Disclaimer: I still don't own anything you recognize from Ghost Ship. But not for lack of trying; those Dark Castle people are very protective of their characters and situations…damn.

A/N: Wow, it's been so long! This chapter has taken so long to write to my satisfaction, and I think I finally have it. I've also planned out my last few chapters, so they should be coming shortly. Sorry again for the delay, but I've worked very hard on the end of this story and I want it to be perfect. Thankies!

Chapter 15

Jack closed the heavy exterior door behind himself, breathing hard and trying to calm his heart, which had technically stopped beating long ago.

He knew in the logical part of his mind that he shouldn't leave the body there, where anyone could see it. Things would get very messy if it was found, and he could kiss his career goodbye. And that was not a good thing.

But that was the logical part of his mind. The other part, the part which had slowly been going crazy over the past few days, screamed at him that there was no way in the vast expanses of Hell that he was going anywhere near that - that something out there.

Jack took a deep breath and told himself that when he got back to the hold, he would instruct one of his crew members to remove the body. After all, that's what they were there for, right?

With a purpose in mind, Jack set off for the lower decks of the ship. He was shivering, and hated himself for showing that much weakness. Everything had been going so well for him, until that bitch Epps had showed up and destroyed the Antonia Graza. Things had been on a downhill slide from there.

Why hadn't he been able to Mark Ashe? And what, what, was that strange feeling he got from her? And how had she been able to block him out in the first place?

Jack shook his head. He was afraid he would never find the answers to those questions, but it didn't matter now. She was dead, he was sure of that much. And that was what counted.

By the time he reached the stairs leading to the hold, Jack had managed to push the fear and panic to the back of his mind, clearing it for new thoughts of victory and reassurance. Everything was back on track. Ashe was dead, his plans were in the final stages, and he had sensed an amazing amount of sin on this ship in the short walk down. Nothing could stop him now.

He reached the door and drew his key out of his pocket, but before he could insert it into the lock he noticed the door wasn't latched. He must have forgotten it in his haste to go after Ashe, and his crew hadn't closed it after him.

Frustration boiled up to replace the giddy assurance. Idiots! What were they doing down there, sleeping? Anyone could have just traipsed in and discovered them or worse, discovered the gold!

Ever since they had arrived on the Arctic Pearl, they had done nothing useful, and he had let them slack off. Jack gritted his teeth. That was about to change. Things were about to happen, and he couldn't afford to have idiots on the job.

"Hey!" he shouted a he swung through the door, slamming it with an echoing bang behind him, "What the fuck are you numbskulls doing down here? You left the door open -"

He trailed off as four pairs of anxious eyes trained upon his. Munder, Greer, Dodge and Santos were huddled around the form of their old captain, whom they had dragged down to the floor of the hold. Murphy was still out like a light, and Jack took a moment to wonder if he would actually wake up this time. It would be nice if the old man just stayed unconscious for a few days, but Jack could use the extra hands for his plans.

Heaving a heavy, steadying sigh, Jack clomped determinedly down the remaining steps to join his crew. None of them said anything until Jack had stopped a few feet from them.

"D'you think he'll be okay?" Munder asked nobody in particular, one hand scratching the back of his matted, greasy head in obvious discomfort.

Jack smirked and answered anyway, "You survived, didn't you?"

They all took some time to think about that. They had all indeed 'survived' the Mark and its effects, but none of them had been struck down as Murphy was.

"Enough gawking," Jack continued irritably, sensing one of them getting up the nerve to retort his comment. He didn't need that right now. "Surprising though it may seem, you guys are here and not in Hell for a reason, and that's to help me. So why don't you go do something useful for a change?"

"Fine," Greer retorted, just as irritably, "Like what?"

"Like disposing of Ashe's body," Jack smirked, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

Greer sucked in his breath at the abrupt statement. Santos curled his lip in distaste. Munder put his head down and muttered a few colourful sailor words. Dodge just stared blankly for a few seconds before biting his lip.

"What," Jack said, enjoying their shocked reactions, "You didn't think I would catch her? That shape-shifting trick works every time!"

"Didn't work last time," Dodge muttered.

Jack hissed and prepared to make a smart comeback, then realized there was none. Dodge was right; the trick hadn't worked on Epps.

Instead, Jack pointed to Dodge and Munder.

"You guys. You'll find her at the prow of the ship. Just dump her over or something. I don't care, just make sure you clean up the blood and everything. I want it squeaky clean."

There were some heavy sighs, but Jack figured they were raring to get out of the dark, dingy hold and into real air. As they moved toward the stairs, Jack called after them.

"Make sure you stay invisible. And make it quick, so nobody sees anything. It's almost light out already."

And then they were gone, through the door and out into the hallway. Jack eyed his two remaining crewmembers, and then Murphy's prone form.

He toed the lump of flesh and clothing that used to be a proud captain and grinned.

"Not so goddamned tough now, are you old man?" he said disdainfully.

Santos cleared his throat.

"And what are we supposed to do?" the young Hispanic man asked, indicating himself and Greer.

"You guys are gonna help me with the final stages of my plans," Jack replied, "I've got almost everything worked out, but since you guys are probably going to play a big role in this I thought I should review it with you first, and you can fill the others in. Got that?"

He hated the idea of giving up that much control to this bunch of salvagers, Greer was an expert on boats. And Santos was an expert on computers and technology, which seemed to be a huge part of how this ship was run. Santos' technological prowess had already proved useful: he had snuck into the bridge earlier, invisible, and had printed off the blueprints Jack needed to make his plans without any of the on-duty crew noticing.

Another reason to include his crew was the simple matter of time. The Antonia Graza had been a large ocean liner on a month-long voyage across the Atlantic, whereas the Arctic Pearl was a simple six-day Arctic cruise. Last time, Jack had had the time to gather an organized following to help him execute his master plan. No time for that this time; the third day of the cruise was beginning and Jack needed to have everyone dead by the end of the fifth day, before they got too close to land.

Not wasting any time now, Jack pulled himself up a crate. He was really looking forward to the time after he had slaughtered everyone here, when he could exert his control over the ship and all of its components. Then he could control every screw and plank of the ship with a single thought.

He waited while his two fellow conspirators sat on crates of their own, then he took out the stolen map. He laid the blueprints across yet another crate and looked over at Santos and Greer, who seemed anxious to hear what he had planned.

Back in his element, all thought of Ashe and Murphy fled his mind as he outlined his plans.

She watched the sun come up. She lounged over the railing at the back port side of the ship, which was turned toward the east. The fiery orb of the sun rose slowly over an orange horizon, the crimson stain of its light bleeding outwards until it enveloped the cruise ship caught in the frothy early morning waves. The wind that had picked up the previous night whipped her hair around her head and blew her thoughts away into the chill morning air.

From deep inside her chest, a yawn rose and came exploding from her lips. She raised a hand to cover her mouth as she reflected on the strenuous night she had had.

Ashe looked down at her torn, ruined gown and cringed. Her superiors had given her this dress with strict orders to return it safely. Hopefully the circumstances under which it was utterly destroyed would sway their thinking somewhat.

She stared bleakly down at the tear across her midriff, where a fresh red scar stood out starkly against her pale skin.

"I guess it'll match the other one," she sighed quietly, "Who knows? Depending on how many assignments I end up having to take, I might have a whole collection by the time I'm done."

Ashe pushed those thoughts firmly away. She didn't want to think about what would happen when she was finished this assignment. Would she finally be free, or would she be forced into another job like this one, dealing with people and 'facing her demons'? The thought threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

By now, the sun had freed itself from the protective clutches of the horizon and was rising into the fading sky. Ashe couldn't imagine being brave enough to part from that safe, predictable horizon every day. Ashe had always considered herself a sunset: Fading away, weary from a hard day. Wanting nothing more than to hide away and sleep where no light could find her.

Ashe shook her head to clear it of those ridiculous metaphors. She didn't have the time to waste on poetry right now.

As she swung away from the railing, Ashe was surprised to find that she was crying again. She wiped the tears furiously away, frustrated with herself for letting her emotions get away from her. She was usually so controlled, so collected. But the last few days – no, the last few years – had rubbed her raw emotionally.

Dying was not fun, she reflected. Dying was scary. Every human, no matter how depressed or world-weary, had the basic instinct of survival. Nobody really wanted to die.

And yet Ashe had always viewed death, whenever it came, as a release. Death should be final, restful, a reward for living life and finally facing death. But for her it wasn't release, wasn't a reward. It was simply a setback, a tool of fear used against her by those who would force her to do things she didn't want to do, wasn't capable of doing.

Scrubbing the last of the tears away, Ashe shook her head and, casting one last longing look at the now-blue horizon, returned inside to do what she had come here to do.

Ashe stared at the reflection in the bathroom mirror and didn't recognize what stared back at her. The person in the mirror was deathly pale, all hints of her early-summer tan bleached by terror, stress and the trauma of death. Her lips were swollen and smudged-looking. Her eyes were lost and haunted, sunken into her head and rimmed by the remnants of last night's makeup and livid purple bruises from exhaustion. Even the colour of her eyes had changed from light blue-gray to the colour of ancient slate.

Her hair was a tangled mass, half of it stuck to her face with sweat, blood and tears, and the other half standing straight on end. Her long black gown was crusted with dried blood. Half of the skirt had been torn off from her fall down the stairs, and there was a large gash across the midriff where she had been stabbed. Not to mention that she was bent-backed from fatigue and from her aching bones and muscles. She had small cuts and scrapes everywhere she looked. Bruises swathed most of her body, including a livid one rising on her right cheek. Her shoes had been lost, unnoticed, some time during the night, and she was barefoot. Her previously long, even fingernails were broken and bruised, and it hurt to move, to breathe, to think.

Unable to look at herself anymore, Ashe somehow stumbled into the bathroom and stood under the shower for what must have been three hours, until she could move freely again and she felt decently clean. She wondered grimly if she would ever feel completely clean again.

Finding it hard to breathe in the steam-filled bathroom, Ashe wrapped a towel around herself, cringing as the soft terrycloth brushed all of her bruises, and went to sit on her bed in the next room.

All of a sudden, she started shivering and couldn't stop. Her teeth chattered so loudly she feared they would break, and every muscle in her body, already pushed to the limit, screamed with tension.

Shaking uncontrollably and whimpering like a lost puppy, she managed to wrench back the covers and crawl under them.

Screw her job. Screw all those scary, doomed people. If she was going to be of any use at all, she needed sleep.

It was a blustery October night. Leaves blew in whorls around the cars rushing around Vancouver Harbour, their owners hurrying home to escape the chill weather.

There were few pedestrians so late at night in the dangerous part of the city, but one young woman hurried along the debris-covered sidewalks to her car. She had been working late, working on a report that was due the next day.

Ashe was dead tired, and her eyes were bleary from looking down the microscope at her specimens all day. The chill wind blew her long coat around her; she held it tighter against her. She was never worried about walking down by the harbour this late: after all, she was invisible. What trouble could she possibly encounter?

Ashe loved autumn; the chilly bite in the air, the beautiful colours of the trees, the anticipation of the peace of winter on the west coast…she allowed her mind to wander and slowed her tread somewhat as she took a deep breath of the air. The ocean was only a few blocks away, and the wind was scented with it. Then she remembered why nobody should ever let their guard down while walking in downtown Vancouver.

She had been passing a dark alley without even realizing it, and suddenly an arm snaked out of it to grab at her. Seeing it too late, she was too slow to dart away. The arm, obviously belonging to a large man, dragged her into the alley. She tried to scream for help, but his hand quickly came up to cover her mouth. She squirmed, trying to break his grip, and suddenly her face exploded with blinding pain as his accomplice slapped her hard.

Her eyes, only just now adjusting to the dark, welled with tears of pain and panic as she realized there were a bout five big men surrounding her. At least two of them held knives, and they were all leering at her in a way she really didn't like.

How could this be happening? Why had they chosen her? She wasn't anybody, she was invisible, nobody could possibly want anything from her!

One of the men ripped off her coat and began searching through it, and upon finding nothing proceeded to check the pockets of her jeans while the first man held her arms behind her back. It was a good thing she always kept her valuables hidden and locked in her car while she was at work, because they found nothing on her of any value.

Every time she tried to struggle or scream she was rewarded with another blow to the head, until she could no longer feel the left half of her face.

When they found nothing in her pockets, Ashe thought they might let her go. Panic and fear seared her nerves, and adrenaline pumped through her so heavily she thought she might pass out every time her heart beat. Her breathing was restricted by her assailant's hand, and it came in shallow gasps.

But they didn't release her. Instead, the biggest of them, who had been standing by while the others searched her, came forward. His bulk blocked out most of the light from the street, so that Ashe felt she was completely cut off from all hope of rescue.

The man came toward her, a leer fixed upon his craggy features. Even before he reached to her shirt and began to rip it open, Ashe knew what was about to happen.

No! That would not happen again! Not again, never again!

She began to fight harder, determined not to let this man do what he intended to do. Was this the only way it ever was with men? she thought as panic rose in her. Her heart jumped into her throat, obscuring her air tube. Unable to breathe, Ashe struggled until the big man grabbed the knife from one of his cronies, holding it up to her throat.

"Stop squirming, bitch, or I'll cut you so bad you' - Ahh!"

Ashe had stomped as hard as she could on the man's foot and was about to raise her knee to his groin when he caught it in one of his massive hands. She gave a huge heave, and the man that held her finally lost his grip on her. Ashe found she could suddenly breathe again, though not as well as usual. She took as big a lungful of air as she could manage and screamed with all of her might, which admittedly wasn't much. It came out as a low yell that somehow fell hollow in the alleyway. A few of the men laughed, but she didn't notice that. All her energy was focused on getting out of this alley and away from that man that was determined to rape her. But by now he had her leg in a painful death grip, and had his knife pressed against her once again.

"I don't think you want to do that, bitch," he growled, nevertheless panting with the effort to keep her restrained, "Or I might decide you're not worth it."

Ashe didn't even give herself time to think about that comment. She had to get away, had to be alone again. Those were the only thoughts that penetrated her head as her breathe came out in gasps and tears ran down her face. Her shirt was torn almost to her waist, and her lip was bleeding from one of the brutes' blows.

"Fuck it, man," one of the other men said from behind her attacker, "The bitch's too stupid to understand. Just shut her up before someone hears."

The largest man, who still held Ashe's leg and was now sweating with the effort of holding her, grunted and nodded. He let go of Ashe's leg but before she could move he slammed her into the brick wall of the alley. Stars danced in front of her eyes, and she never saw the knife the man held before he shoved into her abdomen.

Pain flashed red in front of her eyes, and she slumped to the ground. The man pulled the knife out of her and took off with the rest of his cronies, leaving her alone.

Tears of pain and fear obscured Ashe's vision as she lay in the alley. She was beyond screaming for help, beyond hoping at all. Nobody would help her; she was nobody. She was just invisible, ice bitch Ashe Garner, and she was better off dead anyway.

Fighting through the pain, she managed to momentarily blink the tears away and look down. Blood oozed from the wound below her ribs, and a pool of it had collected around her, soaking her ripped shirt and jeans.

Being a biologist, Ashe had never been afraid of blood. Now, as she watched it leak out of her, taking her life with it, she watched almost with fascination. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, as she supposed her lungs were filling with blood and shutting down. She could no longer feel her heart beat, but she found she didn't care. The pain was fading now, and she became numb all over. She closed her eyes, feeling so cold -

- Cold like the ocean in June. Ashe was eleven years old at the time. She had waded in farther than she was supposed to, and her mother didn't notice. She was talking to a 'friend' from work, some man that Ashe didn't like. Suddenly, an errant wave swept Ashe off her feet, carrying her away from shore and out into the current. Ashe was never a strong swimmer, and she knew she should head back before the tide pulled her too far out. But it was so nice, so wonderfully soothing, to be surrounded completely by the freezing water, that solid support that wasn't solid at all. It hugged her gently in its embrace, drawing her slowly away from her problems, from the people she despised. Her skin became numb and then strangely warm as she halfheartedly treaded water. She wasn't so much swimming as floating, drifting out with the tide. She just let herself drift farther and farther away from shore, watching her mother and her friend grow smaller and smaller. But still she didn't scream for help, didn't panic. She was calm, serene even. She was in her element.

Back on that beach years ago, that was the moment when her mother had noticed her and her friend had dove in to 'save' her, earning him a long praising and an even longer kiss from her mother, while Ashe had earned a screaming row that night, away from the eyes of her mother's latest boyfriend.

But now, in the dark alley, Ashe allowed the tide to carry her away, beyond the horizon and beyond her problems. She submerged in the dark tide, and as she did a contented smile drifted across her face.

Then, the darkness lifted. Slowly, a bit at a time, Ashe found that she could see shapes drifting around her. The air was filled with an eerie whispering, as if many voices were talking around her. She yelped when something caressed her arm, sitting bolt upright to another gush of blood from the knife wound. Strangely, it didn't hurt, not anymore. But the sight she awoke to drove all thoughts of the attack from her mind.

She was lying stretched along a narrow path littered with stones and briars, and beyond the path she could see nothing but swirling dark mist. It had been an arm of that mist that had brushed her skin, and even now she shuddered as its chill swept over her again. Its touch was cold and clammy, like touching a dead fish, and the whispering she had heard was coming from somewhere within the gloom. The light that had awoken her was the dim half-light of dusk, filtering down through the mist to illuminate the path in front of her. Glancing behind her showed that mists had obstructed her way back. That left her nothing to do but stay here as the whispering mist slowly ate away at her sanity, or walk the path ahead of her.

Getting to her feet was hard, not because she was in pain, as she should have been with the gaping wound in her abdomen, but because it was like pulling yourself out of the water from being submerged: you're heavier than you think at first.

Ashe knew that she was dead; surprisingly enough, the thought was a comfort. That meant that whatever was ahead of her couldn't possibly be worse than some of the things she had faced in life. Like people. She took one shuddering step, again feeling as though she weighed three times her normal weight, but as she began to walk it became easier with every step. Soon she was almost running down the narrow path, tripping occasionally over stones and prickly plants.

"Hello?" she called, her voice falling dead in the swirling mist. The whispering persisted, to all sides, above and even below her. Glancing behind her showed that the mist had drifted over the path, obscuring the way back. Somehow she knew that to step into the mist would strand her forever in its clammy embrace, and she shuddered again at the thought. So the only way she could go was forward, for what seemed like hours, following the rough, narrow path through the mist.

Finally, the gate appeared, small at first but gaining in size as she approached until it stretched five meters to either side of her and rose high above her head. The gate was intricately worked wrought iron. The gold emblem she could barely make out at the top depicted two cherubs holding what looked to be a broken heart between them.

Lowering her gaze to eye level again, Ashe studied the swirling designs for some sign of a - what? A doorbell? A knocker? Shaking her head, Ashe resisted the urge to sit down and sob. The mists had obscured all but a foot of the path behind her, and the gate stood before her, solid and huge. She had nowhere to go.

Then, there was the unmistakable sound of an ancient door creaking. The iron gate began to swing inwards, away from her. From somewhere in the distance a light appeared, steadily growing brighter as the gate opened wider. Before Ashe had time to shield her eyes, the light became blinding, filling her vision.

She dropped to her knees as the light washed over her, strangely cold and distant, like the sun in the winter, bringing with it shrieks and screams like somebody was being tortured.

"I'm in Hell," Ashe thought as the screams tore at her, driving her slowly insane, "I've been sent to Hell."

But then, as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped, replaced by the sound of somebody walking toward her. Releasing the breath she hadn't been aware of holding, Ashe raised her head to look at the newcomer. It was a pale woman, dressed in a gown of some silky material that Ashe had never seen before. She seemed to glide toward where Ashe knelt, still bleeding, on the ground. With a bit of a start, Ashe noticed that the ground was no longer rocky and rough but made of smooth black and red marble. It looked like blood leaking through a deep bruise.

Feeling sick, Ashe kept her eyes from the floor and instead addressed the approaching woman in a shaky voice, "Excuse me, but can you tell me what the hell just happened?"

The woman, who had long black hair and dark eyes, smiled in an almost motherly fashion at Ashe. "Welcome," she said in a high, melodic voice, "To the Gates of Judgment."

"Judgment," Ashe repeated under her breath, "I didn't know that was a place."

"It isn't," the woman replied, obviously hearing Ashe's mumbled words, "It is a state of being. You have led a hard life, Ashe Garner, and now it is over."

The words, put so bluntly like that, brought tears to Ashe's eyes. Nobody really wants to die, and hearing somebody say that you're dead isn't something you want to hear.

"You have been judged," the pale woman continued, "And found guilty of Restraint."

"Restraint?" Ashe choked, seemingly unable to do more that repeat what the woman was saying.

"Yes, Restraint. You have lived, Ashe, but you have not lived. Your avoidance of other human beings and belief that you go unnoticed has led to your life ending far too soon. Therefore you have been granted a second chance to make a difference."

"What do you mean?" Ashe asked, her voice shaking and her mind racing. She had to make up for - what? For staying away from the people that would have made her life even more of a living hell than it was? No! She had lived and now she was dead. That meant she would be able to rest, to finally be on her own. This couldn't be happening!

"You mean I have to go back?" she squeaked, unnerved by the pale woman's unwavering stare.

"Ashe," the woman said, gazing down with what could only be described as pity, "You don't understand how closing yourself off from others has affected who you could have been. Nobody ever gets to live life over, but some, like you, are given the chance to make up for what they have become."

Sobbing quietly, Ashe chewed at her lip, desperately trying to let the woman's words sink in.

"What am I going to have to do?" she asked.

"That is yet to be seen," the woman replied, now crossing to Ashe and taking her gently by the arm, "But for now you're to be taken to a place where you can prepare. You will stay there until you are called to do what you must."

As Ashe allowed the pale woman to haul her to her feet, the dream dissolved, leaving Ashe shaking and sobbing two years later in her bed aboard the Arctic Pearl.