Free Body of Immorality by Brandon Berntson Page B

as if he could see the ship better without it. He refrained from the accent. “What interest do you have in it?” he asked.
    “You didn’t notice anything…peculiar?”
    Tommy put the telescope to his eye and peered again. “Peculiar? Hmmm? No. I can hardly see the damn thing.”
    Carl felt a pang of disappointment. “It looks like the Santa Maria, ” he said. “The ship looks like something out of a museum.”
    “You’ve been in the sun too long,” Tommy said.
    “I wouldn’t kid a first-mate.”
    Tommy, however, was incredulous. “Ah, you’re trying to pull a fast one?” he said. “You’re trying to fool Molly Blackstone!”
    Tallard smiled at his friend. “Tommy, you’re all logic. Don’t you believe in ghosts?”
    “Hasn’t the ghost ship routine been done about a zillion times before? I’m kind of disappointed in you, Carl. The world is looking for originality, man!”
    Maybe he was losing it, Tallard thought. Maybe he should get an apartment on land.
    Art Langly, short, portly, and with a long brown ponytail, emerged wearing a red tank top and bright yellow shorts. He had on orange slippers. The contrast, even in the coming dusk, was obnoxious. Art had been taking advantage of the sun during the three days and had already developed a deep tan. He had a clean-shaven face, big dark eyes, and a broad, square chin. He was carrying a tray of gouda cheese, sliced apples, and grilled pineapples covered in barbecue sauce.
    “What’s all the excitement about, boys?” he asked.
    Tommy took a slice of apple and cheese and popped them into his mouth. “Skipper here wants to take us into another dimension,” Tommy said, chewing. “Damn, that’s good!”
    “One of sight and sound?” Art said. “How so?”
    “It’s just the ocean,” Tommy said. “He’s been out here a long time. I think its time we found him a nice apartment on dry land. What do you say, Captain?”
    Tallard was silent. He shrugged and smiled. “It’s your call, boys,” he said, taking the same combo on the tray as Tommy. “No wine?” he asked Art.
    “Ah, yes!” Art said, mimicking the accent Tommy had used earlier. “Below deck, sire! I can’t carry everything, you know.”
    Art handed Tommy the tray of appetizers. “You never told me what all the hubbub was about?” Art asked.
    “Do you believe in ghosts?” Tommy asked, taking another slice of cheese and apple.
    Langly furrowed his brows.
    Carl ignored them and stared out over the Pacific. The sun finally winked out of sight.

    *

    After a night of swordfish and wine, Tallard retired early while Tommy and Art lounged on the sun deck, making quiet conversation in the dark. The night sky, while in the middle of the Pacific, was the most impressive spread of nebulous lights Tommy and Art had ever seen, one of the many perks about the yearly vacation, helping sway them onto Preservation. Tallard said goodnight early.
    He was up, however, before six a.m. Not his style; he preferred sleeping in. What priorities did he have in the middle of the ocean with nothing but the salty breeze and the crisp, summer sky to keep him company?
    The vessel from the night before, however, was the first thing on his mind. It was more than an ancient vessel, more than love and dreams. In the morning, it called to him again…
    Carl donned a pair of shorts and the blue windbreaker from the night before. He did not take his hat. He didn’t put on his deck shoes, but grabbed the telescope from the side dresser and sauntered on deck of Preservation.
    The sun already lightened the clear, morning sky to the east. The firmament was a stretch of soft blue and rose. If the ship were any closer, he’d be able to see it now. If it had traveled away from him, however, it might be gone.
    Putting the telescope to his eye, Carl looked over the rail, scanning the sea in the same spot as the night before.
    He winced. Why hadn’t he noticed it before he put the telescope to his eye? He didn’t need it.