Sometimes at dusk, people said they could see him come out from the hidden interior of his island. For years I had no idea who he was or what he did… I was seven when I first spotted him, in the tall trees of the island. The slender figure of the man, as tall as my small brain could ever imagine a human to be. My dad and I were going on a boating trip for the next three days. I have been living in Canada all my life, and I have been boating since I could man the deck. My whole family was born and raised in the Northwest Territories; my dad was raised on the water and therefore only saw fit to raise me the same. Same as my little sister, Amelia. She was only a wee child back then and far too young to go out to sea with me and my dad, or so my mum says. But I believe the true reason was that she was a girl and mum didn't want to be alone.

It was going to be my dad and my last trip to explore the islands. Our last trip before school started again and he had to go back to work. I was too young to understand how important his job was but it certainly was. He was a traveling cardiovascular surgeon, but when I was seven I simply thought he had to leave because he got tired of our family. When he was home for weeks at a time, I was his shadow and would follow him around everywhere I possibly could. He was my best friend and my best sailing partner. I was so excited about it, I had been waiting all summer for him to come back and sail with me. We were planning all summer for our last trip to sea together, and what it would be like and what islands we would visit on the coast and towards Nunavut. I was ready for this trip and spending time with my dad, nothing could stop me or hold me back; but I should have been more careful, for what I saw on this trip would be imprinted in my mind till the last breath I took. 

I strictly remember when I felt my face beginning to sunburn; we were about an hour out to sea; when we saw a stingray and at least two killer whales. We picked the absolute best time to go. It was prime weather for all of the sea creatures to come to the surface. They no longer feared the whirring boats searching for their scales since the fishing boats had gone in for the season. The weather was perfect, not too hot, not too cold, and not too windy; even the cloud cover was perfect. The seagulls were still loud as ever, the perfect thing to pique the interest of the wildlife below and simultaneously destroy my eardrums as well. We were supposed to go 50 more kilometers East before we saw our first island so imagine our surprise when we were 3 kilometers away from a small island with some of the tallest trees I have ever seen. We grew curious so we drew our boat straight for the island.  

The island looked like it could only be an acre or two but the ground was covered head to toe in shrubbery and tall trees. These trees were so tall and I had never seen them before; they must not have been native to Canada. They looked to be as thin as a street lamp and as tall as a house. I was just about to ask dad what the plan was when I saw something move. A tall figure moved from the left front of the island to deep in the middle, far and hidden to my line of sight. I was spooked and didn’t know what to do or say. I guess it was the child in me that didn’t want to seem scared in front of my dad so I didn’t bother to ask. My dad turned his body and looked at me with his mouth agape, an arrow came barreling out of the thicket of the trees and hit my father. Before I registered what happened he hit the deck with such force the boat rocked. Back then I don’t even remember what I did next. How long I stayed rooted in my spot, frozen in fear. The strong hands of shock strangling me and not letting my breath pass my mouth, I can’t say what truly went down. I must have eventually ran to my dad, but it was too late. He wasn’t answering me. He wasn’t even looking at me, his typically pale blue eyes were as white as the clouds in the sky. He was looking straight up, straight to the heavens. The next thing I know is I was crying and screaming. I screamed all my worry and all my fear out into the world. I yelled my anger, my hope, and all my prayers. The next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital 2 days later. The prognosis was malnourishment, dehydration, overexposure to the sun, and trauma of the event. What the doctors couldn’t diagnose was the extent of the trauma. They also seem to miss the part where my father was gone. Gone from my life without so much as a hug goodbye. They missed this key element in their evaluation of my health. Those next few days in the hospital I never talked. I didn’t answer any of the million questions or piped up my voice of a single concern.  For all they knew it was a shock. But it was not, I was seven but I knew from then on I wouldn’t talk again. Because when I screamed that day no one seemed to hear me, no one listened to me and my prayers and no one saved my dad;  and ever since then, I was silent. I was silent with two questions on my mind: who was that man and how did I end up onshore and in the hospital. 

My mum and sister never got the full story of what happened. The police never heard the truth. My life was at a standstill, and whenever I felt happy from then on I would remember that tall figure shooting an arrow at the best man I ever knew. I grew up. Amelia grew up too; she never truly understood why I didn’t talk to or with her but she also never seemed to mind. I made up for my lack of communication by always playing with her. I made up for my lack of communication with my mum by hugging her. I would hug her anytime I felt sad or saw her sad, or any time I was around her or thought of her. The school days became a bore because I didn’t talk and I didn’t have any friends to play with. I had bullies though, plenty of them. Along with people who always called me “mute or boat baby” or they said I was too stupid to talk; the worst was when the teachers said that I was past helping or saving. I knew how to talk though, heck I would talk… just never at home and never around anyone. I would go on my little rowboat and talk to myself or late night walks. The older I grew the more I thought of the man. They say that your imagination is a dangerous thing. But not as dangerous as a sharp-tipped arrowhead with bird feathers at the end of the handmade arrow. Not as dangerous as a barreling arrow going 190-kilometers an hour heading straight towards your dad. I was the talk of the town but I didn’t care, all I cared about was that man. 

I believe I was 15 when I finally got the courage to venture out to the island again. I mapped out the islands, the water currents, and any boating activity and accidents within the last 20 years. I was not letting anything stop me or surprise me. The only problem was that the island didn’t exist on any maps, anywhere. The water currents were normal. The boating activity was below normal, less track than most years and there were never any reported boats missing or any people for that matter or accidents in the last 20 years. I was at a standstill but I still had to go see for myself. I was getting ready, acting as if I haven’t been ready for the last eight years. I planned the trip and was ready. I was going to leave on the Fourth of July. My mum would be so tired after the fireworks she would pass out after dinner. Amelia would think I am sneaking out to go on a walk; I think she knew I knew how to talk and talked on the late-night walks I always snuck out to do, but she never asked or questioned my whereabouts so I believe she knew I needed to do it. Amelia might hug me before I left and then I would point to her room for her to go to bed, she would obey because I think she thought I didn’t know how to express myself when I was mad. She was sadly right because whenever I was mad I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t cuss at the world so I would thrash around and break things to express my anger. It worked but it was a temporary solution. 

My plan was working perfectly, mum went to bed. Amelia hugged me. I geared up and headed to the dock. I knew that it would be risky boating at night but I told myself that I wasn’t even going to leave the boat, I was simply going to survey the area and map it out for my next island return. My journey started at 9:37 on Thursday the Fourth of July. It was a quiet sail, everything was going smoothly, calm waters, nice breeze. I was ready to meet the man. I kept on having to remind myself though that it was only a recon mission. I finally spotted the bitter outline of the tall trees. I could see them because the island was lit up like a high school football stadium on a Friday night. There were lights and lanterns everywhere. I was uneasy and not because of the hotdogs during dinner. Or the hour and a half boating trip, but because an island in the middle of nowhere is lit up like a Christmas tree. 

I was ready to grab my ax and hop over the deck to march into the unknown. I was ready to meet my father’s killer. I was ready to meet my lost voice. I was thinking about all the bad I have gone through because of a monster tainting my mind. I was thinking of all of the nightmares I had to endure because of one tall man I saw eight years ago. But before I moved even an inch to leave the boat an arrow came out of the island and hit my wooded sail pole. I hit the deck, reliving this same nightmare only that was the last time I saw my dad. At that moment I knew I had made a huge mistake. A life-threatening mistake, I was now almost two hours away from home. No one knew where I was. I was laying on the cold, wet deck, with a heavy heart and a full mind. I was laying down petrified in fear and the only thing I said to myself was “Get up! Get up! Get up!” I chanted it as one would a bible verse. I don’t know if I was weighed down by my full conscience or my sacred heart but I stayed on that floor for so long I fell asleep. Don't ask me how but I feel asleep petrified in fear, scared of my next step, and sad about my past. 

The next morning my mum screamed at me for sneaking out, taking the boat, and most importantly boating at night. She didn’t notice the shock in my face, the hole in the sailing pole, or the fact that I was leaving my safe house to find the very person who broke my house from a home by taking my father. I was getting reprimanded but it was nothing that I didn’t already tell myself. I was sad that I didn’t care to even explain myself to my mum. She was scared, rightfully so but for the next few years all I was thinking about was how scared I was of that man. Dangerous, mysterious, deadly, and above all a mystery.”

“Sir, do you need to take a break? Would you like to leave the room?” Officer Danner said. I shook my head ready to get over with the story. “No, thank you, officer.”  He looked to the two-way mirror and nodded his head. I checked the time on my watch. 11:49, I have almost been here for two hours. “Okay, Sir can you explain the next time you say him again?” I looked off into the distance of the room. The greenish-grey color fading with the crimes of all the criminals that have been sitting in the very seat I am in right now. I still can't believe I am here, in the middle of the Churchill police department, talking with an Officer and a PI from the states. I look back to them, their beady eyes looking straight into my soul for the truth of my last encounter with the man. 

“After I moved away to the states for Uni at nineteen, I stayed there for seven years, 4 years of undergraduate study, then followed by 3 years of law school. By the time I moved back I was 26. One year ago was the last time I saw him. I was visiting my mum and Amelia, making sure they were okay before I was officially settled in my new apartment. That’s when Amelia suggested taking the boat out before I went to the trucks to unpack. I was not in the mood then and just wanted to settle down for a bit so I told her in a few days once I was officially settled in and was ready to become a partner in one of the local firms. I was also pushing it off because I haven’t been on a boat since that night I snuck out at 15. Unfortunately, those days passed and I was taking my little sister on a boat that I haven’t been on for about a decade. I was taking a step from the end of the dock to the deck of the boat when I felt something that could only be described from years of experience on the water. I felt the small sway of the ocean beneath my sandals and the smell as fresh as ever. That salty whisper with a hint of sweat but fresh as the earth can offer. I was ready to go sailing with my little sister, something we never did enough. We were waiting for mum when she finally stepped on the boat with her beach bag in one hand and a book in the other. Long story short we were heading East and I was wondering whatever happened to the island, that man, and that danger. 

In hindsight, I should have never taken my sister and my mum to that island. I blamed it on the wind and said it was already heading East and I didn’t want to bother using the engine and didn't want to steer. After an hour I saw the island. It was exactly as remember, tall trees, sketchy shoreline and rocks, and above all, a feeling of déjà vu. I was waiting for a man to appear. I was waiting for an arrow to appear out of nowhere. I was waiting for a horrible feeling to happen, I was waiting for my truth. Once we made it to the rocky shore of the island, mum wanted to investigate, Amelia wanted to see the yellow flowers that stuck out like a yellow ball of sun in the darkness of the night. I was apprehensive to get off the boat but as soon as I did, the mystery appeared again; and I was a 15-year-old boy ready to find some peace of mind and some truth. We ended up finding a shack about 10 meters on the island. It was small, hand-built, old, musty but above all loaded with gravestones. It was a cold place covered in the shade of the tall trees and an eery feeling. Amelia wanted to go inside, mum reasoned with her and said it was illegal and it was trespassing on private property. I rectified the situation about how no one could own private property without having the proper signs and since we didn't see any we were on public property. So we entered the shack and that’s when mum screamed bloody murder.

Her scream pierced the air and jolted my body enough to jump through the door before Amelia could take a step in. I was there in an instant to see a very large, tall man laying down on the wooden floor, covered in dry blood. Maybe it was dirt but it certainly didn't look like it.  He was covered head to toe in scars, but what surprised me more was the number of tattoos on him. He did look to be over fifty, maybe early forties. It was hard to tell with all the sunburned skin and wrinkled skin, angry of all the hours in the sun. He was definitely tall, he looked to be about 6’8 and bulky. His forearms were massive and his calves were so big, with him laying on his back his legs rested on the strong calves filled with muscles. I finally shook my head to get out of my trance and to investigate the rest of the room. The smell was what hit me the strongest though. A mixture of rotting fish, wet leaves, and sweat. I was taking in the state of the room when I herded a shuffle behind me. I looked at Amelia and then remembered my mum in front of me. I ushered them out as fast as I could in order to save their mind from the grotesque sight. I told Amelia to run to the boat to call 911. I ordered mom to wait on the boat as well. When she finally faced me, her heart-shaped face and beautiful features seemed broken. “You have only a little while before the police come. Speak fast, but please do this for you and no one else. It was never your fault son, please be careful.” I looked into her blue eyes as bright as the shoreline of the ocean and so full of wisdom. Her face told me all I needed to know. Her words were only spoken to concrete my suspension of how she knew where we were heading. Deep down, somehow she knew this was the man that killed her husband, and my father. I hugged her out of pure fear and admiration. I was scared to see the man and admired my mother for her trust in me. I tried to wake him up but he never did, and before I could ever wake him up the police were there.” 

“So you never had any other contact with the man after your mother left?” The PI asked. He was proposing it as a question but it was much more of a demand. “No, sir. I was unable to wake up the man.” I said. Officer Danner shared a sad glance at me and then looked towards his partner. They spoke in unsaid words but more glances with one another. I wanted to ask questions. I had easily a million, but what I couldn't do was dredge up the past that after 20 years I have finally come to terms with. I was waiting for them to ask me any more questions. Show me pictures, give me something on the man, anything. I was waiting there in the silence of my past and the walls of a police station. I felt how I did as a teenager. Unable to talk but I have so much to say. “Thank you, I will keep in contact with your family for the trial date and any other information from the state that we gather. Thank you for your cooperation and input. We will see you out.” What? A thank you? I had just told them about my father’s murderer and maybe even a  mass murder that fled the states to a small island in Canada and all I receive is a thank you we will keep in touch? I knew that they would inform us of the trial date but not the information. One thing about Canada that I appreciate is their discretion. They would give no information out to the public until the trial. “ You're welcome.” I said with a nod of my head while standing up from my chair with my hand outstretched to shake. I was shaking the hands of men that held my father’s murder in the palms of their hands as if it was no big deal. The only question I had was who he was and how did I ever get back home to the hospital when I was seven. The last thing I ever wanted to know though was who was the mystery murder who fled the states and why he killed my father. But most importantly did he return me home once I was seven?