The Light at Sea

The blinding beam from the lighthouse sweeps across the deck. The first wave to crest the sides partially crashes onto the polished teak boards. Sea spray rushes upwards and disperses, creating a momentary increase in the already torrential downpour.

Stephen Gilmore takes a sharp breath and tries to gather his thoughts. How did this storm sneak up on him, and so quickly? One minute he is headed home on a leisurely course, and the next he is grasping for anything he can hold on to, just to keep from being thrown into the water. Stephen, grasping on to the wheel, opens his eyes and begins to survey the conditions.

The sailboat is a 14 footer with twin engines and a 17-foot mast. The excessive water running across the deck takes away from the majestic light brown color of the wood. In these conditions it would be difficult for anyone to fully appreciate the craftsmanship. Stephen rights himself, and places his hands on the helm. This storm will not get the best of him.

He steers the vessel toward the guiding beam of the lighthouse. The light holds steady and clear several hundred yards off the coast. It is directing ships toward the safest route to port, and away from obstructions lurking beneath the water. In this weather, port may not be the best option, but Stephen is not an experienced sailor. Toward the light and port, is his decided upon path.

As the waves continue to grow, and the sea continues to churn, the danger swells beyond Stephen’s ship. The second great wave breaks overs the side of shrinking sailboat. Cracking sounds and groaning wood can be heard over the roar of the storm. A window in the upper cabin shatters and provides another avenue for water to enter.

The ship slipped away from the course during that last impact. Stephen leans against the pitch of the ship and strains against the helm to force the vessel back on course. The vessel lurches upward, bow first, cresting high. Stephen’s eyes widen as he notices the bow rise above the horizon. For a moment he thinks he could sail right off to the nearest star. He clenches his eyes closed again just before the plunge that sends the ship back to earth.

The third wave mounds to the starboard side. What landscape that was visible moments ago vanishes, and is replaced by a looming blackness. Lightning illuminates the sky providing Stephen with his first great look at the storm that threatens his life. The clouds are black and full of rage. Layer upon layer of turbulent clouds, streaking lightning, and penetrating rain. In 38 years of life, Stephen has never experienced a display of mother nature’s power like this.

The wave comes down.

Billions of wood fibers shriek as they are rent from one another. Stephen, unable to keep his footing, doesn’t notice the sounds of breaking wood. He does notice the pain of colliding with the metal steering wheel. Blood streams from his forehead and a cut near his eye. His vision is blurred and his earlier confusion is amplified with a new squishiness located between his ears.

One hand shakily pressing on his head, Stephen tries to stand, but the entire ship is unsure which way is up. The front 1/3 of the beautiful sailboat is missing, and the sea is quickly overtaking the lower compartments. The sea has had enough of this inexperienced wanna-be sailor. With arms made of waves and hands made of sea foam, it reaches in to the cabin and wrenches Stephen from the wreckage.

His mind still unable to process even the slightest bit of his surroundings, is unsure if he is being saved or drowned by the sea. Softly, he settles onto a rock and clings to it. Stephen Gilmore using every ounce of energy he can find, struggles to maintain a feeble hold to the odd edges.

Minutes, hours, and days seem to crawl by with no change. His mind is still unable to think clearly, his strength is gone, and the storm continues to roar at him from just over his shoulder. He feels a sudden change, a warmth and brilliance cover him and protects him from the cold. The light from the lighthouse settled directly on him.

The warm brilliance of the light, and the prospect of being rescued, overwhelm him as he hears a quiet voice calling to him. “Stephen”, it says. “Stephen, I’m here.”

___________________________________________

‘Doctor Weaver to ICU room 2, please. Repeat. Doctor Weaver to ICU room 2, please’, called a woman’s voice over the hospital intercom.

Doctor Weaver, an elderly gentleman with a omnipresent weariness to him, scurried down the hall and into the room. Inside he is met by two others already in the room; Nurse Ashley and patient Stephen Gilmore.

“Doctor, I think he is going. Seizure frequency is increasing, and his brain activity is falling. Heart rate between seizures has dropped below 35 bpm. I think any of the next few, could be his last.” Ashley reported.

“Do we have any clearer information about what happened?” Weaver asked.

“Actually, the initial police report was just sent up from the desk.” Ashley says grabbing a stack of papers from a nearby counter. “At approximately, 22:36 on February 2nd, 2025, Dr. Stephen Gilmore, 38, was driving a 4-door SUV on highway 14 near mile marker 26. Dr. Gilmore is thought to have been traveling at reasonable rate of speed, and appears to have been on his commute to his home address.”

Ashley continues in speed-reading voice, “Negotiating corner between mile marker 26 and 27… encountered a large truck off the road. The headlights of the opposing truck appear to have been a factor as Dr. Gilmore veered off the road. It is suspected that the vehicle flipped several times, sustaining significant damage to the front of the SUV, before ultimately landing in the lake upon the right side.”

“Oh my god, Stephen.” Ashley let escape.

“According to eye witnesses from the truck, Dr. Gilmore was rendered unconscious for several minutes, time uncorroborated, before beginning to struggle to escape the vehicle. Two eye witnesses were able to remove Dr. Gilmore from his vehicle, and he was transported to the hospital at approximately 22:54.

“EMT Report. Injuries sustained, significant laceration to the head and near left orbital socket. Severe concussion, disorientation, and hallucinations present. Possible brain hemorrhage…” Ashley trailed off as a woman rushed into the room.

“What happened?”, Mary Gilmore demanded from the room.

“He was heading home, and apparently ran of the road. His car went down the big embankment next to the lake on highway 14. He has suffered a significant head injury and a few broken bones, including his left eye socket”, Dr. Weaver rattled off.

“What does significant…” Mary began before being interrupted by several alarms.

Ashley began silencing monitors and machines as Stephen began to shudder and twitch in his bed. Mary rushed to the bed and sat by his side, gripping his hand.

“The kind of damage he has sustained to his brain is unpredictable. The swelling alone could be life-threatening, and unfortunately we can’t get a good picture of what’s going on, until that swelling goes down. We know that he’s hallucinating, and that the seizures are getting worse”, Dr. Weaver explained. “But, frankly, we have no idea what kind of internal storm he is going through.”

“Stephen”, Mary said struggling to remain calm. “Stephen, I’m here.”