Jack Merridew stumbled off the boat. He didn't travel well, and must have vomited at least five times on that ship. Which didn't really help his health much, considering how little he'd eaten over the past few months.
He could see the town behind the dock, and it looked strange to him. Maybe he should just get back on the ship and demand that they take him right back to that island, because he was clearly meant for greater things than this.
Without warning, a pair of arms wrapped around Jack. He pushed out and freed himself, ready for attack. But who would be trying to kill him here, in a public place?
It was some woman with a man right next to her. The woman was thin and pale, wearing a lot of jewelry, and the man was tall with thinning hair. Oh. His parents.
"Oh, honey, thank God you're all right," his mother said, apparently not noticing the way he was gaping like a dumb baby. "We were worried sick about you!"
His dad glowered. "You are going to be the death of her, boy. Didn't we tell you not to join the choir? Didn't we tell you not to go on that trip?" He grabbed one of Jack's arms and shook him.
The chief reflexively pulled away and slapped the hand. He heard a high gasp, but paid it no attention. How did the man dare? Had he no respect? Didn't he know who Jack was?
"Don't bloody slap me, boy!" Mr. Merridew roared. A few people turned to look. Jack could see Ralph, standing a few feet away with his crying parents, giving him a look of disgust. Yes, that -is- where I get it from, Pretty Boy, Jack thought, answering Ralph's inevitable question.
Standing next to Ralph was Simon, looking at Jack with pity. Simon and Jack's families were friends, and the raven-haired boy knew what a bastard Mr. Merridew could be. As he watched, though, Simon's facial expression turned into a cruel sneer that forced Jack to turn away.
Wait. Simon was dead, wasn't he? Jack could have sworn that Simon was dead. He hadn't been on the ship, at any rate. Jack looked back up, and Simon was gone. Excellent, he was hallucinating now.
"Leave him alone, honey," Mrs. Merridew told her husband. "He's probably still shocked from being on that awful island." She shuddered. "Look, there's Mrs. Costing, the poor woman. She already lost her husband; this must be killing her now. Let's go speak to her."
Jack wasn't listening, and was surprised when he found himself standing in front of Simon's mother. Where was Simon? Dead, right.
"Jack?" Simon's mother looked bad; really bad. Her eyes were all red, and there was make-up running down her cheeks. She was crying. He wondered what had happened that had made her cry. Maybe she'd cut herself, the big baby.
Oh. Had she said something? He looked up into her bloodshot eyes. "What?" the chief demanded.
His father gave a disgusted grunt, but no one paid attention. "Could you..." Simon's mother started before dissolving into a heap of sobs, "I'm sorry. Jack, I...were you there when...do you know how my--how Simon died?"
When Simon died? When had Simon died, and what did it matter? So Simon was dead--nothing Jack could tell her would bring him back. "Tell her the truth, Jack," whispered a mocking voice in his ear. Jack looked wildly around for the source. Simon. Simon, standing right next to him, the same dangerous-looking sneer on his face. "Tell her that you're a murderer. Won't that be fun?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack whispered harshly, but truthfully. He wasn't a murderer. And he certainly hadn't killed Simon.
The adults gave him confused looks, but his gaze was focused on Simon's ghost.
Wait. There were no such things as ghosts. Just like there was no beast, right? But they'd killed the Beast--he was sure of it. Not positive--maybe they hadn't. The last few days had been blurry.
"If there are no such things as ghosts," Simon challenged, "then what am I doing here?"
Not only did the ghost speak, but it read minds. Perfect. Jack shook himself vehemently, trying to make the image of his old friend disappear. He looked back, and saw only the backs of strangers.
"Jack?" Mrs. Costing's voice sounded uncertain. He suddenly remembered her question. How had Simon died? How was he supposed to know--he hadn't killed him. He would have remembered.
"I -- I don't know," he managed to stammer. Then he turned away, ashamed.
"Jackson Merridew!" his father scolded loudly. Excellent, because he hadn't been horribly embarrassed in public enough today. "Where is your respect? I have never seen such a rude boy in my life! They didn't teach you manners on that island, I see."
"Sod off," Jack muttered just softly enough for his father not to hear him. When they got home, things were going to change around there. Jack was the chief of a powerful tribe--no longer would he take abuse from that...that imbecile.
"Can't you wait until we get home?" Mrs. Merridew demanded of her husband She said something to Simon's mother that Jack didn't hear, and then turned back to her husband and son. "I mean, God, he's been on a deserted island for two months." Jack's father lowered his head in shame, and Jack saw his mother smile. "Come on. Let's go."
[TBC.]
He could see the town behind the dock, and it looked strange to him. Maybe he should just get back on the ship and demand that they take him right back to that island, because he was clearly meant for greater things than this.
Without warning, a pair of arms wrapped around Jack. He pushed out and freed himself, ready for attack. But who would be trying to kill him here, in a public place?
It was some woman with a man right next to her. The woman was thin and pale, wearing a lot of jewelry, and the man was tall with thinning hair. Oh. His parents.
"Oh, honey, thank God you're all right," his mother said, apparently not noticing the way he was gaping like a dumb baby. "We were worried sick about you!"
His dad glowered. "You are going to be the death of her, boy. Didn't we tell you not to join the choir? Didn't we tell you not to go on that trip?" He grabbed one of Jack's arms and shook him.
The chief reflexively pulled away and slapped the hand. He heard a high gasp, but paid it no attention. How did the man dare? Had he no respect? Didn't he know who Jack was?
"Don't bloody slap me, boy!" Mr. Merridew roared. A few people turned to look. Jack could see Ralph, standing a few feet away with his crying parents, giving him a look of disgust. Yes, that -is- where I get it from, Pretty Boy, Jack thought, answering Ralph's inevitable question.
Standing next to Ralph was Simon, looking at Jack with pity. Simon and Jack's families were friends, and the raven-haired boy knew what a bastard Mr. Merridew could be. As he watched, though, Simon's facial expression turned into a cruel sneer that forced Jack to turn away.
Wait. Simon was dead, wasn't he? Jack could have sworn that Simon was dead. He hadn't been on the ship, at any rate. Jack looked back up, and Simon was gone. Excellent, he was hallucinating now.
"Leave him alone, honey," Mrs. Merridew told her husband. "He's probably still shocked from being on that awful island." She shuddered. "Look, there's Mrs. Costing, the poor woman. She already lost her husband; this must be killing her now. Let's go speak to her."
Jack wasn't listening, and was surprised when he found himself standing in front of Simon's mother. Where was Simon? Dead, right.
"Jack?" Simon's mother looked bad; really bad. Her eyes were all red, and there was make-up running down her cheeks. She was crying. He wondered what had happened that had made her cry. Maybe she'd cut herself, the big baby.
Oh. Had she said something? He looked up into her bloodshot eyes. "What?" the chief demanded.
His father gave a disgusted grunt, but no one paid attention. "Could you..." Simon's mother started before dissolving into a heap of sobs, "I'm sorry. Jack, I...were you there when...do you know how my--how Simon died?"
When Simon died? When had Simon died, and what did it matter? So Simon was dead--nothing Jack could tell her would bring him back. "Tell her the truth, Jack," whispered a mocking voice in his ear. Jack looked wildly around for the source. Simon. Simon, standing right next to him, the same dangerous-looking sneer on his face. "Tell her that you're a murderer. Won't that be fun?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack whispered harshly, but truthfully. He wasn't a murderer. And he certainly hadn't killed Simon.
The adults gave him confused looks, but his gaze was focused on Simon's ghost.
Wait. There were no such things as ghosts. Just like there was no beast, right? But they'd killed the Beast--he was sure of it. Not positive--maybe they hadn't. The last few days had been blurry.
"If there are no such things as ghosts," Simon challenged, "then what am I doing here?"
Not only did the ghost speak, but it read minds. Perfect. Jack shook himself vehemently, trying to make the image of his old friend disappear. He looked back, and saw only the backs of strangers.
"Jack?" Mrs. Costing's voice sounded uncertain. He suddenly remembered her question. How had Simon died? How was he supposed to know--he hadn't killed him. He would have remembered.
"I -- I don't know," he managed to stammer. Then he turned away, ashamed.
"Jackson Merridew!" his father scolded loudly. Excellent, because he hadn't been horribly embarrassed in public enough today. "Where is your respect? I have never seen such a rude boy in my life! They didn't teach you manners on that island, I see."
"Sod off," Jack muttered just softly enough for his father not to hear him. When they got home, things were going to change around there. Jack was the chief of a powerful tribe--no longer would he take abuse from that...that imbecile.
"Can't you wait until we get home?" Mrs. Merridew demanded of her husband She said something to Simon's mother that Jack didn't hear, and then turned back to her husband and son. "I mean, God, he's been on a deserted island for two months." Jack's father lowered his head in shame, and Jack saw his mother smile. "Come on. Let's go."
[TBC.]