Chapter XIII – Half and Half
The room was pretty dark and the corners even darker, hidden in shadow. Everything had the appearance of being well used, well worn, and quite dirty. She had no idea how she had managed to get herself into the disgusting corner in her pretty pink dress, but she had. Neither did she know why. Perhaps instinct to hide, to never be found. For an escape. True she had wanted adventure, but this was a tad extreme.
Putting her palm against the gritty floor, she winced, but moved herself further back, squishing further into the spot where the two walls met. The very spot Cutthroat had removed that box of his. It was deplorably soiled which appalled her, and when she brushed her hand off on her skirts, she left trails of black. But at least she was safe, hidden in the corner. Or she felt she was.
The door creaked open and she winced again, praying that whoever it was wouldn't see her. Cutthroat strode into his room, closed the door behind him then sat on his bed. One thing Rachelle noticed when he entered was that he was wearing about half his clothes, the other half draped over his arm. Now they were bunched up on his legs. He reached over to a little table beside his bed and opened the small drawer. From that he pulled out a needle and threat. Carefully and with surprising patience he put the thread through the tiny eye of the needle, and grabbed the shirt in his lap with the other hand. Doubling up the thread then starting to sew the bloody tear in his clothes, which was too large to leave ripped as pirates usually did, he never looked up. He never even noticed that she was in the room. They sat in their spots, Michael sewing, Rachelle inconspicuous, for a long time. When finished, breaking the thread with his teeth after knotting it off properly (which she found strange: what man knew how to do that?), he tossed the shirt aside and started on another one. Another bloody slash in his clothes let her know he must have got these during battle. Yet he walked around as if he had no wounds and felt no pain – and that must have been why he winced in his room the previous morning. Again, this rip was too big to be left alone and he resumed sewing. Ten minutes or so passed, and he shifted his body.
Something hit the floor and rolled a bit, then skidded towards Rachelle. Michael's head whipped up, following the sound, eyes glinting.
Picking up the half of the black pearl, the young woman nearly started bawling. She stood hastily and came out of the shadows, making Cutthroat jump up, knife at the ready, clothes cast onto the bed.
"Whaterya doin' hidin' like that girl?" he snarled, eyes darting from her to her hand, where his pearl was grasped.
"Jennifer?" she whispered, the sobs welling up, choking her throat. A massive lump was stuck there and she couldn't swallow it down. Her hand gripped her friend's half pearl, identical to her own but without the silver along the edge, as tears flooded her eyes, pouring down her cheeks.
"I dunno what yer talkin' 'bout," he spat, swiping at her hand. "Give it here, girl. Don't try my patience, savvy?"
She cocked her head and said, "I do not know what savvy means, but I know that you have to be Jennifer. How else could you have this? Why are you denying it?"
"Give me that!" he roared, grasping her wrist in his large, calloused hand. She could feel his darkly tanned flesh scratching her delicate pale skin. Could feel him crushing her bones, ready to reduce them to powder.
But she didn't relent.
"Jennifer, it is Rachelle. Why are you being so mean? Why are you pretending you don't know who I am?"
He stared blankly at her. "I don't know who ye are, lass . . ." a contemplative look came over him, his eyes glazing over slightly, "but I think I now know what yer talkin' 'bout." Dropping her arm, he sat back on his bed, gathered up his clothes and resumed sewing. Rachelle nursed her wrist, frowning at him, drawing back slightly.
He glanced up at her. "Can I have my pearl back?"
"It is mine!"
"Wrong. It was yer friends, who I plundered it from. It belongs to me, woman!"
Whimpering and having no choice, Rachelle handed it over. She didn't like the sound of "was" and "plundered". Nor did she like how he said woman.
"Ye can sit or ye can stand, it doesna bother me." He just went on sewing as he spoke, launching into his tale. "When I was cabin boy here we found a girl. She was about me age." He looked thoughtful. "About twelve years ago, it was."
Rachelle felt a sinking in her heart and stomach.
"Anyway, ouch," he said suddenly, pricking his finger. He shook his hand then continued sewing. "Anyway, the men dragged her into the middle of the deck and ripped off mosta 'er clothes."
The tears of joy sliding from Rachelle's eyes quickly turned into cold, hateful tears.
"I was too young to join in but I sat, watchin'. As they raped her, somethin' came out of her clothes and rolled righ' by me. I grabbed it and . . . there it is." He nodded towards the pearl.
"No," she whispered, sinking to her knees. "That cannot be true!"
Michael shrugged, finishing his sewing. "Then they tossed her half-dead body off the ship and let 'er drown."
"But . . . you lie! She could swim!"
He made a face. "'Ow in hell were we suppos' to know? The blood prob'ly attracted sharks anyway." Smirking, he tacked on, "And she was in no condition to swim."
"You evil, vile, disgusting . . ." she didn't know what else to add, so just screamed and leapt up. Michael didn't move, even when she fled his room.
The men were under order from him to do nothing to her. They'd have to face him if they did. And none of them wanted to face him. Or so he convinced himself.
Rachelle stormed through the small, stinking corridors deep in the ship. Tears slid down her cheeks as she hiccupped, not wanting to cry outright. She was too enraged to start sobbing. All hopes of Jennifer maybe being alive were completely dashed. Cutthroat had seen it, he had been there. He knew too much to be lying. It was the same as had been told to her. Found, raped and thrown overboard. She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to. All these years she had nursed that tiny little hope that she would see her friend one day.
"Never say never," they had both said. But now she would never see her friend again. Never. And there was no denying that.
"Whata we got 'ere, boys," a leering voice said to accompany the body Rachelle had just slammed into. Looking up, she was staring at three ugly, dirty pirates with too much muscle and tan. And tattoos, they all had tattoos from what she could tell.
She gulped and backed up a step as she brought her hands together and pressed them to her chest. They advanced on her, grinning eagerly.
One licked his lips and said, "Cutthroat ain't 'round. 'E'll ne'er know we played wit 'is toy."
The smaller one of the three, who was still quite large, looked about fretfully. "Do ye really wanna git Cutthroat's back up? The lad's mighty mean and woul' hae no qualms wit killin' us if Jack dinna say anythin'."
The other two studied him.
"Then he shouldna 'ave let 'is woman wander around alone," the first one, in the middle, explained slowly.
"'E's gotta point," the one on the right said thoughtfully.
The middle one, who happened to be the biggest of them, reached out and grabbed her arm with an extremely dirty hand. Rachelle tried to shrink back, but he wouldn't let her, his grip firm. In fact, he pulled her closer, removing her hands from her chest and staring right down her dress.
She went bright red. His hand moved to her breasts and she gasped, trying to scream. But her throat was clogged with panic.
"I will get Michael," a clear voice said from behind the pirates. They turned around and sneered.
"It's da university cabin boy. 'Avin' fun bein' tha captain and Cutthroat's bitch?"
He strode up to them, unfazed by their verbal assault. "Better to be their bitch than their victim," he articulated, "maties."
"We was just gonna play with da love," the smaller of the three pirates responded.
"I think that is up to Cutthroat's discretion," Thomas said clearly, squeezing past them against the wall and standing behind Rachelle. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back, the large pirate letting go of her arm. "I can ask the captain and his first mate what they think, if you would like. I am sure they would like to have a say in your play time."
The three glowered at him and Rachelle could feel his hands tremble slightly, but not enough to show the pirates he was scared.
"Yer needed on deck," he spat, slang coming automatically to him. When the three had left, mumbling threats on their way, Thomas turned Rachelle around.
"Th-thank you," she stammered, curtseying.
"My, aren't we polite," he teased, smile on his face. Then he turned serious. "Why did you leave Michael's room?"
She shook her head and cast her eyes away, not wanting to speak about it.
"That bad, huh? Well," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and starting to guide her back, "his room is the only safe place for you. Besides the captain's quarters, and only Michael is allowed in there." He paused. "Sometimes Anamaria, but that's usually in concert with Michael anyway. But that's beside the point. Michael is the one who is protecting you. The lad's actually quite nice, if you get past his visage and his reputation." Smirking he continued, "And the fact that he has been with our dear Captain Jack Sparrow for twelve years. That could send anybody up the twist."
Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Rachelle laughed softly.
"There's a girl," Thomas said soothingly.
"Sir, you have rescued me and I have not learned your name."
To that he burst out laughing. Between outbursts he managed, "Thomas, Miss, my name is Thomas."
Slightly pink, she still gave him a sweet smile. "Well, Thomas, you may call me Rachelle instead of Miss."
He smiled back down at her, then opened Cutthroat's door and forced her to go in.
"Good-bye, Thomas," she said, still smiling, looking up into his grey eyes. He had light brown hair and good stature; he looked like he belonged in her class. He also sounded educated which was a bonus for him.
"Bye, M . . . Rachelle." He shut the door, leaving her with Michael, who looked lazily up from his bed as his only greeting for his charge.
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Sheesh, Rachelle's trying to go from bad to worse, isn't she? Then again, that Thomas feller seems kinda nice ;)
Mika is no longer MIA! Woohoo! She's even (supposed to be) coming over to my place Thursday for my birthday! (I'm 19 on the 12th which is Friday . . .). So . . . we'll be writing more for your pleasure! We're special monkeys, aren't we :D
Please review!
Sukkumbus and the somewhat-absent Mika