Chapter One

The Beginning of the End

First and foremost, this is the sequel to Somewhere in Time, a previous fic of mine. If you haven't yet read that yet, I suggest you do, if you're interested in this fic, otherwise you won't understand a thing going on.

Secondly, I hope that you all enjoy! Reviews would be lovely!

I felt like I was supposed to be celebrating.

It was the sixth of October. Will Turner and I were due to leave for somewhere – anywhere – tomorrow morning. We had been waiting for this day after a month of planning, since my suspicion (or paranoia – God only knew which one it was) of Mrs. Ashford's plans for my fate were as unpredictable as the wind. We were also due to leave since our fear of Lord Cutler Beckett's extreme acts of ridding the seas and lands of pirates were bound to come to us.

I could never predict Mrs. Ashford's actions, but I was sure that nothing good would come from me staying with her. She was unpredictable and imaginative, which were two deadly things for me, especially since I was sure she hated me. That was what had triggered mine and Will's move from Port Royal, but what had kept it going was the fear of Lord Beckett. Will's life was now in much more danger than mine had ever been in.

Instead of celebrating like I felt that I should have been, I was in Mrs. Ashford's Bakery, kneading the dough and baking it. It was, as always, painfully early, and not a single person was on the streets. I had dimly lit the inside of the bakery with a few candles, as usual.

Everything was normal, except for the fact that I was alone. Mrs. Ashford was always with me when I baked. I hardly missed her bitchy attitude, and was more than happy to have her gone for a morning, but a part of me was frightened when I wondered where she was. Mrs. Ashford was always with me in the morning. God knew I would burn down the bakery otherwise.

It wasn't until half an hour by myself had passed that I began to suspect something. Even though it was painfully early and I was dead tired, as always, I could tell when something wasn't right. Something in the air was different. It was an eerie, almost ominous morning.

I picked up the dough that I was kneading and slammed it down onto the wooden board, digging the heels of my hands into the doughy, floury substance, trying to rid myself of my nervous energy.

I couldn't help but wonder if this was the day that I would die. Mrs. Ashford was gone. I never felt lonely when I was in the bakery, I was nothing but suspicious and and half-frightened. I wasn't preparing myself for the all-too possible what-if? of my fate (or lack thereof), all I could do was think about if this was my final day.

The more that I began to think about this possibly being my last day alive changed everything. The suspicion faded instantly, and fear swept over me. It turned my stomach cold, and I could swear that my heart skipped a few beats.

That would be it. Will and I would be so close to leaving Port Royal for good, on our way to starting a life together in the colonies, England, or France, even. I didn't care where – just as long as we got out of Port Royal alive.

I basked in the silence for just a few moments, stopping my baking, and realized how close we were to leaving. My heart pounded at the thought – the adrenaline, the fear, and the risk, all wrapped up into a few heartbeats.

I exhaled and went back to putting some dough in a bread pan. I turned around to bake it, and I heard the door open forcefully.

I could have thought that it was Mrs. Ashford. I could have let myself believe that, if I heard her light, delicate footsteps on the wooden floorboard. I could have let myself believe that she had come from God knew where to do God knew what.

These footsteps were heavier, and I heard one pair, two pairs, three, four... I could hear more and more pairs of footsteps entering the bakery.

Fear churned inside of me. Was I going to be robbed? Had Mrs. Ashford sent a gang of men to do her dirty work for her?

I didn't dare turn around. I kept my eyes on the flames inside the open oven. Sweat began to gather in tiny beads on my forehead – and not only from the heat.

I wasn't sure if there were still people coming into the bakery, or if they were simply coming closer. I simply stood with the bread pan in my hand, frozen with fear.

I didn't even breathe. If I did, it would come out choppily. I was sure that I would faint if even a breathe of air escaped me

"Christine Werden," one man said, "you under arrest for treason against His Majesty, the King of England, and are charged with being an accessory-after-the-fact concerning one William Turner."

I almost thought that no one was in the bakery at all, and that I had imagined that sentence. Me – under arrest for treason and being an accessory for something Will did? It made no sense at all. Why would I be plotting against a king that I didn't even know of, and how could I be an accessory for Will's crime – whatever that was?

In that split second before I said anything to whomever was in the bakery with me, I realized that was impossible for me to be charged of this. I was not involved with whatever crime Will committed, nor was there any proof of me being a traitor to England and planning to overthrow the government or kill the King.

I put the bread pan down on counter and turned around. I was shocked at how many people were in the bakery. There must have been at least fifteen soldiers, all in red coats with bayonettes at their sides. It seemed like some sort of dream, all of these men coming to arrest me for something I didn't do. I wondered if they had the wrong name.

"But, I didn't do anything," I said.

As I said it, I realized that was the most petty thing I could say to these fifteen plus men. After I had been announced that I was under arrest for treason and an accessory for a crime that Will did, trying to say that I was innocent was not the smartest thing I could have done.

I swallowed and tried to think of an intelligent thing to say, something that might help me. In my panicked state, I tried to think like Will.

"Where's the warrant?" I asked.

The soldier closest to me, on the other side of the counter, handed me a sheet of paper. With shaky hands, I took it and looked it over. All I could get out of it was "outstanding evidence", "treason", and "accessory-after-the-fact". The words still made no sense to me. My heart began to race more and more at the reality. This was no longer my imagination. I was holding the warrant for my arrest in my hands.

I couldn't bear to look at it anymore. I handed the warrant back to the man, who I couldn't bring myself to look at. It seemed there was nowhere for me to look. All of the men were looking at me, as still as statues, which made me want to believe, again, that I was imagining this.

"You are to be taken to Fort Charles, where you will then be questioned," the soldier closest to me said – the same one who handed me my warrant. I managed to look skiddishly into his light blue eyes. "If you are found innocent of only treason, you will be hanged tomorrow morning. If you are still found guilty for treason, however, you will be burned at the stake at the same date."

It surprised me how calmly the man was addressing a death sentence.

It took me a few moments before I realized that I was the one being spoken to. His eerie calm death sentence was directed towards me. I was to be either burned at the stake or hanged for something that I didn't do.

I was absolutely shocked and became sick to my stomach at how this could have happened.

"But, I didn't do anything!" I protested again, my voice coming out in a squeak. "I didn't do anything!"

The same soldier, looking bored, got four of his men to come towards me. They seemed so intimidating. They were coming to arrest me, to bring to my death tomorrow morning.

The only thing I could bring myself to do was to look at the fire in the oven. Fire was something I had been around, something I had once viewed Mrs. Ashford as. It would be the death of me in just twenty-four hours.

One man held my arms, but I immediately struggled. I jerked my arms towards my chest as best as I could, but he had a firm grip.

"Don't touch me!" I said.

My jaw clenched in fear, and I struggled even more. The man's grip was so tight I was sure there would be bruises.

Another soldier, who went behind me, grabbed my arms, and I realized that a fight was pointless. I paled in comparison to these men.

The third man put the shackles around my wrists. They were so heavy. It was God's sick joke, I thought -- the shackles were as heavy as my innocence, or as heavy as the day tomorrow would bring.

Two men (the ones who grabbed my arms), took a hold of one arm each, and began to walk me to the door. It seemed like I was in some sort of play, or a nightmare. Even as I was being walked out the door with at least fifteen men with me, it didn't seem like it was actually happening to me. It felt like this was someone else's nightmare, and I just happened to be in their body.

Once we were outside, I saw Brown's Blacksmith and immediately thought of Will. Had he been arrested for his part of the crime, or had they come to me first as some sort of warning for Will?

The last time I saw Will was the night before his birthday I wouldn't even have a chance to say goodbye.

"No!" I said, trying to pull my arms back from the soldiers that were holding them. "No! I didn't do anything!"

The soldiers held my arms tighter, and I could hardly move them once they tightened their grip. It was all I could bring myself to say to them.

I thought about calling out Will's name, but there was nothing he could do to stop the soldiers. I couldn't be saved after I arrived in Fort Charles.

This was my worst nightmare come true, only the roles were reversed. I always thought that I would be watching Will being taken away by the soldiers because of piracy, but I was the one being taken away on treason and an accessory. Will had no idea that I was to die tomorrow.

Will and I were just one day away from leaving Port Royal. Even if the soldiers came for me twenty-four hours later, Will and I would have been on a ship, far away. The time that we were to leave tomorrow was the time that I would be in my last hours.

I was something greater than crushed. Devastated didn't began to cover what I felt. All of the planning was wasted – and I was to die for something I didn't even do!

I wanted nothing more than to sink down, close my eyes, and convince myself this was all just a bad dream.