At the edge of the horizon a single speedboat appeared, presumably captained by a few teenagers on their late night escapades. The moon reflected on the salty warm water rippled due to the presence of waves made by the speedboat. The little boat went back and forth, bouncing over it's own waves, before turning back in the direction it had come, and disappearing over the watery horizon.
The only other boat visible on the Caribbean Sea, the 2002 model of a patoon--The Wave Runner--, rocked gently back and forth, causing the four sleeping adults onboard to snuggle deeper into sleep.
After the light swaying had stopped, a solitary mosquito buzzed here, there, and here again. It flew by the ears of the two sleeping men, their heads buried in their arms; it landed on the hair of a dark-headed brunette woman, sleeping in a similar position, for but a moment. Finally, the little insect settled itself on the arm of a blonde-haired woman.
Buzz. The mosquito demanded attention. Buzz, buzz. Finally the little insect settled itself in the crook of her arm and started to do what mosquitoes do: Gently take a little blood from its unwilling host.
"Mmm…" The blonde-haired woman protested, still asleep. "Get off, it tickles." Her head was resting on her left arm—Coincidentally, the same one the mosquito now bit. With her free hand, she waved it away.
The little bugger flew off, but came back a nanosecond later, biting harder.
"I said get off, you annoying snot, you." Eyes still closed; her right arm flew over her head to reach the bug. Instead, it hit her in the head and she awoke with a jolt, causing the mosquito to fly away for good.
"Huh?" She said, raising her head sharply. The movement caused her vision to blur together and head to throb. Clutching her head in pain, she attempted to stand up, only to find that her knees collapsed under the slightest amount of weight.
Grasping the table attached to the boat for support, and muttering foul words under breath, she tried to stand up straight—Only succeeding in getting halfway up. It would have to do.
"I despise hangovers," Bethany Reece—Amber's mother—muttered darkly. She could only have had a drink or two in the few hours they'd been at sea, but Beth's body had never been one to hold even a small amount of alcohol before suffering the drink's effects. Probably the reason why she only drunk once or twice a year.
With her head starting to clear, she remembered just where she was and what had gone on. She recalled toasting to a happy vacation in the Caribbean with her best friend, Carly Montgomery, Carly' husband, Peter, and her own husband, David.
David and Beth's daughter, Amber, had been in the water with Peter and Carly's daughter, Jessie. The four adults didn't make a habit of drinking while in the company of their children, but they had all promised they would only drink a few.
But Beth remembered the girls being so quiet that they simply forgot they were there and had had a little more Pina Coladas than they had intended.
Neither the Montgomery's nor the Reece's drunk frequently or regularly, and their bodies simply shut down after a few drinks. Which, Beth noticed, must have happened here. All three of her companions where dead asleep, as she had been only moments before.
Beth was more than a little surprised to see that it was after dark—They must have been drinking since well before noon. How long they had been asleep, she had no knowledge of.
Amber and Jessie must not have been too concerned, The mother thought silently. She figured the girls would have woken them up had they needed their assistance.
"I wonder where they are…" Beth muttered. The boat wasn't very big—There was a top deck, a little room that served as a storage area for coolers, and nothing more. It was obvious to the woman that the girls weren't on the top deck with them, so she checked below. Only the single cooler they had brought with them was there.
"Those little water bugs must still be in the water." She went over to the rail and looked around, but the water they floated on was still and silent.
Amber's mother was an easy-going, carefree woman. Not much riled her up, probably why she was adored by most of her daughter's friends; and it took a lot to get her in a panic. She hadn't been worried a moment ago when she couldn't find her daughter or her friend, but when farther search proved they were indeed gone, one of her rare panic attacks began.
"David," Bethany shook the shoulder of her sleeping husband roughly. The computer technician muttered something about hard drives and turned over. Beth growled in fear and frustration. Her husband had always been one of the heaviest sleepers she knew and impossible to wake. "My God, David, wake up!"
The ear-screaming voice that Amber had inherited from her mother echoed in David's eardrum. He was awake almost immediately.
"Wha-What?" He said, jumping up and looking around dramatically. The motion didn't seem to cause him any pain—David's hangovers always had been minor, unlike his wife's.
"Hello, dear," The man said, grinning at her angry expression. The jokester's smile melted when Beth narrowed her eyes. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and after he pushed them up farther and in the correct position, the brown-haired man scratched the stumble he called a "beard" while studying his wife's expression. "Beth, what's wrong?"
Beth didn't even wait for him to close his mouth before she shouted in her grimacingly loud voice: "The girls, Dave! The girls! They're…They're gone!"
"What? No, that can't be right," David said, not believing her at all. As a computer technician and a bit of a nerd, his common sense always had to analyze everything he was told. "That's impossible—Where could they go?"
"I don't know, David…All I know is that my daughter is not where she should BE!" The frantic woman shouted each word louder and louder until she had shouted louder than David had ever heard her. It awoke Carly and Peter, who rubbed their eyes tiredly.
Peter, who had an 'iron stomach' when it came to accepting the after affects of alcohol, recovered first.
"What's wrong, Beth?" He asked, recognizing the shouting voice. "What's the matter?"
"What's gotcha so scared, Beth, honey?" Carly asked, finally able to comprehend the situation. The brunette woman was much like Beth when it came to having God-awful hangovers, and her body had taken awhile to assess her surroundings.
"Amber and Jessie, I can't find them!" Beth was tired of having to repeat herself—She didn't want to sit around here and talk about it! They should be doing something!
"Lord!" An uptight, over dramatic Caroline Montgomery leapt from her seat. "Beth, are you sure?" She buried her face in her hands and shuddered.
"Peter, she's right. The girls aren't below decks," David told his blonde-haired friend, emerging from having just explored the room below. Peter nodded, and stepped away from the rail of the Wave Runner. He hadn't seen the girls in the water, either.
"I can't see them anywhere around the boat either," He confirmed. His blonde hair, full lips, and narrow nose were all pinched with worry. Jessie had worn that same expression many times, as she tended to look just like her father; though when it came to keeping her head, she often couldn't do it—She had gotten that from her mother, for the police officer, Peter Montgomery, always remained calm. It was in his training to do so. Now he tried to understand the situation by adding, "They're not in the water."
"People!" Beth exclaimed, pushing the same blonde hair Amber had out of her eyes and stomping a foot. Her daughter was just like her, both in normally keeping her head, and having the same long hair, wide nose, thin lips, and sparkling eyes. While Jessie was a combination of having her father's looks and mother's attitude, Amber took after her father, the computer nerd, either little or none.
"I've already searched the boat; I've already looked in the water—I can assure you that our girls are not there!" Beth trembled with the control it took to stay a little calm. The stay-at-home mom, who often times acted as substitute teacher at the elementary school near where she lived, was worried now, not over the first graders who couldn't stay in a straight line, but her own missing daughter. She was on the verge of tears as she told her friends, "Isn't there anything else we can do, other than sit around here and talk about it? It accomplishes nothing!"
"What could have possibly happened to them?" Carly wailed, throwing her hands up in the air. "What if they drowned, or were injured by sharks, or—Or worse!" The full time mom, who had never even attended college, buried her face in her hands and sobbed dryly, because no tears came, despite her fear. Both her and her daughter weren't very tearful, no matter how afraid or sad.
"Hush, honey," Peter wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife, who leaned into him for comfort. "Nothing like that could happened to them. Wherever they are, I'm sure that they're fine." Aside from being calm, Peter was unshakingly optimistic, especially when comforting his wife. "It's summer vacation, and I'm sure that more than one family is down here vacationing. You know how social our girls are, knowing everyone—They probably ran into some friends and went for a boat ride while we were sleeping. I'm sure they've just lost track of time."
David listened to what his sandy blonde-haired, skinny twig, friend was saying, and knew immediately that that wasn't what had happened. At home, Amber and Jessie only hung out with a small group of three or four girls, who weren't very 'popular' themselves. He knew that the chances of them running into someone they knew, and then going off without their parents' knowing—both Amber and Jessie were more responsible than that—were slim to none.
"I'm taking us back to shore," Peter informed them, leaving Carly's side to go to the wheel. "We have to notify the local authorities that our girls are missing."
"Good idea," David said, fishing the boat's keys from his pocket and tossing him to the other man.
Peter caught the keys easily and put them in the ignition. He turned the gear and waited for the engine to start up.
…Nothing happened. Peter twisted the keys around again, and this time the engine made a noise. It sounded muck like it should, chug chug chugging, but only for a moment. Just before it died again, it did something that sounded a lot like gurgling.
Peter threw up his hands in exasperation, and looked to David for an answer. David was the computer guy—maybe he knew what was wrong the engine, because he knew a lot about most mechanics, not just computers.
David shrugged, indicating he couldn't tell for sure without actually examining the engine, but he ventured a guess anyway—"Engines flooded? Perhaps we've sat here with it off too long."
"Sounds right to me." Peter never had doubted anything David told him, and when he attempted once more to start up the boat, it gurgled again. "Somethin' liquid is in there."
"Dave! Peter!" Beth had a voice that always made it sound like she was in control, and no one had ever dared to challenge what she said. "It doesn't matter what is wrong with the engine! Either way, you cannot fix it." She wrapped her arms around a shaking Carly, comforting herself as much as her friend, and added softly, "Just get me back to shore. I want to find my girls."
"We'll get you there, Beth," Dave assured her, walking over and planting a kiss on her forehead. He gave Carly a pat on the back and added, "Soon. I promise."
It was silent after that and the sound of motor engine was heard, softly at first, but getting steadily louder.
All four adults looked out over the horizon, to see a little speedboat heading towards them.
"What in the world…?" Peter asked in wonder. "Who could be out at this hour?"
"We're about to find out," David said, pushing his glasses up farther on his nose. "Because here they come."
Beth's arms slid off Carly and down to her sides, and she and Carly stared at the passengers in the little boat.
"'Ello," The tallest of the men greeted them. He was a middle-aged man—late forties, early fifties—with prematurely gray hair that suggested it had once been black. He wore his hair long, down to his shoulders, and it hung in dreadlocks. The stumble of a beard on his chin was still black, but streaked heavily with gray as well. His eyes were a lively brown, sparkling with hidden mischief; and he had a sailor's tan—suggesting a lifetime at sea. "My name's Jonathon Spar-"
"Sparlington," His companion, a short man who appeared to be a good ten years younger, interrupted him. His hair was still very brown, little or no gray hair visible, and it wasn't nearly as long—it reached his neck, and was curly and thin. His eyes were a deeper brown than his companion's and they had a bit of a stern look to them. "His name is Jonathon Sparlington."
Jonathon turned to his friend, his mouth slightly agape. 'Whot?' he mouthed to him, confused. The other man just waved him on, and Jonathon shrugged. He turned back to the other four, who hadn't seen what had just occurred between the two.
"Er…Right. I'm Jonathon Sparlington, and my friend here—who just loves saying people's names—is Roger Turn-"
"Turnip," The man interrupted again. "Roger Turnip." He noticed the look Jonathon shot him again, and it was his turn to shrug. "You said it yourself—Introducing people is my 'thing.'" The way he said the last word made it clear that he was losing his friend's term. Roger liked to talk more "intelligently"…He didn't use words like "thing."
"Right," Jonathon flashed a hesitate grin at the people in the other boat. "His thing."
"Is there something we can help you with…Mr. Sparlington?" Peter didn't say 'If that is your real name,' though his voice suggested it. Years of working around criminals had taught him to be suspicious around shady characters—Something these two definitely were.
"Oh no-no-no-no-no," Jonathon said, shaking his head furiously and waving his hands in front of himself, as if erasing the notion. "We are here to help you. Ya see…" He trailed off, and shot a look at Roger. "Ya see, we…"
"We noticed your engine didn't appear to be in total working order. Upon farther thought, we wondered if you might need a little assistance," Roger said, running a hand through his brown hair and sighing at his friend.
Peter narrowed his eyes disbelievingly.
"What my friend here means to say is this: Do ya need a ride, mate?" Jonathon smiled again and his absurd hand gestures never ceased to stop moving.
"No, I think we have everything under con-"
"Thank you, Mr. Sparlington," Beth interrupted Peter. She could tell by his body language he didn't trust the two, but she was going to get to shore. Now. "We would love it if you could just drop us off at the nearest docks."
Jonathon nodded. "Can do, little lady. Just step on over."
By now, the littler boat had floated near enough to the anchored Wave Runner, that all Beth had to do was give Jonathon her hand and jump.
When she was safely on the other, nameless, boat, Jonathon released her hand. "There ya go, Mrs.…" He trailed off, and raised his eyebrows questionably.
"Reece." Beth pointed to David. "That's my husband over there."
"Ah…" Jonathon shot a look of distaste at Dave and looked thoughtfully at the rope that lay coiled by his feet in the boat. Shaking his head forcefully, he grinned warmly and reached out to help David. "Come on over, man."
David wouldn't normally take a man's hand, but it would be impossible to make it to the other boat otherwise. Slowly he held out his arm. His knees were bent and he was leaning forward, preparing to jump, when Jonathon spoke up:
"On second thought, Roger, you help the guy over," The hippie-like man released David's arm and stepped back.
Waving his arms madly, David fell forward. He would have fell in completely, but somehow he managed to get his feet under him again. Glaring angrily at Jonathon's back, he used Roger—who had come up to help him-- as an aid to hop safely onto the little boat.
Roger stood at the edge of the boat to help Carly, and next Peter, onto the boat.
"I appreciate this," Peter said, still not entirely sure these two were trust-worthy. "But what about our boat?"
"Ah, don't worry much, man," Jonathon grinned. "It'll still be there in the mornin'."
"Once we reach shore we'll send a coast guard out to pull it in," Roger assured the cop. Peter nodded, and took a seat next to Carly.
Seated safely between Beth and Peter, Carly still trembled slightly. Her daughter was missing, and she hadn't forgotten. Judging by David and Peter's pale faces and Beth's shaking hands, neither had they.
"Get us there quickly, if you can," She managed to get out. "It's import-" Her voice cracked and she fought back tears. "Important."
"I'll get us there as fast as possible," Roger promised, starting up the ignition. His back was to them, and his eyes focused ahead. Slowly, he turned the boat around and increased its speed.
Jonathon lingered by Beth. She was next to David, who was still staring sourly at Jonathon, but the older man ignored him.
"How are ya tonight?" He asked Beth casually.
She only had a weak smile to offer him. "Hanging on."
"Oh-"
"Jonathon!"
"Coming, Roger," The dreadlocked man sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking slowly towards the wheel. "Ye don't have to holler so dag-gone loud..."
Roger's response couldn't be heard over the wind that had appeared when the speedboat hit full speed. As promised, he made the little boat cruise over the waves as fast as possible. Unfortunately, it made conversations impossible and the temperature at least thirty degrees lower. Both worried couples—neither dressed for the cold night—shivered, not only in fear, but cold.
Each adult was leaning forward, willing the boat to go faster. Each one thought the same thing...
…What could have possibly happened to their daughters?
-----------------
At the wheel, Roger was scolding Jonathon, despite the fact that Roger was much, much younger. It was clear who was the 'boss' of the two.
"…Would you just leave the poor woman alone! Stop flirting with her!" Roger exclaimed desperately. He was talking about Jonathon's attention to Beth, but he didn't use her name, less she could hear. He needn't have bothered; the wind blew away all words said.
"But…" Jonathon whimpered. "…Why?"
"One," Roger growled, leaning hard to the right, trying to turn the wheel in the direction he wanted it to go, "She's married! Does that mean anything to you?"
Jonathon raised a finger and opened his mouth, but Roger interrupted.
"Don't answer that. I don't want to know. Two, you are twice her age!" He stood back up completely and steered the boat straight-ahead. "That's just gross."
"Now you're just gloating about what happened to my so-many-number-of-greats-grandfather three hundred years ago," Jonathon whispered. "Just because she chose your ancestor-"
"Shut up." Roger used another term he normally avoided. "I'm not done. Three…The woman's daughter is missing…She doesn't need some ole' hippie pirate man hovering over her!"
"But--"
"No 'buts!'" Roger said in a comical way that made him appear as if he were his father.
"I don't know why I let you boss me around…" Jonathon muttered. "…You're close to fifteen years youn'er 'an me…"
"Jonathon, you know what we're supposed to be doing."
"Yeah…" Jonathon sighed. "We're only hangin' 'round with the girls' folks 'til they get back from their adventure, and while they're gone we have to try to keep the parent's a little sane…And…And…Well, I forget the rest. But I knew that much, at least, eh?"
"That is most of it. But did you happen to forget the reason we have to do all of that in the first place?" Roger growled.
Jonathon threw his hands up in the air. "How was I supposed to know that we sold the girl the wrong medallions! I didn't know they weren't normal, for sale, replicas!"
"At least you sold them together," Roger whispered, slowing the boat down now that the shore was in sight. "Now, at least, they can get home. But, Jonathon…They may very well be rewriting history, …It's dangerous. I only hope they be careful…Who knows what might happen if young Jessie and Amber change things too drastically?…All I know is it wouldn't be good…. Not good at all…."