Good Intentions

Pack your bags and hold onto your Dramamine! A three day, two night's getaway is just what anyone needs to change, or end, a life for the better!

I switched on the system to hear the familiar hum of silence right before turning on the speakers. This was always the plan, always the way of things, though it did not start out this way.

I started as many do, with such good intentions. As do all my customers (oh I do hate to call them that but nothing else seems to fit). They do this to free themselves, to gain financial independence, to gain a new life; to gain, to gain, and to gain. Who am I to judge them? They could be a desperate housewife or a vindictive husband. It would not even surprise me to open my email inquiries to find yet another resentful son. They vary and yet they always stay the same. And they always intend the very best.

A scream comes out of the speaker and I look to see the commotion coming from the chef's kitchen. A clatter of pans hit the tile flooring and I see a blur run from the room, another following after. Ah, the way of things.

Anyway, where was I? Yes, yes – Good intentions! Always at the heart of it. My guests – yes there is a better word for them! – book me exclusively, often months in advance. They really are looking to make a, shall I say, desperate change in their life. And what better way to start that change than an exclusive getaway on New Beginning for three days, two night's time! It can absolutely be a breath of fresh air to be out on the water on a vessel such as this.

I hear heavy breathing from the bottom right screen. Ah, there she is! Our guest! She cowers in the corner of a linen closet, possibly intending to stay within its dark cover until he finds her. I check the bottom of the monitor, L1. Oh she has certainly made her way through quite a few rooms! I roll my eyes thinking of her inadequate mate, searching for her – oh, there he is! Top monitor to my right, L2. Just the hallway above. He's a slow one this guest. Most just want to get it over with. All that bullshit about the chase is usually wrong. Most just want to get on with it. Is that blood on his face? Conceivably a scratch from a manicured nail? Oh goody. Maybe my eye roll earlier was a bit too judgmental. Let's give him a chance. I sip my wine. Oof, very dry.

Now my business is completely word of mouth. I know what you're thinking, with social media the way it is today. I could post such satisfying pictures, could truly make the most stunning stories to get just the right number of clicks I would need to make a decent yearly salary. But no, no, word of mouth is the way of it. A yacht captain such as myself needs nothing more than a simple referral to keep business going. Call me old fashioned if you want.

Oh, seriously? This fool can't even find her. He's wondering the yacht like a goddamn chump. I slam my glass down, shattering it on the desk. It is not my place to interfere, I remind myself. I pour some whiskey, just a shot – no, two. I can barely stand to watch this imbecile this sober. I pour just one more as he staggers into one of the cabin bedrooms completely clueless. What more do these people need? I offer them everything – fucking everything! Isolation. International waters. Inescapable. Weapons. Would a little shove from the balcony be that difficult? I feel my heart pound from within my chest. My hand grips the glass much too hard and I set it down, this time intentionally.

I am obviously paid in advance. I give instructions, but honestly there is not much to worry about. The people who hire my services always have the money. It's always there. They have tried to negotiate and I simply shut them down or turn them away. Whatever I choose. It's all up to me, which is the way of things. I mean, yes they get to do it of course! I am a man of my word. I would never take that away from my customers – ah, my guests. I always, always intend to give them the experience they so desire. I offer such a unique experience. Now I know some of my competitors offer scuba diving or unique island tours. Their rates are on brochures and their websites are filled with tropical colors, a red macaw with a word bubble popping up saying, 'BOOK NOW!' It's kind of ridiculous if you think about it.

I'll never forget this last email, though. Sent securely, he obviously knew some important people I had had as guests in the past. It felt so desperate in its conciseness.

Must book 'open water getaway' straightaway.

Please instruct on payment amount.

Will await further instruction.

BR.

I did my due diligence and he wired the money within minutes of my confirmation. I knew of such desperation. Could feel it in the tips of my fingers as I responded to him. Felt it sting my cheeks like the chill of the morning air before their arrival as I swept the deck. Gnawing and perpetual.

The girl is on the move now, having left the safety of her linen closet. Probably a mistake as this dimwit has not even made it to the same floor as her yet. She's limping, though barely. Perhaps a quick twist when hurdling down the steps. Or maybe he snatched at her as she attempted to crawl away. Oh I wish I could have seen it, wish I could have heard the snap of a tendon, the heaving cry from her lips. I get distracted in this cozy office, lose track of time. I put my feet upon the desk.

I set down my glass again before seeing him and already feel it bubbling up inside of me. What is wrong with him? I hiss to myself. I sit up right again. My fist hits the wooden desk but I don't feel a thing. Surely he is fucking with me, no? No one is this stupid.

When I was a child my mother described me as `easily agitated.` I was just a child! She explained that intending to be good was never enough, I must actually be good. What she didn't explain was that nothing I did would ever be good. Once I got my inheritance, I left and mostly forgot all but her choice words.But, oh! Look what I have become. I have become exactly what I always intended to.Not just a captain, no.Don't be ridiculous. I am a creator of a new world, a magician with everything up his sleeve, the wizard behind the curtain. I might as well be Poseidon of the goddamn seas.

I get up and reach for the door lock before stopping myself. I am never to interfere, it is part of the whole experience. You get to change your life. You get to create a life changing trip. I am simply the vessel on which it all happens.

I plop back down into my leather backed chair and search the monitors. Oh! Looky here! There's our girl, trembling in the main hall bathroom! I turn up the volume to hear her cries more clearly. She really does seem quite upset. I mean really, does he have to drag this out? She's crying for God's sake! She's hysterical. I would absolutely be doing her a favor by shoo-ing him her way. Lord knows he could use the help. My hands ache from the clutch in which I hold them.

Watching this couple board had reminded me so fondly of my first few months of my business. Things were different then, I may have even had my own brochure, nestled in the wooden nook of some beach-lined hotel. I watched them cart their expensive bags just as many did before them. I watched them gasp and point out into the water, marvel at the oak banisters and hanging artwork, the faux foliage lined up ever so neatly near the steps. It wasn't until many months into this little business that things changed. I remember the smell. The iron-like smell gasping from beneath the door of Cabin Suite 4 as I did my morning rounds. This wonderful young couple having a second honeymoon; perhaps after some infidelity or perhaps due to the aching boredom which comes with marriage, I don't really know. Out of pure habit I knocked, or perhaps from the politeness my mother once expected of me. Surprisingly, the wife answered. I think she answered with the same politeness which caused me to knock; a sense of normalcy despite a sort of chaos you yourself created. The husband lay on the bed behind, life gone from him hours ago.

And maybe seconds passed or maybe a few minutes. I was never really sure if there was a shock factor or if a part of me always knew there were these fragments in people in even the most ordinary of situations, but I found myself ever so simply asking, "Was your evening to your satisfaction?" and when she told me yes, when she shut the door, when she packed her bags and walked out when we finally docked a few hours later, I just kind of knew. That this was the way of things.

Oh, please don't look so concerned! She really did try to clean up! They are exquisite guests after all, not some barbarians off the street. What kind of getaway would I be providing if my expectation was a spotless cabin suite upon docking? Don't be absurd.

Oh. He's found her. My chair tumbles backwards as I rise for the occasion. Oh Jesus, is he crying now, too? She crawls across the bathroom floor, reaching for the easy push of the swinging door. She tries to stand and he shoves her down. He hovers over her and I search his hands to see what they are clutching while mine throb from the emptiness, from staring at a screen instead of allowing my agitation to reveal itself. Will it be a knife, swiftly grabbed from the kitchen? The paperweight which once sat innocently near their bedside? I scooch closer to see…

Nothing.

He cries and she scoots away, and I realize he has absolutely…

Nothing.

I always intended to stay in this room. I always intended to allow my guest to enjoy their stay, just as they were meant to. I always intended to watch it all unfold, a scotch filled glass unbroken in my still hand, a comfy chair to rest back into. I intended to start a lovely yacht business, a vacation getaway on the open waters. I intended to show my family how dignified I was, how I never needed them at all. I intended to keep my anger at bay, at sea, deep in the blue waters in which my very soul gasps for breath at times. Good intentions. Good, good, good intentions. Didn't I mention those?

And I intended to let him kill her. Oh, he just had to book immediately because he just couldn't wait a moment more. Then why did he let her get away and get away and get away? Why has it taken him all night to find her? Why did he grab at her ankle instead of her neck? Why does he have fingernail marks down his cheek rather than a tired arm? Why has he hesitated and hesitated and hesitated?

Then why is it me standing over him like this?

Because intentions are just that, everything we wanted to do neatly laid out, giving us all the credit without doing a goddamn thing.

So I did what he had once intended. I beat him so close to death, just close enough that my agitation quieted to tell him what an utter, useless fool he was. How he had absolutely everything and turned it into nothing. Then I finished him with every shred of dignity he lacked.

And the girl? I turned and she was gone. Oh, I'm not worried. Isolation. Open, international waters. Inescapable craft. Weapons. A short balcony over a deep water. I'm just saying, I really should get brochures printed.

Book now!

Katie Lilljedahl | 2021-04-11