I cannot hear it. I cannot hear it. I cannot hear it.

Perhaps if I keep telling myself that, it will become true.

I focus back in on my sub. I have plenty of things to distract me and this rather tasty sub is the first of them. I haven’t had a sub before and certainly not one that I can design to my exact tastes. I take another well-savoured bite. This is my first shore leave in over eighteen months, which would make it the first time I’ve stepped foot off the ship I call home since, well, it became my home. The reason I’ve finally been allowed off the ship is relatively simple and resides in my pocket. I have one hand on the laminated plastic, reassuring myself that it is still there.

It is my licence.

Mac presented it to me recently. He is my not-so-legal guardian, and responsible for the forged licence in my pocket. If I lose it, it’ll be a long time before I can get another and enjoy simple moments on shore like this one.

The licence says I am 18 . I have grown the whiskers on my face into some semblance of stubble to age me enough that I might pass for the adult I am supposed to be. In truth, I think I am closer to 16, though I really can’t be sure. My mousy brown hair and grey eyes stare at me from the licence, which proclaims that I am 170cm tall. It also says my name, Andrew McPherson. McPherson is Mac’s name – I don’t know my name, except that I am Andy. That is all that I can remember.

Mac’s theory, formed soon after he found me stowed away in the cargo area of the ship he serves on as first mate, is that I suffer amnesia from a traumatic childhood event. I am inclined to agree, since I get short, violent flashbacks and suffer from nightmares that I cannot remember. My first true memory is of me running. I ran, faster than I believed possible, and disappeared myself onto the streets where I lived for a number of years before relocating to Mac’s ship. I don’t know why I ran, only that it was necessary to survive.

I cannot hear it.

I have run most of my errands already. Last time, Mac left me on the ship while he ran the errands we needed – top up for the medical supplies and tools and equipment for maintenance – and when he returned he found me cowering in the cargo hold with new bruises. The other crew members don’t like me much. Mac spoiled me by protecting me, the scrawny kid with no identity and few skills. This time I have been allowed to do the errands, a show of faith from my mentor that humbles me. I will not disappoint him.

I have finished my sub now and light a cigarette instead. I don’t smoke, but I need some excuse to linger. Unlike most of the teenagers I have seen in this small port, I do not have a phone to play with. There is an alley next to me that I need to pass beyond, and the alley is exactly what I am ignoring. You cannot spend years living on the streets and not recognise the sounds of someone getting the shit kicked out of them. Those sounds echo from the alleyway.

Moments later I nearly choke on my smoke as I inhale. Two shadows have fallen over me and I was so far embedded into my world of ignorance that I did not hear them approach. Silently I kick myself. This is not the time nor place to let my skills slip. I cannot afford to get into trouble on my first outing, I cannot afford to break Mac’s trust. The ship is the only home I know, and despite a deep desire to see the world beyond, I will not jeopardise my home.

‘Excuse me?’

I look up, clearly nervous. The two shadows belong to police officers, one a short female and the other a fit male.

‘Did you report a disturbance?’

‘No sir.’

Lowering my eyes, I notice that the alley has quietened.

‘Hear anything?’

I shake my head without looking up. The female goes to walk away, but the male hesitates.

‘What is your name?’

‘Andy.’

‘Andy who?’

‘Andrew McPherson.’

‘My name is Hayden. Detective Drew Hayden. That is Officer June.’

I nod, despite having no idea why the handsome cop was introducing himself. There is a sudden loud crash from the alley and June takes off running. Hayden gives me another long look, which I avoid, before he follows his partner.

As soon as they disappear around the corner I am on my feet. I only have to partially cross into the alley to make it to my next destination, the pharmacy, and the two police – who I can now hear yelling – should provide me with cover. Of course I could wait but their interest in me has made me nervous. It is time to finish my last errand and return to the relative safety of my ship. With my ciggies safely back in my pocket and one hand carrying the bag from the hardware store, I set off. My head is down as I turn the corner and spy the door just beyond the female cop June.

‘Freeze!’ I hear Hayden call. Despite being able to see June’s boots, I tried not to look. Really, I did. But then I saw it and my whole world came screeching to a halt. It wasn’t the big man Hayden was trying to stop – a huge man with a beard and mismatched gloves. It wasn’t the teenaged boy, smaller than me, cowering behind Hayden. It wasn’t the prone form of a female of similar age to the boy that June was kneeling next to.

It was a diary.

In the moment I saw it my mind flashed back to my young hand on an eerily similar diary – that’s how I know it’s a diary – and another small, boy sized hand on top of mine with a disembodied voice intoning “Now you know the secret. You must protect it.”

The current diary was covered in the same ancient looking symbols, indecipherable to me. The only difference was the symbol of a lightning bolt on this one’s cover. In the same moment as all this crossed my mind, I decided I needed to take it. I want to know more. What it was, what the other diary had meant to me. I want answers.

As quietly as possible I dump my plastic bag behind a nearby dumpster. I want my hands free and don’t want the potentially noisy plastic to interrupt. I do not want to be noticed. I hope the bag will be there when I return so I don’t have to explain to Mac why all the tools had cost twice as much as they should. June has her back to me and the diary is behind her, though very close. This is fine. I once lived in someone’s attic for three months without them noticing, sleeping during the day and sometimes sneaking downstairs to make a sandwich. With six kids the food wasn’t missed. I often left during the night however, because I felt a need to repay their hospitality by not shitting on their lawn.

I use this winter survival experience now to creep forward silently and grab the diary from behind June. Something white is tucked into it, just out of reach of its owner’s fingers. The girl is unconscious and badly beaten up, her hand burned with a barely visible lightning symbol. Although I don’t know what the white thing is, I take it too. It isn’t worth the effort of removing it.

After I get a decent distance between myself and June I start to walk normally again. The pharmacy door is within touching distance. As I reach out and place my hand flat against it, I lift my head up for one last look at the alley.

I wish I hadn’t. Hayden, the burly bearded man and the teenager are all looking at me.

Without reacting I push the door open and move inside. Once there I grab the pharmacist’s attention to ask for the supplies, leaving my paperwork with him. It is quiet inside and the pharmacist expects the process to take a mere five minutes. As I head straight towards the back door, he calls to me.

‘Why the hurry, son?’

‘I work on the ocean, sir, and the weather looks like it may turn.’

The pharmacist nods. It isn’t an exact lie, either, as the wind is picking up and coming straight off the ocean. I sneak out the back door and go the long way around the block to rescue my abandoned bag. As I approach the alley for the second time I see the bearded guy run past, chasing something – possibly the teenager. This time I remain entirely invisible as I look into the alley, unable to control my curiosity. Hayden is unconscious and being tended to by June, the girl left alone for the moment.

The bearded guy is not someone to mess with, it seems.

I grab the bag, return to the pharmacy (still running the long way) and pay. The pharmacist wishes me a safe and swift journey home, for which I am rather grateful. My vessel, my way home, is waiting for me at the nearby docks in the hands of Mac’s friend, who I only know as Joe. It’s a small single man yacht, owned by Mac and kept in storage on the main ship with the exception of occasions like this. And when he taught me to sail it, of course.

I arrive at the docks and notice Joe is already in the process of releasing the yacht from its moorings. ‘I thought you guys may be in a hurry to get away today, with the wind and all.’

I smile my thanks, completely missing the plural Joe had used. I duck onto the yacht and quickly toss the bags below decks, not looking where they land. When I pop back up, Joe has me ready to go.

‘Thanks Joe. Here.’ I toss him the rest of my cigarettes – I really don’t like them. Wrestling the rudder one handed and utilising the small on-board engine Mac had installed “in case”, I tuck my licence into the waterproof inner lining of my life jacket along with the diary before donning it. Mac had always taught me to keep my valuables on my body – if worse came to worse, at least my body would be identified. I’d managed to navigate out of the port and onto open waters, open my sails and lift the engine before he stepped out.

The teenage boy from the alley.

I nearly fall overboard in shock. My foot catches in some rope and I lose the rhythm of the boat, falling against the railing. The boy steps towards me but hesitates as I hold up my hands, find my feet and then shout

‘What the hell are you doing on my ship?’

The kid actually begins to tear up as he puts his hands up and shakes his head furiously.

‘Answer me!’ I move towards him and he backs further away, pointing to his throat as he continues to shake his head.

‘What, can’t you speak?’

Suddenly the boy starts nodding. He holds out his hand for me. It has a similar mark to the girl back in the alley, except his is of a flame.

‘So you’re mute?’

I duck under the sail as the yacht tacks hard. The wind is whipping around us now and we are heading rapidly towards my ship. I need to regain control and soon. When I look back to the boy he is still not speaking and indicating to the symbol on his hand.

‘Fine, you’re Flame for now. Head down, I’ll deal with you later. Right now I need to steer. Don’t come near me, stay undercover.’ I don’t feel the kid is going to be a threat to me, but the weather certainly is. I straighten the yacht with the rudder before checking back on Flame.

He is staring out at the ocean with eyes as large as dinner plates. The wind and waves are truly angry now and I can understand his fear. Or I thought I could, until I see it. I’m standing to deal with the rudder and the sail simultaneously. As the vessel tacks, I look up and catch sight of the bearded dude that had also been in the alley.

He is levitating above the water, a glove on each hand. One hand is outstretched towards me, the yacht and Flame. I lose focus as I stand in shock, and although it feels like an age it could only have been a moment, for in the next breath the swinging sail smashes me right in the upper part of my shoulder.

I crash to the deck, my head making strong contact with a nearby bar and dazing me. I try to blink away the stars from my eyes and stand, but another wave rolls the boat and I tumble end over end. Confused and suddenly facing the darkening sky, I close my eyes for a moment, hoping that when I open them the world will make sense. Instead, I open them to an incoming rail. I am rolling towards it and I panic – the seas are getting angrier and angrier and I finally have the clarity to realise that I need to drive the boat. Just as I’m wincing and preparing to hit the railing, something halts my momentum. I twist awkwardly to see Flame hanging onto me, looking desperately uncomfortable in the new, driving rain and his street clothes. I nod once, shake my head to clear the last of the cobwebs and find my feet.

Focusing on one hand and one foot in front of the other, I take position on the yacht and begin to navigate it back into an upright position, pointing it into the swells to avoid most of the impact of each wave. I can see lights in the distance – my ship, signalling for me and any other ships in the area. Without looking back towards the bearded man – and rather hoping I had hallucinated him – I push towards the lights, ignoring my painful shoulder. The wind is rapidly taking me into range, and I can see the lights focus in on my struggling yacht.

I could nearly reach out and touch home when I am unceremoniously snatched into the sea by a rogue wave. It seems to act with a mind of its own, dragging me out and straight into the waiting arms of the bearded man.

‘Why, hello. I am the Guardian,’ the man says as he grabs me by the throat. ‘I believe you may have something of mine.’

I look into the guy’s wild eyes and then back to Flame, who is gripping the mast of my yacht and looking generally terrified.

‘Not him. I am talking about a diary.’

I shake my head furiously, unable to find any words.

‘Why are you caring for the boy?’

‘I just found him on my ship! I have no idea who he is!’ I finally find my voice and shout. The Guardian looks at me.

‘And you know nothing of the diary?’

This time I simply shake my head, afraid my voice will betray the lie. The Guardian continues to hold me for a long moment, a vague look on his face.

‘I have no idea what is going on!’ I shout again.

‘Then forgive me, boy, for you just became collateral.’

Before I can process this I am dropped back into the waves near my yacht. The ship has latched on to the stricken vessel and is frantically pulling it closer, hoping to save it and me. As I am falling I see Flame get washed off the yacht – with no life jacket. Using a particularly strong wave I launch myself back onto the deck of the yacht. I am a strong swimmer, always have been, and read the sea like a pro. With my feet safely planted, I take in my surroundings. Flame is in the sea and can barely keep himself afloat. He can’t swim. I can save him or I can save the yacht. Groaning, I know my decision before I’ve consciously made it. I can’t let someone drown, no matter who or what they’ve brought to my doorstep.

The Guardian has both hands raised as I dive back into the cold ocean. The waves are getting stronger again, and I wonder if this is why I was dropped back into the sea – to drown and keep the Guardian’s hands “clean”. I swallow a mouthful of salty water and it brings me back to the problem at hand. The ship has thrown in some life preservers, having seen Flame struggling. Ignoring them for the moment, I spend a useless few minutes forging through the swell before it falls in my favour and I surge to Flame. I grab his t-shirt as his head is going under, wrap an arm around his chest and drag the teenager to the closest life preserver. Using most of my strength I force the thing over Flame’s head and release, waving to the ship. As expected, they begin to drag him in. I turn to check on the yacht and am shocked to see the Guardian mere metres from me.

A frantic check back to the ship reveals that one or two members of the crew have also seen the strange, levitating man. One of them holds a spotlight and he shines it towards the phenomenon. The Guardian roars, backing up rapidly to escape the light. I sigh a little in relief – even though I’m still in the drink, the Guardian was the major threat. But I’m breathing too easily too soon – he isn’t done with me. As he backs away he raises one hand, clad in a distinctive blue glove, and points it at me. A monster wave, like the original rogue wave that landed me in the ocean, rises up and sweeps me towards the main ship. I take one last look around – Mac’s yacht is floundering and we are both on a collision course with the side of the ship. I close my eyes, swallow another mouthful of water and remember nothing more.