Nodding, Mario raised his hand to smooth his hair. Like a beast in a cage, he restlessly glanced around unwilling to leave the cabin. His blood pumped faster through his veins and stumbled back against the wall.
“You’re going to put all of us in trouble,” growled Aldo. “Take my place and don’t move from here until I return. You know where you should stop.”
Arching the corner of his mouth downward, Mario lowered his head, averting his gaze from Aldo’s furious eyes. But it wasn’t rage that moved the captain; Aldo’s heart raced too, with all the thoughts swirling in his mind. Going to jail for the rest of his life accused of murder, wasn’t what he had planned. That wasn’t what he searched for when he sought refuge in the sea.
There’s no other way, and a life is a life, whether it’s the one of a tuna or the one of a human being, he tried desperately to reason and find justification for his future action. He wasn’t the one supposed to get rid of Igor directly. Mario was the one who stepped in and volunteered for the job. We’re all fishermen, and none of us ever killed anything other than a fish. We smuggled goods and people, alright— but to kill?
He took a deep breath, allowing the night’s scent of the sea to fill his lungs, hoping it would soothe the storm building in his soul, as it did in past operations. He closed his eyes. It should be a matter of a few seconds, go there, kill him and together with the rest of the crew we’ll take care of the body and the cleaning. Come on, Aldo, you need to do this— it’s his life or yours.
Choosing between murdering a stranger and having his life taken away should have been an easy decision. Of course, I prefer my life— who is he, after all?
His eyes opened wide and clenching his teeth with a savage growl, he grabbed the harpoon he used for the tuna and stomped toward the common room. That was something he rarely used in recent times; it was an item that could come in handy for many occasions.
That night, the best would be the murder of Igor, Irina’s father. Something was off and the nagging voice in the back of his head didn’t want to shut up, repeating that this would have given more complications than the promised solution.
Swallowing the tears welling to his eyes, Aldo growled. “For fuck sake, stop it! I know it’s wrong, but I can’t turn back, and you know better than me.”
He didn’t believe a word of what he said, but at that moment, as he felt the engine of the boat slowing the power, he realized the time had come, and there wouldn’t be a second to waste.
Holding the harpoon tightly in his hand, with tears filling his eyes, and thousands of thoughts fogging his mind, he reached the room and without any further hesitation he attacked Igor who was seated with his back toward the door. A loud scream coming from Aldo’s mouth shook the silent sea. Igor didn’t have the time to realize he was drawing his last breath as the spear pierced through his heart. His life ended abruptly without the time to say goodbye, or at least a last prayer to ask forgiveness for all his sins.
Aldo fell on his knees, sobbing for his life and his soul. He wasn’t a man who had a firm belief. What he believed was the sea, it was his religion, his church— his heaven.
Through the blurred sight of Igor’s body, that same heaven became his hell, and he promised himself that his life would remain bound to the sea. He wouldn’t return to the mainland ever again. From that moment on, he would belong to the tide, to the place where for the first and last time, he killed another man.
The harpoon fell from his hands lying beside him on the rocking floor of the boat. Wiping his eyes from the tears he looked over at Irina, whose trembling lips revealed a pleased smirk at the amount of blood covering the floor and the table.
“Curse you,” he whispered. “Curse you!” he yelled once again. Standing from his position he ran out, needing to puke away the dread and remorse he knew would accompany him for the rest of his life.
The crew, unable to speak, silently gathered to the room, ready to clean the mess and prepare the body for its eternal resting place.
Wobbling, like drunk on fear, Aldo reached the command deck, where Mario was petrified; his eyes staring at the darkness in front of him.
“You can go and help the others. I will resume the navigation,” his voice a broken whisper.
Turning to Aldo, Mario didn’t reply, releasing the grip on the boat’s wheel.
Muted by sheer terror, Mario left the cabin as if he was sleepwalking, as if he were still in a nightmare waiting for the morning sun to release him, reassuring it was a dream. No murder had ever happened, and he was still in his bed.
Aldo remained alone; his shirt still marred with Igor’s blood. What am I doing? I can’t keep these clothes dirty; I need to clean up everything, including myself.
Sobering up from the shock, considering that at least he had to keep himself out of jail, and delete any connection with the crime, he walked to have a shower. Cleaning the clothes was the most challenging part, as he needed to delete any trace of DNA. He’d watched enough crime movies to understand this would have
