A week passed in a similar silent fashion, and the tension became so intense it was hard to have meals together. Phel would conveniently disappear at supper. Rory was always prompt and attentive, he tried to find a conversation that would bring the girl out of her shell. Nothing seemed to work. He had to be patient; he had to prove to Phel that he could control himself. He thought about her, it was a laughable assumption that he would even be interested in her in that way. She was so plain, so simple, and just, (in a word) boring. She had not spoken since they had found her. He recalled that first supper while she was eating. She was watching Phel when all at once, her face drained of color and she looked as if she was going to faint. All week she tried to avoid, both Phel and himself. She, however, was not his main concern at this point.
His and Phel's friendship seemed to be slipping from his hands, ever since Phel's birthday celebration. Why had they decided to have it on a ship when they knew the weather was turning? It had been a horrid night from almost the start; it still gave him nightmares. He would hear a loud noise and he would instantly be back on the ship, drenched in rain, surrounded by nothing but the agonizing noise of the storm. The ship tossing back and forth, the men scrambling to hold onto whatever they could catch, shouts lost in the massive sound of the ocean. Cake went flying and the decorations were ruined in the downpour. The ship was only alight for brief seconds before the darkness engulfed everything, along with devastating cracks of thunder. He watched men being eaten by the swollen monstrous waves.
To his horror he watched Phel slipping from the railing as he was trying to secure his lifeline; Phel was about to be swept into the sea. Screaming into the storm, Rory found himself scrambling in the darkness to help his friend. Without warning the ship sharply turned, almost falling on its side, just as his feet slipped out from under him, he grabbed the rail with all his might. Lightning struck and as the whole ship was lit, he saw Phel again for a split second, and then devastating darkness fell. Again he tried to move toward where Phel had been. A rogue rope struck him on the left cheekbone. Struggling d Rory moved forward unabashed, blood and rain dripping from his face, but when the lightning crashed again the spot was empty. Rory tried to find him in the brief seconds of light but Phel was gone.
"Sir, there is a letter for you." The housekeeper interrupted his thoughts and he gave his head a little shake to come back to the present.
"Yes thank you Mrs. Fellows." He smiled at her as he took his letter hoping for some good news.
After he had come to realize that Phel was lost overboard, Rory had felt he moved in silent slow motion trying to help the other men secure themselves. When the storm had ceased they found that three men had gone overboard. Struck with the grief of his friend he loved as a brother, he knew he must return to their home.
He stayed at an inn on the coast to recover and rest before making arrangements for his journey, when a story caught his attention, as he was ordering his meal. An old seaman was talking to a chum of his over tea.
"A man's been found nr'ly dead."
The chum replied "Aye 'ems the lucky 'ons been found alive. Not many do find the shore 'tafter ta night like last."
"Too true, but this 'ons different, 'ees been found on ta shore of te convent." The old man took his pipe out and stuffed tobacco in it after tapping out the old. He lit it and sucked in the sweet smelling smoke. He sat back in his chair while his chum mused over the information he had just been given. Rory saw the puzzlement in his face, and it gave him pause. Finally he blurted out.
"Oh good God, get on with it! Why, why is it different, who is this man?" The two men taken back with the outburst turned slowly and looked in disbelief taking his pipe out of his mouth the old man pointed at him with it, as if to make his point.
"Why 'cause ya 'ave to swim in to get ta 'at cove, and many a good strong swimmer drown try'n." He replaced his pipe to his mouth with a slight click as the wood hit his pipe tooth, as he thumped the chair arm with his fist.
"But how?" Rory asked in disbelief, "You say he was nearly drowned?"
"Aye, 'ats ta sound of et. No 'ons knows 'em. Was no more conscious then a dead fish! Ahah" He gave a wheezy laugh. "'nd when you figure 'at out laddie, tell us 'ow ee did et!" They both chuckled and went back to each other's company.
He asked for the way to the convent and set out at once. To his intense relief, he found Phel there, but: an extremely altered Phel. For weeks afterward the only sound Phel made was an eerie tune he tried to sing. When he did start speaking, he only spoke of a face, not sure if it was real or imaginary. Phel was obsessed with his phantom savior.
After finding Phel in this state, Rory had done all he could to find this person who could perhaps shed some insight on the events of Phel's rescue. Rory interviewed all the nuns, but none of them could swim. He wrote letters to all the residents of the area.
This letter had been the last response, it said the same as all the others; 'We regret to inform you that we had no hand in saving your friend, although we rejoice with you in his recovery.' It was hopeless, and now he had no idea where to turn. Rory rubbed his rough stubble chin, scrunching his forehead as he sighed; he threw away his final hope. He was so tired of feeling so helpless, especially toward his friend.
Looking out the window, he knew that he had better go find Phel, but he was so weary he didn't want to face him now. Phel was probably in his tree anyway. It was a place Phel had begun to visit frequently, presumably to get away, to hum his tune. Rory was sick of Phel brooding, and humming that creepy tune over and over, never ceasing as if his life depended on it. He felt punchy; he knew if he heard it one more time he could not be held responsible for his actions.
He, Rory, was never the one to be responsible. Phel had always been the practical dependable one. Once Phel had been the very pinnacle of style, now he looked as if he didn't know how to do up his own boots, he was unshaven and uncoordinated. It was this last fact that scared him the most. He wanted a drink. Rum always made him feel a little braver. He sighed again rubbing his chin. Better not think of rum, he had sworn to himself he wouldn't. Now that was a stupid thing to do, why even try? He knew all he would do was fall into a failure of a promise he couldn't keep. He went to the liquor cabinet.
Rory lay in a stupor at his desk. He awoke with a start. What was going on? What time was it? Where was he? What woke him? He remembered; as he was jarred awake by the girl shaking him. With a worried face she didn't speak, but she pointed. Rory woke a little more, wiping the drool from his mouth and cheek, he looked up at her. What was she going on about? He tried asking her but she covered his mouth and cupped a hand around her ear. He had been trying to stand but was stuck in an awkward half sitting stance with her hand on his mouth, he paused and listened.
He heard it; Phel's eerie song coming trickling into the room, but this time it was complete and undeniably beautiful. It felt as if the ocean currents came with it. A desire to follow the song came over him swiftly and completely, he stood up quickly and started to obey his feelings, all he could think was the loveliness of the music and how he must find it. A hand grabbed his and pulled him back. He looked down at an anxious expression. She shook her head, and tugged his arm away from the haunting music. He struggled for a second, than giving into her persistence, let her lead him away. When the notes faded till he could no longer hear them, his brain cleared of something different from the effects of the liquid comfort. Reality seemed dull and tedious as his wits, or most of them, came back to him.
"What was that" he asked "Why did it make me feel like that?"
No reply, she looked at him intensely and shook her head. He knew she was warning against going where he could hear that song again. She smiled and left.
That has to be the oddest girl I have ever met, he thought to himself, and Phel thought she may not be safe with me. Hah! With that thought he went to his room, to go to bed, and put the day's events behind him.
The strangeness of the previous day carried into the next. His first thoughts were about this strange girl, for indeed, she was a foreign being, completely different from anything or anyone he known before. He had to stop calling her "the girl". He'd think of something later. Now he needed to gather his thoughts and figure out what had happened last night. The events of the previous night hadn't felt so strange until he woke with a clear head. He felt the draw of the music and it had left its echo in his head. He went to the library to immerse himself into any information books could shed some light on, about the area where Phel had gone overboard. The place where Phel had first hummed that song; it must be the origin of all the weird events that had taken place since.
He reached the library, and selected an atlas. Studying the area's geography, he realized the small town had been around long before the surrounding villages. The atlas showed the population to be even smaller than other close-by fishing villages. Why would that be? Why had it not grown more? Considering the amount of time it had been around, one would assume it would be a thriving city that the surrounding villages would use for support. It seemed to be roughly the same size as it was since it was first founded.
He looked for another book about the village, but nothing. Odd that Phel's vast library had nothing on this village, specifically because this was his favorite place to sail, hence the place for his birthday cruise. He leaned against the cool marble hearth and looked at the fire. How could Phel have such a strong relationship with this village and yet keep no books on the history? Phel kept history about every place he ever went. He had always made it a joke to Phel about being so educated on any place they ever went. Phel would have spent weeks researching and preparing for a trip, it was part of who he was. Why was there so little information about his favorite place?
He rubbed his face and sighed, knitting his brows together, trying to piece this puzzle together, deep in thought he looked up into the design of the hearth. He had never noticed before the hearths marble had an intricate scene carved into it. It was a beautiful scene of a ship lost at sea in a storm, 'ironic' he mused to himself. There were graceful mermaids looking on and whales playing in the big breakers. His eyes rolled over the ship and chills came over him. It was as if the artist watched their own ship from afar in the storm that took Phel overboard. It was the exact replica of that night down to the very last detail on the ship. The way the storm hung down and the waves grabbed at the hull of their ship as if trying to bring it down to the deepest fathoms. There were the ripped sheets billowing in the wind; and, here Rory felt his heart leap to his throat; on the leeward side of the ship, a man falling into roiling depths below. He tried to calm himself thinking that all storms must look this way from a distance. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the painting over the hearth. His heart stopped as he cried out as if someone had knocked the wind from his lungs.
He was staring into the deep dark eyes of the girl.