Page 8 of Eternal Obsession

“Yes, sir?” Samuel frowned.

“I want you to keep this a secret. Tell no one, and you will be well rewarded. I will give you a gold coin now, and one when the work is done. Come closer.” I placed a coin in the palm of the boy’s hand, and then closed his small fingers over the large doubloon.

The boy’s eyes grew large.

To my horror, he began to remove his shirt. Startled, I jumped to my feet. I staggered backward, knocking over my chair.

I gestured. “Stop. Replace your shirt. I did not mean⁠—”

Samuel stared at me. He buttoned his shirt.

“All I would ask of you,” I stuttered, “is such a small thing. I wish to visit the captain, and I know that at night his door is locked. I ask quite simply that you unlock it at three in the morning.”

At this time, there would only be a handful of crewmembers working, minimizing the risk of anyone observing me entering the captain’s cabin.

“Samuel, I will wake him and discuss important business of which he must be informed. There, that is all I ask of you. Please remember not to wake him. It is business of state, do you understand? Three hours from now, unlock his door, and when I take my leave from him, I will present you with your other gold coin.”

“Sir, I think the captain would be very angry if I . . . I mean, he is very fussy about his room and who goes in and⁠—”

“I understand. Has anything I have done, even in these last moments, made you doubt my word or my honor?”

“Sir, you promise to explain everything to him?”

“Of course.”

He stared down at the coin before tucking it safely into his shirt pocket.

I felt sorry for him. His behavior had been a clear indication of his abuse.

The appointed hour arrived. I hovered before the entrance to the captain’s quarters, turned the handle, and opened the door, reassured that Samuel had done his bit. With caution, I stepped into the dark, sparse room. There upon the small bunk in the corner lay the ship’s captain, a large man still fully dressed and snoring loudly upon his back. Hunger drove me on. I sat on the side of the bed, leaned over the oversized man, and then turned his head, exposing his pulsating jugular.

Instinctively, I nuzzled in, mouth against skin. The salty, sweaty taste stung. Enraptured, I shuddered when my fangs punctured his fleshy neck. An immediate rush of blood ran from vein to mouth—drinking, satiating, and glutting. The blood that flowed through his veins now flowed through mine. Eyes closed, I welcomed a flurry of emotions, though not the foreign wave of dizziness…

I was drunk.

By the foot of the bed lay an empty bottle of Cornish rum, consumed by my victim. The contents of the bottle now surged through me. In my rush to feed, I had missed this detail and now saw the ludicrous side of my predicament.

The ship rocked, causing me to lose my balance, and I fell. I tried to regain my poise, roaring with laughter, swaying from one side of the room to the other, determined not to jeopardize disposing of the body. The captain would soon be dead. The telltale fang marks could threaten my safe position upon the ship. I had to regain composure and think as clearly as my intoxicated head would allow.

Carrying the portly man upon my shoulders was reasonably easy, but the careening ship proved challenging. I proceeded along the side of the deck, hiding in the shadows of the lifeboats before staggering to the balustrades. I rested the stocky officer up against the rail, lumbering with the rocking vessel.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder I turned, surprised to see the ship’s navigator. His concerned expression equaled my own.

I drew toward him, heady with the rum, and laid the captain’s body on the wet planks of the boat.

“Thank God you found him,” the navigator said. “One day our captain will be so drunk, he’ll fall overboard!”

“I caught him retching over the side. He’s completely out.”

“Come, I’ll help you carry him,” the navigator said.

I feigned that carrying the captain back to his berth was arduous and silently chastised my carelessness. On arrival, I discreetly pulled up his shirt collar as I settled him back onto his bunk.

On the following evening when the sun had set, I withdrew from my quarters and made my way toward the starboard. The crew unraveled the huge white sails that had been reeled in during the storm. A gust of wind caught the flapping canvas, propelling the vessel rapidly over the now-calm ocean.

I approached the navigator.

“Our Captain died last night,” he said. “Men are all rattled. It’s a bad omen.”