- Chapter Eleven -

Existential Sea Shanty

Indigo speckles cut with powdered periwinkle splotches over a field of morning blue, the heiress managed to slit her eyes open. Managing was a strong term for the action, considering that a semblance of consciousness had been roused only when the world made itself known through the dim void she had found herself in. Polychromatic blur jumping to and fro as the vessel that no longer obeyed her commands was jarred, it occurred to the teen that she needed to get up. It was imperative in fact that she rise. But it was so peaceful when and where she was.

I am nothing.

Sight fading away faster than it came as the darkness returned to swallow her whole, the girl had one last fleeting thought, and that was that someone was holding tight to her body. Naturally her first impression had concluded that it was merely her mother in the butterscotch interior, yet that wasn't right. Concerned for future injury but not to the point that it could be called smothering, there was something about the hand wrapped around her shoulder that conveyed comfort and care. After dismissing the girl back in Sam's hotel room and confessing that an archaic business transaction was on the table, she doubted that Mama would be so inclined.

Nitpicking something so simple for no real reason at all, the angle she thought she was sitting at was all wrong for how Mama would embrace her child. Those kinds of tender moments rare for the pair, when they did actually happen Mama always held her tight to her heart. Unable to be quite sure which way was up and which was down (or if the two directions even really existed), from what the teen could gather she was laying flat, lower down to the vertical plane and using the leg of whoever was holding her as a pillow. Everything was slightly damp from being in the rain, yet the scent of detergent radiating from the pants was quite pleasant.

I have nothing.

Attempting to glance up at the face of her generous anchor, all she had made out before succumbing to the black embrace was a silhouette. The shape of the nose in particular stood out. Hopefully the next time she could open her eyes - or better yet willingly control her own body - she would remember the identity of her hero. It was what they deserved for their trouble, but as her mother had taught her, one rarely got they deserved in the world. Just look at her father.

"Sam, I thought that we agreed: no more hookers." Accent exotic and not quite placeable at the drop of a hat, the silken voice that drifted through the ethereal veil was accompanied in short order by a throaty chuckle and a drink being taken from a glass bottle. Too much glass. "In the safe house." Shifting around as if the source was moving, the same voice spoke again after a startled pause. "Well that's not your usual set, is it?"

Again with the hooker! The heiress was perhaps the furtherest thing you could get from a lady of the night, yet that hadn't done a damn thing to keep the people she was interacting with from leaping to that conclusion based solely on her association with the grizzled stranger. Brought up to have higher standards, if all the guidelines she'd ever been fed ceased to matter it wouldn't change how wrong it would have been for her to take money for companionship. Refusing to give money just for someone to pretend, there was just no way that she possessed the grit it would take to reverse the role. Although sometimes it was so lonely locked behind her ivory tower that she had to question just how proper she would be under the right circumstances...

Add in sex and the potential for a deeper emotional bond... No. Even for a span of ten plus (less?) minutes, the heiress just didn't have what it took to make another person happy. Not in that regard, nor in any other sense of the word. A common prostitute could do that much, and all she could do was cry or faint or just be the damsel masquerading as the piggy bank.

I contribute nothing.

Her eyes rolled underneath her sockets, and a soft whimper escaped from between cracked lips. Roaming shadows that flickered and glitched stood overhead like shrunken colossuses, discussing things in hushed whispers. She couldn't figure out who they were or what they wanted, only that they were waiting for something. Drifting in place over her own body like a soul caught in limbo, the teen attempted to break the silence between the two cosmic entities, however none of them had noticed the gesture. It was important that they made contact. Screaming out the only thing to come to mind, she could have cried when no one so much as glanced in her direction.

Once something had almost happened.

"Sleeping Beauty still hasn't woken up yet." For as much as the young woman watched her jailers, she had no clue if that was some kind of a code. Perhaps they were referring to herself? That seemed too much to hope for.

All the same, that remark had sounded normal enough. So did the accompanying eye-roll that followed the criminally sorry rebuttal that mixed-up two of the most classic fairy tales. It was painful for her too, but unlike the ghosts that remained out of touch, she couldn't express that. "Well maybe if we could get six of her little friends together, they could help wake her up?" It might have been that they had already exhausted all of their options, but there was just no taking it seriously when the second watcher said that like it was the answer.

Despite not having any clue what the giants gathered around her looked like, Daniella could imagine the look on other statue's face when he corrected his peer, "That's Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."

The unfamiliar voice came back again to weigh in after the second speaker was given a lesson on classic lore. Or maybe there had always been three, and the third was just beyond adding to a nonsensical debate in the first place. "I think you're both missing the real point. Those stories both had a similar fix, didn't they?"

If there had been a pause, it wasn't a very long one. "I'm not kissing anyone without their consent. If her lawyers didn't chew me up and spit me out, her mother would." The second snorted at the concept for fearing a mortal, but the look on the face of the first colossus was enough to quell any further mirth.

"Who here said that you were the charming hero in this story?" The third laughed as if it had found more humor there than what was inherently obvious. The teen was just as lost and oblivious as the first two were by the comment and subsequent chuckle, but again she was powerless to convey as much, so it was all moot.

"I'd watch that."

Clearly lifting brows that might not have even existed, it was the third immortal's turn to cringe at the tactfulness of the second. "Yes, I'm sure that you would."

After that, there wasn't anything for a long time.

Days, hours, weeks, or even moments. The heiress couldn't say with conviction how long she had been gone, only that the next time she had opened her eyes it was to find herself more alert and able to get an actual glimpse of her surroundings. Pit-pat, pit-pat, rain tapped against a nearby window and added to the chorus of a consistent leak someplace out of the way. Blinking to steady her line of sight, Daniella noted that the place was a dump; extra doors and windows boarded up and a makeshift medical bay erected between a line of shelves, the newest thing in the vicinity seemed to be the sink on the opposite wall. Dirty mirror too high to make out anything clearly from her angle, the only thing reflected back was the open storage. Most of the tiered cases were housing mismatched lights that illuminated the area in a wash of bright light, but there were other things on them as well, from knickknacks to vases and antique clocks. It reminded her of every seedy hideout she'd ever read about.

Wild imagination of an avid reader taking over, the teen knew from every drama/thriller ever that it would be in her best interests to examine her last few recollections to disprove that she was the prisoner of some trafficker. Opposed to closing her eyes due to how long she'd been under as well as because of what she had read about what happened to the victims in those kinds of situations, the girl steeled herself as best she could.

So cold. Skin crawling with the ghost of a shiver, the young woman remembered the pool, the boys surrounding her, the bottle being smashed against her skull. They wanted to hurt her, and there was so much pain as the liquid burst free of its container and splashed into her eyes. If she hadn't fallen into the water... Blinking her eyes once more to wash away a dull burn that she hadn't noticed prior, she realized that her vision was still coming in hazy. Trying (and failing) to keep her head and not let her mind get the better of her, she cried out in terror.

Am I blind?! Gripped by a rush of anxiety that was bubbling rapidly and escalating to unreasonable levels that left her innards in knots, the heiress practically jumped out of her skin when someone snored in response to her outburst. Asleep in an old armchair that had recently been moved to stand guard over the patient, a lank figure was posted sentry. Title impossibly tiny to make out on the spine, an old book was folded across his lap and from the looks of things about to collapse to the floor.

Mr. Drake? What was he doing there?

Hands positioned palm-up at her side and left free to roam about, Daniella twisted around to be sure that no part of her was being restrained. Once she discovered that there was nothing external to hold her back, her first move was to check to see if she was still clothed. Eyes confirming the slate sleeves as well as the dried blood staining the fabric up to the natural elbow, when her fingers fumbled their way across the expanse of her stomach she took a deep breath. For once she was glad for the shirt, only she had to wonder what had happened to her arm. It felt fine, but she didn't recall seeing any blood on the material before all of this mess. Then again, so much was going on at once that she had probably missed a great deal.

Questioning what all she had missed and what her next course of action should have been, the teen was slowly coming to the realization that she must have been saved by Mr. Drake. The most logical explanation was that he had found her and had taken her somewhere to tend to her head, but where exactly were they and who all was around? This obviously wasn't a hospital, at least not a real one that was up to code, but since she was supposed to be keeping a low profile that made sense. The young woman could have gone on to ponder how many people were privy to who she was and the situation she had found herself in, however what she really wanted to know was if Mama was there for her.

Was it really so selfish to hope that she was?

Discovering that she had been put on the table as some kind of bargaining chip disgusted her enough to want to cut all ties, but right now she just wanted her mom. They didn't need to like each other at the moment, the disappointment they both felt for the other could be dealt with any old time (assuming of course that at some point they could resume their normal lives), she just needed... What did she need? To hear that her mother still loved her? Comfort from the one continual presence in her life? Or was it simpler than that? Did she just need acknowledgment from any source at this point?

Mixed up to say the least, Daniella looked beyond Sam to the doorway. Visualizing in her mind what it would mean to strike out on her own without any kind of support whatsoever, running again was an option. Change her name and make a new life for herself. Hard as it would have been, it could have been a road to what she had always wanted. Although knowing her luck she would either end up dead in a day or forced to return to the only life she knew. Without anyone, that path meant defeat.

Off-putting as the notion was, maybe she could just end this drama now by surrendering herself over to her grandfather. That course of action would be doing the right thing by at least one person, and that way she wouldn't be putting Mr. Drake at risk. Who knew, perhaps it wouldn't even have been that terrible of an experience if she cooperated. Mama marrying men that she didn't even like suddenly made a whole lot of sense, but in their own way she supposed that her stepfathers hadn't been so awful. One of them was even pretty cool.

Without Shen, she wouldn't be the person she was now. Humble and so very patient, he had shown her to be grateful for what she had, that there were so many less fortunate than herself. In truth he had been the best thing in her life, and how had she repaid him? By reminding him at every turn that he was not her father. What a temperamental, spiteful little creature she had been.

"If you could be anything in the whole world, what would you want to be?"

Wishing that he could have been there now to ask her the same question he had asked almost every day growing up, there was practically nothing she wouldn't have given to see Shen again. Back then her answer had always been the same, that she wanted to either be a pirate or an adventurer. Her father had been on an adventure looking for real pirates, and at the time she'd somehow gotten it into her mind that she could somehow find him. Now that she was quote unquote "wiser", she wouldn't have known what to say.

What did Daniella want to be? A quitter that just ran when the going got a little tough? A spineless coward that buckled at the slightest pressure? A mute little doll that could be manipulated from the shadows?

Or did she want to be someone to be proud of, a fighter that stuck the course to the bitter end? Perhaps it wasn't the standard definition of the word, but so what?! Reminded of the little girl she had once been, of the amazing influence in her life that had been snuffed too soon, of the father she couldn't remember, she had her answer. The young woman wanted to rebel against the yoke of others, to defy the expectations that her own family (among others) were attempting to place on her.

Daniella wanted to be a pirate.

Sitting up a trial in its own right, the world wavered dangerously in both color and shape as she attempted to get upright. Throbbing every time she thought about the injury, even when the teen wasn't focused on her present condition her head ached in a white-hot scream. The smallest and most insignificant of motions made her feel like she wanted to be sick, however enough time had been wasted already. She had spent more than enough time crying, years alone spent twiddling her thumbs under her ass as she sat idle, and it was too frighting a prospect to consider how much of her life had gone by in some state of fear or other. Forget that noise, now it was time to take control of her life! Unable to look back on what had happened at the pool after the bottle had collided with her cranium, forget about directly after, she was positive that she was still alive for a reason.

But where to begin? Drunk off her own bullshit and still faintly woozy, getting up seemed like as good a place to start as any. Although truth be, she still had no idea what she would do next. Waking Mr. Drake up on purpose would be plain rude. Possibly she could muster the strength to locate her mother, but the desire to be in that woman's presence was quickly evaporating. Sure, even a simple hug would have meant the world to the girl, but all the same face time with the other female wasn't something she was particularly looking forward to. Given that she had taken it upon herself to step away from the situation, there still might be merit in finishing that discussion. Also, letting her know that she was up was probably the kindest move.

Eh...

Nothing concrete at the moment, the heiress paused to reconsider. Screw her mother. Petty as it was, Daniella couldn't be sure that she could stomach speaking to the other, not peacefully at any rate. Figuring that by this point he was sufficiently caught up to speed on the web the black widow had spun, if there was something she needed to know, she could just ask Mr. Drake. Not delirious enough to believe that anyone other than her mother would have all the answers, the stranger was still obviously more in the know than the teen was.

Standing on her own two feet and taking a shaky step forward, the heiress stuck her tongue out at the door as if it were her mother. Worse occurred to her mind, however she didn't want to confuse her intention with Mr. Drake's proximity to the imaginary antagonist. Oh, what the hell. Daniella threw caution to the wind and flipped the sign-less exit the bird for prosperity's sake.

Childish rage somewhat subdued, the heiress took a lumbering step forward just to get her legs back. Taking another and then another until she had progressed all the way across the large (yet somehow overly stuffed) space on her own, she allowed herself a minute to pat herself on the back. It was a small feat and felt like it had taken hours, but it was a promising start. She'd already pushed herself too far just making it across the room, and her head was absolutely spinning. Also, there was no mistaking that she was winding down from all the fire she had felt upon waking up.

Feet permitting nothing more than a shuffling pace that made her sympathize for the depictions of the undead, by the time that she had made it back to the crude wooden operating table she had been left on, the girl gave her surroundings a better look. Now that she had calmed down somewhat, the teen found that her vision had recovered considerably - still not perfect, it wasn't like she ever bragged about her sight before.

Mr. Drake was resting in a chair that had clearly been moved, the drag marks visible through the grime and dust from her vantage point. If that hadn't given it away, there was also the fact of just how out of place the arrangement was. Weather still at it and pounding rain at the battered shelter, the pearly coverage made it impossible to guess the time of day. Crashing overhead at irregular intervals, the thunder and lightening was doing nothing to help the conundrum. Startled by a nasty loud crackle, the heiress had noticed a basin had been set on one of the higher shelves nearest to the bench she had woken up on, and several metal instruments were left in a clear liquid (her presumption being some kind of sanitizer). Lacking a proper trash receptacle from what it seemed, there were piles of bloodied rags and used bandages left next to where her head had been. Minus the needles, the conditions reminded her of the charity work Shen had done with the homeless.

Reaching up to touch the side of her face when the afflicted flesh prickled with an unprompted roar for no apparent reason, she felt layer upon layer of thick cotton gauze. Reflecting once more on the poolside accident and the weapon of choice, there was a flash of something that happened after she had been extracted from the crushing depths. It might have just been a dream for how brief it all was, but there had been a light... Pale, either yellowish or blue, shining all around like a halo... It sounded crazy, but she recalled touching the ethereal being in vivid detail, despite the contact only lasting for a moment.

It only could have been Sam. For all her bad luck lately, so far he'd been good for her.

"For now," she whispered to herself, knowing that at some point he'd probably prove himself to be just like everyone else. It would be great to find an exception that wasn't only out for themselves, but with each passing day it was getting harder and hard to have faith in humanity.