Chapter One

An Evening to Remember

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the OC's, nor do I own the title of the story.

Author's Note: This plot bunny has been in my head for months and has been getting angry at me for not writing it! All I ask of you is that you enjoy it!

I swear that the two OCs in the story, especially the main ones, are not Mary-Sues!

Just to let you know, this is alternate universe, starting from after Curse of the Black Pearl. Also, the Pirates trilogy never existed. It may sound confusing, but I promise it will make much more sense as the story goes along.

Enjoy!

The suitcase was too heavy.

I knew I over packed. I always did. One outfit for breakfast turned into another outfit for swimming. That outfit turned into one for shopping and dinner. Why not add another one for spur-of-the-moment, possible, late night fun?

Five outfits in one day. Multiply that by seven – seven being the grand total of days that my family and I were staying in Kingston, Jamaica – and that equals to a total of thirty-five outfits.

Did I pack an evening outfit for each night? Or was it only for a few nights, worrying that my parents would hear my older sister, Irene, and me sneaking out in the room next to their's? No, I was convinced that it was only for a few nights.

In addition to outfits came the shoes and accessories. I knew I brought three pairs of flip-flops, two (or was it three?) pairs of flats, and three (...no, four?) pairs of heels. I had packed all the earrings, bracelets, and necklaces I could fit into a sandwich-sized storage bag. Accessories didn't take that much room. It was the shoes and clothes I had to worry about.

My suitcase was, miraculously, one pound under the weight limit.

Even as my suitcase trailed behind me as I walked next to my twenty-year-old sister, I could feel it's weight. It felt like there was a child in my suitcase. Only now did I begin wondering why I didn't pack lighter. If I bought something, I would have to put it in my suitcase, thus paying twenty-five dollars for it. Would I even have that much money left over? This was a vacation, after all, and I was a female.

Doubtful I would, I thought with a small smirk.

I looked to the right of me. My parents were walking next to me, their card keys in their spare hands. Irene must have ours.

For every vacation we had gone on, our parents gave my sister and I our own room. I wasn't sure why, but I had never asked. I felt grateful to be sharing a room with only my sister, instead of my parents. This was my sister, though – we hardly got along perfectly.

I hoped that I wouldn't have to share a bed with her. She took up too much of the bed while she slept -- I found that out several years ago on our vacation to Los Angeles. Irene apparently thought that since she was older, that entitled her to more than half of the bed. She enjoyed talking to me as she fell asleep, as well, which only aggravated me more when she slept next to me. In a separate bed, I could pretend that I was asleep, at least.

Irene stopped at the chestnut-colored door of room 226 and put the card into the slot of our door. I saw that our parents were in the room next to ours, room 228. I knew that my sister and I would have to be more quiet when our parents were in the room next to us. We learned from last year's vacation, after being a year apart, that this was the time to catch up on the past year. Even though my sister and I had our fair share of ups and downs, she would always be my other half before any guy.

Irene had just completed her sophomore year at the University of Michigan. She had been away from our home in Brooklyn, New York, and was reveling in her first days away from hectic college life, done with academics, like me, for three months. I was excited for the long, lazy summer that lay ahead for me. Next year would be my senior year of high school. I had just one year left before I was bound to the life of a college freshman – taking the same path that my sister had.

Seeing that the green light by the card slot was flashing, Irene took the card out of the slot and turned the silver handle. I gave a quick smile to my parents, who were heading into their room, then went into mine and my sister's room.

When I stepped into the room, I noticed it was uncomfortably cold, like most hotel rooms seemed to. It sent a chill up my bare arms and legs, making long-hidden goosebumps appear. I could hear the air conditioner under the window being blasted. I made a mental note to turn off the air conditioning as soon as Irene and I got situated.

The clean, white tile reflected off the sunlight of the window. I was wary to take off my flip-flops on the tile – it seemed like the tile would be cold and make my feet clammy.

The kitchen was small, complete with a small, white counter against the wall, along with a mini-fridge and sink. Conjoined was a small sitting area with two chairs that had a distinct floral pattern that I never wanted to see again.

I began to wonder why our hotel room was so unattractive. Were my parents getting the better room, or was this just an awful hotel? It couldn't be an awful hotel – there was such a thing as pictures before you committed.

I moved onto the bedroom. The sheets were a light lemon color with that same eye-aching floral pattern. The floral pattern now seemed to be everywhere, once I paused for a minute and looked around our hotel. It was on the bedside lampshade, on the cushion for the desk chair, on the chairs in the small living area... it was awful.

I didn't bother looking in the bathroom for fear of booking a ticket back to New York.

With ease, Irene set her large, black suitcase on the side of the bed closest to the French-doored balcony. Looking past her, I could see that we had a balcony with a view of the parking lot and the road leading up to the hotel.

Trying to put the frustration inside of me to good use, I attempted to lift my suitcase, but to no prevail. I nearly kicked it out of frustration, and would have, were it not for my sister being on the other side of my bed, her hands on her hips, looking at me with an amused grin on her face.

"Do tell me how to smuggle a first grader past airport security in a suitcase, Christine," Irene teased.

That only fueled my frustration. Thanks to her words, though, I was able to lift my equally large suitcase onto my side of the bed – next to the floral lampshade and floral-cushioned chair for the writing desk.

"Some of us do not have rocks for muscles," I grumbled.

Irene was the health nut of the family. She was a tennis player. Exercise was her life.

"That's why you have to get some, you twig," she teased, going to adjust the temperature in the room.

"It's freezing in here!" I said, rubbing my hands together in a weak effort to conserve the minimal warmth I still had.

"Go outside," she said indifferently, turning the air conditioning up. "You'll warm up fast out there."

Irene was right: I would have no trouble warming up. I decided to follow her suggestion. I zipped open my suitcase and fished for my blue-and-white-striped bikini. Quickly, I realized that I would have to go into the bathroom to change – into that bathroom with, most likely, the same, God-awful floral pattern that appeared everywhere else in the hotel room.

I changed in the bathroom, which, I was surprised to see, had no trace of a flower. The bathtub curtain was ivory, with not a splash of color. I had never been more happy to say that a room was as plain as that bathroom.

I slipped my bikini on, put my jean shorts over the bottom, and looked at myself in the mirror. My belly button piercing I had gotten last year was a light-blue jeweled piercing today – a perfect match to my swimsuit. I remember wanting that piercing horribly last year. My parents had let me get it because they had said that it was my body and that I could do what I wanted with it, but I would have to deal with the consequences. Besides the piercing initially hurting the first week and a half, I thought there were no consequences -- I loved it! My sister was shocked to see it on me last summer. I had wanted to keep it a surprise until the vacation – Christmas was not the time to show her it.

I exited the bathroom and tossed my orange tank top on the bed and saw an empty box of yogurt on the counter. Irene was most likely stocking the refrigerator with it. Yogurt was her vice. It did nothing to me but make my stomach churn.

"You're stocking the fridge with yogurt?" I said in disdain.

Irene popped up from under the counter and smiled. "I'm at least choosing to eat healthy."

Before I would receive a lecture on eating something somewhat healthy to lengthen my lifespan, I decided to leave while I could.

"Keep the door locked while you eat your pine nuts and Yoplait," I said before leaving.

The moment I stepped outdoors, onto the sun-heated clay tiles, I realized how hot Jamaica really was. It was hotter than Brooklyn was in the summer. It was the sort of heat that didn't hit you right away, it was the sort that got under your skin. I felt the sun and humidity more than the heat.

To try to and prevent the heat that would otherwise inevitably overcome me, I decided to go into the pool. I noticed it was large, and the water was lukewarm.

I walked in until the water met my waist. The hot sun began to beat down on my back. Mixed with the sun, my long, chocolate brown hair felt prickly against my back. I wished that I had brought a ponytail holder and glanced down at my wrist to see if, on the off chance, I brought one. To temporarily fix the problem, I swept my hair over one of my shoulders. I could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form on my back. Maybe the heat would hit me sooner than I thought it would.

I looked around the pool. Young children to grandparents were at the pool. It was clear that the tourists were from all over the world. A father was talking in French to his young son in the shallow end of the pool, and two women in their early twenties with golden skin were speaking Chinese. The harder I listened, though, the majority seemed to be speaking English.

I looked on the opposite side of the pool and saw a pool-side bar. It was a good of a place as any for a party of one to be.

I swam over to it and sat down at one of the pebbled-covered stools. I looked down at the pebbled covered counter and traced lazily over the pebbles.

I wasn't even sure of the drinking age in Jamaica. With a smirk growing on my face, I realized that I was sure Irene would know.

"Age?" a voice laced with a thick Jamaican accent asked me.

I diverted my light blue eyes from the counter to the owner of the voice. His skin was a rich, dark color, his eyes equally dark. His hair was so short that it was nearly a buzz cut. Through his t-shirt, I could see that he had an athletic build. He seemed to be about twenty-years-old. Instantly, I was attracted to him.

I tried to focus on the question he had asked me. I couldn't say that I was seventeen, I was sure that eighteen was the drinking age. I knew that I could pass as eighteen, I was four months away from it. The only question was if I would need a form of identification for it.

"It's not very polite to ask a woman her age," I said coyly.

The man smirked. "I can assume, den, dat you're a bit young to be consumin' alcohol."

Looking back down at the counter, I knew that was the wrong thing to say. I tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"I just thought that you might want some company," I said innocently, flickering my eyes to the empty row of stools, save for a couple in their fifties on the end. "It is true that lifeguards and the sort get bored on duty, isn't it?"

The man chuckled. "I can 'ardly be called a lifeguard, Miss..."

"Werden," I finished for him. "Christine Werden."

"Christine," he nodded lightly, smiling. "Pleasure to meet ya, Christine." He extended a hand. "Adam."

I shook Adam's hand, mine getting lost in his. We locked eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Adam," I replied.

I could feel the spark of chemistry being ignited between us. The first spark always excited me -- I always wondered where it would take me and the person.

"Where do ya come from?" Adam asked.

"The US," I replied. "New York, to be specific."

He nodded again and started playing with a white rag in his hands, most likely used for washing glasses.

"Family vacation, then?" he asked.

I could already feel that there was something between us. If I said yes to his question, then there would be a smaller chance of us getting together after his shift one of these days. He might think that it would be too hard to escape my parent's assumed eagle-eyed watch, or he wouldn't want me to get in trouble for sneaking out.

"No, actually," I lied. "I'm here with my older sister."

"Ah," Adam said, a small smile on his face. "No parents, den?"

"Nope," I replied, praying that my parents weren't behind me.

Adam set the rag aside. "You wouldn't mind gettin' ta know each oder a little better after my shift, den, would you?"

A smug smile grew onto my face as I realized I was right: it was going to be much easier to see him outside of his shift if he was under the pretense that my parents weren't with my sister and I.

"Not at all," I said, not even bothering to play the tease.

"I get off at 8:00," Adam said. "Meet at... 9:00? Across the street from the hotel?"

I was already too excited for the evening to contain my now child-like smile.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Great," he replied.

I looked to the left of me to see that a platinum blond woman in her thirties was swimming up to the bar. It was best to let him work now – we could talk all we wanted later.

"I should let you get back to work," I said. "9:00, though?"

"9:00, dressed for dancing," he corrected.

Dancing. I knew this was going to be a better evening than I bargained for.

"Dressed for dancing," I repeated.

We both began to go our separate ways. Adam turned his attention to the woman that swam up, and swam back to the hotel to tell Irene of my new plans for the evening.

The clatter of the plastic spoon against the yogurt cup wasn't the loudest thing in the room. Even the television, which was on a news channel, seemed like it was being played at a hushed level. The most deafening thing in the room was Irene's gaping stare at me.

I had just told her, happily, that I was going to be busy tonight, that I had met someone down by the pool who was going to take me out this.

Silence was the response I had gotten.

I swallowed nervously, but kept my gaze on her. My heart began to race within my chest. The uneasy silence and the stony expression from Irene made me more nervous than the same expression on my parents. She was the fun, easy-going, laid-back one. Why had my announcement of my plans for tonight made her seem like she had never had done something like this?

"You what?" she asked stonily.

That very tone made my heart jump. I tried to remain calm, but my heart was beating so fast, I felt it was about to pop out of me and land on the disgusting, cold, white-tiled floor.

"Irene, come on," I pleaded, sitting across from her, cross-legged, on the bed. "Adam seems really nice. Besides, you haven't even met him yet!"

"Damn straight, I haven't met him yet!" Irene said, her light blue eyes now flickering a spark of pure anger. "Have you lost your mind, Christine? You've known the guy for five minutes and you decide to go on a date with him? God knows what the man is capable of. He could be a rapist, or – or a serial killer, for all you know!"

She was being completely unfair. Irene never acted like this before. Usually, she, with a smile, would have let me. Now she was trying to protect me – from what?

"He's really nice, though!" I said, grasping at whatever straws may still convince her. "He..."

I realized then that I didn't know much about Adam. I refused to believe Irene's point of view. He didn't seem like that sort of the person. Adam seemed genuinely nice. He had smiled and flirted with me, and there was that instant spark of chemistry between us.

"He's just really nice!" I said. "Irene, you have to believe me on this one. Adam is completely harmless, and all he wants to do is just go on one date with me."

I half expected for Irene to begin her protest, but she just sat, holding her yogurt cup, looking at me patiently. She looked patient, at least. Maybe she was plotting what to say next, instead.

"We're going dancing tonight. We'll be walking there. It's a busy area for miles, Irene. I'm pretty sure that if he was going to do anything to me, he would choose to do it in a less secluded place."

Irene lied down and put the yogurt cup on the nightstand, turning her focus on the popcorn ceiling.

"You immature, little child," she said, enunciating each syllable.

I was genuinely taken aback by her insult. She had never acted like this before.

"What?!" I asked, dismayed.

She sighed. "Christine, I..." Irene trailed off momentarily, then said. "You knew him for five minutes. You could have taken his flirtations and kindness the wrong way. He may seem like a nice guy, but in reality, God knows what he's like."

I bit my tongue to stop another argument from erupting between us. She momentarily stopped talking, too.

"You know what? I'm not going to stop you, Christine. You're going to be eighteen in October, you'll be an adult, nobody's going to tell you what you can and cannot do then. Might as well learn now."

She was letting me, go, yes, but it was almost as if she was letting me because she didn't want to hear me complain over it. Irene reminded me of a parent who let her child get what they want just so they didn't have to hear the child whine. I felt nearly guilty as to why she let me go on tonight's date, but I wasn't about to say anything that would change her mind.

"Thank you," I said, smiling sweetly.

The few hours between the meeting with Adam and the date seemed to drag. I found myself looking at the television, not paying attention to what was actually on, and looking over at the clock every few minutes. I began to feel more and more impatient for 9:00 to roll around. At 7:30, I finally allowed myself to get ready. That seemed to be too much time, even for me, but I was grasping at whatever I could to keep myself occupied until 9:00.

Leaving Irene on our bed, I went to the bathroom to begin to heat up her curling iron. After I plugged it into the wall, I turned around to see my sister right behind her.

"Get dressed," Irene said. "Let me do your hair."

I was a bit surprised. I thought that Irene was so against me going out tonight to see Adam.

"Why?" I asked dumbly.

"Because I realized that it was wrong to react the way I did," she said formally. "And for calling you an immature, little child. Even if you are," she said teasingly.

I grinned. "Apology accepted, big sis."

"But you," she said, her voice light, grabbing me by the shoulders. I looked level at her. We were nearly the same height and looked nearly identical – she was me, three years aged. "If you had waited even one day longer to go on a date with him, I wouldn't have had to call you what you are!"

I laughed. I didn't bother telling her that she may, somewhere in our argument this afternoon, that she may have had a point.

"Just help me look nice," I teased.

I knew that we were over our fight when she still agreed to help me. After putting on my v-neck, red, empire waist dress, Irene helped me curl my hair, using her fingers as a comb to loosen the curls. Afterwards, she applied a smoky eye, that being the only bold makeup on me. She thought the dress, along with the dramatic eyes, were the only thing that I needed for the evening.

After Irene did my hair and make-up, I examined myself in the mirror. My sister did, as well, and smiled, most likely out of satisfaction.

"You look good, little sis," she smiled, a trace of playfulness in her voice.

I smiled. "Thank you."

Irene didn't stay sentimental for long. She quickly moved on to a different subject.

"Your clutch," she reminded me. "You need to prepare it. You only have ten minutes left."

Peeking out from the bathroom, I saw that the digital clock on the nightstand read 8:50. How had eighty minutes gone by like it was ten?

Opening my suitcase, I scrounged in it for my small, red clutch. After searching through the sea of clothes, I found it at the bottom of my suitcase.

"Lipstick and foundation," Irene said from the bathroom. I turned around just in time to catch the silver tube and blue compact towards me.

I tucked my brown hair behind my ears. What else did I need?

Cell phone, I thought. Passport and driver's license.

I put my cell phone that was on my nightstand in my clutch, along with my passport and driver's license that was in my carry-on. It felt like I was missing something.

I caught a glimpse of my bare feet while I looked for the missing item, whatever it may be, to bring with me.

That's when I realized: I was missing shoes.

I tore through my suitcase in an effort to find the red high heels I brought with. A few moments later, I found them. I sat on the bed and quickly put them on and stood up: clutch, shoes, and dress.

My sister inspected me from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. I knew I looked stressed, she didn't have to say anything.

"Be back by 8:00 tomorrow morning," Irene teased. "Mom and Dad want us to go to the Bob Marley Museum with them."

I groaned inwardly. I would love spend the morning many other ways than at the Bob Marley Museum.

"Will do," I said to her, heading for the door.

"If you're hungover tomorrow morning, I'll say that it's the flu," she said.

"You're an angel," I said, half-seriously, half-sarcastically.

Irene smirked. "Just go, Christine."

I followed her order, taking one last look at her as I shut the door behind me. I walked the short distance to the elevator, then rode down to the lobby by myself. I felt oddly self-conscious as I looked around at the tourists in shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. I was in a dress that fell slightly above my knees and wearing heels. Thanks to Irene, though, I looked decent.

I walked out from the cool, air-conditioned lobby into the sticky night air of Kingston. My heels click-clacked against the pavement. Across the street, I could see Adam. Looking both ways, I ran (as fast as heels could safely take me) across the street and met him.

He smiled widely. I knew that Irene had been wrong. Adam was a perfectly safe person.

"Hey!" I said.

"Hey!" Adam embraced me warmly, something I wasn't expecting. I hugged him back.

I noticed that, with heels on, he was about three inches taller than me. It was hard to tell how tall he was when he was working.

He laced his hand through mine. We began walking down the street. There was an awkward silence, the same one that two strangers always shared.

"How are you?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Good," he said. "You?"

"Good," I said.

Another stretch of silence as we walked down the street together, hand-in-hand.

Eventually, we began to talk. He talked about his work and life, and asked me about mine. I found out that he lived a block or so away from the night club, and that he walked to work everyday. He loved it, especially on the sunny days.

Our walk to the night club was just a few blocks from the hotel. I was surprised to see that it was a semi secluded area. The traffic had slowed down, and trees were more abundant than back at the hotel.

"This is it," Adam said.

The night club was walk-in, free of charge, it seemed. The walls were a bright yellow color, and the pillars holding up the roof were green, red, and yellow. There was a bar in the back of the small night club. A band was in the corner of the bar: there was one with a shaker, one with a set of bongos, and two with some other instruments that weren't familiar to me. My pulse instantly started racing in excitement. This was going to be an evening to remember.

Through the semi-crowded night club, Adam and I made our way to the bar. He lead the way, me holding his hand. We sat down at the bar. A bartender instantly came up to serve Adam.

"Hey, Adam!" the bartender said. "Good ta see you, man!"

God, do all the bartenders in this city know each other? I wondered.

"Hey!" Adam greeted.

"Wid a girl, no less," the bartender said playfully.

"Ah, yes," Adam dismissed. I was thankful for his dismissal. I didn't want to spend the night talking to a bartender – not the one that worked at this night club, at least.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked.

Adam's dark eyes met mine before saying, "Two shots."

The bartender filled two shot glasses with what I guessed was vodka. He handed one to me and one to Adam.

We clinked our small glasses together, then took the shot. It burned my throat and lungs as I swallowed and made my eyes water. This was strong vodka -- I already knew that I would be having, at the very least, a headache tomorrow morning.

"Good," I said, trying to sound like I could take more than two more shots of this.

"Want ta dance?" Adam asked me. The band started playing an upbeat song, the bongos at a steady, rapid tempo.

"Yeah!" I said over the music.

Adam and I stood up and found a space for two people, which, we were discovering, was more difficult than it seemed.

The longer the night went, the more blurry it became. After a song or two, we would go back to the bar, have a shot, and go dance. I didn't remember much past the third shot. I couldn't say how many shots I had, or how long we were even in the night club. I just remember dancing and the rapid, gradually distorted beat of the bongo drums.

Quite a while, I was sure, had passed when Adam said into my ear, "Want to go on a boat?"

In my drunken stupor, a boat sounded wonderful.

"Yeah!" I said.

I had to hold on extra tight to Adam's hand. Everything seemed to be spinning. Things seemed farther away then they really were. I pushed on, ignoring my internal questions as to whether it would be good to be in the water right now.

"Who's boat is it?" I asked, slurring my words when I saw a red boat on the back of the night club.

"Robert's," Adam explained. "I'm sure dat he won't mind, dough."

I shrugged and started to walk down the shore, but stumbled instead. I caught myself, starting to feel nausea settling in the pit of my stomach. I knew tomorrow morning would not be pleasant.

Adam dragged the boat to the shore. I could see more clearly that it was a rowboat, once I was in it and we were on the water.

"How are you likin' da evening so far, Christine?" Adam asked, once we were fairly far away from shore.

"I am loving it," I enunciated. "It's amazing. It's so much better than doin'... well, I dunno, nothing in a hotel room!"

I was drunk. I was fully aware of it. I just couldn't stop talking. It was physically impossible for me to stop talking when I was drunk.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" I asked.

"What?" Adam asked.

I stood up. "I've always wanted to dance in a boat."

He chuckled.

Was he mocking me?

"No!" I said, standing up. "I'm serious. I think it'd be fun!"

"Not in a boat like this," he warned. "Christine, I think you should sit down."

"Oh, c'mon, Adam! Lighten up!" I began to sway from side to side with my eyes closed, unaware that I was rocking the rowboat.

"Christine!" he said, his tone hard. "Sit. Down!"

Adam sounded angry. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't dance on the boat.

I sat down, but it wasn't steel that I sat down on, like before. It was water.

I was surrounded by it.

It started filling my lungs. I made the mistake of breathing in the water. That resulted in coughing and wasting air that should have stayed in me.

I had no idea what way was up. When I opened my eyes, everything looked dark. Right was no different from left, and up was no different than down. Everything was dark.

Suddenly, everything was black.

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