Standard disclaimers apply.
Written for a challenge on LJ at Crimeland.
His voice…
It was then that she felt her head rush, a roaring in her ears, and a wave of nausea that swept through her body. Her heart raced; the palpitations pounding in her skull. She broke out into a cold sweat, her eyes dilating, her equilibrium suddenly off. She could have sworn that she stopped breathing, but then her respirations caught up with her heartbeat, leaving her hyperventilating. A lump that made it's way from her throat to her chest, the pressure enormous. She shook as the adrenaline raced through her blood stream. Her body was numb, lightheadedness taking over. She felt dissociated.
Tears pricked her eyes and she wanted to collapse, screaming and begging. She wanted to run and hide, to yell and cry and just oh God, why…
It was worse than any nightmare she could have imagined; frozen in place and unable to do anything. She wished she could wake up. It had to be a dream, because this… oh God, this just *could not* happen. She wanted to shut down. She would have given anything to open her eyes and find herself in her bed.
If only it were all a dream…
But her fate was sealed. The moment she heard his voice, Pirate Number Four.
She spoke calmly, fighting not to sob; bile burning the back of her throat as she choked back tears and vomit. She could not let her son see her panic. It would be the death of him.
If only she could have hugged her son longer, harder, tighter; never letting go.
She watched as he ran off, going off to work the case. And she was grateful for her workaholic husband, who kept a trunk in his office. The one she yelled at him for, when she discovered their son hiding in it, "working the case" while his father was away. She had been worried he would get stuck inside. Now she wished for nothing else.
If only she could have had another chance with her husband...
If only she had tried to understand his work better…
If only she could watch Jack grow up…
If only she hadn't answered her phone…
The cool metal of the gun was sliding up the bad on her neck, nestling in her hair.
If only she didn't feel so numb; so light headed.
The psychopath's warm breath ghosting across her neck, the gun settling.
If only the voice over the phone didn't sound so fearful, so worried, so regretful and panicked. So different from the warm, lighthearted voice of the worst fourth pirate in history. Oh, Aaron…
If only -