flirt shamelessly, she'd respond and then I'd feel guilty and try to shut her out. I tried to keep her at arm's length but I didn't want to and I wasn't strong enough to fight the urge. I was giving myself whiplash, I can't imagine what I was doing to her.
The lighthouse had been a breaking point. Between the thoughts in my head over her revelation about losing her virginity, her hiking in front of me in those skimpy little shorts that nicely hugged her ass and the way her tits looked in that bikini top, I couldn't keep my head straight. I wanted her so badly. I did what I thought was the honorable thing and told her we couldn't get involved. I spent all night convincing myself it was the right course of action only to keep returning to the idea that I might never see her again. Life is short. Live will you can. As much as that whole YOLO thing had become a cliché, it was true, particularly in my circumstances. When I saw her in the fog that Sunday morning, my feelings overwhelmed me. Suppose I did die on this trip? Suppose they did find me? I wanted her. I needed to feel her. Most importantly, I wanted her to know me. It was selfish, yes but I was sure she wanted it too.
"Beeper! Dead ahead! I heard Jasper call out. I push all the thoughts from my head, as I grab a gaff and prepare to haul back.
A/N Look for teasers on Mondays on Fictionators and A Different Forest and Wednesdayson Ficcentral.