The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 7

"Please...speak to me." Arthur desperately groaned inside a compacted and cold, dark room.

His long legs were nearly touching his chin. The man could see faint traces of his breath every time he breathed in and out. The air inside his dwelling was thin and vapid. Just making the slightest move was a strenuous ordeal. But within all and such rancor, the man persisted in talking; he kept on and on incessantly beseeching until his throat began to go dry.

Arthur could see his hands within the scant light that dared to creep in through various apertures inside his compartment. In his eyes they appeared more like alien appendages than his own body parts. For the first time in his life he didn't even recognize either of them.

"I call upon thee, my lord. Come to me and—

"Why do you call upon me?" The voice sounded annoyed.

Arthur's attention at that very second lit up with the exuberance of a child's wonderment. Forgetting that he was inside such a tiny containment, the man attempted to sit up only to bump the top of his head against the ceiling.

"I...I call upon you for aid." He stretched out his arms as far as he could. "I call upon you for strength; I long to feel its power in my veins once more."

"But I once granted you aid and strength, and you perverted it." The voice calmly uttered.

"But someting happened."

For a few moments it was totally silent, and then the voice said, "You failed me. You and your sister."

"But it was not my fault." Arthur implored. "Am I to be blamed for dis?"

"You failed in your efforts. Besides...I have another charge in mind."

"Please, grant me another opportunity!" He grieved. "Please, do not pass me by!"

"And just why should I do such a thing? Especially after I made you a god?"

Arthur sat and pondered for something rational to say that would hopefully appease his master. "I...I shall not fail thee again."

"I granted favor to your entire family, and look what happened to them. All of them have been eliminated. I made you far more. I made you in my image, and you failed me for the last time."

"Please...grant me, your favorite son, another chance." He pleaded. "I am worthy. I have served thee for years. I have delivered to thee all dat you have requested."

"But you never gave me that woman and her child."

"Then send me back to her home, and I shall—

"She is in your homeland." The voice cut him off.

Suddenly, Arthur's entire body grew limp, like he had just lost all semblance of hope. The man dropped his hands as his stomach turned over.

"What are you willing to do in order to please me?"

Looking back up, Arthur urgently replied, "Anyting, my lord! I am and always have been your beloved servant! I shall dispatch of both her and her offspring!"

"Forget the child for now; he shall see his fate soon. Will you fail me again?"

"No!" He eagerly said aloud. "I shall never fail my master again! I am worthy! More dan anyone else!"

"I want her to suffer more than anyone else."

There rested a deep quiet inside the space in which Arthur was sitting. His eyes gawked all over, awaiting a voice, sign or signal, but after two whole minutes of waiting the man's body grew listless once more before the sound of heavy metal twisting and churning beside him erupted. Within a matter of seconds a bright light exploded into the space where Arthur was sequestered. The light was soon followed by a sudden blast of cool air.

"Alright, pal, come here!" A burly, white man grabbed Arthur by the shirt collar and yanked him out of what appeared to be a cell before dragging him across the massive deck of a cargo ship that was sailing out in the middle of the ocean.

Arthur Bushard, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of torn blue jeans with no shoes, was freezing in the open autumn air.

His wild, grey hair and matching full beard made him look as if he were in his mid to late seventies, while his black eyes could hardly adjust to the brightness of the daytime, despite it being cloudy out.

The burly man, who wore a black wool jacket and matching knit hat, wrapped a pair of handcuffs around Arthur's wrists before standing him perfectly still in front of a shut door. For the first time in years Arthur was cold. His beard was waving to and fro in the salty air. He could hardly keep from shaking on the deck of the ship. Every so often he would glance over at his captor who proceeded to knock on the door. The man waited while looking back at Arthur with the most apprehensive glare on his face, as though he wanted to do away with his prisoner more than anything else. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The door soon opened to reveal the young, bearded white captain and a larger white man right behind him. They both came out of the room with studious stares on their faces as if they were ready to tear Arthur apart. But it was the captain who stood face to face with Arthur while carefully eyeing him from head to toe.

"This is him?" Captain Howell pointed at Arthur.

"Yes, sir," the burly man said.

The captain looked at Arthur once more before asking him, "So tell me, old timer, just how did you manage to get aboard this ship?"

Dropping his head for a second or two, Arthur replied, "I seek to go back to Jamaica, my homeland."

"Jamaica?" The captain said out loud. "Buddy, these are American waters."

Raising his head, Arthur said, "I am a political refugee from de land of Jamaica."

"You gotta be kidding me!" The burly man kicked the back of Arthur's knees causing the man to drop face down onto the deck.

"Just in case you've forgotten, you not only got on this boat illegally, but you also killed and attempted to eat three of my crewmen; three good men who had families," the captain patiently explained. "You just happened to kill those men on American waters."

Looking up at the captain, Arthur gasped, "But I be a victim of circumstance."

"And just what circumstance would that be?" The captain asked.

"Circumstances beyond my control," Arthur wheezed. "I have traveled very, very far, and all I request is to be sent home."

Kneeling down to his level, the captain remarked, "The last place you're going is Jamaica. We just contacted the Coast Guard who will be arriving to pick you up and take you back to Florida where you will face charges. So as far as all of that political prisoner crap is concerned, you can take it to them. Pick this animal up."

"Animal," Arthur bitterly mumbled under his breath as the burly man hoisted him back to his feet. "I tell you about an animal, mon." He then spoke, pointing his baleful eyes at the captain. "I am de worst animal in de world. I am de animal dat comes into your child's room and swallows dem whole. I am de animal dat keeps you awake at night and makes you wish you was dead. I am de animal dat eats de night. I am de Devil."

The captain, his first mate behind him and the burly man all stood and admired Arthur as though they were looking at a character from a comic book of all things.

The captain shook his head in amused disbelief before putting his hat on and sighing, "Make sure this hungry bastard doesn't leave his cell until the Coast Guard shows up." He said to the burly man.

"But, Captain, I don't like this guy being on this ship." The burly man protested. "I get a bad vibe with these island guys."

"Look, just make sure he stays inside that cell." The captain insisted. "As long as he's in there then he can't—

Out of nowhere, the captain stopped talking. He grabbed his throat with his right hand and attempted once more to speak, but it appeared as if the words just wouldn't come out.

"Captain, are you okay?" The crewman behind Howell came to his aid.

"I...I can't breathe." The captain collapsed to his knees all of the sudden.

Still grabbing at his throat, a trickle of black ooze came drooling from out of the man's mouth. The trickle was soon enough followed by a steady glob that covered the deck beneath him.

"Holy shit, I told you these island guys use that voodoo stuff on us white people!" The burly man yelled.

The other crewman as well dropped right behind the captain, seemingly unable to speak. He, as well, began spewing thick, black vomit that resembled oil. The burly man released Arthur before attempting to turn and run, only to grab his own throat and fall to the floor in a heap. He only chocked on his own filth.

Arthur didn't appear surprised or fazed by the disturbance. With squinted eyes he looked all around and listened as other crew members throughout the ship all gagged and gasped for life. Soon, the entire ship could be heard straining to a stuttering stop which in turn caused Arthur to slide and slam into one of the many steel crates that were housed on the deck.

A loud horn from the top of the deck blared out as Arthur, with his cuffs still restraining him, got to his feet. He limped over to the edge of the ship and stared out at the boundless ocean water that separated him from his homeland.

Suddenly, the cold, autumn wind didn't feel so harsh to his old, withered skin anymore.