Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They were all created by people far more talented than me, long before I was even born.

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There is a young woman, of unknown past, and unknowable future, who has been snatched from the hands of an unspeakable horror only to be sent on an impossible odyssey as life and death hang in the balance. She might be the favorite of Fortune, or perhaps, the plaything of the Fates.

"Peter!"

The young woman screamed as she was whirled into shadowy dark. She flailed and reached for something to grasp in the void but felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. She panicked.

Oh no. Not again!

Peter could not save her now. She was utterly alone and at the mercy of forces carrying her on a frightening journey through time and space. Despite the certain futility of another attempt, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream for him once more. It was no longer a request for help, but an expression of despair...

She choked on a mouthful of briny water!

The woman coughed and sputtered. Where she had been dry just a moment ago, she was soaked now, all the way through her frock and chemise. Wind and salt spray were blowing in her face, and her feet were slipping out from under her (slipping? what was she standing on?). Once more she flung her arms out, and this time she grabbed a wet, cold railing, but it wasn't enough to save her from falling. She lost her balance and nearly fell to the floor, when she felt two arms around her waist, puling her upright.

"Hey lady, get down below with the others!"

It was voice of a young man, yelling to be heard over the storm. Now she was being half-dragged, half-led through the dark, stormy night. Now she was being pushed through a door.

"Watch your step lady, and don't come up until the skipper says."

The door slammed, and she was indoors once more, but it was pitch dark. She circled her hands out until her palms touched the walls on either side and pushed one toe forward, feeling for the stairs.

There was a murmuring, a soft rustling from down below.

"Who's that? Who's there?"

It was the "others" the young sailor spoke of, the others on this boat. A flashlight shone in her eyes, blinding her, and she winced.

"You're not the Skipper, or Gilligan," said a voice from down below.

The woman shook her head, but before she could say anything, other voices piped up.

"Why, it's a girl!"

"How can that be? There were only five of us passengers on the boat. What is she doing here?"

"I dunno. Maybe she got swept on board."

"Oh don't be absurd."

"Why does this even matter right now?"

"I'll tell you why this matters, we all paid for our tickets fair and square, and she just stows away."

The woman's stomach sank. They think I'm a stowaway. What will they do with me?

Before she could imagine any ghastly scenarios of terrible punishments for stowaways, another person spoke. "Oh, never mind that right now. Come down and sit, so you don't fall and hurt yourself."

"Only two more steps, sweetie, and the bunk to the right."

The light went off, it was pitch dark now, and she descended slowly. There was a whispered and heated quarrel between the man who called her a stowaway and another passenger.

"Gimme that flashlight, she's gonna fall and break her ankle."

A light went on, but not in her face this time. By the dim and wavering light, she slipped into the bunk, and flashlight went out again.

"Gotta save batteries, you know. No telling how long this storm will last."

She nodded into the dark, even though nobody could see her.

"What's your name, honey?"

The woman thought fast. She didn't dare ask where she was-that would lead to questions she had no idea how to answer. She also couldn't ask when she was, lest she risk appearing insane. But they had flashlights here, and batteries. The bunk where she sat was comfortable despite the storm, and although there was a general smell of stale air and salt water, this cabin was airtight and dry This was no rickety wooden ship from days of yore. She had to be in the nineteen hundreds, at least.

She could safely use her nickname, "Vicky."

"Well, Miss Vicky, as soon as this storm is over, we're going to get to the bottom of all this."

"Thurston, really! This is neither the time or place."

"I realize that, Lovey. That's why we are waiting until we're back on dry land." And the two fell back to their whispered, heated quarrel.

"Here Vicky, wrap this around yourself." A soft folded blanket was placed on her lap.

"Thank you."

She shook it out, and stood just long enough to place it around her shoulders. Her head was light, she was feeling the effects of her journey, and the boat lurched. She sank back into the bunk, and despite the conversation around her, fell asleep.