A/N: Hooray for 1001freefonts.com! They have a font called Morse Kode, which helped me with the telegraph aspect of this chapter. (They also have a font called Skinner, which I just had to download just because it was called Skinner!) Hmm… I think they should thank me for the free advertising. :-P
Zanna Avons ~ You never know… *conspirator-type laughter*
Melanie ~ Hey! You speak more gooder than me!
Crystal ~ You hear bells? *puts hand to ear, listens* I hear… my cousin singing. Be quiet Alicia!
Steffi ~ I'm sorry I made you sob. :-P No more cliffhangers, I promise… *crosses fingers behind back*
"Loose?" Cabrilyn practically dropped her plate. "We've got to find him!"
"No," Jekyll said sensibly, "We are going to find him, and you are going to stay here."
"Stay here?" Cabrilyn protested. "Are you mad? I am not going to just sit here…"
"Yes you are," the doctor retorted. "You're not well enough to be running around."
Cabrilyn ignored his remark – she was bound and determined to hunt Davis down. She moved to get out of bed. Skinner stood up, as if to block her path. "Ah-ah-ah," he said, shaking a scolding finger at her. "You heard the doctor." Cabrilyn ignored him too and stood up. It was a rather painful experience, but she told herself she couldn't give in to pain with an invisible enemy running around. "Cabrilyn," Skinner said sharply, "Sit!" Cabrilyn was taken aback to have received such an order from Skinner. Tom and Jekyll were rather surprised, too. They just stared at Skinner for a moment before anybody could figure out what to say.
When someone finally spoke, it was Tom. "Cabrilyn, look, we figure if Davis is after anybody on this ship, it would be you. He didn't take too kindly to you stabbing and threatening him. You've got to stay here."
Cabrilyn wasn't entirely convinced. "Oh? And what makes you so sure I'll be safe in here?"
Tom cocked his rifle. "Cause I'll be in here waiting for him."
* * *
Davis had always prided himself on being a clever man. The mass chaos that ensued during and after the Nautilus was attacked provided the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. He doubted anyone would notice his absence, what with the ship barely floating on its own accord. The crew had their duties, and Davis had his…
The invisible prisoner had sought to send a message to Reed. It was just on a whim that Nemo had come to investigate. The captain merely wanted to see if there was anything new coming in, but instead, he found the telegraph working itself. At first, he thought it was Skinner sending some 'hello my freaky darlings' message or other, but then, he caught the end of the message:
| - . . | . - | . . . - | . . | . . . |
DAVISNemo had charged in, sword drawn, but, by some miraculous stroke of luck, Davis got away. Now, he was somewhere on board. He knew he'd been found out, so he would have to be extra careful. The League would be looking for him, but they had their duties, and he had his…
* * *
Tom took a seat on the empty bed next to Cabrilyn's. The divider curtain had been drawn halfway around, so Cabrilyn could see him sitting there, but anyone walking in the door would see only curtain. "You just let me know if he shows up," he said.
"Sure," Cabrilyn replied shortly. She was angry with Tom, and Jekyll. She was angry with Skinner a little, too. He had the audacity to tell her to sit, like he was ordering some animal about. That made her angry, but having to stay in the infirmary with Davis running free made her angry and restless. Tom had taken note of her mood, and wisely kept quiet. After a moment of hating her situation, she decided inactivity would only make her more restless, so she scooped up her drawing utensils. At least Tom being here provided her with something to draw, and having to look at him didn't exactly break her heart – Tom was pretty easy on the eyes.
After a while of listening to the monotonous sound of charcoal scratching paper, Tom finally spoke up. "Can I see?" He asked.
Cabrilyn inspected her drawing. "Hold on, it's almost done. Just needs some fine-tuning, then you can see." She looked from her drawing to Tom and back again. Something wasn't right, but what was it? Again, she looked at Tom. "Ah-ha," she murmured. It was his eyes. There was a deepness to them she hadn't been able to capture on paper – they were eyes of someone who had to age before his time. Cabrilyn was intrigued. No wonder she felt that Tom was the leader of the League when they'd first met – still young on the outside, but wise beyond his years on the inside.
Tom cleared his throat, snapping Cabrilyn back to reality – she'd been staring. She quickly went back to her drawing in attempt to cover up her embarrassment, while Tom chuckled softly. After placing her signature on her finished portrait, she handed it to Tom. "What do you think?"
"Very nice," Tom said. "Is my hair seriously that messy?" Cabrilyn nodded, and Tom laughed to himself. "Catherine?" He asked upon noticing Cabrilyn's signature.
"Cath…?" She snatched the paper from Tom. There it was, clear as day: Catherine. "Oh. Curse my habits. Catherine is my name, my real name."
"So, where did 'Cabrilyn' come from?"
Cabrilyn sighed. "When I came to in that morgue, I couldn't go back to being who I was. Catherine was dead as far as everyone else was concerned. So, I took the first few letters of my names and made up a new name. Catherine: C, A; Brittany: B, R, I; Lynné: L, Y, N…"
"…Cabrilyn," Tom concluded, "Very creative." He sighed and leaned back. It was quiet for a while; only the sounds of the crew bustling about could be heard. After a moment of thought, Tom chuckled to himself.
"What's so funny?" Cabrilyn asked.
"I was just thinkin'… you and me are probably the only members of the League who got to attend their own funeral and walk away from it."
"I never got a funeral," Cabrilyn said matter-of-factly. "But you attended your own funeral? This should make for an interesting story."
Tom sat up. "You really wanna hear it?"
"Sure," Cabrilyn replied, shrugging. "I'm not going anywhere."
* * *
Skinner had come to a spot where the hallway split off in two separate directions. He had been searching for Davis to the best of his abilities. Now, he was faced with a fifty-fifty chance that he might choose the wrong hallway and miss Davis completely. He looked to his left. That hallway was bustling with activity. Crewmembers were rushing here and there, with tools and ladders and the like. The hallway on his right, however, was practically deserted. It had suffered a large hole, curtsey of the faux Nautilus, and had recently been repaired and painted. The crew and the League were advised to avoid it until the paint dried. 'If I were trying to avoid getting caught,' Skinner thought to himself, 'I would want to be where there were no people…' With that thought in mind, Skinner turned right and headed down the hall.
About halfway down the hall, Skinner's guess paid off and invisible man collided with invisible man. Both Davis and Skinner were not sure what hit them – fortunately, Skinner realized it first. He took a wild guess at where Davis was standing and reached out to grab him. Bingo. Skinner firmly grasped the escapee's shoulders and pinned him against the wall.
"Hello you," Skinner said lightly. Davis struggled to get away, but Skinner held tight. "You're a smart one, aren't you? No matter what you do, you still manage to get yourself caught."
"Oh, and I suppose you could give me a few pointers?" Davis said sourly.
Skinner's eyebrows went up; regardless of the fact Davis couldn't see his face. "I might. I've had a bit more practice at being invisible than you." Skinner replied. Davis stopped his struggling – seemingly having resigned to the fact there was no escape. Skinner relaxed his grip ever so slightly, but it was enough for Davis. The soldier broke free of Skinner's grip, and, pushing Skinner to the floor, dashed off down the hall.
"He won't get very far," Skinner chuckled, hauling himself up. The wall where he'd pinned Davis had just been painted – Davis was running around with a fresh coat of white paint on his back and didn't even know it.
* * *
"Sir, we just received a massage."
Sanderson Reed and the man to whom he'd been speaking glanced over their shoulders at the soldier in the doorway. "Well, bring it here," Reed said, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice. He did not enjoy being interrupted.
The soldier handed his commander the paper, and, though he could not see Reed's face, he knew that Reed did not look happy with him. Reed glanced at the paper. "You may go," he said distractedly. The soldier left.
"What is it?" Reed's companion asked. His thin, bony face was distorted in shadow, and his long white coat had the remnants of bloodstains upon it. Even at first glance, anyone could tell this was a thoroughly unpleasant man. Reed held the paper out to him. The man plucked it away neatly with his long, bony fingers. It was a telegraph, it read:
| . - . . | . | . - | - - . | . . - | . || . . . | - | . . | . - . . | . - . . || . - . . | . . | . . . - | . | . . . ||| - - - | - . || . - - | . - | - . - - || - |
- - - || - . . . | . - | . . . | . ||| - - | - - - | . - . | . || . - . . | . - | - | . | . - . ||| - . . | . - | . . . - | . . | . . . |||
LEAGUE STILL LIVES. ON WAY TO BASE. MORE LATER. DAVIS.
The man raised a wiry eyebrow. "Interesting," he said simply, and handed the paper back to Reed.
"Very," Reed said. "Are you certain she's with them?"
"Oh yes. I'm one hundred percent positive. How else do you explain your defeat in Washington?"
Reed cringed. Washington was a touchy subject with him, but he'd learned from his mistake: Never tell all to your enemy, no matter how sure you are. He was certain that he could do what Moriarty could not, but the League was proving to be harder to get rid of than he thought.
The man stood as tall as his crooked frame would allow, the light coming over his unhandsome features. He chuckled darkly. "I know my work. She will be here."
Reed raised an eyebrow, "For your sake, she'd better be, Doctor Owen."
Owen grinned. Not a pleasant sight. "Call me Ulick."
"Of course, Ulick," Reed said, skillfully disguising his dislike for this thoroughly creepy man. He got up from his chair and showed the infamous Doctor Ulick Norman Owen to the door. Now the pieces were falling into place.
A/N: I love plot twists! Ahem, anyway, I stole Dr. Owen's name from the play I was in. I shall put a snippet of the play here explaining the reasoning behind the name: "Ulick Norman Owen… Each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, Unknown." (Group oooh!) Get it? Unknown. Very mysterious. The name Davis actually came from that play too. ("That play" being Ten Little Indians based off of the Agatha Christie novel And Then There Were None.) Ok, enough of my rambling. I should really start chapter 12 now!