Out of the Mist (7 page)

As soon as the alarm went off, the
smoke screens dropped, isolating the fire and preventing it from
spreading to the rest of the sub. The crew had been trained for
such an emergency. From the area farthest from the fire, a team
donned their fire-fighting gear. Within minutes they were poised to
douse the hot flames with jets of CO
₂
.

Josh had passed out before reaching the
masks and fresh-air ducts. It was a lucky fluke that his buddy,
Dave, having heard his cry for help, stumbled over him in the pitch
dark and managed to drag him to the side of the sub. Seconds later,
one member of the emergency team arrived and shared his air with
Josh before taking him to safety.

In the days and weeks following the
accident, Josh tried in vain not to think of that event, but in
fact he had thought about it constantly. He couldn't eat, he
couldn't sleep. Upon his return from that ill-fated voyage, as an
engineer he was assigned to work on the refitting of the
Nunavu
t
. However,
just the thought of stepping back on the deck of a sub filled him
with nausea and dread.

The navy gave him a shore posting, with
the expectation that this problem would eventually vanish. He
continued to have trouble falling asleep at night and when he did,
it was never for long. His buddies found him to be increasingly
irritable, no longer laughing at their off-duty antics. His
superior officer reported that he wasn't even fit for a desk job,
as he couldn't concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time.
Finally, Josh was ordered to be evaluated by the base psychologist,
who diagnosed his condition as PTSD.

This diagnosis brought relief to Josh's
girlfriend who had borne the brunt of those first few months. Kate
was sympathetic and supportive at first, but over time his
emotional aloofness and his bouts of irrational anger got the
better of her. She couldn't understand why he was so angry whenever
she tried to get him to talk about his experience. She kept saying
he needed to “let it out”. She was hurt that in spite of all her
support, he never trusted her enough to share his problems. Josh
started drinking more heavily. Night after night he stumbled home
and got Kate out of bed when he couldn't fit the key in the lock.
He found ways to pick fights with her, complaining about how she
had gained weight or was getting boring; anything to relieve the
agitation he felt inside. After eight months of almost constant
fighting, Kate finally left. In the middle of his anguish Josh
realized that he had two choices: stay on this self-destructive
path or seek help. He chose the latter.

After a few months, his cognitive
therapy sessions finally showed results. At each session he
imagined longer portions of his frightening experience, while at
the same time keeping his breathing and heartbeat in check. He
joined a support group, started jogging, and quit drinking.

That was two years ago. Over time
Josh's worst symptoms abated. He understood enough about his
condition to realize that he had to get away from his daily routine
and start afresh elsewhere. When his second commission ran out, he
quit the navy. By then Kate had moved on and he was free to go
anywhere. He decided to return to Cape Breton, to the town he used
to visit every summer when his grandparents were still alive.

Cheticamp, with its picturesque
harbour, is a small, mostly French village, on the western shore of
Cape Breton. Josh's mother had been raised there and, after she had
passed away, he had inherited his grandparents’ old house at the
edge of town. Although he couldn't speak French, it didn't take him
long to fit in, as many of the childhood boys he played with were
now local fishermen. Working on one of their fishing boats would
have been a natural choice for Josh, but it was too soon. He
decided to work for his friend, Daniel, who owned a small marina on
the northern end of Cheticamp Harbour. His skills as a first-rate
marine engineer soon got the attention of the locals. Eventually,
Daniel offered him a partnership, to prevent him from leaving and
starting a business on his own.

The life-style suited Josh well. On
balmy mornings he walked the two kilometres to work, breathing in
the fresh sea air. He found the pace of village life relaxing
compared to the demands of military service. He kept his drinking
to a couple of beers on Saturday nights, playing pool with the boys
at The Doryman. Josh wasn't much of a talker, but he was well liked
and increasingly respected in the community.

One late winter evening he had won
another round of pool and was looking for a new challenger. To his
surprise a willowy brunette smiled at him as she picked up a cue
from the rack on the wall.

“Melanie Aucoin,” she said, shaking his
hand.

“Josh Beaton,” he replied.

He was immediately drawn to her warm
brown eyes and mischievous smile. The challenge was on!

It was unusual to see a female pool
player. However, it soon became obvious that Melanie knew how to
play pool. It didn't take long before there were a few bets going
around. Josh was playing well, but he was beginning to sweat.
Melanie won the first game, he won the second. The third round was
neck-and-neck until his cue slipped and brushed against the 8-ball,
which oh so slowly made its way into the right side pocket.

“Damn!” he said, looking up at Melanie
with his lop-sided smile.

Money exchanged hands amid cheers and
laughter. Josh walked up to Melanie and bowed, offering his cue,
much as a defeated knight would relinquish his sword.

Melanie laughed and offered to buy him
a beer.

Josh replied, “Never mind the
consolation prize. Let me buy
you
a victory drink!”

Josh was surprised when Melanie
finished her beer and headed for the stage. A fiddler and bass
player were already setting up. He expected her to sit at the piano
and was delighted when she opened a black case and pulled out a
large accordion. For the next 40 minutes the place was jumping as
the trio went from one lively Cajun tune to the other. Melanie kept
time with her feet, occasionally flashing her bright smile his way.
He was smitten.

From then on, instead of going home
after work, he often ended up at her small apartment over the
Acadian Restaurant. She, in turn, spent most of her weekends at his
place. They explored the back roads in his Ford pick-up truck and
went for long hikes in the Highlands. When summer came, Josh set up
a permanent tent on Cheticamp Island, where they spent many
evenings swimming in the clear cool waters. He often sat on the
rocks at the end of the long sandy beach gazing at the waves
glinting in the setting sun. Slowly, over time, he found himself
opening up to Melanie, letting her in on his private terrors. She
knew better not to push these moments of intimacy, offering an open
ear and a kind heart, rather than misplaced advice.

One of the summer visitors put his
Tanzer 25 up for sale and Josh decided to buy it. He had sailed
with his grandfather as a boy and in no time he found his sea legs
again. This was completely different from being on a submarine. He
felt in control and, keeping an eye on the tides and the weather,
he was no longer filled with anxiety. Instead, the open sea gave
him an exhilarating sense of freedom.

When she wasn't working at the local
hospital, Melanie often accompanied him on these outings. She
proudly stepped aboard the
Melanie Jane
and was learning the
ropes. At first she sat back and watched Josh handle the boat on
his own. She screamed with equal parts fear and excitement when the
boat heeled in high winds. Eventually though, she learned to hold
the tiller while Josh brought down the mainsail and to pull in the
jib while tacking.

One Sunday late in June, Josh headed
out on his own. Once out of the harbour he headed south. The wind
was light and gulls followed him offshore on this bright sunny
afternoon. He intended to sail to Inverness if the wind was
favourable. He didn't quite make it, although he had a great
afternoon's sail. By 4 p.m. he pulled in his jib and tacked on a
course heading back to Cheticamp. He noticed a bank of fog coming
in from the southwest and hoped to reach port before it overtook
him. An hour later the wind died down and he was enveloped in a
thick, grey fog. Out of nowhere, a big swell tipped his sailboat
off course. By the time she was back upright, he had lost all sense
of direction.

He chose not to turn on his motor,
afraid to waste precious fuel going in the wrong direction. There
was nothing to do but sit tight and hope for the fog to lift. After
a while he tried to get his bearing by listening to the waves
crashing on the shore, but the sea was silent. He became more and
more alarmed as thick fog swirled around him. He started gasping
for air, his heart beat loudly in his chest. He tried to control
the mounting anxiety brought on by his feeling of complete
disorientation.

Josh had one hand on the tiller when he
thought he saw something coming towards him. He peered into the
thick fog and saw what looked like the outline of a large fishing
boat. The image sharpened as it approached. Minutes later a 42-foot
Cape Islander appeared out of the fog and turned alongside the
Melanie Jane
. He was surprised to see a woman in her late
sixties at the helm. She was dressed in a fisherman's slicker, and
her wild grey hair framed a well-worn face. She didn't say a word
but beckoned him to follow her. As the boat went on ahead of him,
Josh read the neatly painted name,
Marion Rose.

He quickly turned on his engine and
followed from about 50 feet astern. The woman never looked back and
kept on going at a steady pace. They motored on for about 45
minutes until the
Marion Ros
e slowed down to let Josh
approach. The woman then turned to Josh's boat and pointed to
starboard. By then the fog had started to dissipate and he
recognized the entrance to Cheticamp Harbour. He turned toward
shore, expecting the other boat to do the same, but when he looked
back the
Marion Rose
had vanished.

At the pub later that night, Josh
recounted his adventure.

“Was she wearing a captain's cap?”
asked Terry.

“Yes, as a matter of fact she was.”

“Well,” replied his friend,” you were
rescued by the 'Captain's Widow'. You're some lucky bastard!”

That evening Josh learned that in the
early 60s, Captain John Campbell, a local fisherman, had often gone
out to sea with his wife. She was a legend in the area, a strong
hardy woman. One day in 1964 she stayed ashore while her husband
took the boat out. A severe squall came upon him unexpectedly. They
found his boat but his body was never found. The next season the
Captain's wife began to take the
Marion Rose
out on her own.
People were concerned but she knew what she was doing. One day in
late August, a few people saw her go out to sea, even though they
were forecasting the worst storm of the season. They never saw her
or the
Marion Rose
again.

Once in a while there would be another
tale of how some lost tourist was shown the way back home by
following her ghostly boat. Over the years her legend grew and she
became known as “The Captain's Widow”.

Josh didn't put much stock in these
ghostly stories. He'd heard enough spooky yarns during his
late-night shifts on the
Nunavu
t
than to take all this
seriously. Still, stories his grandfather had told gave him enough
respect for the supernatural to keep an open mind.

Things were working out well for Josh.
He owned his own home, he had a great job and he was deeply in
love. In the fall, he planned to take a trip to Quebec City with
Melanie and ask her to marry him.

Josh loved those days in late
September, when the warm air and the honeyed light made him feel
summer would go on forever. Once again he had taken his boat out
toward Inverness. It was early evening as he approached the narrow
gut at the north end of Cheticamp Harbour. The sea had been getting
steadily worse and he was relieved to be so close to home. He
didn't see the empty oil drum bobbing up and down in the rising
swells. The
Melanie Jane
hit the oil drum head on. The bow
shot up and the boat flipped on its side. The wildly swerving boom
hit Josh on the side of the head and he was thrown into the
turbulent sea. Dazed and gasping for air, he flailed in the water,
trying to get his bearing. He was confused; images of impenetrable
smoke flashed in his mind. He experienced the same burning lungs,
the same desperate need for air. As his body was violently tossed
by the crashing waves, Josh lost consciousness.

It was dark when he awoke. He was lying
face down on a shale beach. It took him a while to remember what
had happened. Painfully, he raised himself to a standing position
and looked around. It was such a relief when he saw the village
lights quite close by. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep
from shaking, and he stumbled over rocks and seaweed, finally
reaching the edge of the village. He was just below the deck of The
Doryman. With a final effort he pulled himself up the steep grassy
slope and reached the back entrance.

It was a fine Saturday night and the
place was full. Two of his buddies were playing pool along the left
wall. Josh was overjoyed to see Melanie talking to Terry at the
bar. They had planned to meet there for supper after her shift. She
looked his way briefly. He waved, expecting her to wave in return.
He was surprised when she turned her back to him and ordered
another beer from the bartender. Josh took a few steps forward,
more and more puzzled that no one was looking his way, no one was
coming to help.

It was then that he noticed an old man
sitting in the corner booth. The old man raised his glass at him
and smiled. Josh was taken aback by how much the old fella looked
like his grandfather. Then his attention was caught by a woman
sitting alone at a side table. He could only see the back of her
frizzy grey hair. She was wearing a black slicker, and a captain's
hat rested on the table beside her. He slowly walked around and
stood in front of her. She looked him straight in the eye and,
smiling, beckoned him to sit beside her. At that moment Josh's legs
gave way and he slumped to the floor. Before falling into oblivion
he had a moment of utter clarity.