Back at the dock, he jumped out before the boat had even bumped against the mooring. He ran up the hill to his cottage, boots slamming the ground, his arms held out from his sides like they were on fire.
In the bathroom, he scrubbed with soap and steaming water until his arms were raw. The reddish-black stain bled into the sink but didn’t vanish entirely. Even after the third scrub, faint shadows of the fluid clung to his skin. Like it had soaked into him.