Finding Grace

By: BelieveInFaeries

Prologue: Empty

The sun's rays were finally beginning to peak over the horizon, through the streets and buildings and the only noises that could be heard were the faint sounds of the few people staggering their way into the boarding rooms and barmaids and owner's closing and locking their doors. The street itself was littered with bottles, barrels, and other random things that had fallen, been thrown, kicked or rolled to their current position. They had gone untouched since the night before; forgotten until desired.

It was morning in Tortuga.

The air was salty and the wind seemed to sweep away much of the stench that had accumulated the previous night. As the bright rays of morning illuminated the now sleeping town, it gave the illusion that the town had been deserted. And if not for the evidence still lingering along the streets from the previous night's escapades, it would've appeared to be true.

All the patrons of Tortuga had finally passed out from their drinking stupors and the town was now silent save for the slight ocean sounds emitting from the docks. It was a good time to rest for even said docks were deserted today. No one dared set sail on Friday, bad luck. And sailor's, though daring as they were, were still superstitous and dared not tempt fate.

It was quiet though not eerily so; just enough noise to be comforting. It was perfect for sleeping, and yet, on the second story above a tavern in the inn with a weathered wooden sign reading 'Sailor's Delight' in fading gold lettering, a lone figure stood staring out the window. The figure was seemingly looking out towards the ocean, looking, but not seeing.

William Turner sighed as he looked out the dusty window. If anyone had informed him he would come back here, he would have thought them mad and laughed. A year ago last week he had made himself a promise that he wouldn't ever have to see this place again. He had said he wouldn't have to look upon the worn, unruly streets or patrons.. He wouldn't set foot on the soil that had ingested more than it's share of alcohol and God only knows what else. And worse would never have to smell the 'superfilous bouquet known as Tortuga' ever again.

And if his life had turned out the way he'd planned, he would have been able to keep that promise.

He was supposed to be with his wife. Perhaps just waking from a night of lying beside her. He had played the image in his mind for years; He would gently brush away the unruly curl that had fallen on her cheek the night before. A small smile would find his face as he watched her blissfully in slumber and he would wonder if it were he she were dreaming of. He would gently press his lips to her forehead in a silent kiss and be contented that life had finally dealt him a winning hand. He would pray and thank the Lord above that he had her.

He should have been lying with his arms around his wife, lazily tracing patterns over her skin, wonderfully content and finally happy. But instead, our dear William was looking out on an empty Tortuga at the early dawn.

Looking but not seeing, lost in a memory that never happened.