Alan angrily wadded up the letter, and flung it into the night sky. It arced outward towards the moon until it caught in the salty night breeze, quickly veered right, finally coming to rest on the surface of the water; far, far below. Alan carefully placed the pictures back in his shirt pocket, and began climbing the railing; ready to follow the letter to the waves below.
"I can get you another copy of that letter if you want back it that bad, son," the Captain’s voice came from behind him, "I’d really rather you didn’t go in after it."
Alan paused, leaning his shins against the top of the railing. "How’d you know where to find me, sir?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Wasn’t too hard. After you stormed out of my office, you punched the hell out of that bulkhead. The trail of blood was hard to miss."
Alan looked down at his hands again. He had obviously broken a couple bones in his right hand; it was swelling up rapidly. The knuckles on his left hand continued to slowly bleed. The blood had pooled and started to clot around his wedding ring, and ran down the length of his fingers. Physical pain was the farthest thing from his mind.
"I’ve got nothing left, Sir. My parents… My wife… My sweet… little girl…" he said, the tears once again beginning to flow.
"Son, I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but what you’re getting ready to do out here right now doesn’t change anything…."
Alan moved his left foot to the top rail.
"Davis," Wallace said more sternly, "runnin’ away like this is just as cowardly as what those bastards did to your family."
Rage overtook Alan. He spun down from the railing, and shot like a bolt of lightning towards the Captain, outstretched hands reaching for his throat as he unleashed a primal scream.
Alan never ever saw Wallace’s right jab before it connected, crumpling him to the deck.
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