Sturgeon Bay | 09:31:20 P.M
It's been a tiring day of visiting the memorial, catching the S.S Badger to cross the lake, John is wiped out. Now he's back at the hotel, laying down in bed. The only thing on his mind was to sleep.
Once every year, a week leading up to the anniversary, is when he would slip into a state of depression.
After Harold dropped him back off at the hotel, John's day was coming to an end; with a new day beginning in about eleven (11) hours give or take.
For a hotel to be this "luxurious" was almost unheard of by middle and lower class people. Those who can't afford the price, simply kept their distance.
A 65" flat-screen television was mounted to the wall above the dresser, fridge, microwave and a coffee maker with many complimentary amenities. Example(s): shampoo, conditioner, plastic cups, face washcloth, towels, and so on. Everything he needed, the hotel had on-demand.
Lying down in bed, John stared at the ceiling as he twiddled his fingers.
"Shush, you dim-wit!" Dorothy whispered to Russ. "Let the kid sleep!"
"Who needs sleep when there's a mystery to be solved?" Russ responded.
"I'm wide awake, actually," John mumbled as Russ and Dorothy stopped bantering with eachother. "Nice to see you again Dorothy," John whispered, "it's been awhile since we last spoke."
"1 year, 6 months, 34 days, 11 hours, 02 minutes, 11 seconds to be precise," Dorothy joked. "Actually it's been longer, but who's keeping track?"
John sighed and rolled his eyes. He sat up in bed, looking over at them. Russ stood with his hands behind his back, and Dorothy stood with her arms crossed.
"Look, I'd love to stay up and chat," John said, "but I've got a busy day ahead of me. I have to get some sleep."
Dorothy frowned as she turned to look over at Russ. A serious expression on her face appeared, meaning she was upset.
"Dim-wit! Told you he didn't feel like talking!" Dorothy said as she turned and looked back over at John. "Sorry dear," She said, "We'll leave your alone for the night. Rest easy, love."
As their spirits faded away, John smiled faintly. He shook his head as he fell backward back onto his back; his head resting on his pillow once more.
"Their bantering never gets old," he mumbled to himself, "old people!"
Turning the nightstand light off, he proceeded to do the same with the tv. Grabbing the remote and aiming it, he pressed the power button.
"Ah, peace and quiet," he mumbled in a slurred, tired tone. Laying back down, he shut his eyes. It didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep. Eventually, when he did, that's when he returned to his recurring, never-ending nightmare.
S.S Allure
Lake Michigan | May 05, 1967
"This boat is too overfilled. Stay back. More boats are on the way back!" another crewman announced.
Passengers of all ages began screaming and shouting and pushing and shoving. All out panic now ensued. As for John, he had heard someone calling out for help down by the stern's Promenade deck [the deck beginning to go under.] He ran down the stairs leading to the sinking deck. By the time he got down there, the water was ankle-height and rising fast. He looked to right, then to his left.
Over by the bar area, clinging onto a mounted barstool, was an elderly man. He was struggling to keep his grip on the slippery metal pipe that mounted the barstool to the deck. John began walking as fast as he could, but the rushing currents of the deepening water were working against him.
"Help me! Please!" The old man cried out desperately.
John had noticed that the man wasn't wearing any floatation jackets. Without overthinking it, he had begun untying the straps on his jacket. After tirelessly fighting the currents and the downward pull from the stern, he'd made it over to the old man. He took his life jacket off and began trying to calm the old man down.
"We have to move quickly now, okay? I'm giving you my life jacket. I want you to put it on and come with me," John talked.
The old man shook his head as he let go of the barstool. When he did, he slipped and almost hit his head on the bar itself. The bottles stored on glass shelves behind the counter were sliding off the shelves; falling into the water with a splash.
"Everything's going to be okay, you're going to be okay," John told him, "what's your name?"
"Russ," the man said as he put the life jacket over his head and slid it over his body. John worked with him to quickly tie the straps so it wouldn't fall off.
"Take my hand, Russ," John said. Russ grabbed his hand and held it tight.
"Wake up!" Russ told John. "You're dreaming. It's not real. Wake up!"
When John opened his eyes, he came to his senses. Lying in a comfy bed, head resting on a fluffy pillow, and the sun peaking through the curtains.
That was fast. Is it true that time moves faster when you're asleep? To him, it felt like he'd just dozed off minutes ago. When he glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, he made note of the time: 06:49:23 A.M.
Ring! Chime! His phone turned on, sounding to the alarm he had set before going to sleep last night. Wait! He never set an alarm, but it's safe to say that we know who might've on his behalf; Russ or Dorothy.
"Hello?" John answered as he held the phone up to his ear.
"Good morning, John," Harold said, "just calling to let you know that I'll be there shortly to pick you up. I hope you rested well. Care for a coffee to get the gears turning?" Harold asked.
A coffee? Why not, John thought to himself.
"That's very kind of you, Harold. Thank you. A Caramel Macchiato, 2% milk, 6 pumps vanilla and extra caramel drizzle please and thank you."
"Caramel Macchiato, 2% milk, 6 pumps vanilla and extra caramel drizzle. Got it," Harold repeated back to him, "I'll be on my way after getting coffee. See you soon."
"See you soon," John replied.
Later that morning, sometime after 7:35:23 A.M, is when Harold and John walked into the building where the Oddysey Marine & Co firm was located.
"You and I are going to be working with my team whom I assigned to this investigation," Harold told John as they waited for the elevator to arrive on the first floor.
"I thought I was only doing an interview to tell my side of the story?" John questioned.
Harold shrugged his shoulders and looked over at him. "Well, yeah you're right. But there's more to it that meets the eye. Like I said in the letter I'd sent awhile back, your name came about."
"Where? How?" John asked.
Ding! The elevator doors then slid open. Four other people came walking out as Harold and John walked into it. Harold pressed the button that would take them to the fourth floor. Ding! The doors slid shut, followed by a slight shudder as the elevator began its ascent to the fourth floor.
"That's what we're hoping to find out from you," Harold told John, "you're the key to many unanswered questions."
In the background, a familiar song could be heard on the elevator overhead speaker.
"Guns N' Roses," John mumbled.
Harold glanced over at him with a curious expression on his face. His head was tilted slightly to the right.
"You a fan?" He asked John.
"Not always, no," John told him, "a friend recommended this song to me."
"Let me guess," Harold began to say, "you were hooked upon your first listen?"
John nodded his head, followed by a scoff and shrug of his shoulders.
"Fourth floor," the female automated voice announced as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened. Harold and John proceeded to walk out and into the firm.
There was a young gentleman standing by the door. When he saw his boss (Harold) and John approaching, he greeted them by opening the glass door.
"Good morning, Sir," the young man said with a welcoming smile.
"Morning Carl," Harold said back.
"Good morning," Carl said to John.
"Hi," John said. Being the shy, closed off guy he is, he kept his words to a minimum around people he didn't know.
Carl closed the door behind him and stood back up against the wall, his hands behind his back. Upon entering, Harold was bombarded by the head of the S.S Allure investigation team; his name: Dalton.
"Sonar data came back," Dalton told Harold. "The wreck site is 100% mapped out. Multiple debris fields, all spanning ½ to 1 mile in diameter."
"Already?" Harold questioned.
"When did we receive the data?" Harold asked as he quickly glanced over at John on his right. "Come with us."
"Where are the others?"
"I have them reviewing the data. Our initial theory for the sinking was sabotage…"
"Wasn't sabotage," John chimed in. Dalton stopped bringing Harold up to speed, looking back over his shoulder.
"Is that so?" Dalton questioned.
"Take it from a man who was there and who survived the sinking," John replied in a cocky tone.
They came up to the conference room where the others were going over every page, picture, article, sonar images and much more other data. The three of them walked into the conference room, with the glass door closing behind them.
"Mornin'," Harold said as he threw his coat over the back of one of the leather chairs. He put his black briefcase down next to him. "Sit, John. I insist."
"Greg, can you pull up the sonar map on the projector please?" Dalton asked.
Greg, who is part of the team, was filing through data on his laptop. The projector overhead wasn't projecting anything onto the pull-down screen. Instead, the screen was blue with NO SIGNAL message in the center.
"Yeah, one sec," Greg replied.
After clicking his mouse a few times, the blue screen changed. It was now projecting a still image of the mapped out wreck site of the S.S Allure.
"Damn!" Harold said with awe, "it's a mess down there!"
He turned his head to the right to look over at John. "Anything? What's your thoughts?"
"This is the first time I'm seeing it. After 57 years, I'm surprised the ship is still somewhat recognizable."
"You were there, weren't you?" Dalton asked.
John turned and looked up at him as he had his arms resting on the back of his chair. He had a toothpick in his mouth, constantly moving it back and forth with his tongue.
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, now would I?" John said.
"True," Greg chimed in. "Nice to meet you John. Now…tell me this: that hole, the one in the middle, how did that get there?"
John hesitated to answer that. Not because he didn't want to, but because it would require him to recollect the final moments of the sinking.
Russ and Dorothy appeared behind him, standing behind his chair. When John noticed them, he took a deep breath in and then exhaled.
"It's okay," Russ mumbled, "we're here for you. You're strong. Don't let the past plague your future. Tell them."
"Right, the hole," John said, "it wasn't until the ship capsized after her list overwhelmed her stability. Moments before that, I'd rescued a elderly gentleman, Russel Peters, from the B deck outdoor lounge and bar area. He was clinging on for dear life. If I hadn't come to his aid, he would've drowned. To answer your question, however, that hole was created after the hull's integrity was compromised by the immense build up of air pressure inside."
"You can prove that with 100% certainty?" Greg asked.
"That's a dumbass question," John said, "how do you expect me to prove that? Why can't you take my word?"
"He has a point," Dalton told Greg, agreeing with what John said. "We only have what he remembers."
"He's our key to shedding light on this aging mystery," Harold reminded everyone, "as we move forward with our investigation, I expect all of you to treat him with utmost respect, understood? That goes for you, Dallanie. Don't be an ass!"
Greg and Dalton chuckled, covering their mouths to mask their smile.
"I gave him permission to walkway at any time," Harold told them, "this is our last shot at solving the unsolvable. To be blunt, any one of ya screw this up, you can kiss your jobs goodbye. Am I clear?"
"Understood," Greg said as he zoomed in on the sonar image of the ship. He wanted to see if there were any clues as to why that hole was there. He didn't believe John, but then again..they only met five minutes ago. The further he zoomed in, the more pixelated the image became.
"I've got some things of my own to work on," Harold told John, "I'm leaving you in capable hands. I'll check in periodically throughout the day, alright?"
"Aye aye, Captain," John joked. Harold didn't laugh or react like John hoped he would. He simply patted John on the back and got up from his seat. He grabbed his coat, picked up his briefcase, and proceeded to leave the conference room.
"He's not much of a joker kind of guy," Dallanie mentioned.
"Yeah," John said, "I see that now. Is it just me..or does something feel off about him?"