If there had been anyone there to look, waves with white, foamy caps could have been seen crashing against the slick, black rocks. If there had been anyone there to listen, the frustrated cries of starving seabirds could have been heard. But, like for so many years, there was no one there to see the ocean, or hear the seabirds. There was no one there to smell the salt from the sea, to feel the cool spring breeze, or taste the broken despair of the waterfront.

In the last two hundred years or so, mankind has made more scientific and technical advances than in the entire rest of history. Medicine has reduced mortality to the point where surgery is a cosmetic tool, and science has made trips to neighboring planets all but mundane. Knowledge that was once restricted to only the most intelligent and trusted scientists can now be accessed by any enterprising six year-old with a computer.

One cold morning in mid-November, 1997, Jason DeStephano was concerned with none of these things. He was more concerned with figuring out how trigonometry could help him outside of math class. He wasn't having much luck. His teacher was saying, "If d times the tan of 48.3 equals h, and 425 minus d times the tan of 62.6 equals h, doesn't it stand to reason that d times the tan of 48.3 is equal to 425 minus d times the tan of 62.6?"

Jason supposed that it did stand to reason, but it still didn't mean he understood what the hell his teacher was saying. Jason didn't like numbers. Actually, numbers didn't seem to like Jason, and Jason just thought that he would return the sentiment.

The teacher went on to explain how tan was really just opposite over adjacent, and that meant even less to Jason. He prayed for the bell to ring, for it to set him free. It did, eventually, but not before his teacher embarrassed him by calling on him for an answer. Jason didn't have an answer. He didn't even understand the question. He was the only one. When the bell finally did ring, Jason was in such a hurry to leave class that he left his calculator - his twenty-five dollar and sixty-seven cent calculator - on the desk. He would, of course, have to buy a new one. You couldn't forget anything in class these days and expect to find it again. The perfect ending for an equally perfect class.

Jason left the school through the main doors, and headed right toward Duke St. At Duke he turned left and followed it to Dryden's downtown district. The wind was cold, so Jason did up his leather school jacket. Jason hated the cold. He loathed it, he wished - A passing Ford Explorer spoiled Jason's train of thought by almost killing him. The driver leaned on the horn and then followed it up with a few creative hand gestures. Jason muttered a few comments about the way people drove in this town - this town that would become a city in January. He continued on his way, past the downtown Esso, past the Saan clothing store, to the other Esso gas station, the one by the river, the one across from the pulp and paper mill, the one where Jason worked. The one where Jason would spend the next five and a quarter hours pumping gas and dishing out minnows.

The ocean began to calm a bit, and though the waves still lapped up against the black rocks, they no longer foamed white. All of the seabirds were gone, and the ocean was all that could be heard. A little ways out, just beyond the slick, black rocks, something was happening. The ocean began to bubble.

Jason's head bolted straight up from his paperwork. He was sure he had heard something. It was a creaking noise, like someone was walking around in the other half of the building. All the doors were locked, Jason was sure of it. If there was someone else in the building, they would have had to have hidden somewhere upstairs when Jason was closing up. Jason checked the bathrooms, the main areas, and then the janitorial closet. There was nothing there except a few mops and a bucket or two.

Jason caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and faced upstairs. Whatever it was, it was still up there, moving around. The movement traveled erratically through the darkened room. Jason tore open the sliding cage door and threw on the lights. All movement stopped. Jason walked slowly up the steps and into the other room. To his right, there was a pile of new hockey equipment, waiting to be inventoried and sold. Next to the hockey equipment was the upstairs door. He checked it. Locked. No one could have gotten in, and no one could have gotten out.

He turned to examine the rest of the floor. The main display area held fishing equipment and nothing else. The small storage room in the corner was crammed full of junk, everything from an old cash register to a band saw. There was only one place left to look, behind the counter, by the minnow tanks.

Jason crept toward the counter slowly. If there was someone back there, he didn't want to startle them into doing something stupid. To Jason's left, just next to the counter, was a small display of axes and hatchets. Jason picked up a hatchet and prepared himself to do battle. He leaned forward and looked behind the counter. Nothing. The only hiding place left was behind the minnow tanks. Jason crept forward, and then turned sharply to his right, raising the hatchet and readying to strike. Nothing. God, he thought, I have got to get my imagination under control. He replaced the hatchet, checked the locks again, and closed the upper floor. He had a lot of paperwork to do, and he was just wasting time.

The sky was slate gray, and the cool breeze had become a cold one. The ocean was almost completely still, the black rocks now submerged. The bubbles continued.