I'm sorry for taking so long to update this story, life has been hectic. I haven't forgotten about the story though and I plan to see it through. I want to thank all of those who took the time to review, subscribe to and favorite the prologue, or teaser if you like. It meant a lot. Also, many thanks to my beta-reader, TattooedLibrarian, for getting back with me so quickly and for taking the time to read and edit this first chapter. So, the story starts here. Hope you enjoy and please read and review.

Annapolis, December 2002

For the past year he had been carrying his umbrella to work. He had carried it religiously like a bible, like a shield ready to be used in battle. His wife would mumble something about obsessive compulsive behavior, shake her head and pour hot, boiling coffee into a mug that was never big enough to wake him up in the morning. During that one year, he never once had to use that umbrella. It stayed carefully snuggled in his bag, a silent reminder that his life was as dry as the unused umbrella, as stale as this tiring routine. Then came last evening, and in the midst of hospital visits, police reports and a dreamless, restless night, when the time came to leave for work, he had left with his coffee unconsumed on the kitchen table and his umbrella untouched in the drawer. So according to Murphy's Law, it was thus perfectly natural that his wife would come home that evening and find him soaking wet in the kitchen. The rain had started to fall from a grey sky five hours ago and for the rest of the town it would be over by nightfall. For him, it would never really stop. She walked carefully across the kitchen room floor, like she was approaching a small and frightened child. The rain was still beating hard against the window pane, a persistent intruder in the cold, chilly winter night.

"So what did they say?," she asked carefully, her voice soft and tender, almost broken, as if the question was a burden too heavy to carry.

"They told us not to worry. Apparently we're perfectly safe, everything is proceeding as planned and they've got everything under control. They said everything. And nothing. I should've told them to cut the bureaucratic crap and tell it like it is instead of throwing around words that sound pretty but mean damn nothing" He buried his head in his hands, his voice tinted by bitterness and resignation and every shade of hopelessness. She sighed and sank down in the chair next to him, water dripping from her wet, blonde hair onto the kitchen table.

"Nathan, I can't live like this anymore. I can't live here anymore. I really haven't been sleeping in weeks. I just lay awake at night, thinking every creak is him opening a door and slipping in. I feel like I'm being watched in my own house, and people look at me like I'm losing my mind and sometimes…Sometimes I wonder if they might be right. Maybe I am going crazy" Her voice died out in the end, like a small flame slowly losing oxygen.

"You're not going crazy, sweetheart, don't even think that." He sighed and ran a hand through wet hair and for a short moment he was sure it was thinner than it had been last night, like he had suddenly aged twenty years in just twenty hours. "Look, I'll see what I can do about getting us out of here for a little while. We can take a vacation; get away from this damn place for a couple of days." He emptied the glass he was holding and shuddered, feeling the fire burn as it went down, just barely driving away the cold, frozen feeling of impending doom that had surrounded him ever since the terror last night.

"I like the sound of that," she said and managed a soft smile, but the smile never reached her eyes which seemed impossibly locked at a point somewhere between here and infinity, her body still stiff and tense like a wire stretched too far, ready to burst at any second.

They stayed as they were for a moment, listening to the rain wash away the snow of yesterday's storm and the glow of tomorrow's new day. Their silence was deafening and loud as thunder, a million little words in a never-ending sentence of unspoken anguish. The silence hung heavy in the air like an invisible mantle, threatening to suffocate anyone who dared to challenge it. Eventually, he took the bet and learned forward, kissing her cheek gently and carefully.

"You have my word: He'll never come near us again," he whispered quietly and drew her in, hoping that the action spoke louder than the words.

But late at night, as she lay wide awake watching the curtains blow in front of the closed windows, feeling the cold surround her in the warmth of the blankets and hearing the silent footsteps in the empty house, she knew she didn't believe him.

Yucatan, 2018

"Nathan?"

The elderly man stopped in his tracks on the warm pier, heated by the last few glittering rays of a late afternoon sun, and turned abruptly to face the voice behind him. He squinted against the bright glare of the sun, trying to make sense of the fuzzy face before him, racking his brain for any clue to who the voice could belong to.

"Well, I'll be damned, Nathan. Never thought I'd see you back here. And you sure picked the right time, didn't you?"

"Henley". The memory came rushing back to him like a tidal wave, like a punch to his stomach, and he fought the urge to turn around or duck away or do anything that would avoid a conversation doomed to end in misery. The man before him took a few puffs of a cigar and nodded towards a group of people standing at the end of the pier, curiously observing their conversation. "Those are the people you picked to be your crew?," he remarked with a slight smirk as he watched a dark-haired woman hit a man with an oar and a blonde boy with shaggy hair look at her with wonder, nervously toying with his jersey and almost tripping on his own two feet in the process.

"They're here for a reason, Henley. They're the best in their field".

"And that includes the kid that looks like he's just out of kindergarten?"

"That kid, as you wish to call him, happens to be a magna-cum-laude graduate of Stanford University," said a crisp voice behind them. "A most brilliant young man, if I may say so," added Dr. Kristin Westphalen, walking up behind them carrying a bag and a bottle of water. Her fiery hair was blown about by the soft, playful wind, her skin kissed by the heat of the last fading afternoon rays of the sun. "Nathan, I don't know about you but I think we are all ready to take the boat to your island now. Ford, I believe, is developing a serious headache. Apparently we're fifteen minutes off schedule." A quick sparkle in her eyes was all that gave away the humor behind her words.

"Schedule? I didn't know we had one." Nathan let his gaze wander from Kristin to his Commander, standing at the end of the dock handling out directions to a blushing Lucas, a bruised Krieg and an annoyed Hitchcock. He smiled to himself and allowed his hand to gently touch Dr. Westphalen's arm, hoping she wouldn't notice the slight tremble in his hand. "Go on, go join them. I'll be there in a sec." As he watched her leave he once again turned to face Henley who was shaking his head, smiling on the outside but most likely cursing on the inside.

"Well, I guess there's nothing I can say to convince you to not go back there, Nathan. Old ghosts are hard to get rid of, you know. Especially at this time of the year." Henley was standing so close that he could feel the stinging scent of smoke that hung in the air mixed with the burning, earthy smell of bourbon.

"I've moved on, Henley."

Henley's voice was uncompromising, harsh but not accusing as he replied, "Maybe so, but he hasn't."

Nathan just shook his head as he started to walk down the dock. "I don't need this, Henley. Now, if you excuse me, I'm on shore leave and I plan to enjoy myself with my new crew."

Henley carelessly threw his cigar butt on the ground and stepped on it, as he watched Nathan and his crew set off into the distance, their boat just a tiny speck of white on the deep blue, glistening ocean, the fading sun just a flicker of light on a gloomy, grey horizon.