He tossed back his blanket and hurried out of his cabin. It was glaringly sunny, like it tended to be in the Caribbean. He searched his clothes for telltale stains. Luckily, his inspection yielded nothing incriminating but a fresh coat of sweat.
He slumped onto the deck. He calmed down. Marcella would never let him sleep with her- he laid down the law with her a few weeks ago when she came onto him.
As he stopped hyperventilating, Marcella came out too, stretching and yawning. "Jack, do ya remember wha´ happened last night?" she asked casually.
"Actually, not at all," Jack admitted. "Were we drunk or what?"
"I s´pose." Marcella had not yet thought that she could have slept with Jack. "Oh, now I remember!"
Jack held his breath.
"I was so drunk I just fell into bed with you an´ we passed out together." Marcella let out a belly laugh. "I have a feeling that´s not gonna happen a lot now that yer almost a married man."
"Now now now!" Jack protested, flushing with relief and indignance. "Rum´s gonna play second fiddle to no woman- Liz understands."
Marcella burst out laughing again. "Fine. Feel like having some coffee?"
"Yes," Jack confessed. He had a pounding headache.
Annamaria sprang up from her sleeping spot, leaning against her tiny mast. She did not even realize she had fallen asleep. "Dammit," she muttered and checked her compass. Luckily, it still pointed straight to Isla Vache and her boat was sailing steadily towards her home.
Annamaria dug into her crate of rations and pulled out a piece of jerky. She chewed on it and thought back to her thirteen-year-old self.
She and her parents were walking by Antonio Rafael´s mansion. It was impressive, adobe painted pale yellow, at least three stories. "Mama, what´s in there?" Annamaria asked Marcella.
Marcella tugged Annamaria´s thick black braid. "Anna, that´s Senor Rafael´s casa." "Really? Who´s Senor Rafael?" Annamaria clutched the big black bars surrounding the house. Marcella tried to pry her hands off; they had errands to run and Mr. Castilla was already impatient. "He´s a very bad man," she hissed. "Come along now, honey. Your father is as impatient as Antonio Rafael is bad."
"Am not," protested Mr. Castilla.
"Are too," said Marcella, eyes twinkling. They carried on this childish argument until they reached the market.
Marcella and William Castilla went off to buy some parent-y things, leaving Annamaria to herself. She wandered around the street, pausing briefly at each stand to inspect the vendor´s wares. She was rather bored.
Annamaria spotted some children her age from Isla Vache´s only school- but they didn´t notice her. Either that or they were ignoring her. Annamaria had built a reputation as a bully throughout her schooling. She decided to let them go without a complimentary shove or trip and instead took a pretty scarf from the pile in front of her. She admired it. It was deep blue and had embroidered stars on it. She longed to wrap it around her head and pretend she was a beautiful, mysterious woman who lured men into her lair. She clutched her hand into a fist. Her fingers itched painfully to snatch the cloth and stuff it in her dress pocket.
Her willpower was no match for her sticky fingers. She made a big deal of folding the scarf and when the seller´s back was turned, she carefully dropped it in her pocket. Hastily, but slow enough not to get the man suspicious. But when she was walking away, a heavy hand clapped on her shoulder. Annamaria instantly started to tremble.
"Excuse me, miss, but what happened to a scarf that was here fifteen seconds ago?" the vendor said kindly. But his eyes were a different story.
"It isn´t there?" Annamaria said, biting her lip. "I don´t know where it could have went." "May I check your pocket?" the peddler said, smiling menacingly. "Just to make sure that a good, pretty girl like you could never had stolen such a pretty scarf."
Annamaria closed her eyes and tried not to cry. As he dug deep into her pocket, time seemed to stand still.
"A-ha! You no-good thief!" the cloth-seller barked, brandishing the scarf. He grabbed Annamaria´s neck and leered at her, showing a mouthful of rotted teeth. "Do you know what we do to thieves?"
Annamaria shook her head, tears starting to spill over.
"We kill them," he snarled and threw her to the ground. A crowd started to gather. As the man took out a knife, a shadow fell over them. "Kindly unhand that girl," boomed a low voice. The man standing over Annamaria paled.
"Yes sir, Mr. Rafael, sir," he whimpered, putting away the knife and backing away.
"How much for the scarf?" the voice said. Annamaria dared not turn around. She had tears and sweat streaming down her face, and was shaking a lot.
"No charge, Mr. Rafael, sir," said the vendor, and went behind his cart and hid his face. The crowd dispersed, sad that there was no bloodshed. The shadow remained. She dared to turn around at last.
There stood the most horrifying man she had ever seen. He was deeply tanned, wearing expensive clothing, and had slick black hair pulled into a ponytail. He wasn´t all that tall, or muscular. It was his eyes. They were piggy and beady, but filled with malevolence. She stumbled away and stood up.
"Th- thank you," she stammered. "You saved my life."
"Here´s your scarf," he said, handing her the limp piece of fabric. She looked at it, and couldn't believe she was almost killed over it. She slipped it in her pocket.
"How can I ever repay you?" Annamaria asked.
"By knowing that I am a powerful man," said the man who was called Rafael and turned away. He looked back and nodded. Then he beckoned his flock of women, of which Annamaria had just noticed.
Annamaria wrapped the scarf around her head and ran towards her parents. She would never forget what had just transpired, even twelve years later.
Annamaria in the present snapped to attention. Her reminiscing had eaten up about an hour, an hour closer to revisiting Antonio Rafael. Would he remember her?