The Mariner (52 page)

“No!” McConnell shook him vigorously. “That was meant for Harris, not you. It was his sin, not yours.”

But the Mariner couldn’t be persuaded. He walked over to the anchor, and began to attach a loose rope. “I want to believe you, but I know the truth. I called out her name. Ask Heidi.” He flinched, remembering what he’d done to the poor woman to facilitate his escape. “If you could ask her, she would agree. I spoke Grace’s name in lust and gave voice to my demons.”

Now two ropes were attached to the anchor, one connecting to the Neptune, the other loose. He took the loose one and tied it to his legs.

“What are you doing?” McConnell asked, not alarmed, he was beyond excitement, there was just an exhausted resolve within.

“I thought I could talk it around, but it’s too afraid to make the decision. So I shall make one for it.” Once tied tight, connected to the great weight, the Mariner paused. “You say I didn’t kill Grace. But surely innocence of one crime doesn’t excuse a multitude of others?”

“No,” McConnell agreed. “It doesn’t.”

“I deserve to die.”

The reverend paused, about to lie, but finally relented. “Yes, you do.” He pulled a small hip flask from his pocket, a small trinket he’d found back in his church. “One last drink?”

The Mariner looked at the container and shook his head. “No. I don’t need it. Don’t want it. I was never an alcoholic, just a man who woke up one day believing he was.” He sighed. “My mother tried to kill me when I was a boy. All these years I’ve known deep down that one day I would have to finish the job. It seems only proper I should drown, here at the end of it all.”

He sat on the edge of the boat, and looked out across the glinting ocean, much closer now the Neptune was sinking. “Heidi scared me on the gallows. She said that when we die, it doesn’t end.” He looked into McConnell’s eyes and the revered saw the Mariner trembled like a child. “I’m terrified she’s right. What if there is a hell? What if Diane was correct and we start all over, right back at the beginning? I can’t live this life again. I can’t live this life any longer.”

McConnell put his hand upon the monster’s shoulder. “I think it all just ends.”

“You think so?” The Mariner smiled hopefully as tears rolled down his cheek. McConnell returned it, happy to bring the man some spiritual solace.

“Yes,” he said, trying to sound as certain as he could be. “There’s nothing beyond this life, it’s all meaningless.”

Comforted, the Mariner took a deep breath of salty air, treating his lungs one final time.

“What happened here Arthur?” McConnell asked, trying to make sense of it all.

The Mariner turned two red rimmed eyes upon his companion. “The world woke up and looked through my eyes.”

“What did it see?”

“This.”

The Mariner turned and took in hand the rope that harnessed the anchor to the ship.

And with a swipe of a knife, cut it.

No. Choose.

Suddenly, as the anchor plunged down into the water below, the rope tightened around his legs. It bit into his skin, an agonising yank and loud crunch as the leg broke and he was tugged by the loose limb over the edge. Wooden boards flying past, then out into open air.

I know. But you have to.

He plunged into the icy water, legs first, but a blink later it was over his head, rushing into his nose and ears, keen to fill his every being with chill suffocation. The world transformed to one of numbness, yet still he heard the Wasp in its panic.

No. If you want me, take me now. If not, then I’ll be gone and you can take the rest. Or go back to sleep. You won’t need to be afraid any-more, but you must choose.

There must be a reason.

The anchor sank, dragging the Mariner down into the depths. Five feet. Eight feet. His head began to hurt as the pressure worked on him, pressing down upon his chest and head.

Ten.

Fifteen.

I can’t come back. Only you can.

Blood began to bloom from his face, but still the Mariner kept the air clutched in his lungs. He opened his eyes, but the water around him was dark from blood. It didn’t matter, there was no more use for vision.