Disclaimer: Yup, I still don't own any of the stuff from Ghost Ship. I do, however, own Ashe, the Arctic Pearl, and an overactive imagination. That is all.

A/N: Wow. It's been a while, eh? Thanks Dana and Jeff for your emails, you guys have no idea how much your support means to me. If it weren't for you guys this story would have died out ages ago.

I really do try to update as quickly as possible, but life has been a bit hectic for me lately, and writer's block has been clogging my creative arteries. But hey, I think I'm okay now, so here it goes:

Chapter 14

Ashe reeled back, banging her back hard on the rail. She couldn't possibly have heard right. Dodge couldn't have just voiced the conclusion that her mind had been drawing her towards ever since she had first seen Murphy. No way.

Her head swam, her eyes sliding in and out of focus.

'I am not going to black out,' she thought firmly, 'I'm not going to faint. That would be weak, and I can't afford to be weak right now.'

"Excuse me?" she choked out, her voice condensed to a choked rasp.

"You heard me," Dodge sneered, "The old man's your father. He knew it ever since he first saw you here. It's been torturing him, seeing you all sad and lonely and fucked-up. He said he wanted to protect you, to save you from dying like the rest of the pathetic people on this ship will die pretty soon. So we let him go, and next thing we see you're leaning over his unconscious body."

Gee, those were awfully pretty colours flying through the air. Really pretty. Vibrant, almost.

"No," she denied out loud, "You're lying."

Dodge shook his head. Meanwhile, the other men were closing in on her. Not much time left.

'Oh God,' Ashe thought frantically, 'Why me?'

Snarling, Jack spun in a slow circle, looking for where the bitch might have gone. How had things gone so wrong so fast? With a wave of his hand, the knife disappeared.

He couldn't sense her anywhere. But she couldn't have just disappeared!

Just then, his eyes fell on the heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. No. It was impossible. The door was locked.

Narrowing his cold blue eyes, Jack stalked down the stairs and tugged at the door. It didn't budge. Taking a deep breath, he cast his senses out, behind the door. Sure enough, there was the familiar mental storm, keeping him out and yet alerting him of her whereabouts. He also noticed the minds of his crew circling her, pinning her in. They each noticed and acknowledged his presence. Excellent.

Reaching into his pocket, Jack drew the key for the hold out of his pocket and inserted it into the door. It unlocked with a satisfying click and he pushed it open, coming face to face with Ashe's deer-in-the-headlights look.

Her gray-green eyes were dilated black, and wide with fear and shock. Locks of hair stuck out of their knot to crown her pale face like a halo. Her black dress was ripped in places and her mascara was running in dark streaks like tearstains down her face.

Time froze for a moment while Jack admired just how beautiful Ashe really was before the world exploded into a frenzy of motion and noise.

Ashe gasped and bolted down the stairs into the hold, her skirt flying up after her. Caught unawares, Jack's crew was too slow to catch her right away.

Greer was the first to react. He dove after Ashe, catching her skirt and yanking hard, causing her to lose her balance and crash headfirst down the remaining steps, landing in a heap of black at the bottom. The silky material of her dress ripped and Greer was left holding a large swath of it. At the same time Dodge, Santos and Munder were attempting to step over Greer to give chase. Jack closed the door with a bang and stepped forward before his eyes adjusted to the sudden dark. He found his foot sinking into something soft and giving, and pitched forward, landing sprawled on top of Murphy's still form. Growling, he detached himself and stood, brushing off his suit.

By that time, Ashe had regained her feet and was fleeing across the hold, the three men in pursuit. Greer had also regained a standing position and backed out of the way as Jack brushed past him to descend the stairs. Each step was punctuated with the sharp clang of the metal steps.

"You can run but you can't hide, bitch," he whispered menacingly at the bottom, searching the dark hold for her.

For a moment it seemed his sentiments had proven false, because Dodge, Munder and Santos had all stopped in their tracks, looking frantically around for their quarry, whom it appeared had vanished. Then Jack caught a tiny flicker of movement out the corner of his eye. Turning his head slowly and straining his eyes, he could make out a dark shape huddling half-hidden behind a large vertical pipe.

Jack couldn't help but smirk at her tactics. She had let her hair down, camouflaging her neck and chest against the darkness. Between that and her dress, only her face stood out against the gloom.

Waving his hand, Jack signaled to his crew that he had found her and to leave her to him. They nodded and relaxed, their eyes still scanning the room to locate her.

Ducking behind some empty crates, Jack moved toward her location, darting between shadows until he was on the opposite side of the pipe she hid behind. He could hear her harsh, stifled breathing and smiled. This was always so much fun. Like a game of hide and seek, but with the added pleasure of adrenaline and the anticipation of the kill.

Moving carefully and stealthily, he crept around the pipe, the knife back in his hands. Just a bit closer…

Gripping the knife harder, Jack took a deep breath and leapt around the side of the pipe. It took him a moment to register the fact that there was nobody there. He blinked once, stunned, then ran around to the front of the pipe in time to spot Ashe tearing back up the stairs toward the door. The now-unlocked door.

"Shit!" Jack screamed, then turned to his crew.

"What the fuck are you idiots doing? Get her!" he cried, already racing as fast as he could toward the stairs.

But he knew it was too late. With his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he saw that she had already reached the landing and had stopped dead, staring at Murphy's body on the floor. She sighed visibly, bit her lip, then stepped over him and wrenched open the door.

By that time Jack had reached the base of the steps, his crew clattering up behind him. The sudden burst of light from the doorway blinded him, causing him to throw his arm up to shield his eyes. When he brought his hand down, the door had closed and Ashe was gone.

"You gonna go after her?" Santos asked from a respectable distance, prudently wary of Jack's wrath.

Jack smiled. Ashe's pause had given him an idea.

"You told her about Murphy?" he asked.

A pause.

"Yeah," said Dodge.

"Good."

With that, Jack mounted the stairs three at a time to reach Murphy. The old man still hadn't regained consciousness. The last few days had weakened him to the point where Jack's last attack had put him out pretty good.

But that wasn't important right now. Crouching, Jack placed a hand on Murphy's shoulder, absorbing a bit of the old man into himself. At the same time, he began to change, taking on Murphy's form as his powers allowed, the same way he had done so with Dodge mere days ago.

Now fully changed, Jack grinned maliciously and straightened. Not only was he going to be able to kill the stupid bitch, but he was going to do it looking like Murphy. Her father. No revenge could be sweeter.

Turning, he waved a quick salute to his stunned crew and let himself out of the hold, locking it behind him.

He started down the halls at a leisurely pace, taking his time. He knew exactly where she'd be.

Ashe groaned as she pushed open the heavy exterior door that, just yesterday, Jack had hit her with.

She had avoided people all the way up to the fourth floor, skirted the still-noisy ballroom, and had made her way to the door. She stepped outside and took huge gulps of the fresh sea air, shaking from head to toe.

She knew she looked like shit. Her hair, let down out of its knot, was still wet from her shower and stuck to her neck and shoulders with panic sweat. Her face was sticky with running makeup and her dress was ripped with a large hole in the skirt where Greer had grabbed her. Her ribs were bruised and her knees were both scraped raw from her fall down the stairs, and she was lucky that was all that had been damaged. Her head pounded with stress, tension and adrenaline overdose, and she was shaking so bad she could barely stand upright. She looked – and felt – like death warmed over.

She giggled at the thought, a bit hysterical, but stopped when her ribcage twinged with pain. Rubbing her chest, she thanked the powers that be that there were no people taking a nighttime stroll on this area of the deck.

She made her way to the prow of the ship, not sure if Jack was following her, not sure she even cared at this point. Maybe he was content to torture Murphy, instead.

Murphy. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She had had no choice but to leave him down there. Her first priority had been getting herself out of there intact, and then she could go back for him. But the question was, would there be anything left of him to go back for, or would the Mark finally consume him like it had the others?

Remembering the evil gleam in Dodge's eyes, she shuddered. She never wanted to see Murphy's eyes look like that.

Was he really her father? Murphy was everything Ashe had ever imagined her father to be – strong, resilient, handsome, perceptive. He had a knowing smile and a twinkle in his eyes when he was amused. He loved the sea more than he loved his family, and he was happy working with it, as Ashe knew she would be if given the chance. Yet, after all this time, he still cared enough to recognize her, to do everything he could and risk his very soul to help her, to save her. She had known him for almost two days, and yet it seemed she had known him forever. But…he was dead.

Ashe suddenly found that she couldn't stand anymore. Leaning back against the cool railing, she sank to her knees and turned to face the water. The ship plowed ahead, unaware of the evil cancer festering in its holds.

Soothed by the familiar sound of the water and the unyielding horizon of sea and starry night sky before her, her breathing returned to normal and she stopped shaking. She pressed her head against one of the crossbars of the railing, letting the cool metal ease the ache in her head.

Unfortunately, it also galvanized the tears she had been holding in ever since Dodge's revelation. They welled up in her eyes until gravity pulled them down in streaks over her face. She sniffed and hiccupped a sob, unwilling to let her misery take over quite yet. All hope wasn't lost for Murphy. Maybe Jack would leave him alone. Maybe, if she regained her strength, she could still save him, save the ship.

But time was running out. She had no idea how close Jack was to executing whatever plan he may have for the mass murder the ship was targeted for. And she had no plan of her own to combat his. She had been so blind, falling for his charms like a weak child, lulled by her fantasies that maybe someone out there might actually want to make her happy, that maybe she wasn't invisible. What a fool she had been.

She sobbed again. Now she was feeling sorry for herself. Would there ever be a day when this would all be over, when she wouldn't have to deal with people anymore? When she wouldn't have to deal with herself anymore? Would there ever come a day when she could just be free to sail into that dark, star-bright horizon and let it swallow her up?

Caught up in reflection and the aftereffects of terror, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

Still on the ground, she spun around to face the person behind her.

Murphy blinked down at her for a moment before collapsing by her side.

Ashe's heart stopped for a moment before going double-time. She leaned over him, checking for a pulse. Then her senses returned and she remembered he didn't have a pulse. She continued to lean over him, checking for signs of life.

"Murphy?" she asked carefully.

His eyes fluttered open briefly and he smiled at her.

Relief swept over her as he attempted to raise himself on his elbows.

"No," she said, "Lie there for a sec. You're not strong enough to get up."

He seemed content with that, and relaxed a bit.

"You know," he rasped, "I really thought I could pull this off."

Guilt nagged behind her heart.

"It's not your fault," she whispered, choking back tears again, "You tried so hard. For all these people. For me." A sob ripped though her. "Thank you."

It hit her then. What if he wasn't himself anymore? The last she had seen him, he had been unconscious while the Mark worked away at his soul. Now…

He grasped her arm gently.

"I'm sorry, Ashe," he said in a pained voice.

Tears dripped down her cheeks and fell onto his shirt.

"Keep fighting it," she whispered, "Please, keep fighting. You can do it. For all of us. For your crew. They still care about you, you know. They'd want you to keep fighting."

But he shook his head.

"I can't."

Ashe shook with sobs, trying to get a hold of herself. This couldn't be happening. She had wanted her whole life to meet this man, and now she had, but it was too late.

"Murphy…"

"What?"

"Are you really…?"

"Yeah."

She bit her lip hard enough to break the skin, tears streaking down her face and obliterating what was left of her eye makeup. Her entire body was wracked with sobs and she doubted she could move for a very long time.

"I'm sorry, Ashe," he rasped, shifting a bit.

"Don't be sorry," she choked out. She wouldn't have him harboring guilt about this, not after so long, "What are you sorry for?"

"For this."

He suddenly squirmed under her, and Ashe saw a flash of metal in the glow of the interior lights before she felt the knife slide in between her ribs.

She reeled back, away from Murphy to fall against the railing.

Through a haze of pain, she saw Murphy's façade change. At first she thought she was only hallucinating, but she realized the truth as soon as her father's dark eyes morphed into icy cold, glacier blue.

"No," she gasped, her hand automatically searching out the hilt of the long-bladed knife in her chest.

As the transformation completed itself, Jack smirked.

How could she ever have thought Jack was anything other than pure evil? That cold, demented look showed that he reveled in her pain, took pleasure in it.

"You sick, pathetic bastard," she said, choking as her lungs filled with blood, "You'll rot in hell."

"Ashe," he replied softly, mockingly, "I thought you knew who I was. I've already been there, remember?"

Jack leaned in towards her, pinning her against the railing. His cold blue eyes once again bored into hers, searching her soul.

After a few seconds, he snarled. It wasn't a human sound.

"How do you do it?"

She could no longer speak, but her confusion must have showed.

"Why can't I see you? Your mind, how do you block me out?" he hissed, obviously livid. His eyes blazed, his face was screwed up with anger and his hands were balled into fists. It made him look insane. Ashe inched back from him, losing strength fast.

Growling, Jack reached forward and caught her arms, shaking her until she coughed up blood, spraying it on his shirt.

Looking down, his face softened, and the evil sneer returned.

"I guess it doesn't matter now, does it? Soon you'll be mine and I'll get all the answers I want."

Ashe was starting to black out. She could no longer hear him, and soon all she could see were his dazzling blue eyes before her vision faded to black and she drowned in the sea of sorrow of failure that tugged mercilessly at her soul.

Jack watched as the life slowly seeped out of Ashe, her blood flowing around the knife to soak his sleeve. When he was sure she was gone, he released her arms and grasped for her right hand with his own.

Clenching her wrist tight, he brought his hand down to envelop her palm, preparing to Mark her soul as he had done to countless others.

Prepared for the usual surge of life force that he always acquired from his victims, he was caught off guard by what he did receive.

Instead of the usual scream of outrage and terror that usually accompanied the Marking, all he could hear was mocking, feminine laughter. It filled his ears until he couldn't hear anything else, taunting him, ridiculing him.

"Stupid bitch!" he screamed, not caring who heard him on this godforsaken ship, "What the fuck are you?"

He let go of her hand and gazed down at her smooth, unmarked palm. He could feel the fear and uncertainty clawing away at him as he backed quickly away from her body, stopping only to wrench his knife out of her chest, accompanied by a fresh flow of still-warm blood.

Usually, the sight of blood excited him. Now it just made him sick. He had been so sure that if he killed Ashe, he wouldn't have to worry anymore. That he could Mark her and she would be under his control, everything would be under control. But now he knew that was impossible.

Who was she, really? Or maybe the better question was what was she, that she couldn't be Marked like any other soul? She certainly wasn't entirely innocent. Pure souls were like a beacon to Soul Collectors, warning them away. He didn't feel that with Ashe, but there was something…

Now that he thought about it, there was something…wrong with her. Even now, while he stared at her lifeless body, she reeked of cleanliness, of purity. And it didn't stop there. It continued to seep out from her like the rapidly spreading pool of blood, an aura that very frankly frightened him.

He knew he should dispose of the body before someone saw it, but the thought of going near her, touching her, scared him shitless. Maybe he was losing it, he thought as he backed away. Her mocking laughter still echoed in his ears, slowly driving him insane.

Without another glance, Jack turned and ran from the one spirit he couldn't Mark.

The sea, cold and dark as ebony, reflected the star-filled sky overhead. Away from the lights and sounds of the ship's interior, the still night pressed down from all sides. The sounds and smells of the sea wafted up over the rails of the Arctic Pearl to assault the senses of those few people walking out on deck.

At the prow of the ship, a slight wind picked up. It drifted out, over the ship and toward the stern, seeking to rustle clothing and tangle hair. When it reached the back of the ship, it changed directions to drift back toward the prow, where it stirred the bundle of black, silky material huddled in a pool of red under the unforgiving gaze of the heavens.

A pair of gray-green eyes stared lifelessly out to sea, gazing into the far distant eastern horizon, where the sea met the sky in a straight, unyielding line.

As the first hint of dawn coloured the line a deep crimson, the eyes suddenly blinked shut. When they reopened, they were ablaze with determination and a newfound strength as the heartsick, damaged girl inside them was replaced with a vengeful young woman.

Her lips, long cold and pale from death, opened and took a deep breath of pure sea air.

"I'll be back soon," she whispered to the bloody horizon.