Okay, I know you all must be madder than a swarm of hornets, and if you're still reading this, I'm soooooooo sorry. I got grounded from the computer for a (long) while because I kinda have D in math. I'll try to make it up to you. I promise! SO to any of you who aren't mad at me for not updating in weeks upon weeks, have at it!

Chapter 18:

"MAKE THE BABY STOP!" Melia screamed and the woman that surrounded her exchanged yet another worried glance. Melia was still delirious, chatting with unseen, highbred gentlemen and ladies, but to Treva, Lies, and Meg, she said nothing. She complained of a monstrous headache and her face was flushed with fever, yet she wouldn't allow any of the women near her bedside. There were times that she fell into a light sleep, but those were few and far between. She raved for hours about the baby and it's sorrowful cries and how one could hardly think because of them. Other times she wiped away tears because the cries were so sad, so pitiful, so hurt, so lonely. Of course, she was the only one who heard these cries. The only one whose tears fell, were hers. Her heart was the only one tortured by the cries.

Jack whistled as he walked down the road to Treva's. He was in wonderful mood, and couldn't wait to see his love again. He knew he'd have to bring her back to where she belonged, but he pushed down the unpleasant thoughts and dwelt only on the fact that he was going to finally see her. Unconsciously his pace quickened, but little did he know what was waiting for him at Treva's.

Melia dropped off into a deep sleep and Treva sighed wearisomely.

"Why doncha' girls go get yerselves a cup o'coffee or sumptin?" She murmured. "Three peoples in 'ere lookin at 'er ain't gonna help any."

"But--" Lies started, but a gentle tug from Meg eased her out the door. Lies took a long look at Melia before Meg pulled her into the hall. Treva glanced out the door, making sure they were gone before she eased herself into a wooden chair and fixed her eyes on Melia's, finally, still form.

Jack stopped about thirty feet in front of the boarding house and frowned. The building was strangely dark, which was especially odd for this time of night. He glanced at the sky, it was dark, but not dark enough to close the always open doors. Supper hours were not yet over. Yet there were only a few dim lights on in the kitchen. A sick feeling washed over him, and he ran the rest of the distance to the house.

Meg lifted her head at the sound of footsteps on the front porch. She frowned and stood up, ready to fend off any drunken pirates with floozies hanging off their arms, looking for a place to spend the evening. She walked to the window and peeked out. Her blood froze. It was Captain Sparrow, pounding away at the door. What would she say to him? What could she say? 'Ya came too late. She be almost dead. But iffen ya want ye kin go up an' see 'er wasted away body and tell 'er ya love 'er...' ? That was a little harsh. Non less than he deserved, but harsh. Anger flared up within her heart. Why had he waited so long? If he loved her the way she claimed he did why hadn't he come sooner?! Her angry quickly receded. He hadn't known. If the baby had lived, it would be due within another month. A month early. A month early, yet days late. Pity engulfed her being. She didn't know if she could face him. If she could stand the questioning, panicked looks. But was else was there for her to do? She could send Lies to him. She glanced over at the chair where the young woman sat, only to find her asleep, head resting on folded arms. She closed her eyes and tried to mentally prepared herself. Whatever she did, she must not cry.

Jack pounded on the door until the windows began to quiver in their panes. He rattled the doorknob with such ferocity that it came off in his hand, making him curse softly. He was about to run back and ram the door with his shoulder when it swung open slowly, creaking terribly. Meg appeared before him, hair disheveled, eyes swollen and red. The look on her face made him tremble within.

"Where is she?" His voice sounded as though he'd swallowed sawdust.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, shining with unshed tears, face deathly pale. She lifted a long arm and pointed toward the staircase with a single bony finger.

"Fourth door on your left." The words were hollow and sounded strange in her own ears. Jack felt his stomach drop to his boot tops, but he woodenly moved to follow his directions, taking the steps two and three at a time.

Upon reaching the fourth door to the left, he stopped. What exactly lied just beyond this door? What had happened in his absence? What unwelcome sight would greet his eyes upon entrance? Would he be able to stand seeing her ill? What was wrong with her? Was she conscious? Could she acknowledge his presence? Would she? Was she even alive? He brushed these thoughts and slowly enter the room.