Three Rings From The Mystery Billionaire

"Red sails in morning, sailors taking warning." I had heard that most of my life. Today, the sky had a light red hue to it. Bad weather? Bad day? Something was going to happen. I just didn’t know what.

The sun winked over the horizon as I began my jog down the steps and onto the beach. I turned to the left, away from the docks of Wellport where the fishermen were already starting their busy day. I had no desire to smell the fish bait this morning; I needed to feel a fresh sea breeze.

There was a slight chill to the spring air. It was a reminder that winter was only recently gone, but also a promise that hot days were around the corner. A perfect time of the year.

We were lucky to live right on the beach in a time when, in many places, that had become reserved for the insanely rich set. In Wellport, the docks were very prominent, which meant too much odor for the vacationers. Locals loved the smell—especially if it kept developers away and let us enjoy our lives on the coast.

The salt air felt good against my skin as I began to work up a mild sweat. After years of running, the two-mile round-trip was nothing for me. But it felt good and gave me energy for the day. It was a routine I rarely missed. That, and brushing my teeth.

I had nearly come to the point of turning back home when I noticed something bulky in the surf. It wasn’t uncommon to see clumps of seaweed brought in by the tide, or the trash that had become too common in the twenty-first century.

As the water flowed back from the beach, I gasped. The "clump" was thick and long. It wasn't seaweed. Was that a... person?

Moving quickly, I pulled up next to the object in question.

It was a body!

A man lay face down in the sand. I quickly looked out over the beach and the water. No boat or life preserver. Where had he come from?

My mind went to all the crime shows I loved to watch, and I wondered what I’d find when I turned him over. It was no time to get squeamish. If I could handle disgusting fishing bait, I could handle this situation.

With a grunt, I tugged the body over. It was a man dressed in what appeared to be water-logged finery. I had seen clothes like his on many who had come through the seaside town on their way to more trendy vacation spots. Polo shirt, shorts—no shoes, though, as if he had just been walking along the beach.

I couldn't miss the fact that he was very handsome. He had a face that could easily be on the cover of a magazine or make him the star model of a yacht advertisement. The style of his clothes screamed wealth, even as he lay unconscious. Despite that, there was something about him—something strong that was drawing me in closer towards him.

What was he doing washed up on a beach?

He could have fallen off a boat further out, but there would have been an alert sounded. I hadn’t heard of one, and my dad would have mentioned it. The fishing boats would have gone out, searching for anyone who needed their help.

Going right into my first-aid training I had gotten in school and my dad, I felt for a pulse. I didn't realize that I was holding my breath until I released it in relief. A closer look showed a gash on his head and one on his arm. His breathing was even, but shallow. Everything else seemed to look good, at least on the surface.

My head jerked up from examining him when the man moaned. I scanned his face, but his eyes remained closed. The blood from the gash trickled down over his eyebrow. It began to grow in intensity.

A wave crashed against my ankles, an insistent reminder that all was not well just because he was alive. I was afraid that the man would actually drown if he stayed there too long. He had avoided it so far. If I hadn’t found him… I didn’t want to think about that.

I stood up and looked over the area where the man lay. He would have to be moved further from the incoming tide, which was easier said than done. A lone female, pulling a waterlogged body through waves and across the sand—the odds were not in my favor.

I had to drag him out of the water, and there was no time to waste. I moved to stand above his head and reached down under his arms. The deadweight of the man and the continual surge of waves made it difficult for me to reach under and get a good grip on him.

I wasn't extremely strong, but I wasn’t weak, either. Years working on my father’s fishing boat during the summer had given me some stamina, but I definitely wasn’t a weightlifter. I had to put my back into it.

It took me several minutes to tug the man out of the breakers, all while trying not to lose my footing. The waves appeared to want to drag him back into the watery depths. I was determined not to let that happen. Giving up was not an option.

Once we were clear of the risk that the water would finish its job, I fell to the side and caught my breath. Moving a very muscular man out of the surf, plus the run, was more than I had bargained for that morning.

Now what? I needed help.

I would have to bring the man to my dad. The town didn’t have anything in the way of emergency care. A mobile clinic showed up every month for minor things. Emergencies were taken over to the next large town.

My father was the only solution. He had been trained for this type of situation, as long as the man didn’t have any internal bleeding. But he was over a mile away and prepping his boat. I was on my own at the moment. And, to top it off, I hadn’t brought my cellphone—I didn’t feel the need for it while jogging, as the crime rate in town was low and always had been.

“Think, Suzanne. Think,” I whispered to myself.

Lewis! My eyes widened. He lived halfway between where I was now and our house. And, most importantly, he’d be home. Maybe he had had his first cup of coffee. He’d help me. What were best friends for, anyway?

I pushed myself up to kneel next to the injured man. Leaving him alone on the beach where he had nearly drowned didn’t sit well with me. But there was no other option. I had to go.

However, before I could stand up, the man moved his hand—a small, weak gesture toward me. Suddenly I heard a voice, ragged and scarcely audible:

“D-Don’t… Don’t go…” he mumbled.

My gaze shot to his face—but though his lips had moved imperceptibly, his eyes remained closed. Was he conscious? His eyelashes looked soft, glistening with tiny grains of crystalline sand. What might the eyes behind them be like?

I shook my head at that thought. Now was not the time to think about his looks. The man was bleeding!

His hand twitched again, though the rest of him remained still. While I needed to leave him, I didn’t want him to think I was abandoning him either.

“Oh, my. Uh. Hi, I’m going to get help.” I swallowed. “Not sure if you can hear me, but it’ll be okay. I’ll be right back.”

My heart pounded. Yes, it would be okay. I’d make sure it did. I just needed Lewis at that moment.

The man's hand touched mine and gripped it weakly. I looked over the rugged face with wet grit on it. His dark hair was neatly cut, while his tanned skin suggested that he was not unfamiliar with the outdoors. A quick glance at the hand that held mine revealed manicured nails, yet several scars on his hand and forearm showed he wasn’t overly pampered.

The man had money, but it also appeared he knew how to do more than just go to the country club. What was this stranger's story?

The sight of the blood on his arm brought the urgency rushing back. No time to waste. Anything wrong with him would only get worse.

I prepared to stand again, but his hand tightened on mine. His eyes remained closed.

Putting my other hand over his, I said in a reassuring voice, “It’s okay. I promise. I will come back. But I need to get help. Trust me on this.”

While he didn’t remove his hand, I was able to pull it away without him reacting. My heart broke at the vulnerability of the man. Who was he? What had happened? Would he be okay?

Those questions would have to wait as I pushed myself up and sprinted to Lewis’ house. The red sky this morning had been telling me something, after all.