Ordinary Man

 

The image ate at him throughout their midday meal. If Elizabeth noticed his withdrawn mood, she did not comment, perhaps believing it to be a lingering effect of their years apart. But, for Will, who had ferried countless lost souls to the other side, none’s fate had touched his own until today. That glimpse, that broken derelict in the alley, twisted his gut and wrenched his thoughts to where he could think of nothing else.

 

Restlessness took him out that night, down to the smithy with its secure, ordered life. This was where he belonged, Will argued. This is what he dreamt of those long years aboard the Dutchman. Home, family, honest work, rewards gained by the sweat of his brow. Honest work. Not thieving, not skulking through town with a price on his head.

 

By the time dusk settled Will knew he had to know, had to find out. He set out, not toward the modest cottage he shared with wife and son, but down to the waterfront, and into the seedy streets and alleys, searching, seeking a phantom from his past. He found no sign of the gold toothed stranger, just the usual drunken lot of sailors, peddlers and vagabonds, jostling alongside the cheap and tawdry whores, all looking for a momentary escape from their desperate lives.

 

The rum and ale flowed freely in the waterfront taverns, and it was into the last one on the street that Will finally stumbled, weary and resigned that it was indeed a ghost that had haunted him earlier that day. Ordering a pint of ale, Will sank desolately onto the bench, barely acknowledging the drunken sots around him. A quick drink and he’d be gone, he argued. A toast to a memory, before heading home to his safe and sanitary life.