Chapter 11: Flight of Fancy
"Here we are…" announced Jane as she opened the door to her flat. Still a bit of hesitation in her tone to the two new guests in her home. However, for her dad, she wouldn't dare make it known. Innes, Brodie, and Muir came in shortly after, taking in the home in humble appreciation. It was a modest home, a rental. Three bedroom and two-bathroom stead. The three men still wearing their grey scrub garb from Wylen's Point. She said, "I've got some men's wear in boxes around here somewhere."
Innes raised a cautious question, "Why?"
"Uh… my ex left em'. Didnae ken what to do with em'. Was gonna donate but I'm glad I kept them now."
Innes pried, "Your ex? Boyfriend?"
"Aye… well… it's more than that but… we'll talk about it later." The bustle and night life of Edinburgh called outside Jane's lightly cracked windows, letting in a mild breeze.
Brodie stated modestly, "Uh, I'll take the couch."
"Naw, Brodie… take the guest, I can – " Innes was cut off.
"Nae bother, Terry. Honestly. It's been a minute since I've heard the sounds of the city. I miss it. You can hear it nicely out here."
Jane scoffed, "That makes one of us. Alright. Like I said on the drive, lads, I work on-call most nights. So… I wonnae be here as much. Just asking you respect my…"
Muir assured, "Of course, we'll… treat it like guests. Anything you need, aye? Donnae hesitate to ask. I was a deckhand… but I'm handy. Be it eleccy, chippy, plumbing…"
Innes curved a subtle glare his way (thinking Muir meant it suggestively), and Muir adduced nervously, "Nae plumbing! Well, I can fix a toilet. I can… fix things. I fix things."
Jane paced from Brodie's grieved eye roll to Innes' at Muir's panic rambling and consoled, "I just… would love if you lot cleaned up after yourselves, aye?"
The three said simultaneously, "Aye," a few more mumbled assurances slipping out after. Jane cracked a half-amused smile as she left them get accustomed into the space. Meanwhile, she prepared for a shift. Her emergency services get-up was on, her blonde, curly hair tied in a bun. As a paramedic, in the city no less, she always had a bit of a nervous apprehension stepping out the door. Jane walked to the door when Innes stopped her.
"Hey, Jane!"
"Aye, dad?"
There was a moment longing to hold her, tell her how much he missed her. Gush and praise on how proud he was. Get to know her again. The spunky, teen-aged tom-boy who would accompany him on all his wilderness adventures, play board games all night, and laugh wasn't seen now. Jane had changed. To see it for Innes now, nearly put him into a panic. That every moment from here on needed to make up for that and regrow. Despite that urge, he knew it wouldn't be that simple now.
He smiled, "Be safe, right? Uh… when you get hame?"
"Depends… usually four is a safe bet."
"Right… I love you, aye?"
Jane made a small smile as she turned the knob to the door, "You too, dad. Get some rest."
Innes stood in the doorway sullenly as her footsteps left out the driveway and started her car. The shuffles of Brodie and Muir were heard in the rooms behind. He was too glad to be rid of the government bunks and the rig. Yet, there was still disappointment she had to leave so soon. Now he was back to the confines of a new prison. Far kinder, but the outside world still barred from him until suits deemed otherwise. Much like his role on the deck, he was in charge of others. Making sure they would not leave the home, either, or Jane could be culpable to jail or worse. Of course, Brodie and Muir knew better, regardless.
The three sat in the living room for a while, flipping through channels baffling at the change of their world. MTV, movies, music, new political developments was turning their world topsy turvy. After a while, the three deemed to shut it off when they became too overwhelmed.
"My head is fucking ringing…" sighed Brodie. "I'm knackered."
"Righto." Innes stated, slapping his thighs as he sat off the couch. Muir joined.
"Let you get some sleep, aye, big man?" Muir said, rubbing his hand back his head.
Brodie shrugged as they got up, "We nae gonnae talk about it?"
Muir and Innes exchanged a kindred glare of confusion, and Brodie continued, "The question. The biggest one."
"I didnae break wind, it was probably Innes…" Muir shrugged jokingly, making Innes scoff.
"No. I mean… how are we back… and how did…" Brodie sighed, "I feel like I'm dreamin', any minute I'm gonnae wake up. I keep smelling oil like a sixth sense, it's making me wanna boke. I got this fucking… pit in my stomach. You two don' feel that?"
"Naw…" Muir shrugged but tried to lean to Brodie's concern. "Look, we've all been through the ringer last few weeks, aye. I'm holdin' it together but… it's all radge. Didnae really sink in till… well, till we got to Edinburgh. It's shock, right? Makes your body go through lots a' things. You feel and even hear and see shite. Just… try and rest up. It'll be better in the morn." He turned to Innes for affirmation, "Aye?"
Innes startled a response, as if he was lost in his own head and just came to, "Aye. Donny flap, Brodie. You're no alone in the feelin', it's fucked. It's all just right fucked but, hey… we can get through that shite rig, we can get through this, and all. The shock wonnae last forever. You're grand."
Brodie had a long sigh, hoping it would ease whatever apprehension away. It didn't, he was still rattling to the bone. Anxious but for no rhyme or reason. He prayed it was simply the effects of what Muir and Innes claimed – shock. That if he let his body rest, his fear would, too. "Aye…"
Innes slapped Brodie's shoulder and said gruffly, "Lights out, boys. Nae goin' out. Not even the terrace for a smoke. You wanna fag, turn on the bathroom fan and have at her, but no goin' where others can see you. Understand? Nae till Jane is back."
Brodie and Muir agreed, letting Innes slip into his room. Muir asked one last time before leaving for his own, "You sure you're alright, Brodie?"
"Aye…" Brodie sighed, "I'll be fine… just… need some rest, I think."
Moments in the dark, even as Muir and Innes turned off their lights, Brodie stayed awake in the lowlight of the window. City lights a saving grace from the shadows. For the first time in years, thoughts and haunts of his son weren't considered. A far greater haunt kept latched, and it didn't even have a name. Something kept wanting to introduce itself ominously now that he was alone, and he fought from it. Against Innes' orders, he opened the sliding door to the terrace. The breath of cold evening air came into his lungs like fresh water, almost cleaning the fear off him. The sound of the car horns, booming music, vehicles in drive filled his head in a sweet distraction. He had the perfect view of Edinburgh's peaks and the moonlight. No longer surrounded by the raging waves of the North Sea. His world had changed, and his waltz through time for no reason wasn't nearly a damper as something else. He lit a cigarette and let it sooth his rattling. The stain of oil in his mouth and lungs far worse than the taste of tobacco. Two weeks off that rig. Showers and showers, and why do I still taste it?
Innes awoke in the middle of the night to rambling. Tossing and turning. It started as faint whispers, and at first, he figured it was Muir and Brodie awake talking. Then it got stressed, panicky – sending him sitting up in his bed. He went to the door and could hear it was clearly Muir. His tone usually so lighthearted and benign, now suffered and strained. It was an odd thing to hear. It stole Innes out the door to Muir's room in a cool sweat.
"No… why… why no one helpin'. Donnae leave me here…" As Innes opened the door, it was clear he was sleep talking. "Please… someone help! I just need help… why you hidin'?"
Innes stayed at the doorway and whispered, "Muir… wake up, lad."
"We supposed to look after each other… Innes!" Muir started to cry. "Innes… Innes, donnae leave… help… help!"
Innes went to his bedside and shook him awake, "Ewan!"
Muir shot up in a jolt that strained him. A gasp of air like he hadn't taken one in for minutes. He cried, "Innes!" Then startled to him before his pallor glare. Innes' hands clenched to his shirt and his palms filled in Muir's sweat. It instantly went cold as he gathered his breath.
Innes rubbed his back then, "It's alright, lad. Just a night terror. Jesus… you're drukit."
"I…" Muir's pale glare went inward to the sweat leeching down his shirt. "I… uh… fucking hell of a nightmare. I'm sorry."
"Nae bother, nae bother. You need… water? Can I get you water?"
"Aye," replied Muir in a wavy croak. Innes sped to the kitchen and filled a glass. He saw Brodie not at the couch, but out on the terrace. His blanket, pillow and all – sleeping in the chill outside. Innes had many questions to that, instead he kept perspective with Muir. Weird fucking night, he said to himself, shaking his head on his way back to the bedroom. Muir was sitting upright, the lamp turned on as he pulled off his damp t-shirt.
"Here you go," said Innes as he handed him the glass, sitting to the edge of his bed. Muir had a few chugs and set it to the desk in a rattle, spilling some water on the floor. He craned his head into his palms.
Muir sighed, "What the fuck…"
"No the first time you've had a terror like this. Remember back in that facility a few days ago, you woke up crook…"
Innes was interrupted by Muir's wheezy voice, "Aye. I… I don't know… they're getting worse. I saw… fuck… I don' know what I saw. Something fucked beyond words. I felt it. I felt something… I canny explain."
Innes consoled, patting his knee, "Well, try."
Muir sighed a bout of grief, then to look up at Innes and have it relieved if only a little. His eyes warm and assuring, bringing him back to a raft of safety. Safe enough he could bring it back – ring it out.
"I saw… the Beira. The deck. I felt so small, but I was so… tall. Like I was held up my neck by a noose and… I was screaming for help. Everyone I saw just ran. Ignored me. I could almost feel it. This pain… God, I canny describe it. Like every part of me… every nerve, every bone, every memory… it burned like a fucking brand. Worse. I was being eaten alive, and I fought from the maw but I nae strong enough to get away. It got me. All I could do was cry. Bang on the walls. Bang for help and I kept lookin' and lookin' until I went mad. Aye, I did go mad. I saw you in the fog, like this beacon, a harbour to save me and I went for you but you… you ran, too. I was alone… left for deid."
A moment of silence crept, taking Muir's steadying breath up to Innes. He hadn't blinked in the recall, but now Muir's eyes on him, he did. Innes was now in a battle to keep his breath from leaving. The story was shivering but it left a lasting need. Then Muir coughed a scoff – a self-deprecating one. "Just a bad dream, right? Helluva one, but just that, aye. I've always had em' since a bairn. They just get more radge the older I get. It's fine. I'm sure it's… I'm fine."
Innes stayed a patient company with Muir, he wanted to believe him, but there was a gnawing something was wrong. He said it in a hush, "Brodie's sleepin' out on the terrace."
Muir flecked in confusion. "He what?"
"Don… ask me why. I say, last two weeks since those choppers came for the Beira… things have felt… foggy. Like sometimes I canny tell what's dream or not. Things keep slipping and I feel like my grip on reality be on slick ice. Something changed. I canny tell when or how, but it did. Nae just me. You're feeling it, Brodie's feeling it. Hell, even the blokes in the facility. Remember Raffs? His freak out in the bathroom? Or… Addair. He's always a miserable wee bastard, but those last few days there was a rage in him. Never saw it before. Rennick was the quietest I'd ever seen him, and all. O'Connor kept greetin' about his stomach. Aye, something's off. Ten years gone and missed ain't the half of it."
Muir leaned over the end of the bed with him and asked, "You think this could be something bad?"
"You think it's something good?"
Muir waded into his thoughts, carrying a weight he didn't want to keep. So, he unloaded it. "Ten years. We come back… everyone that wasnae on that rig says it's a miracle. Why are we the only ones who ken far different?"
Innes let that sour for a moment longer. He said darkly, "There no such thing as miracles."
A little after four in the morning, Jane came home to a quiet stead. Innes and Muir had managed to scrounge for sleep, but she noticed a body sleeping outside on the terrace and flummoxed. She walked to the sliding door, and it was enough to startle Brodie awake. She closed it behind her as he shivered upright, zipping up his coat to regain some warmth.
"The fuck are you doin?" She raised, stepping over his legs.
"Uh…" Brodie struggled to wake up, "I… sorry. I'll head back in, I just…"
She pulled a pack of smokes from her pocket, shadows newly under her eyes. She put a smoke in her lip and rattled the pack to Brodie. "Ciggy?"
He was dazed for a few moments, and she impatiently gestured the pack towards again. He reached for one and crawled off the grated floor, letting the aches pop out his back and neck. She lit it for him before lighting her own, and they stayed in the indigo light for a while in silence. The hollow stark of a newborn dawn left a melancholy. It was not just harboured in Brodie. Jane's silence was telling, she had seen things. A paramedic for even a few hours was long enough to see too much. Then she asked, "You ken what VOCs are?"
Brodie shot her a brief glance before turning it back to the city view, leaning over the railing. "Uh… No. What is it?"
"Volatile organic compounds. Gases like… cadaverine and putrescine. Hydrogen sulfide. I had to really think about that tonight. Just… organic bacteria and enzymes we all have. Just waiting to be released. Like we're wee… gas bags. We really are just gas bags. You wouldnae think… but the stink we can create. As soon as we kick that bucket, we're just mingin piles of shite at the end of it. Once you smell it… you never forget. Hell, I'm tryin' to forget right now, but the smoke no workin'. They say you never forget the look, the slough of a dead body, but that's no the worse of it. It's the smell. The fucking smell. The worst is knowing I'll make that smell one day. We all will."
Brodie wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but he had none to spare. He had a smell stained in his brain, too. Whether it was worse than a dead body or not, he couldn't be certain. He couldn't imagine the scent of anything else. Brodie asked uneasily, "I'm guessing you had a shite graft, then?"
"You have no fucking idea…" Jane scoffed, putting on a brave face, but her guards were breaking. "But something tells me you've seen worse…"
"What makes you say that?"
Jane shrugged and looked down to the street, "Just a thought. You have the look. I've seen it. Dad and the other bloke, too. As if you'd ken why or how you're all back after ten years… do you?"
"No…" Brodie sighed, "I'm sorry. That's the question of the year. Whatever you see in me, it's no that. It's… I uh… lost my lad… when he was five. Leukaemia. It was slow and… likened to torture that I could no do nothing but watch and wait. After a while… I just prayed it'd take him so he wouldnae be in so much pain, you know?" His voice left then, and he inhaled sharp, fighting a weep. "That was eight years ago… eight years before these ten years. Fuck, I canny keep track anymore. You talk about a smell; I ken that smell. You're right, you donnae forget. Rotting meat with fruity undertones. I know it well."
Jane sighed sullenly, letting water sting her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Ah…" Brodie rasped, "I made my peace with it a long time ago. Now we're back after ten years when it felt like we never left, anyway, and… I feel something else. That whether we're back or this is a dream it's… not right, is it? When things die, they're meant to stay deid. I know it's your dad and you'd rather not hear it but… I donnae think our coming back is a blessing as it would be believed. I don't know you but you're smart enough. I donnae need to tell you that, do I?"
Jane let that single tear that had kept all her insecurities of her father's revival creep down her cheek. She glanced to Brodie with a still face, even so. He stared back. His dark brown eyes not nearly as foreboding as his words. They were filled in pity but kind. Kindred. She lightly shook her head. "No. You don't."
Brodie sighed and admitted, "Cynicism. It's a blessing and a curse."
"We gottae air this out," pressed Brodie, sitting with Muir and Innes at the coffee table. Their sector of the room a waft of smoke as each had a cigarette burning in the clasp. Cold coffee in their mugs and half eaten Scotch pies on their plates. It was the afternoon. Each powering on little more than three hours of sleep. No rest for the haunted, and by morning light the three were kindred on one thing. Something wasn' right.
Brodie gestured to Muir, "You had another nightmare last night, I been lost in this stink I canny get outta me head. No just suddenly, it wormed its way in over days. It's only gotten stronger. So, I'm left to the conclusion whatever happened to us wasnae some thankless miracle. Something happened on that rig. Maybe it's… something we donny understand."
"Like what?" Innes raised, a tidy doubt in his tone.
"I don't know. That's what we need to figure out."
Muir sighed, "I have… every moment since that day, I sit and wait for it to come together but nothing ever does. What can do that? Make us all forget? Like we've been… brainwashed. Reset. Maybe… whatever these nightmares and senses we got, maybe they're not clues. Maybe they're lures, you ever think of that? What if we feel like shite because we keep entertaining it?"
Brodie explained coldly, "If there's one thing I know, it's that whatever you donny wanna think about tend to be the root to finally heal and forget. A wound gets worse when you ignore it, but treating it isnae gonna feel braw, either, is it?"
"How far back?" Innes insisted, "Last memories. I feel like I'm in the interrogator chair all over again. The day the choppers came, we were out moving pipes, and…"
"Naw," interrupted Brodie. "We've talked about that day enough, what about the days before. Anything radge? I mean, anything."
Muir and Innes thought for a moment, tapping their cigarettes in the ashtray every once in a while, pulling on the burn harder with every inhale. Only moments, and all three winced in a headache. Then Innes said, "Gibbo. The… fucking light thing. Remember?" He mocked in Gibbo's voice, "There fuckin' lights under the rig!"
"Aye." Brodie nodded. "What could that even mean?"
"Fuck if I ken, just puttin' it out there."
"Naw, it's good. Anything and everything. Muir?"
Muir muttered, "Uh. Remember when Jo fell at the diving port? You said she was saying weird shite. She heard someone, who?"
"Her mum," sighed Brodie. "Donny ken we can find Gibbo, but Josie might be easier to find. From where we're at. If she still kickin', that is."
"And ask her what?" Innes battled, "Ask her if she heard her mum when she had hyperthermia. She's not gonna ken what the fuck you're spouting on about, Brodie."
"It's something," replied Brodie firmly. "Something is everything. Retrace our roots to figure out what the fuck happened to us. Maybe Jane can…"
"Oi, what?" Innes hissed, "You wanna drag my daughter in all of this now? Yer aff yer fuckin' heid you think I'm dumping this shite on her."
"It's just to find Josie, get us a number. Gibbo, if she can. Whoever else saw something strange."
"It's no happenin'!"
Then Muir, lost in his thoughts for Brodie and Innes' duet, finally announced, "Rennick?" The two went quiet at the name, and Muir said it again like it was obvious. "Rennick. Why we pissin' around with Gibbo and Jo, when that old bastard may ken the whole of it."
Innes scoffed, "Gobshite couldn' ken his own arse cheek."
"We donny know that!" Muir insisted, "Remember the rig. How fragile it was, it was slapped together. Trots used to say it all the time! Even Roper said somethin' that we weren't out there for oil, like we were just out there because it looked right. We looked like an oil rig."
"So?"
"So, what if we never were one."
The master bedroom door creaked and clacked a footstep, silencing the three. They waited and calmed from the discussion before Jane dragged into the dining area. A cardigan wove around her waist and unkempt hair from a rough sleep. Her eyes weren't even open completely. She made a grunt and asked, "What're you all staring at?"
The three mumbled and hummed, a few 'nothings' and 'sorrys' spilling out. She continued, "Don' stop on my account. You lot carry on."
Innes assured, "Nah, it's fine, love. Coffee?"
"Please?" Jane flopped to her couch after turning on the TV. Innes went to the kitchen to fetch her a mug, and Brodie and Muir exchanged a glance. The glance from Muir a telling to carry on their discussion, but Brodie promptly shushed it. Innes called for cream and sugar, and with Jane's reply, Muir added.
"Just think about it. All I'm saying."
Brodie made a gruff sigh and took the plates from the table to be dumped and cleaned. Muir kept at the table, far too much juggling in his head to move. He had so much to say, but respected Innes' wishes to not get Jane involved.
However, with or without their consult, she undoubtedly would. She had. As she stared into the television like it held a possession, she made a wavy, "Dad?"
Innes came over with the coffee to see the news broadcast. He recognized the footage of their rig right away. The Beira D Oil platform broadcasted on BBC news. Innes groaned as if he should have suspected it. "Fucking Christ…" He preened his head back to call Muir and Brodie to the living room. Then took his seat next to Jane, both fixed on the screen. Muir slowly strode over, staying behind the couch, and Brodie peeked in from the kitchen walkway.
"The survivors of the takeover have all been returned to their families as government officials siege the vessel. Currently no breakthroughs on the extremist party involved, but believed the crew was taken over by terrorist motive in 1975 and held prisoner to drill for oil in foreign waters. The explosion a stage to keep from investigation, but UK government have claimed a magnitude of this crime will not sit easily. To be taken from this tragedy is the miracle these honest workers were able to return to their lives after ten years of uncertainty and torment at the hands of their captors. Cadal has yet to make a comment on these events as they unfold, as government officials close in the investigation. The takeaway is all those assumed to have died in the explosion in 1975 are alive and have been reintegrated into society. Mainly Scottish personnel who were on board the Beira D oil rig platform who have shocked a nation not only with their tragic deaths, as we presumed, but their return. A national tragedy, now, a national miracle. Back to you, Chet."
Muir irked then, "I thought they wanted to keep this secret."
"Aye, maybe they couldn't." Brodie observed, "A whole rig out in the North Sea surrounded by choppers? Not likely. Or someone let it slip. Whatever it is… guess we have the limelight."
Jane stated in a dry voice, "They keeping the company line."
"What's that mean, dear?" Innes asked.
Jane shrugged as if they should know. "That you were all kidnapped by terrorists to drill for oil. I mean… it's a loada shite but… we all ken that, right?"
They didn't reply, but it was enough of a reply. Despite his need to keep her in the dark, Jane was more than aware, and Innes had to rally in it. She said again, "Miracle…" She scoffed after, like the very word an insult.
Brodie said after, "No such thing as miracles…".
