New Captain and Knife Tricks

I had no idea what to expect anymore. I'd almost been blown to pieces, tranquilized, almost sucked into a quicksand pit, almost eaten by cannibals, and to top it all off; I was just about drowned. I had to agree with Shia; I was definitely on someone's hit list.

We weren't exactly in the open anymore. After the opening at the top of the waterfall, the great canopy of green once more enveloped us. Shia had lost his laughter, maintaining a careful, constant vigilance. We couldn't hear the water anymore, and our past ordeal seemed just a memory.

"There!" Shia said, pointing to the river. Moored to the bank was a semi-small sailboat. Shia and I took off at a run towards it. Once we got to it, Shia helped me board it and boarded himself, hopping over the edge. The boat was in pristine condition, painted white, and the wrapped-up sails were maroon. The name, Mari Cruz, was painted in cursive, maroon letters on the back end.

Shia walked around to the other side of the boat from me. There was a thin, four-inch wide, maybe ten-foot long hatch in front of me. I guessed it to be the cabin. Shia ducked into the opening. As I descended, too, I marveled at the exquisiteness of deep mahogany stairs, cabinets, and marble countertops, and tiles. Last, however, I noticed the sight of another fellow human being in the cabin other than Shia.

"Hello there," the man beamed, his smile extremely bright.

"No, Wes?" Shia asked with a confused look on his face. The man named Wes nodded. "Wes, buddy! How are you?" Shia asked before they gave each other a brother-like hug.

"I'm alright. I'm a little confused about why I'm here, but I'm alright," Wes answered, flashing a smile to me over Shia's back. His dark hair contrasted with his disturbingly blue eyes. There was something about him that I didn't like.

"Wes, this is Jen Stanson," Shia introduced me, smiling. "Jen, this is my good friend, Wes Bentley." This time I didn't even blink. It simply wasn't a surprise anymore. I knew of Wes. I vaguely remember watching a couple of his movies before I was kidnapped.

"How did you get here? I mean, why are you here and with us?" Shia asked, scratching the back of his head.

"I'm not sure. I just had orders to … captain … this boat to the Atlantic. It sounded simple enough; all I have to do is set the coordinates and go," Wes said brightly.

"Who were these coordinates from?" I asked Wes.

"Good question; I don't know the answer to that either. I got a phone call, and was offered a million in cash to see two people off to these coordinates."

"Weren't you on the Mainland?" Shia asked.

"Yeah, in Manhattan."

Our surroundings were getting cramped in the little cabin. What a coincidence that this lunatic had all of Hollywood at their disposal. Who would we come across next? Brad Pitt? Jake Gyllenhaal? Naomi Watts? Who?

"I should probably get the sails out. This is a pretty techy boat; along with the sails and a motor, it's got autopilot," Wes said, bowing slightly to me. "By the way, there is food in the cupboard and in the fridge. More is stocked in the hold. There's also a fresh laundry for us all," Wes gestured to a small fridge that I had overlooked, a row of cupboards, and a small closet.

Once Wes had left, Shia and I shared a semi-awkward silence. He took out his switchblade and sat beside me. I watched as he pressed the button, and the four or so inch-long blade sprang up. In the silence, he expertly twirled it in his right hand. The blade gleamed in the cabin's overhead light. I marveled at this talent. He had said once, in an interview, that he had just picked it up and begun practicing with it. He said it was his "Tetris" or his real-life videogame. I smiled at that comforting thought.

"What?" Shia asked, switching his piercing gaze to me, not stopping his hand motion.

"Nothing," I replied, not looking at him.

"No, something's funny." Shia nudged me with his shoulder.

"It's nothing," I said more firmly than I had meant to.

"Ok," Shia said, looking down again, "if you don't wanna tell me, that's cool." The faux hurt in his voice made me feel guilty.

"It's just…you're good at that," I said.

"Oh, this?" Shia scoffed. "This ain't nothing."

"Yeah, you sure make it seem so," I mused.

"It's my modern-day, real-life Tetris," Shia said, smiling in mild embarrassment with a glow of pride.

"Seems so," I smiled. Shia stopped, catching the blade in his hand.

"Do you wanna try?" Shia held the handle out to me.

"Oh, no, I couldn't!" I protested.

"C'mon, give it a try! Here," Shia held my open right-hand palm up while firmly positioning the handle. He gently closed my fingers around the warm, polished handle.

"Practice catching the blade, but catch it flat so it doesn't cut you, ok?" Shia told me. I successfully did so once, twice, and three times.

"Good, now go from blade to handle." I did that too.

"Very good, now, try the handle to blade and back again—without stopping," Shia coached. My hand jerked, and the knife dropped out of my hand. "Sorry," I apologized.

"No, don't be," he retrieved it and put the handle in my hand again. "Make it flow, one motion—don't stop."

Handle to blade; blade to handle. Handle to blade; blade to handle. Handle to blade; blade to handle; handle to blade. I was successfully spinning it multiple times without effort now. Handle to blade; blade to handle; handle to blade; blade to handle. The knife was a shining blur, getting faster and faster. Handlebladebladehandle-handlebladebladehandlehandlebladebladehandle—

"I see you have taught her a new trick of yours," Wes commented from the stairs. Startled, I lost focus, and the blade jumped out of my hand and skittered across the floor. It landed with a decisive thump and a click since it happened to land button side down. The blade sank into the handle, out of sight, out of mind.

"Oops, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for that to happen! I'm gonna go back up top…yeah…sorry," Wes said. I briefly caught the redness of shame on his cheeks before he disappeared once more. I looked at Shia, and we stared at each other for a minute before bursting out laughing.

"Here, you practice," Shia had gotten up and picked up the elusive knife. He gave it to me, and I stared at it. "I'm gonna go talk to Wes. He should get the full story of what's going on. You're doing well. Keep it up. Remember, practice makes better."