She was a beauty, and I’ve always been fascinated by large vessels. This one was about as big as 25 school buses laid end to end. She was white and had more rooms than I can count floating at the docks of Panama City, where the old Pier Park used to be. It was a place that grew so fast, populated with new arrivals and businesses popping up every day. It was on the beach, the last public beach that was destroyed by a massive tsunami in 2025. The tsunami washed out the entire coast, and most of the foundation is now beneath water. The only landmark that preserved history was the Ferris wheel, which still works. Half of it is underwater, and half of it is above water, adapted for tourists who can afford to take that ride. It was rebuilt to withstand hurricanes and strong winds. Each seat was a dome that supplied oxygen when you went underwater to see the old Pier Park still intact. There are rumors circulating that they are planning to reopen it as an underwater mall.

My name is Jack Harris, and I’m 80 years old. It’s 2065, Florida, the free state with no taxes and more opportunities for writers like myself.

I was looking to write my last novel. I had already published all of my books, and it felt like a bucket list. I had made a living with it after years of working as a Florida State Correctional Officer. I had seen both good and bad things, death and life, but nothing could have prepared me when I faced death head-on. It’s true what they say: right before you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. But not when death actually knocks on your door.

Knock! Knock!

The pounding in my head started to get louder, and I was dazed. Everything was a blur.

Knock! Knock!

I blinked my eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. “Oh…,” I mumbled, trying to say something.

“Mr. Harris! Knock! Knock!”

“What is it? I growled.

“Mr. Harris, you need to be at the ship briefing. It’s by policy that you understand that this is a fire drill. It’s for your safety in case of an actual fire.”

Yeah! Yeah! I sounded like I was chopping a cabbage in half with my bare hands while standing in a dojo. I opened the door.

On the other side, there was a young man about 22 years old. He took my breath away not because he was handsome, but because he looked like a reflection of my past.

He had dark brown hair and eyes that resembled the trees beneath the blue sky. His face was round, but when he smiled, there were deep, movie-like features in his features. He stood about 6 feet tall and wore a white button-up shirt, white slacks, and a pair of black slip-resistant boots. He was a strapping young man, and he smelled like sour water.

I tried to shake it off. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Harris,” the young man replied as he reached for my hand. “Let me help you to your muster station. It’s close. My name is Jake.”

“Thank you, young man,” I said. “This may sound crazy, but you look like I thought for a minute and then withdrew to spare me the embarrassment. ‘Ha, never-mind.’”

I took his hand, and it felt warm and full of kindness. As he helped me over the threshold of my room on the 5th floor, which was just beneath the main deck, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harris,” I said. “But we have to take the stairs.”

He guided me to the stairs, and I looked around. There was no one in sight.

“Now, don’t you worry, Mr. Harris,” Jake replied.

He must have sensed my heart pounding faster.

“Most of our guests are already at their assign muster station,” he said. “Can you hear them?”

My hearing wasn’t always that good, but I did hear them like echoes through the walls as we got closer. But my heart was pounding, and it started to hurt. Suddenly, it went dark.

“Tell me something, Mr. Harris,” he said. “Are you a Christian?”

All of a sudden, the echoes had gotten louder, and they burst into screams.

My eyes snapped open, and I found myself sitting up against the wall of the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. The swaying of the vessel caused the lights to flicker, and a scream echoed from the main deck. However, what caught my attention was a yell from below—a child screaming for his mother. I didn’t see Jake anywhere he must’ve went to get help.

I quickly got up from the floor and, despite my desire to climb the stairs, the child’s tugging at my heart compelled me to descend. I don’t know where I found the strength, but it felt like it wasn’t my own will; it was another force guiding me. All that mattered was to get that child to safety.

I followed the cries, waving through ankle-deep water from broken pipes. The cries grew louder as I checked each cabin. My heart ached, but I didn’t care. The child I heard was all alone. If it was the last thing I did, I would carry him on my shoulders, just like I had done in the past. Even at 80 years old, the will to save someone still coursed through my veins.

Hey there, their child is safe now. I managed to find the child by then. It was dark and hot, but I managed to locate him. He was about four years old and hiding in a chest that was meant to be for blankets at the foot of the bed.

How did you get in there, sweet child? I asked. The child wouldn’t speak; he was terrified, as if he had witnessed pure evil at such a young age. It’s okay, do you have a name? I looked at him; he was dirty and snot was running from his nose. He was probably ill, possibly a cold. I reached to pick him up from that chest, and my heart started hurting immensely. But I managed to get him on his feet.

He was wearing a Donald Duck one-piece pajama with built-in slippers. I brought the child close to my arms and held him tightly to comfort him, but it felt like we were comforting each other as the water started rising. I knew I had to get this child out of here, so I started towards the door. However, the door slammed shut, and the child wrapped his little arm around my neck. I could feel his little heart pounding, in rhythm with my own and it started to hurt, the room started spinning as I fell into the water as it splashed in my eyes.

What was that for? A woman smiled back at me, not just any woman. This was my mom, Rose. She poured water on my head, singing and humming a song I hadn’t heard in ages.

The room lit up, and I was in the bathroom. My mom was giving me a bath. Mom, I cried, but she didn’t hear me. In fact, I was like a fly on the wall, watching her give me a bath. She laughed and played with me, and I laughed along with her.

Suddenly, there was a roar like a bear in the next room. “Hurry up, woman! I’ve got needs and they need to be met!” he shouted.

“Hold your horses, let me lay Daniel down for his nap,” Mom replied. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

“I’m horny, woman! You’ve been holding out on me!” he retorted.

“That’s not true, Tommy!” Mom yelled back.

All of a sudden, I heard a bottle hit the floor, clanging to what sounded like a pile of them. The sound of footsteps coming closer caught my attention. I watched as a dark figure entered. It was a dark figure of my worst nightmare.

The man was about 5’5”, with black hair, blue eyes, a five o’clock shadow on his face, and a fair complexion. He wore a pair of blue jeans, barefooted, and had no shirt. He had a hairy chest and an athletic body leaning against the bathroom door frame.

“Yeah, it is,” I watched as my mom’s face went from happy to terrified, almost as if she knew what was coming.

My mom was a fighter, and she would bleed him dry if she had a knife. But she was at a disadvantage, leaning over, giving me a bath.

She reached for the sprayer and waited for the moment to knock Tommy upside his head. She managed to get a blow, but Tommy reached for her wrist, overpowering her on the second blow. He slapped her with his free hand and then turned her back around, facing me. He forced himself into her.

My mom looked at me, tears in my eyes, and started calming me down as Tommy did whatever he wanted to her.

When he was done, my mom turned around to hit him again, but he slapped her down to the ground, knocking her out. Then, he looked at me.

He took me out of the bath, dried me off, and put clothes on me. He loved on me as if I was his forgiveness token, and he was crying. My mom lay in the bathroom, bleeding from her wound, and this evil man holding me didn’t seem so evil. He rocked me to sleep.