Read Online The Last Passenger by Manel Loureiro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Manel Loureiro
Ads: Link
unexpected that Kate realized she was holding her breath. The earlier confusion drained from his face, and he even straightened up a few inches. Kate caught a glimpse in him of the former sailor of yesteryear.
“Hold on.” The man closed the door, and Kate heard him undo the chains. He opened the door again. “Please, come in. This area isn’t safe at these hours.”
Kate crossed the threshold and walked into the entrance hall of a modest but tidy home. Though the wood floors were worn and the wallpaper was faded, everything had been placed in careful order, and the house held a pleasant fragrance.
“Years ago, this was a good neighborhood to live in,” said Mr. Carroll. “But about two decades ago, under Thatcher, the area began to turn into what you see today. Still, it’s my home. At ninety-three, I can’t very well be starting over, now can I? Can I offer you anything?”
Kate shook her head politely, but the man ignored her and went into the kitchen to put a kettle on to boil. In the corner of the living room was a small television that had been muted. A lively television presenter with a dress that fit too snugly was greeting the audience and inviting them to do something silly. A half-finished newspaper crossword puzzle and a carefully sharpened pencil lay side by side on the table.
Her eyes scanned the walls. They were covered with pictures, nearly all of them black and white. In a few, a youthful Mr. Carroll was pictured with a woman and two small children. But the majority showed him aboard various ships. Kate slowly took in the living room, thinking about the photos. They were hung in chronological order, and it was like taking a fascinating journey back in time. The first few pictures were of an older Carroll dressed in his captain’s uniform. Then, as the pictures went along, younger versions of the sailor were pictured, looking somber in one or defiant in another.
Kate paused to look more closely at the last photo. It was so ancient that one edge of the yellowed paper was torn as if it had been handled often and kept in many places.
The photograph was of a group of sailors on the deck of a ramshackle ship. In the center, an imposing captain with a white beard stared ahead gravely. He was flanked by a group of officers, who in turn were surrounded by the rest of the crew. It took Kate a moment to pick out Carroll from the other sailors. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, with a puckish face. He wasn’t looking ahead at the camera but was focused instead on two seagulls perched on the rail. The birds had become frozen in time alongside the mariners. In shaky scrawl across the bottom of the photograph, it said, “ Pass of Ballaster , 1938.”
“That was my first vessel.” Carroll’s voice startled Kate out of her thoughts. He had returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea, quiet as a mouse. “The Pass of Ballaster . In those days, I was a cabin boy, and everyone called me Duff. It was a dumb nickname, but then again I was a dumb kid, so I guess it fit.”
“This man looks straight out of a how-to guide for captains,” Kate said, pointing at the captain.
Carroll nodded. “Captain McBride was a good man, and I learned a lot from him. He died in ’41, or maybe ’42, when the Germans torpedoed his ship in Newfoundland. In fact pretty much everyone in that picture died during the war.” His hands shook as he took a sip of tea. “The Valkyrie wanted no survivors, and it’s slowly been taking care of them all, that’s for sure. I’m the only one left.”
“I’ve just been to the naval base, and they told me you have quite a history with the Valkyrie .”
“Indeed. I found the damn thing in the middle of the ocean. But I wish I never had.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because that ship is cursed. She devours people’s souls and spits them back as something dark. And every time is worse than the last.”
An awkward silence ensued. The only sounds came from the babbling rain as
“Hold on.” The man closed the door, and Kate heard him undo the chains. He opened the door again. “Please, come in. This area isn’t safe at these hours.”
Kate crossed the threshold and walked into the entrance hall of a modest but tidy home. Though the wood floors were worn and the wallpaper was faded, everything had been placed in careful order, and the house held a pleasant fragrance.
“Years ago, this was a good neighborhood to live in,” said Mr. Carroll. “But about two decades ago, under Thatcher, the area began to turn into what you see today. Still, it’s my home. At ninety-three, I can’t very well be starting over, now can I? Can I offer you anything?”
Kate shook her head politely, but the man ignored her and went into the kitchen to put a kettle on to boil. In the corner of the living room was a small television that had been muted. A lively television presenter with a dress that fit too snugly was greeting the audience and inviting them to do something silly. A half-finished newspaper crossword puzzle and a carefully sharpened pencil lay side by side on the table.
Her eyes scanned the walls. They were covered with pictures, nearly all of them black and white. In a few, a youthful Mr. Carroll was pictured with a woman and two small children. But the majority showed him aboard various ships. Kate slowly took in the living room, thinking about the photos. They were hung in chronological order, and it was like taking a fascinating journey back in time. The first few pictures were of an older Carroll dressed in his captain’s uniform. Then, as the pictures went along, younger versions of the sailor were pictured, looking somber in one or defiant in another.
Kate paused to look more closely at the last photo. It was so ancient that one edge of the yellowed paper was torn as if it had been handled often and kept in many places.
The photograph was of a group of sailors on the deck of a ramshackle ship. In the center, an imposing captain with a white beard stared ahead gravely. He was flanked by a group of officers, who in turn were surrounded by the rest of the crew. It took Kate a moment to pick out Carroll from the other sailors. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, with a puckish face. He wasn’t looking ahead at the camera but was focused instead on two seagulls perched on the rail. The birds had become frozen in time alongside the mariners. In shaky scrawl across the bottom of the photograph, it said, “ Pass of Ballaster , 1938.”
“That was my first vessel.” Carroll’s voice startled Kate out of her thoughts. He had returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea, quiet as a mouse. “The Pass of Ballaster . In those days, I was a cabin boy, and everyone called me Duff. It was a dumb nickname, but then again I was a dumb kid, so I guess it fit.”
“This man looks straight out of a how-to guide for captains,” Kate said, pointing at the captain.
Carroll nodded. “Captain McBride was a good man, and I learned a lot from him. He died in ’41, or maybe ’42, when the Germans torpedoed his ship in Newfoundland. In fact pretty much everyone in that picture died during the war.” His hands shook as he took a sip of tea. “The Valkyrie wanted no survivors, and it’s slowly been taking care of them all, that’s for sure. I’m the only one left.”
“I’ve just been to the naval base, and they told me you have quite a history with the Valkyrie .”
“Indeed. I found the damn thing in the middle of the ocean. But I wish I never had.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because that ship is cursed. She devours people’s souls and spits them back as something dark. And every time is worse than the last.”
An awkward silence ensued. The only sounds came from the babbling rain as
Similar Books
