Unknown Bodies
Another storm. James huffed, fed up with the spell of awful weather plaguing him. It was intolerable, being penned up inside with only his grumpy cat, Barnacle, for company.
He strode around the kitchen, getting all the things he needed for the pair's lunches.
"It's such a hard life Barny," He groaned dramatically, "I could be out swimming, or fishing, or walking, but noooo I have to stay indoors so I don't get washed away."
As if to emphasise his point, a particularly large wave broke over the edge of the island, raining foam over the rocks.
Barnacle simply gave an uninterested miaow and went back to washing her paws.
James sighed again.
"Good old Barny," He murmured, giving her a brief scratch on the head and going back to making his sandwich.
Satisfied with their meals, he placed the cat's bowl on the floor and heaved himself into a chair to eat the same sandwich and fruit he’d eaten for the past week.
Once he'd finished, James turned on the kettle and turned to look at his cat, who pointedly ignored him. A quiet snort of laughter left him.
"At least I've got you, eh. What would I be doing if you hadn't nearly drowned yourself trying to sneak into the island? Probably be batshit insane from months like this."
The kettle pinged and his pensive mood disappeared as he bustled round the kitchen, making his coffee.
Later, as he curled up in his armchair with a cat on his lap and a mug of expensive coffee, James admitted to himself that he really couldn’t complain; his life was incredibly privileged. He had a loving family and enough money saved to be a young and retired semi recluse on a British island, living out his dream. Having always adored his family's coastal holidays as a child, he had vowed to live there ever since. Living on a remote island was a little bit extreme, but James was a man of his word. Ever since he finally accepted himself, he had been far happier, content to live out his life in partial isolation. He was incredibly suited for it: enough space to roam, the beautiful wildlife and the soothing ocean surrounding him.
Paradise.
Albeit a cold, windy and wet paradise.
Every night, the rhythmic crashing of waves lulled him to sleep like a lover, and even now they rolled around him as he drifted to sleep, head lolling against his armchair.
***
It was the screaming of the seagulls that woke him.
He jerked upwards, delirious, as the raucous cries got louder. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, James heaved himself up, mumbling apologies to his yowling cat. Stumbling towards the door, he pulled on a thick coat and walked through his walled garden and into the raging storm outside. The gulls never acted like this unless something washed up, and occasionally it was something he could help save. He had done it many times, pushing whales and seals alike as far back into the sea as he could, until his teeth chattered from the freezing waters and he spent the next few days in bed with a cold.
James never took chances, no matter the weather, and so he trudged under the pouring rain, squinting. Under the mass of flapping wings and webbed feet, he could barely make out black, contrasting with white on a small body. His pace quickened, even as a frown spread over his face.
Its form was familiar. Too familiar.
James broke into a run, shooing away the gulls from the pale body. Dropping to his knees in the sand, he pawed frantically at the still body, pressing his hands to chill skin in an attempt to determine if their blood was still pumping.
There was no noticeable flutter against his fingers and James blew out a despairing breath of air. Tears froze on his skin as he cried out for this unknown man. One the same age as him. What had happened? What had he done to deserve this? No one deserved to die like this; alone and tossed about by an apathetic ocean, like a broken ragdoll.
Frantically, James pressed his ear against the dead man's heart. Still, no beat sounded so he rose quickly and settled his hands into the position for CPR. It was one of the things his mother had required he learn to do when he moved away, and dear lord was he thankful for it now.
He began to push down on the sodden fabric, desperately humming the tune to Stayin' Alive under his breath. After 30 beats had passed he paused and bent down to listen again for a heart beat, before leaning to press his lips against the other man's lips. They were slightly chapped, and yet his skin was almost unnervingly soft. The odd sensation helped ground him, clearing his mind.
James breathed out harshly, watching his own breath fill foreign lungs, one, two, three times. Moving away, James began the chest compressions again, maneuvering his own body around to make it easier.
Again and again the cycle repeated, for what felt like hours- even as he heard ribs crack and his arms threatened to collapse in an agonizing cramp, he continued.
Eventually pushed beyond his limits, James bowed his head, letting tears drip off his nose. He had long since stopped believing in a God, but in sheer desperation he clasped his numb hands together and prayed. He prayed to the God of his childhood, begging Them to bring back someone who had not deserved to die so cruelly. He prayed and prayed, gripping his hands together till they went white in a futile attempt to plead for mercy.
As he knelt, hands clasped and lips dripping with hopeful prayers like a lifeline over the still man, he twitched. A sharp choking inhale sounded from beneath him, and James started, eyes blurry with tears and his lack of glasses. The pale man heaved and water bubbled weakly past his lips, each faint noise ringing through the air like a miracle.
None too gently, James rolled the limp man over, hitting him harshly on the back until he vomited up saltwater. Over and over his body purged itself, retching until nothing else came up but bile. He passed out again, body cradled in James arms, as one hand dumbly stroked his sodden hair, and the other supported his body.
They sat there; one living, one revived, until the heavy rain began again. James struggled to his feet in the unforgiving sand and bodily picked up the unconscious man. He staggered, cursing the torrential downpour and trying desperately to keep them from pitching over in the storm. Walking over the rocks beyond the beach was difficult, but James managed, his feet slipping over seaweed and threatening to dump them into rockpools.
Soon enough he reached the shelter of his garden and abruptly stopped leaning against the wind in an attempt to balance himself. It didn't work and he fell heavily to the floor, instinctively shielding the dark haired man with his arms. Hot pain shot through his wrist as it made contact with the stone path and he cried out.
The audible crack echoed in James' ears and a wave of nausea rose in his throat. Static overtook his vision as he fought to lever himself upright against the pain and continued to blindly drag the injured man to his house. James fell against his front door, shoving it open with his shoulder. As he reeled inside, he accidentally struck his injured arm against the wall and nearly blacked out from the sheer wave of pain that coursed through him.
As gently as he could, James deposited the man on his sofa and stumbled to the bathroom to grab towels and blankets. Each movement shook his wrist but he kept going, unwilling to take care of himself until he knew the other man was going to be ok.
Coming back from his own bedroom, James surveyed the room his unexpected guest laid in. The Aga was still lit from earlier so the house was stuffy and warm, and there were plenty of blankets there to pile over him. Still stuck in a loop of pain and shock, James haltingly realised that he would have to get the other man out of his soaking clothes.
It was the last thing he wanted to do under the circumstances but it was necessary. Looking at him, he appeared much smaller than himself so anything of James' would fit, albeit loosely. The longer he looked, the frailer the unconscious man seemed. He looked drowned by the blankets, tiny and deathly pale.
Sighing, James got up to get more clothes. Sitting there watching him like a lost puppy would do neither of them any good.
He needed to get him warm and dry fast, or his exhaustive efforts on the beach would be for naught.