LAUREL
She reached up and turned on the masthead light, as it was getting too dark to see more than a few yards off the bow of the trawler. She had purposefully prolonged returning back to Newport for a number of reasons. The first being that she genuinely liked being out on the water. The sea spray soaked everything and chilled her to the bones, and the smell of bait was nauseating, but the sound of the waves and the rocking of her boat outweighed the other not so pleasant aspects of fishing. Plus, out on the ocean, the only person she really had to worry about was herself. She didn't have to pretend that she didn't see the scowling look the postmaster gave her, or hear the snide remark said by one of the ladies at the grocers.
The second, and most important reason for her coming back to port so late was because she was almost certain that she wasn't crazy. Almost. She knew she saw something that night, she just wasn't sure what. Lately, as her uncertainty about her sanity grew, so did her desperation for answers. Laurel had been spending more and more nights on the water to try and figure out just what she saw that night, but so far all of her searches came up dry. Perhaps she was just seeing things. Was she so drunk that she imagined the face in the water?
Laurel sighed to herself as she helmed to boat closer to town. Now, she was starting to sound like the townsfolk. It seemed that they fed off each others paranoia; not that she blamed them. Strange things happened in town, there was no denying that, but the futile need to talk about something other than the kidnappings and drownings made everyone gossipy. If it wasn't Laurel's drunken episode then it was the rumor that Tom Jenkins had a woman in the next town over or the chiefs recently drowned son—anything to keep away from the taboo subjects.
Laurel knew better, or at least she thought she did. She wasn't sure, but there was something fishy going on and she wasn't about to just ignore it like most everyone else in Newport.
Pun intended.
Laurel smirked to herself. Christ, she was funny.
She shifted the gears to neutral and the loud rumbling of the motor died considerably. She steered closer to shore, making her way towards to the docks that jutted out from land. By the looks of it, she was right; Exodus was the last boat into the harbor.