James threw a collection of crabs into pots of boiling water and looked over his shoulder in the steamy kitchen of the shop. His shift was coming to a close and night had fallen, but he knew he had to finish cooking up the crabs in order for them to be shipped down to a popular restaurant named Ollie's for a night of festivities.

"Like I can ever enjoy a night out around here," he mumbled to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead as he continued to throw crabs into the oversized pot.

The sound of something falling made his head snap up and he peered through the collection of steam. A part of him wanted to call out, "hello" but he decided against it and hesitated a moment before continuing on with his job.

There was another noise that caught his attention and he stopped again, knowing he was the only person left at the place. Even though he found Emmett to be utterly harmless, their quarrel earlier in the day had spooked him, and the tip of the hook he'd used to threaten him left a small gash on his cheek.

James went to reach for another crab and suddenly he saw it; a black figure barreled through the smoke and the steam and uppercutted his arm beneath James's chin. For a second he thought he'd just been hit, but then the mortal hit him in his core.

The big fisherman's hook pierced his face, beginning beneath his chin and protruded from his mouth. Blood began to pour from his mouth and everything went black.

The fisherman who attacked him wasted no time and dragged the body over the top of the pots of boiling crabs, leaving nothing but a trail of blood behind him.

...

A few blocks away from the marina Emmett pulled his BMW up into a park space by a small, ocean-side gym. Upon receiving a football scholarship he was expected to stay in shape year round and so he had been making the gym his permanent home away from home.

Emmett stepped out of the car toting a blue gym bag and headed into the place alone. He waved to the old man who sat behind the desk there and quickly hopped into his workout gear in the locker room.

No one was occupying the gym at that time of the night and while he typically brought headphones to listen to his music privately he decided to make use of the stereo system that was already set up there.

Hard rock music began to play, and Emmett stretched himself out before hitting the weights, running a fast mile on the treadmill and then eventually letting out some aggression by hitting the heavy punching bag.

He enjoyed having the place to himself on occasion and was able to get a great workout in without holding back. Eventually he stood huffing by the bag and pushed it out of his way before heading into the showers.

Emmett closed his eyes and let the water run over his body. He took his time, noting he had nowhere to go and let the hot water decorate his back.

The sound of a locker opening and closing made him stop what he was doing for a moment. He listened and heard some shuffling.

"Hello!" Emmett called out.

There was no response and so he stood quietly for a moment, noticing a shadow on the wall near the first row of lockers.

"Hello?" he called out a little loud with a hint of impatience in his voice.

When no one replied Emmett hurried to get the rest of the soap off of him before throwing a towel around his waist and heading to the locker he'd left his street clothes in.

A single locker was opened in the line of them near the far wall and Emmett froze. He could see that his clothes had been rummaged through as they were now all over the ground and hanging out of the locker.

"Shit..." he said quietly to himself, slowing making his way toward his locker. He peered inside and started pushing thing around to see what was missing. "My jacket..."

Emmett scowled, noting his car keys had been in the pocket, and threw on the rest of his clothes before rushing out of the place toward the old man.

"Hey Hank," he said, "Who else is here? Anyone else working out?"

The old man smiled from behind a newspaper, appearing to be oblivious to whatever was going on. "Just you and me pal."

Emmett paused upon hearing a car's engine outside and hurried out the door in time to see his car being driven backwards in the opposite direction down the road.

"Hey!" he screamed aloud, taking off after his most prized possession. "Asshole! Stop!" He waved his hands and sprinted as fast as he could until the car finally stopped and threw on the brights.

Emmett huffed, breathing heavy and put a hand up. "James you're freakin' dead!" he called out.

The headlights flickered and the engine revved and for the first time Emmett took a moment to acknowledge that he was in the line of fire. Before another thought crossed his mind the car lunge forward with squealing tires and headed full speed in his direction.

Emmett backpedaled a few feet and then took off running in the opposite direction, zigzagging down the street in an attempt to get away from the car.

The driver weaved with him and finally spun the car around so he was facing Emmett again, who was now stuck between the vehicle and a small shack out behind the gym. The engine revved again and then the car headed straight for him.

Emmett had nowhere to go, he leapt in the air and felt his back his the windshield of the car. His only saving grace was that the car didn't have enough room to gain enough speed to create a fatal collision. Still, he screamed in pain and tried to hang on as the front of the car plowed through the shack, sending him flying in the air when the driver hit the brakes.

The small structure collapsed and pieces of shattered wood flew in all directions. When the dust finally settled, Emmett laid on his back in the center of the rubble and reached to his forehead which had been cut in the accident.

The car door opened and he heard a set of footsteps heading in his direction.

Emmett couldn't move. He assumed the commotion would draw some attention to the nearly deserted street. "Help me!" he screamed aloud. "Somebody! Help!" His eyes followed a pair of black, rubber boots that soon stood beside him.

A man in an long, black fisherman's slicker and hat stood above him; the hood-like nature of the hat and the high collar of the slicker kept his face a mystery.

"What do you want?" Emmett yelled up at him. He held onto his wrist in pain as he spoke.

The man didn't answer. He reached into his coat and removed a large hook, letting it dangle down toward Emmett's face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried, "I swear... I swear we didn't mean it."