Summary: During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.
Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. Sig and the crew of the F/V Northwestern are my favorite fishermen on the Bering Sea; I intend no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on Deadliest Catch by writing this story. Author's Note: Okay everyone, here's the epilogue chapter to Navigating the Nightmare. Enjoy!
Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to Insanity's BFF and Jessie May Stone for your reviews! Seriously, you two made my day! When I was writing this story, I was afraid that I was focusing too much on the supernatural aspects, so I was so relieved to hear that I found the right balance between the documentary-style reality of Catch and the supernatural elements. I was also super paranoid about staying true to the 'characters,' especially since this is the first story I've ever written where REAL people, not fictitious ones, are being portrayed; I was so glad to know that I accurately depicted Sig and the F/V Northwestern crew and that I'd managed to capture the serious fishermen vs. fun family dynamic.
Epilogue
Captain Johnathan Hillstrand guided the 113' Time Bandit neatly into the open space across from the Northwestern so the two fishing vessels sat nose to nose. Once his crew had secured the lines and he had completed a few tasks in the wheelhouse, the eldest Hillstrand bounded down the L-shaped stairs into the galley. John paused by the door that led to the deck. "Hey," he called to Andy, "I'm gonna stop next door and see Sig for a second."
"Seems like you two have become pretty good friends this season," Andy observed. "You make some kind of side wager that you neglected to tell me about?"
"Nah," John answered, shaking his head, "Nothin' like that, man." He adjusted the collar of his USA jacket. "Sig's been havin' a tough time with some stuff," John explained, "And I wanna go see if he's doin' better now."
"Oh," the Co-Captain replied, still slightly baffled by the newfound level of friendship his older brother shared with the eldest Hansen. He mentally crossed his fingers for luck, hoping that the camaraderie between Johnathan and the rival Captain wouldn't degenerate into some kind of feud. "Well," Andy continued, "Say 'hi' for me I guess."
"I will," Johnathan called over his shoulder as he stepped outside. He leapt onto the dock and casually ambled over to where the Northwestern was tied. Seeing that no one was on deck, the brunette curled his hands around his mouth, forming a makeshift megaphone. "Anybody home?"
"Who is it?" Jake replied, poking his head out the entryway door.
"Captain Johnathan Hillstrand," John proudly declared, playfully puffing out his chest, "Requesting permission to come aboard."
"Permission granted," Norman replied, appearing beside Jake and watching as the rival Captain climbed aboard their white and blue-painted boat. "C'mon into the galley," he said, beckoning Johnathan inside.
"Want some coffee?" Jake asked politely as the three-man procession moved through the entryway, passing the crews' haphazardly-hung oilskins that hung from their respective hooks like some kind of abstract art.
John chuckled as he followed the two deckhands into the galley. "In a Northwestern mug?" He dramatically pressed a hand to his heart and gasped with mock-horror.
"Oh, we wouldn't tell anyone," Jake assured the older sailor, sharing a conspiratorial smirk with Norman.
"Can't promise someone won't snap a picture though," Norman deadpanned, causing Jake to snicker and Johnathan to laugh out loud. "Sig's on the phone with Madsen[i] arranging our flight home," the hydraulics expert said, splitting away from the group and angling left towards the staircase that led up to the pilothouse, "But I'll tell him you're here."
"Thanks," John replied as he and Jake headed for the galley table. The eldest Hillstrand stopped short beside the white refrigerator when Edgar half-limped, half-staggered out of the cooking area, presumably on his way to his cabin. "Holy hell, man!" Johnathan exclaimed, brown eyes widening as he noticed the brace on Edgar's knee and the butterfly strips adhered to the torn skin by his right eyebrow. "Sig go Captain on your ass or what happened to you!?"
"Sorta," the deck boss chuckled.
Matt, who was in the process of straightening the movies and games in the media cabinet situated to Johnathan's left, stopped mid-motion. "Man, that was one incredible tackle," he remarked reverently, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to better recall the memory.
"Tackle?" Johnathan queried disbelievingly, looking between the three men. "Like a football tackle?"
"Um," Edgar began, "Kinda?" He drew breath to explain what had happened, but was interrupted by a sudden crash that came from the wheelhouse. The impressive display of Norwegian cursing that immediately followed made the youngest Hansen blush.
"Edgar!" Sig bellowed.
"Uh oh," Edgar gulped.
"Ooh, looks like you're in trouble now," Johnathan joked.
Sig stormed down the stairs, stalking towards his brother and holding a set of crutches in his outstretched right hand. "Here," he declared, pushing the medical supports into Edgar's hands. "That's the third time I've tripped over the frickin' things."
Edgar offered his brother a sheepish grin. "Yeah, sorry," he said. Edgar indicated the bandage on his forehead. "I keep forgettin' where I set them down."
"Bullshit," Matt remarked, disguising the comment with a poorly-faked cough and earning a glare from his friend.
"'Forgetting?'" Sig responded skeptically. "More like 'intentionally misplacing' if you ask me." He huffed out a breath, unable to stay angry with Edgar over something so trivial. "Look," he continued, "Use 'em or don't, that's your choice, but don't leave 'em lyin' around anymore."
"Okay," Edgar agreed, inwardly surprised that Sig hadn't read him the riot act for disregarding the doctor's instructions.
"And to be fair," Sig added, "No hit to the head has ever adversely affected your memory. Remember," he chuckled raspingly, "You're talkin' to the guy who used to pin your gloves to your jacket sleeves so you wouldn't lose 'em when you went to school."
"Idiot mittens," Matt stage-whispered to John and Jake, making the two fishermen snicker.
"Thanks, Sig," Edgar mock-scowled, "You're all heart."
"He's your big brother," Jake sing-songed.
"And he lo~ves you," Matt added.
"You see what I have to put up with?" Sig asked with mock-exasperation, turning his head to meet Johnathan's gaze and giving the other Captain his first glimpse of the impressive bruise that decorated the left side of his face. The Norwegian shook his head and gestured with his left hand towards the staircase, inadvertently drawing attention to the plaster cast that encased his broken wrist. "C'mon up to the wheelhouse," Sig said. "We can talk without commentary from the peanut gallery."
"Sure," Johnathan amiably agreed, falling into step behind the shorter fisherman as he ascended the two flights of stairs. Reaching the pilothouse, John moved to stand near the archive cabinet as Sig habitually settled into the Captain's chair. John winced empathetically: The bruise on Sig's face was even more apparent in the sun-lit wheelhouse. "Looks like Edgar isn't the only one who got beat up this season," he observed, indicating the contusion that spanned the length of Sig's jaw line by touching his own face.
"Yeah, it's been somethin' else, man," Sig agreed, reaching up with his left hand to comb his fingers through his hair before belatedly remembering the bulky cast that covered his forearm and hand.
John whistled. "You and Edgar are like the walking-wounded of the Bering Sea."
"It could've been so much worse," Sig said solemnly, remembering the disturbing dreams he'd endured before shaking off the unsettling recollections. "You remember that scream of intuition I told you about?"
"Yeah, I remember," John nodded. The memory of Sig's sea-blue eyes, burning with some kind of supernatural awareness, resurfaced and he shivered in spite of the warmth from his leather jacket.
"I won't bore you with the grisly details, but…" Sig paused, swallowing thickly. "…I heard that scream for weeks, man."
"I can't even imagine," John admitted. "To have your instincts constantly screamin' at you like that…" He shook his head, wondering how the rival Captain had coped with the unrelenting unease. "…I'd've gone nuts."
"I had these god-awful nightmares," Sig confided. "They'd…" he paused, searching for the right word, "…Linger, sometimes, even after I woke up. So I'd just work, y'know, just avoid sleep for as long as I possibly could and hope that I'd be too tired to dream when I finally crashed. Yeah," he laughed humorlessly, "That didn't work out so well." Sig shook his head and retrieved his cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his green button-down shirt. "But, lookin' back," he continued, "Those nightmares were a blessing in disguise." Sig selected a cigarette and raised the pack, silently asking if John wanted one too.
"Really?" Johnathan asked as he plucked a single cigarette from the proffered package and reached into the inside pocket of his coat for his lighter.
Sig nodded wordlessly, lighting his own cigarette and exhaling a stream of smoke up towards the ceiling. "Yeah, those dreams or premonitions or whatever you wanna call 'em, they frickin' sucked." He took a long drag off his cigarette and continued, "But, seein' all the awful shit happen in those dreams just made me more determined to stop that from happenin' in reality."
Johnathan frowned. "If you were ready to react, how'd you and Edgar get so beat up?"
"Trust me," Sig laughed, "A busted wrist and a few bruises are way better than anything I saw in those nightmares."
"Okay, I gotta ask, man…" the brunette began, "…Did you really tackle Edgar?" Sig muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, but Johnathan caught the words, 'Loud-mouth Matt,' amongst the Norwegian's grumbling.
"Saved his life," Sig said. Seeing the curious gleam in John's eyes, Sig explained, "It was business as usual, y'know? They were all on deck pullin' pots and sortin' crab and I was up here in the wheelhouse; all of a sudden, I knew this pot was gonna slip outta the dogs and I just reacted, y'know? I think I was halfway down the ladder out there before the pot even landed on the launcher; anyways, I yelled at Edgar to run, but I could tell that he wasn't gonna get outta the way in time, so I tackled him." A phantom-breeze from his close call with the falling crab pot tousled Sig's hair and he reached up, unconsciously smoothing the blonde strands down.
"Wow," John said, shaking his head in amazement. He took a final puff of his cigarette and stepped forward to extinguish it in the black, plastic ashtray that resided on the Captain's console. "So," he began, gesturing to Sig's cast, "How long you gotta wear that?"
Sig deposited his spent cigarette in the ashtray and got to his feet. "Luckily, the break wasn't too bad," he explained as he led the way out onto the upper deck. Sig took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the sea air as he walked over to the blue-painted railing. "Baring any complications," he continued, "The cast'll come off in four to six weeks."
"Just in time for Opies," John chuckled.
"Just in time for Opies," Sig agreed, grinning.
"I hope you have an easier time of things next season," Johnathan said.
"Amen, brother," Sig said. "Thanks, John," he added, shaking the taller man's hand. "It means a lot, y'know, that you came over to check on me."
"No problem," Johnathan answered. He laughed when Sig's grip abruptly tightened. "Ease up a little would you? I don't want a matching cast for my hand." The pressure on his palm didn't lessen and John frowned. "Sig?"
"It's not over," Sig whispered, eyes alight with ethereal blue fire. He stared eerily ahead, focused on a vision of the new nightmares Fate would force him to face in the future.
The End.
References & Glossary of Terms:
[i] Tom Madsen Airport, also known as Unalaska Airport and Dutch Harbor Airport, was renamed in 2002 in honor of Charles Thomas Madsen Sr., a Bush pilot who was known as the "Aleutian Aviator", and spent many years delivering cargo and passengers to Kodiak, Cordova, the North Slope, Juneau and the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands.
Author's Note: I am planning to write a sequel to Navigating the Nightmare, but it will not be posted any time in the near future; sadly, it's still in what I call the 'conceptional stage.' But, I have the weekend off from work so I'm hoping I can make some significant progress. Please take a moment to leave kudos or feedback! It's like Christmas morning for me 'cause I check everyday to see if anyone has reviewed or 'liked' my story. As Johnathan Hillstrand would say, "Ooh, what do I got? Is there a little red bicycle under the tree?" (Deadliest Catch, S.11-1) *lol* Also, please feel free to point out any punctuation errors, skipped words, misspellings, etc.; I'm planning to have this printed and bound so I can add the hardcopy to my library and I'd seriously cry if I discovered typos after spending all the time and money on it. Thank you for reading and please check back for the sequel. -The Swordsman