A/N – It has been weeks since I've updated anything. I have more readers for my parody than I have for "The Sweet Horizon". However, for now, I am not in the parody frame of mind.

An important person in my life was murdered a couple of weeks ago. He was a wonderful man, a mentor, and a friend. He was very influential in the community, more so than I had known until the newspaper articles and stories emerged. I just knew him as the man who built our community theater and who believed in me. He believed in the creative potential inherent in every human being, and he loved to watch people grow and succeed. It is difficult to lose someone, even more so to murder. It is hard to explain, but it is like it is not even real. I am dragging my carcass out of bed to write, because he would have rather seen me tapping (typing perhaps) into my creativity than falling into the abyss.

Dedication: To John. You have touched and changed so many lives; your boundless energy and passion for the impossible will never be forgotten; your joy in the successes of others will live on in their hearts forever. You changed my life, and I will never stop missing you.

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Chapter 4

Because I'm Alive

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Will escorted Linda to her doorstep where her roommate, Kathy, met them. Kathy gave Will an inquisitive look, and Will could only shrug. He assumed that the boy in the store had threatened Linda in some way, most likely with lewd and sexually demeaning overtones. Kathy took Linda into the house, thanking Will. Will walked down the path and headed for the bus stop.

As he walked along, he vividly recalled the stranger, Jack Sparrow, terrifying and humiliating the brute who threatened Linda. He smiled remembering the spectacle. 'Captain' Jack Sparrow. A hero, really. Will chided himself for judging the man by his odd appearance. Clearly there was more than met the eye.

Will arrived home around 7:00pm. Christopher and Todd were making preparations for a big party, which would start around 10:00pm.

Christopher shook his head and looked at the clock. "Hunny, the rush hour at the liquor store has yet to begin. Don't tell me you stuck Linda with a double shift because you are 'depressed'," he mocked sarcastically, shaking his head.

Will relayed the story of the evening's harrowing events. Todd and Christopher listened with great interest.

"Ooh, a swashbuckler. If he's available, I get first dibs," Christopher cooed. Todd shot him a dirty look. "I mean, of course, as a second option."

"My my," Todd said, contemplating, "Perhaps you ought to stay clear of the guy after all. I mean, he carries concealed weapons and threatens people – "

"Who deserve it," Christopher broke in. "At least half of those frat boys are pure filth and you know it."

"Undeniably," Todd agreed, "but this 'Captain' may not be the safest character to hang out with."

Will countered. "The boy probably threatened to rape, Linda, Todd. I've never seen her so beside herself. She's taken all kinds of less-than- flattering jibbing from the reputable clientele of 'The Hole'. Clearly, this guy was wielding more than a few crude insults."

Will sighed. "Why don't you continue with your party plans. I'm going to go to my room."

"Come on," Christopher beseeched, "join us; give your depression a rest for an evening."

Will grinned. "I have been rather tedious lately, haven't I?"

Todd and Christopher exchanged a knowing glance.

"All right, all right, I'll join you. What needs to be done?" he asked, coming forward to help.

Will endured the party and tried to have a good time. He even carried on conversations and danced a little before retiring to his bedroom. He glanced up at the wall above his bed. He had hung his mother's paintings. Seeing them hanging on his wall, as they had done so throughout his youth, both pained and comforted him.

He went to his bookshelf and retrieved a tattered copy of Treasure Island by Robert L Stevenson. He snuggled in his bed and read:

"" . . . I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the saber cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:-

'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!' ""

Will read until he fell asleep.

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The next morning, the phone ringing on the bedside table awaked Will abruptly. He reached across the bed, fumbling with his hands, and knocking the phone on to the floor. By the time he put the receiver to his ear, he was greeted with screaming. It was Mr. Brown.

"It's Sunday, Mr. Brown", Will said, hoping blindly to cover his tracks.

"I know it is Sunday, which makes yesterday SATurday. Saturday, our most profitable evening of the week -- *especially* between the hours of nine and eleven!!"

"Yes, sir," was all Will could say.

"Your fired, you louse, and you might as well tell Linda she's fired, too, for not staying on when you didn't show up."

"But –"Will tried to explain, but Mr. Brown had already slammed the phone down. Will groaned. He lay back in his bed with the phone's receiver still clutched in his right hand.

After a while, he got up, showered, ate breakfast, and returned to his room. He looked at the stacks of homework projects piled up on his desk. Then he looked thoughtfully out the window for twenty minutes. He grabbed his windbreaker and left.

He decided to make his way to his favorite, secret place, that little hill by the canal. He edged down the cliff, and he noticed that someone else was already there.

"Damn," he whispered. He was disappointed. He really needed some private time to reflect upon his life and his future. At the very least, he needed the comforting arms of solitude.

He was about to climb back up, when the other person turned and noticed him. It was 'Captain' Jack Sparrow. Will smiled to himself. He figured that the 'Captain' also desired solitude, so he continued back up the cliff.

"Wait," said Jack. "There be room enough for two."

Will hesitated. "You're not going to pull a gun on me are you?" he said, half-joking, half-serious.

Jack rolled his eyes, "I only threaten scallywags."

Will made his way down the cliff and sat by Jack.

"I got fired today," Will offered. "You know, for leaving the store last night."

Jack smiled. "Yeah? Good," he chuckled.

Will looked at him, puzzled and annoyed. Why would the stranger find glee in his misfortune?

"How long ye been working there?" Jack asked.

"Less than a year," Will replied.

"Then, good for you. Got yer life back before . . ." he trailed off.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"I like to watch the boats go by," Will said, stating the obvious.

There was no reply. The two sat watching boats for nearly an hour.

"Oh, she is beautiful," Will gestured to a large and lovely sailboat approaching from the Lake Washington side.

Jack looked over and nodded, "The Sweet Horizon". He took a deep breath and exhaled.

They remained silent as they watch The Sweet Horizon approach and enter the harbor. A young man in a preppy shirt and shorts was at the wheel. Two pretty girls in bikinis were giggling on the deck.

Jack turned away with disgust and anger in his eyes.

Will looked down and started stirring the dirt with a small stick. He sensed that keeping his mouth shut was appropriate at that very moment.

Finally, Jack spoke, torn between seething and tearing up. "She was'posed to be mine!"

Will looked at him inquisitively, but dared not speak. Jack kicked the ground and fidgeted for a long time before he spoke.

"I worked. . . . for Bob Shears –"

Will cut him off, "Shears' Marina?" he asked noting the rather ritzy Marina located on the East side of Lake Washington.

"Yes," Jack glared, "Shears Marina."

Will made a mental note to keep his mouth shut.

"Anyway, I worked for Mr. Shears for near' five years. I scrubbed, restored and maintained the boats of Mr. Shears' friends and patrons. I first met Shears when he consulted me to restore The Sweet Horizon, then known as 'Rumble and Tumble'. I was a celebrated ship's miracle worker. Me physical presence did not deter Mr. Shears from seeking me talent. The Horizon, given to Shears' wayward son, Tommie, had suffered neglect and an accident. She was – for all practical purposes – totaled. But I restored her, inch by inch, cleaning off grime, repairing damage, and when I was finished, she was better than new. Shears was so impressed, he struck a deal with me."

"Listen," he said. "Tommie doesn't deserve her. He's spoiled and selfish. Tell you what. You work for me for five years, no time cards and no payroll, some pocket change, and a place to stay in the marina's back office apartment. You clean and maintain my client's boats, and basically run the place, for five years, and she's yours. I'll sign the deed over to you, free and clear."

We made the agreement on a handshake. And because of my fine craftsmanship, Mr. Shears let me re-name her 'The Sweet Horizon'. This didn't sit well with lil' Tommie. Anyway, I slaved nearly 60 hours a week for four and a half years. I dreamed every day of sailing into the open sea on The Sweet Horizon. Four and a half years. . ."

There was a pause. "And then what?" Will begged.

"And then," Jack continued, "Mr. Shears had a heart attack. Tommie inherited everythin'. There wasn't even a mention of our agreement in the will. An oversight? I don't know. But I was paid $30,000, about $2/hour it fig'ured out to be, and asked to pack up and leave."

"Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Who's going to take the word of a guy in dreadlocks over that of a rich man's son?"

Will nodded.

"I'm going to steal her back one day," Jack pondered aloud wistfully. "It wouldn't be a crime," he shot Will a defensive glare. "She is mine by all rights."

"Most certainly," Will agreed, trying not to agitate Jack's temper.

"Mr. Shears in his grave would prob'ly even smile," he continued.

There was a long pause. Finally, Will said, "What will you do then? When you have her, I mean."

An impish grin curled on the corner of Jack's lips. "Why sail into the sweet horizon, of course, matey."

"Don't you worry about getting caught? Where will you hide?"

"Out there," he gestured to the West.

"You mean, in the ocean?"

"Yes, I plan to sail until me very last breath. Perhaps in every ocean, every cove, every canal. . . around every peninsula. More square feet of water exist than I could possibly cross in me lifetime."

Will was bewildered. "You are just going to sail and sail, and that's it?"

Jack nodded with an air of longing.

"You know, it's not that safe to be alone on a fifty foot boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."

Jack just smiled. "I think I'll go to the Caribbean first, then."

Will rolled his eyes, "Yeah, maybe you'll get to joy-ride on a hurricane. Are you nuts? You'll risk your life both as a fugitive of the law and a prisoner of the ocean. How will you get to the Caribbean? The Panama Canal?"

"Explorers made it here. I think some gent' named 'Puget' made it down your way," he gestured towards Lake Union and northerly. He smiled, content and dream-like.

Will was still in disbelief, "You're really serious, aren't you? Why? To get in the Guinness book of World Records? Fame, fortune. . . . hot babes? Mental Illness? I can't understand why you would seek such a hopeless adventure."

"Because I'm alive, mate. It is plain and simple. . . .Because I'm alive."