Chris was in cargo bay one, checking up on Martinez's supply manifest. "We only have a couple of dozen bottles of the Macallan sixty-four, Captain. We'll run out on our next voyage…sir." Martinez informed the captain.
"Submit a requisition form to Murillo so she can fax it to Triple-A's secretary and do the same for any supplies that are running low." After giving Martinez instructions, Chris walked towards the door. He was about to push it when it suddenly flew open.
Cecilia was startled to see Chris standing on the other side of the door. She looked at Chris from head to toe. She was rather impressed with his snappy getup, his navy-blue uniform and coat, and his straight posture made her blink her eyes a couple of times. Chris, on the other hand, furrowed his brows at Cecilia's casual get-up. When he saw her slightly protruding tummy, he scoffed. "Chief Murillo told me you gorged yourself on beef in the galley." He stepped out of the cargo bay, but stopped and turned back. "I'll send you the bill. Kobe beef does not come cheap."
"You're going to bill me?" Cecilia blurted out, "Why? I'm part of this crew, aren't I?" She argued with the captain.
"My crew does not look like a cow because they don't consume a kilo of prime grade A beef a piece," Chris answered back with a raised eyebrow and a grin. Chris left the area with Cecilia's mouth wide open from what the captain said.
"Uh! Did he just call me a cow?" he glances at Martinez, who replies with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders. Cecilia pouted and threw a dubious look at the helmsman. "Cecilia Bermudez," she extended her hand to him.
Martinez reciprocated by accepting the gesture and introducing himself. "Mario Martinez, I'm the helmsman…" he looked around him and the clipboard he was holding, "…and apparently stockboy," he said with a smile.
Cecilia pulled her hand away. "Cold," she said with an awkward smile, after feeling the ice-cold touch of a ghost.
"I'm dead, remember?" Martinez replied with a cheerful demeanor, expelling the awkwardness in the air.
"Chief Bustamante told me to help you, check on the supplies," she sheepishly explained, the reason for her being there.
"Okay, that makes my job a bit easier." He picked up a second clipboard and handed it to Cecilia. "Just compare the number of stocks that we have left, then note how many were consumed versus what the manifest said. You can start on the far right."
Cecilia proceeds to where Martinez assigned her. She looked at the manifest and started to count the beer cases. "Martinez? How long have you stayed here on the ship?"
"Let me see…" Martinez taps the pen on his clipboard. "I died during the invasion of Normandy, which was in 1944…so around eighty-one years?"
"So you've been here for quite a while now, maybe you know why the captain is such a jerk?" She absentmindedly asked
Martinez's breath hitched in his throat. "Wha-what?"
Cecilia casually repeated her question, "Why is the captain such a jerk?"
Martinez nervously chuckled a bit. "I don't think I'm the right person to answer that question."
"Oh, come on, I won't tell anyone." She walked up to Martinez and extended her right pinky. "I'll even pinky swear! You know, pinky swears cannot be broken; they are practically a guarantee."
"You know, I can't talk behind my captain's back." Martinez returned to counting the stocks.
"Aw, c'mon. You can tell me…I just want to understand where the captain is coming from." Cecilia pouted, stomping on the floor like a child.
Martinez sighed, "Fine." He sat on some crates and glanced at Cecilia. "What do you want to know?"
"Why is the captain such a jerk?" Cecilia sat on some crates opposite Martinez.
Martinez took a deep breath as he readied himself to answer the question. He leaned forward and spoke, "What you need to understand about Captain Chris is that…he is always a jerk!"
Cecilia's brows shot up from the unexpected answer, "Ex-excuse me?"
"The captain has always been a jerk, even before I got here, according to the older crew members." Martinez looked at the clipboard on his lap and started to fidget with the pages. "But things became worse, maybe twenty to thirty years ago. It's been a long time, so I can't remember the exact time that passed."
"It all began when a little girl came aboard," Martinez tells the events from that time.
Twenty to Thirty Years Ago (Maybe?)
"Captain, I think we have a problem with this little girl," Murillo called the attention of Chris as she presented a child. Chris observed the girl, who had long hair, a cute face, and seemed to project an energetic demeanor.
"What is wrong with this kid? She looks normal to me." Chris replied with an annoyed tone. He could not believe that a problem so trivial needed his attention.
"She's alone; she does not have her parents with her," Murillo informed. "I'm just worried about the child."
"We ferried millions of children before. What makes this twerp so special?" Chris's voice was rather dismissive. He signed some papers on a clipboard and handed them to a crew member.
"Well… every child we've ever ferried comes with their own guardian angel, watching over them. But this one? She stands alone, without an angel by her side." Murillo explained, puzzled with the child.
"Is her name on the passenger manifest?" Chris asked, his tone visibly exasperated.
"Well, yes, Captain," she flipped through some pages and was about to show it to the captain, but Chris closed the clipboard.
"As long as her name is on the manifest, then there is no problem. Put her with the other gold deck passengers." Chris was about to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeves.
Chris lowered his gaze to the little girl. "What is your name?" The girl asked the captain.
Chris glared at the little girl, and instead of answering the simple question, he asked his own question, "Why do you want to know?"
The girl smiled at the captain, "Because people here are so beautiful, I want to make friends with them."
"Well, I don't want to be your friend!" Chris smirked and was about to turn around and leave.
The child's brows furrowed, and she pouted, "You're mean!" she bravely told the captain, which surprised Murillo.
Chris smirked at the child's audacity. "I'm the captain! I'm supposed to be mean!" Chris snapped at the child.
"Why don't you want to be my friend?" The child asked sadly, but despite this, she pouted cutely, which made Chris smirk.
Chris knelt in front of the child, his face exhibiting a sinister grin. "No one here would want to be your friend!" Chris touched the girl's forehead with his right index finger. "You know why? Because everyone here is a ghost, including you!"
The little girl's eyes widened with fear when she saw everyone for who they were…the souls of the dead. But to Chris's surprise, the child clung to his leg, wrapping her arms around his leg. "What are you doing? Let me go!"
The child looked up at Chris, "I'm hiding from the scary ghosts!"
"Why me? Are you not afraid of me?" Chris asked, confused as to why the child was embracing his leg.
The child started to sob, "Because you're not scary looking, and I think you're a good guy."