Part 3: The Dead Man’s Watch
Matthew stood slowly.
His limp was more visible then.
The terrace watched him rise.
“Put it down,” he said.
His voice was low.
Not weak.
Low.
Brett heard the warning and mistook it for fear.
He held the watch higher so everyone could see.
“Ladies, look,” he said to the models. “A sentimental sailor and his little toy.”
Matthew’s hand closed into a fist.
Then opened.
He looked toward the cameras.
Toward the guests.
Toward the security guards who were pretending not to see.
And he chose silence.
Brett dropped the watch on the tile.
Then stepped on it.
Hard.
The crack was small.
But Matthew heard it like thunder.
For a second, his face was not old.
It was not tired.
It was somewhere else.
Out in black water.
Under a screaming sky.
Beside men who never came home.
“You just stepped on the last thing my crew handed me before the storm took them,” Matthew said.
May you like
Brett rolled his eyes.
“Then your crew had terrible taste.”
