Jesse's father worked for Coast Guard Station Jacksonville. He was in Search and Rescue. With it storming outside, it was no surprise to hear his father's cell phone ring. Shortly after, Jesse heard his father's truck pull out of the driveway. When the weather got bad, the Coast Guard was always ready.

Max Westphal had been flying search and rescue missions for the Coast Guard for the better part of a decade. The Coast Guard was his life. He'd joined right out of high school and never looked back. Through the years of his service, he'd pulled countless people from certain death. Jumping headlong into boiling seas to save people he had never met gave him a much-needed sense of meaning. Max lived each and every day as if lives depended on him. In actuality, they did.

Max sat in the station's command center and re-watched the storm from earlier in the afternoon. It had been vicious, causing a string of tornados as it raced across the Sunshine State before heading out to sea. The AIS screen displayed all the vessel traffic during the storm. He watched it intently and after several minutes, he noticed one small blip on the screen suddenly disappear.

"Play that loop back for me again and identify a ship for me, please." The Enlisted Man at the console started the loop over. "There, that blip. Show it to me." The console operator moved his mouse over the blip Max had pointed out and the vessel information popped up.

"Looks like that's the 'Stargazer' sir. She's on a heading of eight-seven degrees at sixteen knots, sir."

"Sixteen knots? Could that be an error?"

"All AIS information comes directly from the vessel, sir. I'd say it's about as accurate as accurate can get."

"Good God, that sailboat has a top speed of maybe eight knots on a good day with a clean hull. At sixteen knots, she must have had a hell of a wind pushing her. That puts her in the middle of this storm at the time the AIS signal disappeared. God help 'em."

Captain Westphal's experience told him that any small craft in that storm's path stood very little chance of coming through unscathed. Those thoughts haunted his mind as he flew out on his search and rescue mission.

All attempts to contact the 'Stargazer' failed. With the information from the AIS signal, it was assumed that the vessel had received some type of damage and a rescue was initiated.

"I got me ah sun reflection at ten o'clock," called out his co-pilot. Captain Westphal banked the Jayhawk Helicopter to the right and dropped altitude to a hundred feet. Skimming the surface of the ocean, they raced toward his co-pilot's sighting.

"Nuthin' but a damned ol' bottle," his co-pilot, Ted Hagen said as he lowered his binoculars. "I guess the glass was just reflectin' the sun." Max grinned at Ted's southern drawl. He was a good ol' boy from a farm in eastern North Carolina and the only one in the family to ever graduate from college. Perpetually the 'glass half full' kind of guy, Max admired his professionalism, valued his friendship and thoroughly enjoyed Ted Hagan's sense of humor.

With their fuel running low and their search coming to a close for the day, Max banked the helicopter back toward base. They had pushed the limits of the search area, but Max knew the sailboat could be virtually anywhere, even at the bottom of the Atlantic. He knew chances of survival in the open water dwindled with every passing hour. If the sailboat had foundered, then finding someone in the water would be virtually impossible.

Max knew Captain Turner and knew him to be an exceptional skipper, but he also knew the captain was getting on in years and probably wasn't as sharp as he used to be. The old salt's first mate, Hunter Ward, well, that boy knew what he was doing around a sailboat. The kid had been sailing as long as Max had known him. Maybe the combined experience would keep them both alive. Or maybe the complacency of a skipper that had seen a few too many miles under the keel and the boldness that came with teenage years would combine to leave them both for dead. Either scenario could spell disaster or survival. In Max's book, it was a fifty-fifty chance. Despite the outcome, it was up to him to pluck them from the water and bring them home to safety. All he had to do was find them first. It was with a heavy heart that he returned to base with nothing to report.

* * * * *

Jesse Westphal watched as his father's rescue helicopter landed. He'd listened to the radio traffic and knew they didn't find anything, but he wanted to hear it from his dad. Jesse's best friend was out there somewhere, lost in a giant ocean. He couldn't help but choke back a sob as he thought back to his last words to Hunter.

"I never, ever want to talk to or see you again. Just stay away from me!" His own words echoed mercilessly in his head. Hunter's revelation had come out of left field, totally unexpected and without hesitation, it was completely and totally rejected. Expectations had been assumed and they did not align with the news from his best friend. How was he expected to receive the news, anyhow? Times had certainly changed, but that didn't mean you joined the other team at the drop of a hat. Being a high school senior, he had plans and those didn't include a romance with his best friend. They didn't. They couldn't. They wouldn't. They … well, maybe?

The blades of the Jayhawk slowed, and the crew made their way out of the helicopter. Jesse saw his father and started running toward him. The father caught his son in his arms and gave him a huge hug. They exchanged looks and Jesse knew the mission had found nothing. Max put his arm around his son and together, they walked toward the command center.

"Lieutenant Westphal reporting in," he said as he saluted the commanding officer.

"Anything?" asked Commander Walsh.

"No sir, nothing but an empty bottle."

"An empty bottle?"

"Yes sir."

"It had to come from somewhere, don't you think?" asked Commander Walsh. Max sat down on the bench in the command center with his son at his side.

"Yes, sir. That's a possibility."

"We deal in possibilities every day, Lieutenant. That was a particularly vicious storm. That boat could be a hundred miles outside our search grid. First thing tomorrow morning, we're expanding our search and we'll send out a Guardian Jet and I want you in command." Max's eyes widened at the order. Jets were rarely called into search and rescue as they were mostly needed to monitor potential drug boat activity. Max's curiosity was peaked.

"Sir, begging your pardon, but is there something about this mission that I don't know about?" The commander gave a big sigh and looked pointedly at the Lieutenant and then at the Lieutenant's son. Making a quick decision, he plodded on.

"Yes, Lieutenant, you're correct. There is more to the story. Captain Turner was testing a very new and very secret radar system. This radar has the potential of finding drug boats up to an eighty-five-mile range, even the submerged ones they're using now. The system only needed to be tested and we chose Captain Turner to do that for us."

"On a civilian vessel, sir?"

"On a US Government vessel disguised as a private vessel," the commander amended. "Radar emissions from a private yacht are rarely given a second look. Perfect way to test the waters without raising any suspicion."

"So, we're not only talking about finding survivors, but we're also talking about retrieving a supersecret radar system that could put a big dent in drug traffic?"

"I'm glad to see you've grasped the importance of finding the 'Stargazer' and the importance of keeping this information, shall we say, under the radar," the commander said with a wink. The Lieutenant nodded and turned to look at the suddenly pale face of his son. He patted Jesse's leg and stood up.

"Maybe we should consider adding a second Guardian to this mission, sir."

"That would draw too much attention to what everyone outside this room considers a rescue mission. You are to report in the morning at 0600 hours for a pre-flight check. I expect you in the air at sunrise. The importance of keeping this quiet can not be emphasized enough," the commander said as he looked directly at Jesse.

"No problem, sir. I just wanna find Hunter. He's my best friend," Jesse said softly. The commander's stoic stance softened.

"I know you do, son. And rest assured, your father is the best we have. That's why I'm entrusting the success of this mission to him. And I certainly hope to see you as a candidate in our rescue swimmer program. Your father is the finest I've ever known, Jesse. It will serve you well to follow in his footsteps." Jesse could only nod in agreement. While the CO's comments made his father proud, it only intimated Jesse. He knew his father's reputation was irrefutable, and that's what scared him most. Filling his father's shoes was not only suggested, but it was also expected and Jesse wasn't sure if he was ready to slip his feet into that role. Right now, at this moment in his life, Jesse could think of only one thing … his best friend. What he really needed more than anything was the opportunity to talk with Hunter. They'd parted on less than amicable terms, harsh terms even, and Jesse intended to fix that. Hunter deserved more than a brash put off. Hunter deserved the truth. It was a truth that Jesse was reluctant to admit, but it was a truth that needed to be told. It wasn't only guilt that held Jesse back. It was confusion. It was cowardice. And it was something that Jesse had to admit to himself before he could admit it to anyone else. He held true love in his heart for Hunter and that, honestly, scared Jesse to death.

The news of the secret radar both concerned Jesse and it also gave him hope. Extra resources were being brought in. The chances of finding Hunter were much better now. What scared him was that the search might change from a rescue mission to a recovery mission. That would be Jesse's worst case scenario, knowing Hunter died thinking he was hated by his best friend. That was something Jesse wanted to avoid at all costs. He was ready to sacrifice anything for the chance to talk with his best friend one more time.

* * * * *

Aboard the slowly drifting sailboat, everything was quiet. The weather was warm, the sea surface was approaching smooth and the winds were almost completely calm. The 'Stargazer' was making zero headway. With virtually no swell, the sailboat sat perfectly still in the calm waters of somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.

Hunter dropped below deck. He was hungry but had no idea what he wanted. He rummaged around the shelves and finally the refrigerator. He decided to fix a sandwich. A simple ham and cheese would have to do, but a container of Pringles would pull the simple sandwich into something of delight. Hunter grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and started his lunch.

A distant roar of engines rousted Hunter. He grabbed his sandwich and headed topside only to see a Cigarette speed boat rapidly approaching from what Hunter assumed to be the east.

He watched the approaching boat curiously. Was this someone who sighted his damaged sailboat and was headed to help? Could this be the end of his adventure of horror? What was this speedboat doing out here in the middle of nowhere anyway?

Suddenly, Hunter's instincts kicked in. This was not a rescue mission. Far from it. This was trouble. He quickly darted below and grabbed the captain's rifle. It wouldn't do to take any chances. Pirates and drug runners were known to be common in these waters. Hunter would not be misjudging anyone today. If they were friendly great. If they were not, then best be ready. Better to prepare for the worst and expect the best. Hunter did not intend to be a victim as he racked the first shell of the magazine into the chamber of the powerful assault rifle. The speedboat was getting closer and Hunter realized he was literally a sitting duck, he fired the engine, shifted into forward and gunned the engine. He tightened the loops of line around the wheel, lashing it in place. With another quick glance at the speedboat, he took a protected position just inside the companionway and waited for the boat to come into range.

Hunter watched the boat through his binoculars. The hull and cabin top had been painted to match the color of the water. That didn't indicate anything good. In fact, all indications were bad. The sound of the engine and the spray the boat made while it sliced through the almost calm water were the only tangible evidence that gave away the boat's location.

As Hunter continued to watch, he saw what he thought to be, a flash of sun reflection come from the rear of the boat. Milliseconds later, hot lead projectiles ripped across the top of the cabin, splintering the fiberglass. Hunter ducked quickly.

"Shit!" he exclaimed out loud. There was no longer any question as to what this was. This was a do or die situation and the young boy instantly realized that. More shots hit the cabin top and one broke the porthole over the galley sink. Hunter's heart was pounding, and his body was literally shaking with adrenaline. He could hear the boat engine slow down and knew they were getting closer. Hunter peeked over the cabin top. The Cigarette boat was less than a quarter mile away. Two men were in the back of the boat. He ducked back down behind the cover of the companionway. Taking a deep breath, Hunter pulled the assault rifle to his shoulder, swung it on the cabin top and took careful aim. The first rounds from the rifle hit the approaching boat on the starboard bow, ripping fiberglass along the side. The Cigarette boat didn't waiver in its path directly toward the sailboat. Hunter looked carefully and zeroed in on the two men in the approaching boat's cockpit. The consequences of what or rather who he was aiming at didn't even come into consideration. It was a do or die situation. If someone was going to die, it would not be Hunter and he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to make sure of that. He took a deep breath and relaxed just before he squeezed the trigger a second time. The cigarette boat slowly turned to port in an attempt to come alongside and more shots blasted the fiberglass and portholes along the starboard side of the "Stargazer." Hunter winced as one of the shots ripped a hole in his shirt.

Hunter gritted his teeth, concentrated and centered on the two men, and fired again. The drug boat suddenly slung itself hard to starboard and headed off at a ninety-degree angle. The boy aimed again and fired. The rounds hit near the stern of the boat and thick black smoke instantly appeared.

"You sons of bitches fucked with the wrong sailor!" Hunter shouted at the retreating boat. He fired off a few more rounds just to make his point. The crippled craft slowly disappeared over the horizon, smoke billowing from its stern. Hunter leaned the rifle against the companionway bulkhead and took a deep breath. He was shaking like a leaf. Despite his display of bravado, he knew that had been a close call. The young boy shut down the engine, all the while, keeping an eye on the horizon. He didn't need that boat sneaking back up on him. He suddenly realized that if he had been underway, he never would have heard the approaching boat over the sound of the sailboat's diesel engine. Hunter really was lucky to have lived through that. He turned to get his sandwich and couldn't help breaking out in laughter. His ham and cheese sandwich had taken a direct hit and was scattered into pieces all over the cabin top.

* * * * *

Search and rescue missions worked on the grid method with all parts of the search area divided into individual grids. Search planes, helicopters and ships would work each grid like a lawn mower, painstakingly covering every square mile. The fuel cost alone was shocking, but when combined with the hours invested, the cost of a single search was staggering.

All things considered, who was prepared to put a cost on a human life? That controversial question was debated almost continuously by politicians as they debated budgets without consideration for the human consequences.

The cost of the mission Lieutenant Max Welsphal was flying was the furthest thing from his mind. Just before leaving his house that morning, his son had looked up at him with a pleading face. He knew his son and Hunter were the best of friends. They were together every hour of every day exploring, sailing, swimming, laughing and enjoying their teen years. Max still scratched his head over their sudden falling out. He'd tried to get Jesse to talk about it, but his son had refused. All Max knew was that whatever had caused the rift must have been pretty bad. His son was loyal to a fault, especially when it came to his friends. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. Max hoped that whatever the cause, it could be overcome. Friendships like the one shared by his son and Hunter were exceedingly rare. They should be valued, celebrated and revered. His wife told him it would pass, and the boys would be friends again. In the meantime, he could do nothing but watch his son sulk miserably around the house, obviously missing his friend terribly.

"At least it's a clear day, huh, Capt'n?" commented his co-pilot. Ted was the regular co-pilot on all missions Max flew. It didn't matter what type aircraft was flown, Ted was always there. It didn't matter what rank Max held, Ted always referred to him as captain. In Ted's mind, every aircraft had a captain and his captain was Max.

"Lookin' like a good day to find Jess's buddy," Ted said as he picked up the binoculars and started scanning the vast blue ocean water beneath them.

They had just completed searching grid number eight when Max spotted smoke on the horizon. He pointed it out to Ted as he keyed the radio mic.

"Jacksonville C.G. Jacksonville C.G. this is S.A.R. Three Six Five."

"S.A.R. Three Six Five, Jacksonville"

"We've got smoke on the horizon about fifty miles from our current position. ETA, about a minute. Will advise. Over."

"Roger, Three Six Five. Keep us informed." Max throttled up the Guardian Jet to its maximum four hundred fifty knots. His co-pilot already had his binoculars to his eyes.

"Put 'er on the deck, Capt'n. Looks like we got us a drug boat." Max glanced at Ted, eased back on the throttle and dropped the jet to an altitude of five hundred feet. As they passed over, Max looked down.

"You're right, Ted. Looks like a drug boat, but what's up with all that smoke, engine trouble?" While Max only got a glance at the boat, Ted got to study it through binoculars.

"Nope, Capt'n. That thar boat's been in a shoot-out and got the short end of the stick. Looks like thar's somebody lying down on the deck. Might be wounded or even dead." Max banked hard right and brought the jet around for another pass. Ted studied the boat intently. The black smoke still billowed from the stern as the boat sliced through the waves. Despite the obvious loss of one engine, the second still propelled the boat at a surprisingly good clip. Suddenly, the boat slowed and stopped dead still in the water. Ted watched with morbid curiosity as he slowly saw what he thought he might see.

"Gun! He's gonna shoot!" Ted warned. Max banked hard left, pulled up and slammed the throttle down. For half a second, Max thought everything was all right. Then alarms sounded and a red warning indicator started flashing.

"Fuckers shot us!" exclaimed Ted. Max glanced to his left rear and saw flames coming from the engine.

"Port engine's on fire," Max said calmly. Ted quickly and efficiently shut the port engine down and flipped the fire extinguisher button. The flames instantly disappeared and were replaced by light gray smoke.

"She handln' okay, Capt'n?" Ted asked as he surveyed the instruments on the right side of the cockpit.

"Yeah, but help me trim her out," Max directed as he struggled with the wheel. Ted quickly went to work making adjustments and, in a few seconds, the Guardian Jet smoothed out.

"Yuh better call that'n in, Capt'n." Max nodded.

"Jacksonville C.G. Jacksonville G.C. this is S.A.R. Three Six Five. We've been engaged by a drug boat and have been hit. I repeat, we've been hit. Port engine is out."

"Three Six Five, Jacksonville. Can you make it back to base?"

"Starboard engine is fine. We can make it." Max relayed the coordinates of the boat to headquarters. In a matter of minutes, at least three heavily armed Coast Guard cutters were charging toward the damaged drug boat. Since it had fired on a Coast Guard jet, the drug boat would see no mercy from the encroaching fleet.

* * * * *

Hunter sat in the cockpit and listened to the clanging of the mast against the hull. The sound had been tolerable in the calm wind, but a breeze had come up and now the 'Stargazer' was wallowing on the waves. The sound was slowly driving him crazy and spurred him into action. Working methodically, Hunter first cut the cockpit canopy loose and let it fall in the water. Next, he removed the boom and lashed it to the deck. Then he removed all the canvas sails and stowed them in the forward cabin. All that was left was the mast. He found some bolt cutters in a toolbox and started cutting each of the remaining metal stays holding it. Manhandling a fifty-five-foot aluminum pole was more than Hunter could manage, so he cut the last stay and watched as the mast hit the water making a modest splash, it hesitated a moment then vanished into the blue. He sighed and turned his face into the wind. With all that effort, he'd worked up quite a sweat. His long blond hair flapped in the breeze like a canvas sail.

The light bulb went off without warning. Like any young sailor, Hunter had read the story of Robin Graham and his circumnavigation on his boat called 'Dove.' Robin had lost a mast, but he had stepped the boom and sailed on. Hunter's blue eyes locked on the boom. Then he glanced over to where the mast once stood. He could do this.

An hour later, dripping in sweat, Hunter stood back and admired his handiwork. The boom stood proudly on the deck as the new mast. The jib had been cut down and had been fixed to the boom. The spinnaker pole served as the boom. For the first time since the storm, Hunter smiled as the breeze filled the makeshift sail and the 'Stargazer' started making headway. The improvised rig did not allow for much maneuvering, so he was resigned to let the wind push the forty-five-foot sailboat wherever it wanted to push it. At least she wasn't wallowing in the swells.

The hot noon sun shone brightly overhead. In all the excitement of the morning, Hunter had no idea which direction he was headed, but at least he was moving. After lashing the wheel, he went below once again for some lunch. A funny smell in the galley had him checking the trash bin. Then he checked the refrigerator. With all sources eliminated, the true source of the smell almost made the young boy throw up. He went topside as quickly as he could, gulping in great lung fulls of fresh air.

"Shit, how long has it been?" he asked himself. "Three days? Four?" Hunter shook his head. "And today has to be the hottest day of the whole trip." His appetite evaporated when he realized he was smelling Captain Turner's body. He resigned himself that if he hadn't been found by sunset, he would bury the captain at sea.

The hot afternoon sun blazed down on the deck bringing the interior cabin temperature to a stifling hundred degrees. Hunter took some deep breaths of fresh air and headed below to the front cabin. He grabbed what was left of the jib and carried it back topside. In a half hour, he had a canopy up to protect him from the sun and hopefully lower the temperature below deck.

Inexplicably and without warning, Hunter's thoughts turned to Jesse. Hot boiling tears came from nowhere as he remembered what he had lost. When they first met, it had been an immediate friendship. They shared those formable years side by side, experiencing the thrills and wonders of early teenage years. The entire world seemed to be at their feet until an ugly monster started to grow in Hunter's chest. He looked at his friend with slowly changing eyes. The camaraderie was still there, but now he looked at Jesse with adoration and with a hint of unbridled teenage lust.

Night after night, Hunter had cried himself to sleep, racked with guilt over his feelings for his best friend. Despite everything he tried, nothing helped. Just seeing Jesse without a shirt was enough to stir a libido that knew no bounds. Hunter was all consumed with Jesse. He thought about him almost every minute of every waking day. The pressure to say or do something became insurmountable. He tried everything, but Hunter continued to wake up with sticky underwear. The guilt continued to worsen.

The weekends were the worst. Jesse would spend the night with Hunter or Hunter would spend the night with Jesse or they would both spend the night on Hunter's sailboat. Hunter spent those weekends in purgatory. The good part being Jesse's touchy-feely personality and the bad part being stretched out in the same bed with the warm inviting body of his best friend just inches away.

The tears came unchecked as Hunter's vision blurred in the bright sun reflecting on the gently rolling waves of crystal-clear blue water. He brought his arm up to wipe his face and was unceremoniously brought back to the present by the horrid smell of his armpit.

"God, I stink," he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Hunter pulled his makeshift sea anchor from the post side lazarette. It still had the line tied to it. He lowered the bucket into the water and filled it.

"Time for a bath," he said to himself. He shucked out of his clothes and dumped the bucket over his head. A bottle of dish soap in the lazarette would have to do. After lathering up, Hunter refilled the bucket and dumped it over his head again. After washing his body, he dumped another bucket of seawater over his head to completely rinse the soap off. Then, using the sailboat's freshwater shower at the swim platform, Hunter quickly rinsed the salt water off.

"Wow, I actually feel better," he said to himself as he sat buck naked on the cockpit cushions to air dry as he watched the blue water slip peacefully by. Half an hour later, he slipped his shorts back on and continued to think about Jesse.

Hunter watched as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon. The moment Hunter dreaded more than anything had arrived. There was no choice left. It had to be done.

If anything, the smell had become worse in the one hundred plus degree temperature of the salon. Hunter quickly made his way around the sweltering cabin and opened every porthole. He slowly looked at the aft cabin door and a dread grew in him like he'd never known. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and was greeted with an ungodly smell. He looked down on Captain Turner's sheet covered body. He quickly untied the lashings holding the body in place. With his jaw set in determination, Hunter grabbed the body by the shoulders and pulled. The young boy was not prepared for the wheezing sound that came from the body and he stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he intently looked at the body. Much to Hunter's relief, it didn't move. Old horror movies flooded his mind with soulless zombies prowling for their next victim to kill. Hunter gasped and in doing so, got a nose full of decaying body. He coughed and covered his mouth. Finally, after several minutes of heart pounding terror, Hunter got himself under control.

"Don't do that to me old man," he mumbled as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. Getting the dead weight of a human body up the steep companionway steps was akin to dragging a couch up a set of stairs, but Hunter persevered. He dragged the body out of the aft cabin and positioned Captain Turner's head toward the steps. Once again, he grabbed the body by the shoulders and heaved. Thankfully, this time, there was no wheezing. Another heave and the body was halfway up the steps and resting on the engine cover. Hunter wiped the sweat off his forehead and heaved again. Captain Turner's body was almost out. Hunter moved up into the cockpit and heaved again. The body came up and out of the companionway, knocking him down to the cockpit floor with the body landing squarely on Hunter's chest. Another wheeze came from the captain's body. Hunter screamed and scrambled back away as fast as he could.

Eyes wide with fright, Hunter looked at the captain's body mentally willing for it not to move. More visions of zombies invaded his mind. It took a full fifteen minutes for Hunter to regain his composure. Finally, he no longer gasped for air and his heart rate returned to normal. He was prepared now.

Hunter took a deep breath and moved Captain Turner's body up to the side bench of the cockpit. He thought about what he was about to do and the reasons for doing it. Captain Turner loved and respected the ocean. He was happiest when he was under sail and the salt air filled his lungs. He lived many a good year and had passed literally thousands of miles under his keel.

Hunter was ready. The solemn duty of a burial at sea brought a sudden peace to the young man. It was his sacred responsibility to bring closure to the last chapter of Captain Turner's life.

Hunter regretted his last memories of Captain Turner being seasick and all alone below deck when the knockdown came. He thought back and remembered the captain's smiling face when they set sail from the dock. You could see the joy on the captain's face. It was contagious and Hunter found himself smiling as he helped trim the sails.

The lifeline that normally ran the entire perimeter of the sailboat was missing on the port side of the cockpit, thanks to the canopy's demise. It was there that Hunter had placed Captain Turner's body, poised for its final resting place. Hunter looked down at the sheet shrouded body, then looked up and saw the most amazing sunset he had ever seen.

"Somehow, it's fitting that you should be buried at sea, Captain Turner. You loved and respected the sea more than anyone I've ever known. I can only hope that she welcomes you with open arms and gives you the rest you truly deserve." Hunter bowed his head and tried to keep his tears in check. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. May God have mercy on your soul," he said clearly as he rolled the captain's body over the side.

* * * * *

Jesse Westphal walked slowly down the marina dock. Resting peacefully in the calm waters of her berth was the eighteen foot 'The Pearl.' He couldn't help but smile as he looked at the small sailboat. He remembered when he and Hunter had named her. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. The night before they'd watched Johnny Depp in 'Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl.' Together, they'd painted the name on the transom. Afterward, they'd donned bandanas like pirates and set sail. Anchored out that night, they grilled steaks and drank beer Jesse had scoffed from the family refrigerator. Hunter had the idea and Jesse quickly agreed as they stripped down to nothing and skinny dipped off the aft swim platform. It had been a fun time as the two teens splashed in the water and took turns jumping off the swim platform. Afterward, they'd rinsed off with fresh water and settled down below. A Coleman lantern turned down low provided the only light. That was the night that two fourteen-year-old boys experimented. It had felt deliriously wonderful and at the same time it had felt dangerously wicked. For Jesse, it had been a one-time bonding experience. Unquestionably, it had meant a lot more to Hunter. Regardless, they'd both had a wonderful time that night. It had sealed their friendship.

Jesse walked along the dock, his eyes caressing the meticulously kept deck of 'The Pearl.' Hunter was thoroughly dedicated to maintaining his sailboat and Jesse was happy to help. The boy tipped his shoes off and stepped aboard. Glancing around the cockpit, the memories of his time aboard with Hunter filled his mind. He fished out his key and unlocked the companionway access. He grabbed a microfiber cleaning cloth and wiped down the huge silver wheel and pedestal that made up the helm. Then he made himself busy cleaning the cockpit until every surface gleamed in the South Georgia sun.

The late afternoon heat didn't even bother him as he made his way inside and sat down on the settee. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it close to his chest. It even smelled like Hunter. Jesse inhaled deeply and tears came to his eyes once again. After a few moments to gather his composure, Jesse made his way back topside and stood behind the wheel, his hand caressing the smooth stainless steel.

"Please, dear God, bring Hunter back safe," Jesse sobbed. "Bring him back and I swear I'll tell him. I swear it! I've got to tell him that I love him too!" Jesse looked up at a most amazing sunset. He felt a calmness wash over him as he watched the golden sun sink through the clouds and disappear into the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. "God be with you, Hunter. I miss you so much."

* * * * *


On to Chapter Four
"Throckmorton Island"

Back to Chapter Two
"The Quiet"

Chapter Index

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