Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Unfortunately, it doesn't belong to me. I saw Peter Jackson's 2005 version of King Kong for the first time recently, and it just so happened that I was reading Remembrance by Theresa Breslin at the same. This story is a piece of pure self-indulgence that was inspired by both works.

Englehorn/OC warning: don't like it, don't read it. :)


Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

I.

The S.S. Venture had been back in New York for two days, but Captain Englehorn hadn't yet left his ship. His crew- what was left of it anyway- had disappeared, and he had no idea when, or indeed if, any of the men would be back.

He wasn't sure that he wanted them back at the moment.

As a younger man in his early twenties, Englehorn had been taught many of life's hardest lessons. He knew that it was astonishingly easy to force the body to function even in the most hellish circumstances. It was only in the aftermath of action when pain struck most keenly.

So for the moment, because it gave him an opportunity to recover, he savoured the silence and solitude of his empty ship.

Indeed, he had anticipated savouring it for a good while longer, but the sound of someone hesitantly clearing their throat gave him cause to lift his head and turn towards the intruder.

"Was?[1]"

The woman ignored the question that was both barked and slurred in her direction. She proceeded to free her hands from her gloves as though he hadn't spoken.

"Was wollen Sie?[2]" The words tripped off Englehorn's tongue like machine gun fire. This time his visitor met his hostile gaze for a moment before faltering.

"In English? You laughed so hard the last time I attempted German I thought you were having a fit."

Englehorn snorted and turned his head away. He obliged her in her request, although his accent was thicker than usual. It was so much easier at that moment to use his native tongue.

"I could use a laugh."

"And another drink?" she asked, watching as he reached for a half-empty bottle of amber liquid.

"I'm not one of your God damn patients, Mary!"

"You wouldn't be almost passed out in a drunken stupor if you were," she said tightly.

Englehorn stared at her- stared her down. It was a look that he had perfected over the years, a precise mix of contempt and intimidation delivered in a shock of lightning blue. He was almost disappointed by how quickly Mary dropped her gaze.

"Look, I'm not here to make you mad," she murmured quietly.

"No? Why are you here?"

"I was-" she started, and then stopped. A frown creased her brow as she looked down and hesitantly moistened her lips.

"You were-?" Englehorn prompted, shifting in his seat.

Mary squared her shoulders and met his eyes again.

"Two nights ago a couple of men were brought into the hospital from the docks. They have injuries like- like I've never seen before and whenever they're conscious they rant and rave about an animal- a monster."

Sobering quickly, Englehorn pushed himself out of his chair and stood.

"And?"

"And?" she echoed him, voice coloured with frustration and exasperation. "I wonder! And who do I know that deals in dangerous and exotic animals, maybe? Because I have it on good authority that he turned up just two nights ago." She drew a fortifying breath. "What's going on, Captain?"

"Nothing is going on, Miss Floyd," Englehorn said, his voice crisp and final as he turned his back on her.

"Then where is Mr Hayes?" she asked with quiet desperation. "Where are Lumpy and Choy and-!" the sentence ended with a sharp gasp as Englehorn turned and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

He pushed her back against the wall of the bridge. He was unable to fully quash the savage thrill of being able to overpower her so completely after so many weeks of playing a puppet in Carl Denham's nightmarish show. Sickened with himself, he let Mary go almost immediately and staggered backwards, stomach churning.

"Get off my ship."

Mary shook her head. Her face was pale, but her expression was determined.

"Please, Captain-"

"Damn you, just go!" he roared. She weathered the assault, begging him with her eyes for something that he had no name for in any language. "Bitte, Mary,[3]" he growled softly.

It was not an order but a plea this time, and perhaps that was why she finally obeyed. With the shaky gasp of something suppressed but left unsaid, she looked one last time into his face before she turned and left, escaping just before he broke down.


[1] What?
[2] What do you want?
[3] Please, Mary.