Jack stared pensively at the dark grey waves crashing upon the beach. Well, as pensively as he could with a half-guzzled bottle of rum never far from his lips.
He knew he was dreaming. He had been on this bleak shore of his mind many times before, sitting, waiting for something. He never knew what it was, only that it hadn't come yet. He didn't know what would happen when it did, but the anticipation of the dream kept luring him back, kept seating him in the sand, kept him waiting.
The cacophony of the rushing water was enough to disguise the sound of footsteps approaching him, muffled as they were in the deep sand, cooled by the clouds hanging overhead.
He felt more than saw someone near. Without sun, there were no shadows to alert him to anyone's presence. He glanced to his right, feeling someone's eyes on him. His gaze fell upon well-worn brown boots. Well, that didn't tell him anything. He followed the figure's black-clad legs up to a cream-colored shirt, an amused face, and long brown hair that seemed to be scudding against the sky in the breeze.
A stranger.
Wait…
…was it?
The face looked vaguely familiar, now that he saw her…
A closer study of the woman's face sent a jolt of shock through his body.
"I heard you needed a crew," the now nineteen-year-old Monica Connors smirked.
He woke up, heart pounding.