The Anniversary

When Peregrine “Perry” Vale set out on his prized sailboat, the Zephyr, that morning, he had no reason to believe that this solo trip on the Puget Sound would be any different from the dozens of times before. He was wrong.

The weather had promised clear skies with good visibility, but the day dawned much cooler and foggier than expected. Perry no longer enjoyed sailing as much as he once had. He briefly considered postponing the trip until he remembered the reason he’d chosen this particular day: an anniversary. Of what exactly, he couldn’t recall. But it couldn’t wait for another day.

Less than an hour after he’d departed the marina, the eerie sensation of not being alone struck him. The weather might have been foggy, but his mind had been clear—until now. Perry was the only person out on the water, at least as far as he could tell.

Or maybe it was the drifting fog that wrapped the Zephyr like a ghostly shroud.

Why had he come out on the boat in the first place? What forgotten anniversary had driven him to the cold, murky waters of the Puget Sound? Had someone important to him died on this very day? The thought sent a cold chill through him. As it raced through his mind, he felt a wet hand grip his shoulder.

Perry didn’t need to turn around. He already knew who it was.

Marisol. His fiancée. She’d been dead for years. A drowning, it was.

They had taken the Zephyr out that fateful morning. The weather had been just like this—cold and overcast. She had leaped overboard for a quick dip, always one for adventure. Perry remembered the very qualities that had made him fall in love with her. But it wasn’t her adventurous spirit that had compelled her to take that final leap. It was the fact that he had fallen overboard in the grip of a seizure. The current had been too strong, he had been too heavy, and they had both been pulled down into the dark abyss.

She had refused to let go then, and she still refused now. Marisol had accepted her fate quickly, but Perry had lingered, unable to accept what had happened. He couldn’t face the truth—his body lay rotting in the deep while his spirit remained trapped, afraid to move on. But now, staring into Marisol’s eyes, he knew there was no escape.

And here she was, standing before him again, but now her eyes were no longer cold and watery. She looked just as she had that day before the fall.

“Perry, it’s time to come home. I’ve been lost without you. Please.”

And so, he went. Together once more, they brought light to the depths below.

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