Chapter Three

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused and tired.

"I mean, we're not alone! There's someone in here! Watching us, waiting for us to fall asleep before they can murder us!"

Jim just shook his head, smiling.

"Man, you've lost it. There's no one in here but us. You'll be fine. Now go back to sleep." He said, lying back down and rolling onto his side away from me.

How come he didn't hear anything? Was he deaf or something? WHY am I the ONLY one who HEARS things?

TEN MINUTES LATER…

Ugh. Now I have to get his attention again. I've been up the past ten minutes, and I still hear creaking noises.

But now I still sit up, and instead of looking around every two seconds paranoid, I sat frozen.

I heard it clearer now.

Breathing.

Slow, deep, heavy breathing.

And it wasn't Jim.

Without taking my eyes off the closet, I felt around for Jim's arm, and when I found it, I slapped it hard.

"JEEZ, WOMAN! WHAT IS IT NOW?" He said hoarsely, giving me his meanest 'Death-Stare'.

"Shhh! LISTEN!" I whispered harshly.

We sat silently for about two minutes.

I couldn't hear the breathing anymore.

Aww, crap! It probably stopped because the person heard me wake up Jim for the (at least) fifth time tonight.

Jim's going to kill me.

And I mean it. He will.

He let out an annoyed sigh.

"I don't hear anything."

"Please, Jim, just listen! They have to breathe sometime!"

He covered his face with one hand, shaking his head.

"Honestly, I don't know why you're so paranoid. It's nothing. Now go to sleep."

"No, Jim, JUST LISTEN!" I nearly was shouting.

"SHHH! Do you want to wake up my mom? Jeez,"

He sounded aggravated, which made me feel ashamed for being so paranoid.

"Jim…?"

"What?"

"Sorry for annoying you and making you mad every time I wake you up. It's just that I can't help but get this feeling that someone's going to sneak in during the day when no one is looking and then go ahead and kill the innocent at night…" I spoke softly, still ashamed for making Jim so upset and angry.

"It's fine…Sometimes I get paranoid too, thinking that whenever I see a ship, that some gang of pirates are going to jump out and kidnap me or something. Trust me; I've had a pretty rough experience with pirates…" Jim explained before becoming silent.

After a long silence, I spoke.

"I'm sorry, Jim…"

"Nah, it's okay…"

"No, really, Jim I—" I was cut off when I heard a loud creeeaaakkk.

My eyes went from Jim's to the closet immediately.

I scooted closer to Jim, who was frozen. I'm guessing he finally heard what I have been talking about almost all night.

There was another creeeaaakkk, but this time it was louder than the last. Suddenly, all the noises I heard became louder: the creaking sounds, me and Jim's hesitant breathing patterns, and my heart thumping in my chest.

The door to the closet opened ever so slowly, revealing something that glistened like a diamond underneath the moonlight that came streaming through the curtains, even if the glisten was somewhat dull and not very bright.

It was a revolver.

I wanted to scream, but I knew I'd be shot if I did.

Jim just gawked at the weapon, and then his eyes moved upward to see an older man, around his mid-twenties, step out from the closet, dressed in a set black: a short-sleeved shirt, army-like baggy pants, and heavy-duty boots with barely-noticeable dead-grass tan linings. The man had a goatee. And his boots were almost like Jim's, but bigger and with a different liner color.

"Shhh," the man whispered, putting a finger over his mouth, "And no one gets hurt…"

Next out of the closet was a more plump man who looked to be around his earlier-twenties. He wore a loose red tank top (which did him no justice), a pair of the same pants as the older man (only white), and red-and-white liner boots.

The plump man gave me a huge, sick and twisted sneer, and I just scooted closer to Jim, nearly having him over the edge of the bed.

"Come here, children," murmured the older man, "Quickly, and quietly. No one will get shot as long as that little rule is followed."

Jim took a hold of my hand, and we got off the bed, making our way slowly across the room over to the two creeper-men.

"Good," the man with the goatee cooed, "Now, come."

He nodded his head at the portly man and the fat creeper-guy walked behind us and grabbed Jim's right shoulder fiercely as well as my left one, shoving us to the window.

"Now," the fat one said, "you two get on the Captain's ship, and you two ah gonna be quiet lil' mousies." His voice was high-pitched and really annoying, and not to mention nasally.

Jim and I made our way carefully and quickly out the window, grasped the dangling rope close to the window that hung over the side of the ship, and made our way on board.

Once we had stepped on board, there was no way off.

LATER THAT MORNING, AROUND 7:53AM…

This is a LOAD of crap, being put below deck, locked up in the cook's quarters, and my right hand being handcuffed to Jim's left one.

I let my head go down and it banged against the hard, wooden table we were sitting at.

"Hey, don't hurt yourself there," Jim cautioned, "or else you're gonna regret it."

I mumbled in reply, "I regret it already."

"Regret what?"

"Begging you to take me home just to escape my house of death and my psycho-path dad." I sighed. "I should've just never been out on the balcony for you to see me…"

Jim put his non-handcuffed hand on my shoulder, then said, "You don't mean that,"

My head shot up from the table and turned to face him.

"Don't you get it? I messed up! I should've just stayed locked up in my room where I belong! I don't deserve my so-called 'freedom' that I have now! I don't deserve anything! I don't—" I broke down again, bursting into tears, leaning my head into Jim's chest, sobbing uncontrollably until my lungs were about to give out.

Jim released his hand from my shoulder, sighing softly.

"Look," he murmured, "We're going to get out of this mess, I promise you…All we need is a plan…"

Jim looked around the cook's quarters and grinned.

I wonder what he had in mind, because I've never seen that look on his face before.

"Hey, I think I've got something…"

Jim motioned for me to follow him, so I did, and he led me quietly over to a drawer.

He opened it, and there, in that drawer, lie the knives, large and small, fat and thin.

Jim picked up the smallest one he could find, twirling it carefully and slowly in his hand. Then he spoke,

"We're gonna get out of here, I promised,"

He grinned that same, crazed grin that he had on his face when he had told me he had something in mind.

I swallowed hard, hoping he didn't plan on hurting me.

"Now look," he whispered to me, "I'm gonna get a deep, red sauce, and then I want you to make it look like you're splattered with blood, then—"

"Jim!" I cut him off. "I can't do that, I can't just be something I'm not! I'm not good at playing dead! I'm useless to you now! I'm telling you, I can't play dead!"

He sighed, and put the knife back, looking disappointed.

His head shot right back up after two seconds of having it hung low.

"Wait a minute…"

He looked at the door, then at the smallest knife once more.

"New plan…" Jim smiled as if he'd lost his mind.