Chapter 2: Lost in Confessions
"I need to see my wife… my girls. I…" Caz staggered his words and started to pull at the handcuffs.
"No… Cameron – "
"I canny be here! I need to go. My family… I… if what you say is true, they'll be well moved on by now! My girls will be… fuckin' teenagers! My wife… god's sake, Suze. I can't have her thinking I'm deid! I'm not! I need to go hame!"
Brantley stood off his chair and leaned over the table, "Cameron, you need to calm down. I don't want to have the nurse come in with a sedative again. I can understand your shock, but you need to take it one minute at a time, right?"
"Understand? You don't fucking understand. I don't even understand! What the fuck is happenin? You saying I've been gone for ten fucking years? How… how is that possible? I woke up this morning on the oil rig I've been at for four months! This has to be some kind of fucking conspiracy. Aye, this isn't real!"
"I showed you the newsletters. I've used every available resource within the base to prove to you it is 1985. If you still don't believe me there's not much I can do to prove it."
"Let me go to my girls! If what you say is true they'll be grown now. My wife will be forty four. Surely things out there have changed. You want me to believe it, then let me go!"
"You know I can't do that, Cameron. You'll see your family again soon. First, we need to figure out what happened on that rig. How you've come back. We're gonna need to run some tests, I'm sorry. It won't be just you, everyone on the Beira will need to go through the same process. We need to ensure it's safe for you all to return home."
"Tests? What kind of tests?"
"Bloodwork, scans, check ups, we just need to make sure everything is alright with you all."
Caz stuttered and his glare went vacant, "You… you think this was something bad? Like… like the Bermuda Triangle or some shit? You know, ships and planes go missing without a trace? You think… maybe aliens or something?"
Brantley had a hearty scoff and shook his head. Caz battled, "Well, I don't fucking know, mate! You're the one who should have the answers!"
"It's easy to take flight of fancy, I get it. You need an explanation, and we do, too. For now, let's just stick with the facts. That sector of the North Sea had been vacant a day ago. Then not even a second after midnight our alarms start blaring. We see that an unauthorized ship has entered the UK's coast. Upon further investigation we realize it's not even a ship, at all. It's a damn oil rig that seemed to materialize out of the white. By materialize, I mean within moments, Cameron. This could be something otherworldly, it could not. My experience, there's always a logical explanation. Even if it's buried underneath mounds of nonsense. Could be your rig was seized upon by terrorist motives and they put you back there."
"You still think I'm lying to you?!"
"Maybe they did something to your memories."
"Jesus Christ. That's your logical explanation? Take a look at Rennick. Cunt should be 68 if it's been ten years. Pretty spritely for a seventy year old, don't you think? I should be forty-five, but gotta say, mate, still feel like not a day over thirty six. We haven't aged! What has the ability to just stop time like that? And just regarding the Beira?! You think that's not otherworldly? This whole thing is fucked!"
Brantley interrupted sternly, "That's why we'll be running the tests. Not just to confirm your ages, but to confirm blood types, health concerns, toxin history, all that jazz. I'm not going to address anything supernatural until we have that information from all of you and decide accordingly. Until then, you gotta stay here. No contact to the outside world until we have the information we need, right?"
"So… nothing out of the ordinary?" Major Jefferson pressed.
Rennick let out a long, aggravated sigh and snapped, "No. Been telling you the same damn thing over and over, when is it gonnae sink in? Now I've told you what I know. I've told you in many different styles and narratives, now you tell me what I want! We had a deal."
"You haven't told me anything of use, Davey. I mean… you expect me to believe that you don't remember the last ten years. That you and your crew were just out drilling for oil on a rig that is ten years past due of destruction?"
"What, you expect me to believe you? Ten years, what a loada' shite. You just want a Scottish rig out so you can have at the oil. Fucking English never cease in being unruly cunts, the lot of you."
"If you don't believe me then why enquire about Ms. Cartier?"
Rennick's face soured. "What?"
"Well, you were certainly in a panic about your former mechanic's well-being. Rather strange if you believe it's only been a few weeks."
"She was in hospital, workplace accident. She's my personnel, I should be allowed the grace to know she's alright, shouldn't I?"
"Yet, you never asked about your sons, Jack and Callum. Or your ex-wife Linda. You seem to be putting this Cartier above anything else. Strange, too, considering you have a reputation for being… shall I say… a difficult manager to deal with. You're not well liked on the Beira, why is that?"
Rennick blew a scoff and leaned in his chair. "Does it matter?"
"Maybe. I want to understand how a man like you came to be in charge of an oil rig. A lot of corners cut and funds pushed to different avenues, all under your signature. There was even talk of industrial action. Must have made some dirty dealings in order to get this operation off the ground. You seem like a… short-cut kind of guy. Definitely no Boy-Scout. Maybe you had help? Perhaps a foreign government?"
"Oh, you've got to be fucking joking me. You canny be serious. Shove off, ya gobshite. Get a grown up in here."
Jefferson leaned forward, "I'll tell you what, Davey. I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth. The whole truth. You do that, I'll tell you about Cartier. Everything you wanna know about her. What'd you say?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I mean we pressed hard for weeks to get better assessment and maintenance of the rig but no luck. As far as I know, it was just Cadal involved." Trots explained coolly to his interrogator, Cornwallis.
"How can you be sure of that?"
"I went through Rennick's documents. One night when he was on the mainland, I broke into his office. Usually, I wouldn't say this to a soul, but I highly doubt we'll be returning to work anytime soon. I wanted to see how he was planning to address our complaints. If he even cared at all. I found some documents of interest. Including the funding for a lab."
"A lab?"
"Aye. A lab. It's not on the Beira, if it is, it's tucked away tight we can't see."
"What was the purpose for it?"
"It didn't specify," said Trots remorsefully, "Just that it was confidential. Addressed for Rennick's eyes only."
"Is it pretty routine to have a lab on an oil rig?"
"Not one I've ever worked on. There was also explicit detailing of drilling points. As far as I know, this location we were at was pretty dismal for oil. Had been drained routinely by Cadal and a few other commercial oil companies in the past. This time Rennick wanted to drill deeper. Deeper than usual. As if we were mining for buried treasure."
"What happened, then? You had to drill deep, what was the outcome?"
"I donnae. The scheduled drill was set for today."
"Where's Innes? He's alright? Come on, you fucks aren't telling me anything, why should I tell you?" Muir angrily protested from the table as a female interrogator, Benson, was flushing papers before him.
"I'm going to need you to stay calm, Ewan. Terry is back in the bunks, he's fine. For now, you'll need to answer some of my questions."
"I've already told you everything I know! We weren't anywhere else but the Beira, I swear to you! We know as much as you all do, alright?"
She folded her hands to the table top, "Ewan. You cooperate with me; I may be able to set up a phone call with you and your family. Your mother and father still live on Cherry Road in Aberdeen. I'm sure they'll be relieved to know you're okay after all these years. Overjoyed, in fact. You have one more chance to tell me the truth, maybe we can work something out."
Muir gazed down to his hands and sighed. A glimpse of sadness was soon heated in discontent. "I haven't spoken to my folks in years. Nevermind the time you claim we lost out of the blue. I donnae care, anyway. I just want out of this room so I can check on my friends. Those lads on the Beira - they're my family. Like I said, I've told you everything I know. Now just… let me go. Please."
"Would you like to see the article again?"
A detective, Kemper, waved a newspaper in Addair's face.
"Get that shit out of my face, cunt. No! You're full of shit. All a' you! I want to speak to Karen! You've had me in this room all fucking day, I should be able to speak to my wife!"
"It's been ten years, John. I'd think she'd be pretty upset to hear from you after so much time missed. Your children, Michael and Nancy, well over twenty years old by now."
"My lad is twelve. My daughter is sixteen! The more you spout this ten-year nonsense doesn't make it more true."
"Look at the newspaper."
Addair rolled his eyes spitefully, "That can be easily forged. Easily. Especially by the likes of your sort. You expect to flash some newspaper you published in the offices, and I'd have some existential crisis? You'd loosen my tongue with this? What's the reasoning, however? Given how fast you swooped in on us I'd say the higher ups have something to hide rather than us."
"You seem rather cavalier about all of this."
"Because I know it's bullshit."
"Or you know something we don't. You want contact with your wife, I'm sure I can swing something. I need you to talk, now. Where have you been the last ten years, John?"
Addair made a gruff snort in his nose and bit the inside of his lip. He still stubbornly refuted the thought. "I'm just a rig pig, mate. This ain't no grand conspiracy as you want to believe. Or as you want me to believe. We're a buncha blokes on an oil rig working for the man. Whatever fantasies you want me to think are real can be put to bed. I ain't saying anything else until I got a damn lawyer, you e're me? Now fuck off."
"Terry Innes. Fifty-four years old. A steady career as a roustabout. Over twenty years and no other hikes in success. You seem pretty content in being a floorhand your whole life, why is that?"
Innes grumbled, "Got me in this chair just to insult me?"
"What were your real motives on the Beira? I'm sure you wanted to give that daughter of yours a fair chance? Was a deckhand wage all Rennick was paying you?"
"Aye, that's right. I asked the cunt for a raise over a handful of times, but no luck."
"Where have you been the last ten years, Terry?"
Innes exasperated, "For gods sake, I have no fucking clue what you're on about. Any of ya! You ask anyone. We woke up at 6 on the dot. Had brekkie. Muir and I were out moving pipes. We'd been out there since August. What your suggesting is impossible. I donnae understand where this is coming from. It was any other day. I'd think I'd know if I missed ten fucking years in a blink now wouldn't I?"
"Terry. If you want to speak to Jane, you need to cooperate. I'm sure she'd love nothing more than to know her father is alive. Don't you want to speak to her?"
"Donny you dare use her against me. I told you, I don't know what's happening! You're the government! You should have the answers!"
"So, let me get this straight," said the detective, "You were out one night on the rig. Typical night shift. And you saw… lights?"
Gibbo's handcuffs rattled as he adjusted in his seat, wincing at the bruise on his cheek. "Aye. I thought so. I don't know, it was dark."
"Then why bring it up if you're not sure?"
"Cause you're pressing me about everything else? And because… cause it…"
"Knox?"
"It wasn't just lights. It was… I could…"
"You could what?"
"I could hear things."
"You could hear things?" The detective asked again in intrigue.
Gibbo stammered, "Aye, I could. Strange things. I… brought it up to the mates but they thought I was dolally."
"What could you hear, Knox."
Gibbo sniffled and gasped, his scowl curving into a quivering lip. "My son… my mum."
"You could hear your mother and son?"
"Can I see them? You said I can talk to em'. At least let me hear their voices. If it's been ten years as you say… God, they're probably worried sick."
"We'll need to make sure it's safe first. Now, these lights… you said they were under the rig. Did they ever come back?"
"Naw. I only saw them that once. Good thing too, they scared the shite outta me. I never wanted to see them again. Was hopin' they were just my mind playing tricks after a double. I still hope that."
"And no one else has reported seeing the same thing?"
"Not that I know of. Just me."
Finlay flicked the newspaper in her hand a few times before her hearing finally settled and came back to the detective.
"Evin! You gotta talk to me. Talk to me and I'll help you, eh? Maybe get you a phone call with your son, Joseph, would you like that? First, you gotta tell me what you know. Now you mentioned something about Rennick. What did he know?"
"Ten years…" she muttered back, not looking up as she continued to flick the paper, "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Evin. Rennick. What do you know?"
She sneered her lip up at the detective and snarled, "You donnae know when to shut your gob, do ya? Rennick had me swear not to say a lot, alright? He considered me a mate but… if what you say is true and he responsible for all these years missed than fuck him. Fuck it all. He told me that Cadal were planning to do something. Didn't tell me what, but he was up to high doh more and more before today. Today was the worst I'd seen him in a while. He didnae say but I had a feeling he was scunnert of the drill."
"Why the drill?"
"I donno, a'right? Seemed a wee fixed on making sure the drill was done today. Said he had Cadal breathing down he neck. Like his job was on the line if not."
"Any other stresses Rennick confided you with?"
"Nah. Not anything as alarmin'. He was shagging a crewmate. Cartier. She went on leave after she fell into the damn North Sea. I knew he was up to some clacky shite with the books. Wasn't using the money true. Trots caught wind of it and was trying to nail him to the cross. I figure he was close before you lot showed up."
"This Cartier, you mean Josephine Cartier, ex-mechanic?"
"Aye, wee French lass. Mouth like a trombone."
"Why did she fall in the water?"
"Accident at the diving port, no one was at fault. Luckily Brodie got 'er oot. She was airlifted to hospital after that."
"So, Rennick was clearly up to some slimy craft. Do you know if he was working on his own merit?"
"To me, it seemed like he was working on survival. He didnae wanna be fired and replaced by some other Cadal prick. He was just taking orders. As far as I know, I have no idea if he was working with another suit. Seemed like he was a wounded lone wolf near the end. Doesnae seem like one with help, eh?"
"We have another crew claiming they saw lights underneath the rig at night. You're the senior diver on the Beira. You've made the plunge well over a dozen times. Have you seen anything like that?"
The investigator asked as he sat across from Brodie who replied, "Naw. Nothing. I ken you're talkin' bout Gibbo. Doesnae take a genius. He also told me he had a date with Andrea Allen. Don't take his word with much stock."
"Anyone else say anything like that? And I mean anything strange about the rig. Anything unusual or out of the norm?"
"No," sighed Brodie. His eyelids flickered then, and he looked up to the investigator with a more open stare.
"Yes?"
"May be nothing but… two weeks ago there was an accident at the diving port. A crewmate fell into the North Sea. Daft mistake. My charge, Raffs, he was meant to do his solo dive but got cold feet. Panicked in the dive bell. Cartier and I tried to help him out, but he shoved Cartier a bit too rough. She lost her footing off the rail. I got her oot but on her way up she kept saying something about her mum. That her mum was… talking to her. She asked me if I could hear her, too. I mean, she did nearly die in sub zero waters, could be that, but… she seemed distraught even considering her condition at the time."
"Did she say anything else?"
"Nah. She was airlifted to hospital. Haven't seen her since. If it's been ten years… probably won't ever again."
"Alright, Davey. Last chance."
"Fuck, alright! I… don't know what happen but Cadal was pretty convinced something was here."
"Something?"
"Aye! Don't ask me what cause I donnae know! I was just taking orders." Rennick admitted defeatedly.
"Thought you said this was your rig."
"Oh, fuck off."
"So, you're telling me that you were just another grunt, another cog in the system of Cadal taking orders without question, drilling into something without the guarantee of oil just because you received a confidential letter from Cadal management?"
"Did I not make it clear the first ten times? I didnae know what they were up to. My rig was becoming less a source of oil and more a palaeontology site."
"What do you mean by that? You saying they knew something was down there? They were trying to uncover some kind of lost fossil? A footprint of something ancient?"
"I don't know. They didn't tell me shite. But it was plain they were up to something. When I questioned it, my job was threatened and lost me bonuses. Same with my personnel. So, I had the good sense to keep my gob shut. Then they started getting impatient. The closer we got to the drill, the more radge it got. Got some peace you all came when you did actually. Things were starting to feel… wrong."
"Wrong? How so, Davey?"
"Just a feeling. Like digging up a grave. We were messing with stuff. You'd think I'm off me heid but… I swore the closer we got to the drill, I kept having these nightmares. Vivid ones, too. Weird shite. For years I couldn't even dream, then I'm out on an oil rig and I'm having them all the time. The worst I ever had. I had to keep goin' and keep my crew workin' so we'd get this job done. Get out of this part of the sea and back to the work we're familiar with. Sure, I ruled with an iron fist cause I had to. But… that rig was never mine. It never was. They called the shots. I was just the prick in the office chair doing what I was told."
Jefferson kept studying Rennick for a while, waiting for another bout of unloading if there was one. Rennick stayed contemplating in silence.
"Alright."
Rennick looked up in a daze, "Alright?"
"Good enough for me." Jefferson began to scribble on his notepad.
Rennick asked a bit defeatedly, "And Josie?"
"I'll tell you about Cartier, but you gotta tell me one more thing."
"Fucking Christ, what?"
"The names of these Cadal representatives. The ones giving you these orders. Any you can remember. Write em down and I'll tell you how Cartier's been."
Rennick blew air from his nose and furrowed the wrinkle between his brows. He held his hand open for Jefferson's pen and started to write them down on the newsletters.
"Alright, Cameron. You're free to return to the bunks. I'll get Glen and Wheeler to take you back. If there is anything you want to say, now is the time." Brantley explained as the door opened with two soldiers. Caz had his head bowed. Sweat beginning to pool over the bridge of his nose.
"Cameron?"
The voice of Brantley was like a distant echo over North Sea waves. The waves were so vividly heard still. The smell. Yet, another smell kept trying to intrude. Putrid and pungent. Like the remains of a run-over sheep he once had to pull from the road so he could drive through. With the smell came the sound of thumping. A mighty heartbeat. It didn't sound like his own. It could have come from the walls. The floorboards beneath him. It was ambience he had known before, but not when. Small moments like a waking nightmare kept intruding. Flesh pink and scarlet, cries over the North Sea storm, the stink of oil and blood. The fear. The unimaginable, entrapping fear. So powerful it kept him frozen to his spot. Unable to even breathe. Scared if he did, something would hear him. It would come. It always did. But he couldn't recall what. He couldn't recall any of it. But it kept stained in his mind like a reminder. Fighting desperately to claw out. Then the touch of his shoulder sent him nearly flying from his chair.
"Cameron! What's wrong with you?" Brantley raged impatiently, glancing back to the confusion on his soldier's faces.
Caz tried to speak but all that cracked out was a whimper. He could feel the sheen of sweat on his glare start to cool. Brantley said to his subordinates uneasily, "Take him back."
The soldiers helped him off the chair, irking at his rattling frame. He had one phrase on his mind. Like a song stuck in his head. No matter how hard he tried to think of something else, it greedily kept coming back.
"We never had a chance."
