A/N: Rejoice for I have returned! And this chapter's uber-long to boot! (Does the dance of pride). It starts off nice but then gets incredibly depressing! Yay! Anyway, here are some review responses:
Katie115: Yeah, that's what I thought. Blegh, school :P. But it's over now!...except for exams…grrr, exams. Anyway, keep up the reviews!
Random Character: Poor Linz, so incompetent. But you should be proud because you found the chapter. Have a cookie (gives you a virtual cookie).
YeOfLittleMind: Have I mentioned I love that penname? Hee hee, ye of little mind (chuckles inanely). Anyway, thank you, O most faithful of my reviewers! Enjoy the chapter!
Clematis-chellers: Why thank you (man, all this praise is going to my head). It's always nice to get another hooked reader. Well, there may be only one more chapter after this but at least this one's long! So there's a plus! Please keep reviewing!
Disclaimer: Oh sod off, disclaimer. You and I both know the truth.
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The soft scent of rose blossoms lingered pleasantly in the air as Nadie rummaged through Jack's possessions in search of suitable clothes. She had little desire to put on her old tattered garments (really they were nothing but rags) and she didn't want to wait for the pirate to return with something more feminine.
Besides, when she'd been younger, she'd always fancied the idea of being a pirate.
At last she found (after much digging and sniffing) a relatively clean pair of light brown breeches and a beige shirt that seemed like they might fit. Nadie happily pulled on the clothes, delighting at the free feeling of wearing trousers. The sleeves of the shirt were slightly too long and the waist of the breeches was a bit wide, but the girl hardly cared.
"Nothing a belt won't fix," Nadie muttered to herself, inspecting her borrowed outfit. With that she began searching through the chaos of Jack Sparrow's room for said belt.
After a few more minutes, she found one, under the bed. It was black with a wide, silver buckle. Seeing something engraved into the metal, Nadie peered closer.
Take what you can, Jack. Love, Storm.
Nadie raised an eyebrow slightly. A belt? As a love token? Love among pirates must be quite interesting indeed, she thought as she fastened the belt around her skinny waist.
There was a mirror in the room, which was a bit of a luxury, though it was cracked and tarnished. Nadie took a comb she had discovered in the mess and began to untangle her red-brown hair. As she moved the comb methodicly through her messy wet locks, she wondered absently who Storm might have been and what the story behind the belt was.
By the time she was done, Nadie had made up an entire story of her own regarding the mysterious inscription. One of romance, betrayal, battle at sea against the British royal navy, imprisonment and secret trysts in the dead of night. It amused her as she made up the details while putting her hair into a more manageable braid.
Nadie examined the image in the mirror thoughtfully. After a moment, she decided, with a faint smile, that if she wanted to look like a pirate, she would have to pay attention to detail.
It seemed, at least by Jack's example, that pirates kept at least six extra bandanas in their possession, just in case. Nadie picked out a slightly-faded dark blue one and, after one or two failed attempts, succeeded in tying it around her head.
As she pulled on an old well-worn pair of seaboots, Nadie couldn't help but notice how much like her old self she felt, or perhaps even better than her old self. Whether it was the bath she'd taken, her new clothes or the smell of roses in the air, she couldn't say, but even with the rain, the world seemed several shades brighter.
From her position on the floor, something under the bed, nearly-hidden in a dark corner, caught her eye. Reaching under, Nadie found that it was a dagger. It wasn't a remarkable weapon; it was barely longer than a hunting knife and there were no decorations or inscriptions. However, it was a weapon, and was therefore one of the greatest sources of independence that the downtrodden Nadie had seen in a long time.
One a whim (and with minimal fumbling) Nadie attached the blade to her belt. It felt…secure, to have the dagger resting comfortably on her hip. Though, she seriously doubted she would ever use it.
Nadie stared at the girl in the mirror, almost in wonder. She had changed considerably. Now clad in trousers, stout seaboots, a black leather belt, a bandana, her hair braided and a dagger at her side, she looked much fiercer and stronger. Someone worth respecting. For the first time in more than two years, Nadie felt proud of the image in the mirror.
"Arrrr!" she growled fiercely.
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"So ye know nothin' 'bout 'er origins then?"
"Ye mean 'er family?" asked Isadora, quirking a delicate eyebrow. "Well," the tavern wench said hesitantly, "I do know that 'er parents are dead, 'ooever they are. Lorelei never talked 'bout 'er mum, but she did mention 'er father once."
"Really? I thought ye said she was always very secretive."
Isadora nodded. "Aye, that she was. But she was drunk at the time. Not roarin' drunk, I might add, jes' a little tipsy. She ranted for a bit about 'er father. Said 'e was a good fer nothin' cocky nobleman, with too much of a taste fer gamblin' and women. Apparently, 'e wasn't a truly bad man, not like DeVir," Dora spat the name out with distaste, "jes' irresponsible, and 'e blew all his money and got hisself killed. Leavin' Lorelei with 'is mess." She added.
Jack got to his feet and began to pace slowly. A vague frown formed on his lips as he thought. The description of Lorelei's father sounded oddly similar to his mother's ramblings. Except for the getting killed part, of course. Jack didn't know what had become of his father or where he was, he never had. Such was the case when you were the son of a poor bar wench.
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Nadie walked leisurely through the streets, enjoying the dull thudding sound her boots made on the cobblestones. It was still raining but the rain seemed to have subtly changed. It was softer, almost nurturing. Nadie would tilt her her head to the sky, letting the small, gentle drops lightly kiss her face. Every now and then, when the mood struck her she would perform a pirouette, just because she felt like it.
She walked with purpose, however, drawn inexorably in the direction of the docks. As she made her way to the harbour, Nadie allowed the memories of her arrival to drift into her mind.
It had been neither sunny nor raining that day. The sky had been a dull grey, and the hour was late as the girl stepped off the boarding plank. She appeared to be fairly young, perhaps twelve years old, though her gaze was bright and sharp. Dark red hair was tied back in a very slapdash and messy braid. Her clothes, though richly tailored, were looking definitely worse for wear from her long journey; battered and stained from helping the crew, to pay her way across the sea.
She had stood on the dock for a long moment, surveying the port city before her. It was hardly what she had expected when she had decided to leave London. Still…beggars can't be choosers. She sighed softly, and that's what she was now; a beggar.
A wry, ironic smile played about her lips. The complete absurdity of her fate seemed almost overwhelming.
The air was very warm, and she was forced to remove her travelling cloak, and hang it over one arm. She picked up her bag then, and began to walk into Port Royal. She needed to find work and then she could perhaps stay at an inn, until things looked better. She had never really worked before, having been born a Noblewoman, but she was certain that she could do it. In time the soft skin of her hands would be hardened, she would be made stronger and she would become accustomed to her new lot in life.
A small hand travelled to her throat as she walked, and rested on the pendant hanging there. The girl paused, hesitating. Then after a moment's consideration she slipped into an alleyway. When she emerged, several minutes later, her neck was bare. The last remnant of her old way of life-besides the clothes on her back-left behind.
"From now on," she whispered to herself, "I am simply Lorelei."
Nadie stood at the entrance to the alleyway, remembering the words she had spoken to herself long ago. Well, not so long ago, really, but that day still seemed like a far, far distant memory. Slowly, dreamlike, she stepped into the alleyway, her mind easily recalling the details of her surroundings.
She wandered to the end of the short narrow space and began to count the bricks, backwards from the wall.
One, two, three, four, five…how many was it again? She silently asked herself, ah yes…ten, eleven, twelve!
Nadie knelt on the ground and began to work one of the cobbles at the base of the building free. It took a few minutes of jiggling before it came out, but she succeeded. She slipped her hand underneath the brick that had been above the now-removed cobblestone, and felt around. For a moment, she feared it might have been found, when at last her fingers touched a small cloth bundle.
She fished the bundle out and held it gently in one palm. In one movement, Nadie unwrapped it. Then, she stared at it reverently, reminiscing about who she used to be. In her hand was a pretty, silver locket on a matching chain. The pendant was shaped like a stylized bird, its wings outstretched and its head tilted up, tiny beak pointing to the heavens. Nadie clasped it around her neck and held the bird delicately between two fingers. She ran a finger over it, almost savouring its details, her lips upturned in the smallest of smiles.
"Well, well," said a cold, cruel voice from the alley's entrance, "unearthing old memories I see."
Nadie froze at the sound of the voice. She did not need to see the speaker to know who he was.
His lordship, Richard Alexander DeVir.
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Nadie was paralysed, she wanted to run or scream or maybe even fight, but all she could do was sit, still kneeling on the cold stone. Finally, fighting her frozen muscles she turned her head to look at Richard. There he was. He looked as neat and well-dressed as ever; his blonde hair well-combed and arranged in the latest style of the nobility and an expensive-looking, richly decorated cloak draped around his shoulders. He said nothing more, merely studied her, his gaze smug and calculating.
At last, finding some measure of strength, Nadie scrambled unsteadily to her feet. She tried to hide the fact that she was trembling violently, not wanting to show any weakness to the dangerous aristocrat.
"Go…go away!" she stuttered, trying to sound assertive, "You…you no longer have…any control over…over me."
"Oh really?" Richard raised one eyebrow, his eyes glittering malevolently. He took a few steps towards her, "allow me to contradict."
At his approach, Nadie instinctively backed up. Seeing her reaction, Richard continued to advance upon her. The shaking girl was soon backed up against the wall, her only escape blocked by her enemy.
Richard was now standing right in front of her, his body horribly close to hers. Terrible memories of that night came rushing back to Nadie, the pain, the revulsion, the…violation. She felt sick, and, with a whimper, she pressed against the stone wall behind her.
It began to rain harder.
The aristocrat leaned into her, bringing his face nearer to hers. Instead of shrinking back, Nadie tapped a reserve of courage and struck out at him with her fists. Richard caught both of her wrists easily before she even came near to landing a blow. Still, he quirked an eyebrow at her behaviour.
"My, my," he said softly, "You have changed quite a bit since our last parting, haven't you?"
Nadie said nothing, merely squirmed, trying to make herself smaller.
Chuckling, Richard gave her body a long, appraising look, his eyes lingering in unwelcome places. He sniffed then, then inhaled deeper.
"Mmmm," he said with pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, "your hair smells like roses."
He leaned in even further to kiss her. Nadie's stomach nearly heaving with revulsion, she tried to turn her head away. Richard, expecting such a move, merely gripped her chin tightly in one hand and held her still.
As a result of this, Nadie noticed, the pressure on her wrists lessened. Desperately, she tried to think of her options. It was difficult, though, as Richards' mouth roughly crushed her own. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her entire body was shaking with new and remembered terror.
What should I do? What can I do? Her mind raced and she wracked its depths for a way out.
The dagger.
She still had the dagger, tied to her belt.
Writhing the fingers on one hand slowly and carefully, so as not to alarm Richard, she reached blindly for the weapon. At last, after what seemed a hellish eternity, Nadie finally felt the cool metal of the handle touch her skin. Summoning all her nerve, she grasped it tightly, freed it from its sheath and with an animal-like snarl she plunged it into her tormentor's flesh.
She paid no attention to where she struck him, there was no time. All she could do, as she pushed past him and fled, was hope that the blade had reached his heart.
Please, God, let it be fatal!
She ran blindly, the now pouring rain falling in her eyes. She couldn't see, could barely think. All of her body, in its state of complete panic, was focused on running.
Please, let him die!
And so she ran, paying no attention to her surroundings. She ran through alleys, through streets, around buildings, always with the rain pounding on her back to spur her on.
Then, with a flash of realization, she was lost.
Nadie spun around, turning from side to side in hopes of some miracle. Sheets of water obscured her vision, and the street that should have been familiar seemed strange and alien to her now.
Then, through her panic and fear, she saw a sign that filled her with renewed hope. The Broken Blade. Home.
Nadie slowed her pace and began to approach the door of the tavern, nearly sobbing with relief. Abruptly, she stumbled and a high-pitched cry tore itself from her throat as an explosion of pain seared through her right leg. She twisted around and stared, disbelieving, at the dark crimson stain that was steadily seeping through her breeches. It seemed so surreal.
As if in a dream, Nadie tried to take another step but the injured leg wouldn't support her weight and she collapsed. Using all the strength she could find, Nadie struggled into a kneeling position, ignoring the jolts of pain in her calf.
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Jack jerked suddenly as a familiar, harsh sound reached his ears. He hurried to the window, searching the streets below for its source.
"What was that?" asked Isadora, from his side, her own eyes peering through the gloom.
"Gunshot."
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Rain pounded on her back and ran down her face like tears. Nadie was no longer sure whether she was shedding actual tears, anymore. She felt strangely detached; the world kept swimming in and out of focus. She knelt, with her head bowed, her hands and arms limp at her sides. She didn't move or try to protect herself, even though she knew Richard was approaching her. She could feel his footsteps through the ground, hear him cursing and she could smell the smoke from his recently fired pistol.
Nadie noted all these things with near disinterest. It didn't matter now. None of it did. Not the blood, not the rain, not her past, not even Richard himself. Only one thing did. Soon she would be dead, and then nothing would matter at all.
Still…she'd been so close…so close to breaking free, to finally forgetting the pain of the past. So close…
Nadie grunted in pain as Richard grasped her braid tightly in one hand and wrenched her head back, forcing her to look at him. She closed her eyes, a feeble gesture of defiance.
Her tormentor growled and hauled Nadie roughly to her feet. She remained limp, ignoring the pain in her scalp, the agony in her wounded leg.
She was going to die.
Richard snarled once again and with a shake he threw Nadie to the ground.
She was going to die.
Nadie's limbs were now shaking violently from both bloodloss and fear and her vision was blurred. She was lying on her stomach, but she could sense Richard standing over her. With a final effort, Nadie rolled onto her back and stared blearily through the rain into the eyes of her destroyer. In those eyes she knew the truth.
She was going to die.
The first kick was hard and unmerciful. Nadie couldn't prevent the gasp of pain it drew from her as the blow connected with her ribs. Instinctively, she curled up in a fetal position, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.
Richard kept kicking her, his blows becoming ever more violent. Though Nadie, floating on the edge of unconsciousness, no longer felt them.
She had accepted her fate, even welcomed it. Death would be an end to all the pain, the suffering, the loneliness. Death meant release. It was a blessing.
Yet in one foggy corner of her mind, Nadie felt regret.
I wish, she thought sadly, I wish I could have seen one last sunrise. I wish I could have talked to Isadora again…I wish…I wish I had told Jack…and thanked him for his kindness.
Slowly, Nadie's thoughts faded away into blackness.
I wish…I wish…
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A/N: So there we are, I hope it was enjoyed by all. Did anyone catch the shameless reference to my other PotC fic? If you did, good for you! Now, I'm really proud of the way this chapter turned out so now it's up to you to encourage me. I warn you, if I don't get at least…oh, say, nine more reviews (I tend to be greedy), then I won't update for six months. (I'm serious too, that's happened on my other fic). Now review! And seal the fate of Nadie!