(Fiona's POV)

And you can't fight the tears that ain't
coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd
understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

--Goo Goo Dolls, "Iris"

Lawrence didn't ask about what had happened on the docks, just left a short note and a pistol with extra shots and powder on my bed. Use it if you need to, he had written. I would, I thought, if I got the chance.

I left without alerting anyone. I left all my things save my backpack with enough clothes for a week, paying Mrs. Mason advance rent and leaving an address with her should anything come up, which I found highly unlikely.

The fort was quiet. Lawrence was no where in sight. After a leaving a farewell note on his desk, I slunk to the door that would take me home for a short time, scarcely believing I was engaged. The ring felt very new on my finger, and I kept fidgeting with it. Now, however, my thoughts were on other things.

My hand grasped the door's handle, and I pulled it open. The smell of gasoline fumes wafted into my nostrils, rancid and sharp, and the city lights reflected on the night sky, overcast. The dim figures of people could be seen walking down the sidewalks, crossing the street. Steeling myself, I stepped through, closing the door behind me. As my hand let go of the handle, the air quivered. I turned to see that the door had vanished into thin air. I swallowed my fear as shivers went down my spine, then began to find my bearings.

I was definitely back home, on Jefferson Street. That meant I was only two blocks from my father's house. Forcing myself forward, I took one step after another. Come on, you have to do this, I told myself. Everything felt so different here after being in the 18th century for so long. Nothing had changed though – it was still the same, dirty town I had been trying to escape from.

My heart clenched as I approached the Victorian house, still standing in all its grandeur. My parents hadn't been poor, they just hadn't spent any money on me. As I climbed the stone steps, I began to think I really was crazy to be doing this. I was trembling all over, trying to pull myself together. Really, Fiona, considering you bested a British naval captain-turned Commodore who was insanely full of himself, you should be able to handle this! I thought. Stiffening my resolve, I rang the door bell. I would not let him beat me again.

Lights came on in the hallway, and the front door swung open, revealing my father, still in his suit. We stared at each other for a few minutes. He seemed to be trying to register in his mind that I was actually standing there in front of him. Then his face flushed, and his vice-like grip clenched my arm and I was being dragged into the study. The door slammed behind us.

"Bitch! How dare you come back to me after all the trouble I went through to try and find you!" he screamed, shoving me onto the couch. I struggled to get the backpack off.

"Dad, wait a minute, let me say…." I began, holding up a hand.

"No excuses, you hear me?" He grabbed my wrist, and I thought it might just break if he twisted any harder. Then I slapped him, hard.

"Let go of me," I growled. He stood there stunned, face going white. I pried his hand off my wrist. "I came to get my inheritance," I stated flatly, not knowing another way to put it. "If you don't give me what's rightfully mine, I'll take you and mom to court and sue you not only for the inheritance, but also for child abuse."

"You wouldn't dare destroy my reputation!" he spat impetuously.

"Watch me." I moved for the phone. "I'll call the police right now. I'm sure they'd be glad to know how nicely you reacted to my coming home." I didn't see the slap until it had hit me full across the face and come back on the other side. I reeled back, head spinning as my cheeks stung with pain. What a fool I had been to think he would have allowed me to call the cops.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted in my face, gracing me with another back-handed slap.

"I'm not telling you," I said defiantly.

"Like hell you ain't," he said, shoving me against the couch. "Why are you talking like you're some Englishwoman?"

"None of your business!" I was asking for it. "I want you out of my life, John Amherst! You and mom and all the shit you've put on me, gone! Give me what's mine and I'll leave, never come back! Please!" I fell to my knees, begging, tears coming. "This is all I want, and I'll never bother you again, I promise."

"Maybe a good beating will teach you to talk," he breathed in anger, pulling me up. I struggled, kicking, biting, whatever I could think of, but he pinned my arms behind me, pressing my face to the couch, and tied my arms and legs with something. The next thing I remember is the stinging lashes falling onto my back, the slap of the leather.

I was in the basement, the musty smell of rust invading my senses. Licking my lips, I tasted blood. Opening my eyes, I waited until my vision cleared to look around. My backpack sat at my feet, open, things strewn around. I panicked, thinking my father might have found the pistol I had so carefully hidden in my jacket's padding, along with the powder and shots. Struggling up, pain tingling through my back and face, I managed to free myself from my bonds and search through the jacket. It was all still there. Sighing with relief, I checked to make sure it was loaded, then, packing the rest of my things, went over to the doors that opened out into the back yard. A window showed that it was still night. Cocking the pistol and pointing it at the lock, I almost pulled the trigger when I saw another window, bigger. I could fit through it. Stumbling over, I found it to be unlocked. I shoved my things through, and struggled out after them into the bushes. I hefted my things onto my back, stowed the pistol and ran for the center of town and the police station.

The police station was quiet as I walked in. A female cop was on duty at the front desk, and I hesitantly approached. As she looked up, her eyes widened.

"I'd like to report child abuse," I said shakily, in a whisper. "It's been going on since I was 7. I just came home to get my inheritance because I'm getting married and…and…" I wanted to blurt out my whole story, but my voice caught as tears began to fall. She gently guided me over to a chair. I touched my face, felt a bruise, a swollen jaw, and a few cuts.

"Just sit tight here, let me go get the chief," she said, moving slowly. I nodded.

"Can I use the phone?" I requested, wiping away tears. She nodded, pointing behind the desk. I picked it up, dialed my uncle's number, and waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?" came a sleepy voice from the other end.

"Uncle Henry?" I choked.

"Fiona?" he said, sounding much more awake. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the police station, at home. Dad beat me and I managed to get out of the basement."

"Where have you been?"

"It's a long story." I sniffed, holding back tears. "Listen, I really need you to come up here, now, ok?"

"Yeah, sure, just stay at the station, I'll be up in a few hours." The line clicked, and I sat back down. After a few moments, the chief appeared, followed by the woman.

"This is her, sir. She is the one, isn't she?" said the woman.

"Fiona Fitzgerald?" the chief asked, sitting down beside me.

"Yes, sir, that's me."

"What happened?"

"I came home, to get my inheritance from my father, because I'm getting married, but he beat me. He doesn't know I'm getting married, but he's been beating me since I was 7. All I want is my inheritance so I can go live my own life, sir, really." I didn't know why I was telling him all this, but I felt I needed to.

"Why didn't you come forward before about your father's beating you?"

"I couldn't get away from him." I clenched and unclenched my hands, staring at the linoleum floor.

"Can anyone prove that he's been beating you?"

"My uncle can, and my mom can. She helped incite the beatings. My uncle's on his way from Virginia Beach."

"Is that who you called?" asked the woman. I nodded.

"Listen, let's get you cleaned up. We'll let you stay here tonight, file the paperwork before morning, and get everything straightened away. What about your fiancée?" the chief asked. "You wanna call him?"

"I don't know his number. He doesn't live here." I did desperately wish that Lawrence were here now, though. The chief helped me up, and the woman took me to a back room where she did her best to clean the wounds. I spent a restless night on the cot, and when I awoke a few hours later, the woman said I had been calling "Lawrence!" the whole time.

My uncle strode into the chief's office in full uniform, scowling. When he saw me, his expression softened as he gently took me in his arms. Then he turned to the chief.

"Whatever evidence you need, you can always ask me," he said, glaring at the blue uniform. "That man has beaten her for years, and her mother has come close to it. Had I not been threatened with a gun I would have stepped in before now."

"Amherst threatened you?" said the chief.

"Yes, and Fiona. Chief, arrest him."

"Well, your testimony so far coincides with that of Fiona's, but her mother refuses to talk. And her father says it never happened." My uncle turned crimson with rage. He showed the Chief my face.

"It never happened, huh?" he said. "Take a look at her face. Does that suggest that the beating never took place?" The chief shrugged. "We'll take them to court. Come on, Fiona, you're coming with me. We'll be at the Monarch Hotel, if you need us."

"Now wait a minute, we aren't finished."

"Yes, we are, sir!" My uncle and I marched out, his arm protectively around me. "We're taking them to court," he said as we climbed into his car. "I know a good lawyer who will make sure we win." I only hoped he was right.

We reached the hotel, and upon arriving in our room, I fell onto the bed, curling up and trying to ignore the pain I was in. My uncle sat down next to me, rubbing my shoulder.

"You're getting married?" he asked. I nodded. "To whom?"

"An Englishman. I found a time portal or something when I was on the train that threw me into 1765, Port Royal, in the Caribbean. I met a naval captain, and it just kind of happened." I showed him the ring.

"I was hoping you'd find that portal – it can take you anywhere," he said, making me sit up in surprise.

"You knew about it?"

"It was a navy secret. No one else knows about it. The Caribbean, huh?" I nodded. "1765 – that must have been interesting."

"I liked it. I miss it and Lawrence a lot."

"Is that your fiancée?"

"Yes, Lawrence Norrington. He's Commodore now. He didn't want me to go, almost forbid me. He gave me a pistol to take with me for my protection. It and the extra bullets and powder are in my jacket." He found them, studying them for a few moments.

"If I could get someone to go get him, would that make you happy?" I nodded, smiling weakly.

"Don't count on him being very available, though." He laughed, understanding, and then made a few phone calls. I drifted off to sleep, wondering if we would indeed win a court case against my parents.