Chapter Six (Journey of Hell)

Sorry for the wait but work is the reason for the delay. I am typing the next two chapters now and hopefully will be finished by next Monday. Thanks for the patience. I hope you like this chapter.

Thanks to my regular reviewers.I really appreciate the encouragement.

The slow rocking gives James the first clue that he's not in Jamaica anymore. The second clue was the sea salt smell burning his nose. But the final clue was the blazing hot sun scorching his flesh, flesh that hasn't ever really been touched the sun. Trying to take a deep breath and failing miserably with the gag in his mouth, he slowly begins to open his eyes. He immediately closes them; the bright sun hurting eyes and aggravating his headache. He waited for the throbbing and nausea to pass before trying again only to have a whole lot of water dumped on his head.

Coughing through the gag, he allows the cooling effect the water has on his skin to relax him for the nightmare that he is about to allow his eyes to witness. Again he opens his eyes but this time a shadow is cast over him. When he looks up he makes contact with the person who kidnapped him.

He couldn't really see his captor for the sun was at his back and he is lying on his side but James could see the wicked sharp blade, curved upward, point glinting in the sun. The dagger seemed to hum with deadliness and as it came towards him his only hope that it would be quick. He hoped that the dagger is a sharp as he imagines it because it would mean that he wouldn't even know he was cut until long after the life blood have left his veins.

The man stops directly in front of him bringing the blade ever closer to James' face. He deliberately kept his eyes on the invisible face before him. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of seeing him squirm at the sight of the blade. They both are still silently evaluating each other before the man moved closer to the James.

James wished he could move but the way he's tied is preventing him. He is bowed in a way his body isn't used to and he can feel the stiffness from it. His hands are tied behind him. The rope is then connected to his ankles keeping his knees bent leaving him the only position besides lying down as being on his knees. He is totally helpless and his only act of defiance is the glare he is now giving his capture.

A moment later the blade flashed out so quickly James thought he imagined it until the gag fell from his mouth. The relief he felt was short lived when the man spoke.

"You speak wehout me axing a question you loose the tongue? Get it blanc?" the voice is a deliberate rasp.

James just nods knowing that he couldn't afford to aggravate the man before him. Unlike most people this man is not a talker. Everything about him says so. And if James spoke his tongue would go. The man used the rope and pulled James to his knees. James grunted from the motion, the stiffness in his body shooting tingles of electronic pulses to underused limbs, causing a stinging sensation.

The man studies him a moment before producing a water sack. He tips it over James' mouth and James greedily drinks relieving his dry throat with the cool liquid. The moment quickly ended and James is acutely aware of the fact that his thirst barely got quenched. Yet he doesn't say a word instead watching the man who doesn't move deliberately standing in a way so that James can't really see his face.

Shink and a moment later James felt a fire across his chest. He can feel the blood trickling down from his wound as the pain turned to a dull throbbing.

"Who you be?"

James grits his teeth but says nothing. Shink. The blade comes across his chest again, a little deeper but still not enough to kill him. Just enough to make him feel a sharp pain turn into two throbbing pains both alternating so he can't ever forget that there are now two wounds on his chest. He hisses a bit as a little spray from the ocean hits his chest with it salty essences. The burn causes him to grunt when he finally speaks.

"My name is Norrington. Commodore…aww." Another cut lands this time across his stomach.

"Don't lie to me blanc. You not Norrington. So who you really be?" There is a sadistic rage emanating from the man, the voice harsher than before.

The pain of the cut hurt more because every time he flinched his stiff body protested with pain shooting through his arms and legs. Taking a deep soothing breath James glares at the man.

"I tell you I am Norrington…Christ," he hisses the last part.

This time the blood flies a bit as the blade cuts him across the face. The stinging pain almost makes James eyes water but he would never give the man the satisfaction of seeing his pain completely.

The man is heaving now, "You dare pley wiv me Blanc. I'll kill you fast. You not know what hit you. So tell me again that you Norrington and see whut 'appens. Now who you be and why you lie!" He cuts James again for emphasis across his shoulder near his neck.

James couldn't stop the wince that came on his face. The blade is indeed sharp very sharp. It is the kind of blade that you feel the cut more and more painfully after it has long since left your flesh.

He didn't know what the man wanted but he did determine the man wasn't listening or is completely deaf. Knowing that the answer might infuriate the man but not caring James growled, "I am Norrington. Commodore James Christopher Norrington…" he gasps in pain as the man slashes him several times across his chest and stomach.

"No! No! No," the man shouts with each cut. Blood is flying everywhere some hitting the man in his face until in his frenzy he complete snaps. Then with a wild force, teeth clenched together and a final scream of liar, the man drives the blade straight into James' thigh.

James shouts from the pain, as does the man who seems to be knocked back by a powerful force. James is panting now, his body riddle with painfully shallow and deep cuts and a stab wound that hurt more than any bullet could have and he knows for he has been shot once in the left shoulder. That pain pales in comparison to the one he is currently experiencing.

The force knocked the man off his feet as a fire burns in his hand. He lands on his rump sliding a bit. The hat he wore flew off in the landing, allowing a long braid to come unraveled falling down the back. The scream that followed was piercingly high and the girl grips her wrist tightly. After a moment she stands looking at her hand as a mark fades into it. A mark she thought she would never see condemning her until she pays retribution for what she has done. Staring at her hands eyes widen in disbelief she began to pant.

Norrington in his haze of pain saw the braid and then the face of a woman. He couldn't believe what he is seeing. This whole time he was has been held by a woman, a young looking one at that who apparently is a madder than a loon. But when she turned to face him he felt his blood run colder.

Storming back over to the tied up 'Norrington', the woman swings out violently. Her fist connects with James' face. James jaw bruised from the impact but didn't knock him out. He watched as the girl ranted at him. Then she leans closer.

"It be not true. You 'ave to be him. You have to…" but when she touches the blade her hand burns even more. In another fit of anger she swings at James again this time hard enough to knock him over causing his head to hit the deck making him unconscious.

The woman seethe in frustration. She has been cursed, condemn. The only way that could happen is by having the wrong man. Yet if she thought about it she would have realized that the blade was heating up long before the final cut. She chose ignored it in her anger but now she knows she should have paid attention. Frustrated she sits down at the well of the ship with a thud.

Now she has hell to pay, for if she wants Emmit to work for her she has to pay penance to the Blanc on her boat that she harmed. Emmit doesn't like to be used against innocent blood. It was not designed for it. She didn't want it that way. But the burning feeling in her hand, through her body sings to her that she is guilty. Guilty of taking and harming the wrong man. And for that she must make it right before Emmit's poison can fully kill her before she gets to exact revenge against the man who really caused all her pain.

Glancing over at the 'Norrington', she studies his body. He is a well-toned man, chest defined and stomach taunt with a few muscles present. Like all English men and women, he has managed to stay pale as the moonlight in the Caribbean of all places. Now his chest is a ruddy color probably a sign of sunburn she didn't know or care. He has a strong face with short spikey hair that has grown a little since he has been taken. A shadow is appearing on his face, it too dark. This Norrington is built leaner and slightly taller than the man she knows to be Norrington. In fact even his eye color is wrong but that is only a slightly. The Norrington she seeks has eyes that are emerald green whereas this James has the color of dark green Jade. The other Norrington has lighter hair and is huskier and broader in the shoulder. No she knows this isn't the right person and a part of her knew that before she dragged this Norrington on the boat.

Sighing heavily she goes to her medical kit. Taking out various jars and a small kettle, she begins making salve and tea to help the Blanc with his wounds. As she stirs the mixtures over the small flame that she has sitting in a pot, she thinks about her next plans. The idea was to kill Norrington after what she planned to be weeks of torture. At the moment the plan is totally blown to hell. She now has to heal this man and maybe return him to his people without ever knowing what happen to the real Norrington.

Taking a momentary look at the unconscious man she begins to consider that although he may not have the right Norrington, this man might be able to tell him where the real one could found. He may even be related to him although the woman finds it hard to believe. There is something about this Norrington that doesn't jive with the way she has him in her mind. This man doesn't seem like the type to be involved in something as vile as the Norrington she knew. This Blanc seemed to have some type of integrity, an honest strength in him that the other Norrington didn't to have. This Norrington didn't have the cruel glint in his eye not matter how cold the stare. He is different but how different time will tell.

Finally the salve and drink was done. She placed a rag into the hot tea letting it saturate a moment before carefully taking it out holding a dry edge. Walking over to the Blanc, the woman drops the cloth over the wound where Emmit is resting. Quickly she pushed the rag around the wound until she wrapped it with Emmit peeking out of it. Taking a deep breath, the woman pulls out the blade thinking it would hurt but Emmit is cool to the touch. The woman almost rolls her eyes.

"You be a fickle thang ain't you Emmit." Shaking her head she places Emmit back into its sheath. Then the woman went back to tending to all Norrington's wounds. By the time she finished she spotted her Cove in the horizon. She speculates that she'll be there in about few hours if the winds persist. Anticipating problems the woman went about changing Norrington's ropes to chains.

Norrington slowly wakes again, the pain slightly faded in his body except for his head and face. It takes him a moment to realize that though the boat rocked they have stopped. It is the sound of the water that gives it away. The water crashes softly against a shore that the boat can't climb. Letting his eyes open a bit he finds that he is in a cove. Turning his head he notices that the night sky is shining brightly over the ocean. He tries to get up and a moment later he starts. Though stiff he realizes that his limbs are free. He sits up a bit only to reel back. Not only does his whole body feel stiff, the pain from the various cut radiate throughout his body. But nothing compares the pain in his thigh.

Glancing down he finds that his pant leg had been torn up to the wound and the wound wrapped with some substance underneath it. He glances down at his chest finally noticing the brownish gritty mush cover the various cuts he acquired. When he touches his face the same mush is on the cut there. For a moment he wonders if he was rescued. But if so where was his savior. Looking around he saw nothing.

Moving again this time slowly he sat up, timidly extending his legs letting out the toughness. Grimacing he extended them more to loosen them up while at the same time rolled his shoulders. It was during that motion that he felt the heavy weight rub against his back. James stops moving turning his head and hearing a slight jingle sound. He then realizes that there is a weight against his neck. His hands go quickly up to his neck to find a mental shackle around it. Almost sighing in annoyance James starts moving again searching for his Captor to find the woman finally. She is sitting in the shadows of the Cove watching James. James sneers a bit before inspecting himself for more shackles. He determined that there is only one around his neck. Turning back to the woman he stares and waits.

He couldn't really believe that a woman had managed to not only kidnap him but to the best of his knowledge fell three grown men. Even from the awkward view that he had of her earlier, she wasn't a very tall woman. Just average height at best yet she killed and eviscerated men twice her weight and at least four inches taller. He would have never guest it in a million years that a woman was behind the killings. But his gut tells him that its true and a sick part of him is actually impressed.

They are sitting there quietly staring at each other. The woman is studying Blanc trying to understand if it would be better to let the poison killing her and just get rid of the them. But for whatever reason that idea didn't sit well with her. Her whole reason for existing was to kill the one that had taken so much from her. To die short of that accomplishment would be failure. Yet killing the man on her boat didn't seem just either. Though the woman has no love for whites, she had no desire to kill them at will. It serves no purpose for her and she believes that one day that whole group would taken care of by the Gods that she serves. Beside, it was a losing battle and as crazy as the woman is she isn't too far-gone to not recognize it.

She had been watching her victim for the past hour. She has been trying to make decision about how to handle the man. Emmit was out of the question and though the woman has a gun, bullets are not something you give away, especially with torture. The woman only had some many supplies and she uses her gun as a last resort, never liking the thing. She felt it provided death to easily. Further it was impure. It left a residue that attributes the death not to the actual wielder but the bullet itself. With a blade, the skill of the user can be seen a lot better or so the woman thinks.

But that's neither here nor there as she has the immediate problem of a now fully awake, angry blanc glaring at her in cool defiance. The woman is slightly impressed by the man despite what has happened. The others she had tortured and killed whimpers like a baby until the powder took control. After that all they did was shed tears as she hacked them to pieces and even in the semi deaden state she could still she the pleading in their eyes. Not so with the one on her boat. This man took her abuse like it was an everyday occurrence. And though right now she knows he is suffering from some pain he still manages to stay strong and not whine to her like the one Abbey did as to why she would do anything to harm him.

She reexamines his chest, which is redden by the sun and has at least eight cuts over it and his stomach. She knew that the cuts there would heal properly and in time will probably only leave faint marks. It is the wound in his thigh that has the woman worried. Although she knows she didn't cut something that would make him bleed out if the dagger was removed, it could still get an infection. Further even if the wound heals properly, she knows that the Blanc will walk with a limp for quite a while.

Shaking her head she stands. The Blanc's eyes track her movement. And when the woman raises her gun, the man's only acknowledgement of the instrument was a raised eyebrow.

"What is your name Blanc?"

James clenched his jaw. So we back to that again. I wonder where she will shoot me when I give my answer. "James Norrington."

She could see 'James' sit there almost in anticipation of the pain he thinks he will receive for his answer. The woman wants to smile. At least James understands she isn't one to trifle with.

James waited and when nothing happened became very wary. All of the sudden the woman is accepting his name. No, something is off. It was too easy. But he sat there a moment and nothing happened except that the two stared at each other. Finally James tired of the foolishness asks a question.

"Who are you…" the bullet wheezed by him narrowly missing him and the boat.

"Whut I tell you 'bout questions, aye Blanc? You talk only when I say," the woman snapped.

James tried to calm his breathing. The bullet would have taken off half his head and though James doesn't like the idea of being a prisoner, he still had strong desire to live. So he just nods and stays quiet a look of calm disgust regaling his features.

The woman glares at him while silently swearing to herself. A bullet wasted. Aye …I must control meself. Beside it is an innocent typical question. Most captives want to know their captor's name. It's a way to personalize the situation so that they might later be able to reason with the captor. The woman could see no harm in it. Since she owes a debt to James she might as well start repaying it because the woman needs Emmit. She needs Emmit badly and Emmit won't talk with her until she paid her debt.

"Raven," said the woman.

James blinked. He didn't expect an answer after getting shot at but apparently the madwoman changed her mind. The voice somehow is different like a slightly defeated air floated throughout it. He nods a moment later to acknowledge that he understood her name but said nothing deciding that observation is the best course of action.

"Get off the boat…James," she pauses. His name sounds strange to her ears only because it is so personal to actually use someone's first name without their consent. But if she calls him Norrington she will frustrate herself. At least by saying his first name it will remind her that he is not the Norrington she seeks.

The way she said his name confused James. Raven sounded distinctly uncomfortable with using it. For some reason James gets the impression that she uncomfortable with the intimacy it implies to address him in such a manner. Putting that in his mental catalogue, he went about the business of getting off the boat without falling on his face.

It was slow going especially with his injured leg. When he put his weight on it he almost buckled. Once he found his balance he hobble a bit to the edge of the boat. Using his good leg, he leans down and swings it over. Lifting his other leg he grunted in pain but he managed to get his legs off the low sitting boat. Once on shore he stood still jaw clenched from pain pulsing in his leg screaming for relief.

Raven studies him a moment before she picks up the chain by her feet. It is a heavy chain but she didn't care. She didn't want to have any chance of him trying to escape. With a toss of her head, she indicated to James that he is to walk ahead of her. James moved stiffly dragging his right leg in an effort to minimize the pain. When he walked passed her he kept his distance. He didn't want the woman to get the impression that he had any intentions of trying to jump her. Once he was about a good five feet ahead he heard her moving behind him.

Raven and James walked deep into the cove darting in and out of the sun until they reach a small oasis. Lush greenery and a nice pond surround the area and the ridges of the hill left hanging rock that could be used as a shelter. James is awed by the multitude of colors present in the small patch of paradise. He knew that there are several coves in the area around Jamaica and the other islands but he didn't know they had such lush growth within them. He gets pushed forward a bit and luckily he catches himself before his weight falls fully on his right leg. Taking a ginger step forward he walks further into the little slice of heaven until he feels the chain yank on his neck. Coughing a bit he turns around and finds he is chained to a thick trunk tree. There is a heavy lock that has been attached to the interlocked chains. His leeway was about twelve feet.

Raven had moved past him going towards the west. At that moment he notice a small looking shed along the wall of the hills. He watches as she opens the door, braid falling over her shoulder. She crawls in disappearing a moment before crawling back out with what looked like food. She walks a little further on where she disposes of the food and begins a fire. A moment later she is cooking.

James is standing incredulously looking at her. After a moment in a huff he slowly sits on the soft earth. What the bloody hell is going in my life that I sitting in the middle of a fucking cove with a woman who has an itchy trigger and the stability of an elephant on a tightrope? He shakes his head wondering what he could do to save his life and realizing that the only way to do so is to reason with a person that will kill him if he speaks out of turn. A cynical laugh explodes from his chest.

"Shut you gob, Blanc!"

James rolled his eyes.

Raven started the fire and begins cooking a meal for the both of them. While doing so she watches the man who looks more than thoroughly irritated. She had him chained to a tree that gave him enough stretch to walk about ten feet in every direction. In a minute she would show him where to relieve himself and also bathe, something he sorely needed. However, she needed to feed him. He had eating in the better part of two days and he must be starved. She sneered at herself for having to even care.

It took her twenty minutes to make up the simple meal of rice and re-hydrated fish soup. She pour some into a cup for him and herself and walked over to James. He glanced up at her coolly. She sticks out the cup staring at him. She could see the question in his eye.

"It soup. Eat it or not. Up to you."

James stared at the cup for a long moment before reaching for it. When he brought it down he got a good whiff of it and nearly gagged. Looking back up he saw that the woman had sat right across from him and was steady sipping her soup. James glanced back down into his cup wanting to toss it but knowing he needed the energy if he wanted to get away from the madwoman. Gingerly he takes a sip wincing a bit from the heat but finding the taste not as bad as he expected.

While eating the soup James got his best view of the woman. He notices her skin is a deep rich dark brown, her hair thick somewhat puffy, emphasized by the braid hanging over her shoulder with a puffy fizz of hair at the end where the band holding it in place is located. She has full lips, a small broad nose but the eyes that what grabs his attention. They are huge brown eyes that appear to have seen too much, suffered too much and expose a void in her soul while at the same expresses her pain. Those eyes that stare him reflecting a deadness similar to the harshest winter are still the most beautiful eyes he has seen in some time. They are almond shaped surrounded by very long eyelashes and perfectly arch eyebrows.

Altogether her smooth face with its high cheekbones narrowing it a bit has the look of a statute on display. It gave the impression of a woman who at one time might have been pretty but took too many graduate classes at the school of hard knocks. What her face displayed of her hard life didn't compare to the way her hands looked. The years of toiling cane and working in manual labor in general has had a aging effect on her hands. They are calloused, wrinkled a bit and taunt appearing odd attached to the wrist and arm of a younger woman. It is as if an old woman stole her youthful hands and left her with worn pairs.

They ate in silence until she stopped, waiting. When James finished his soup she spoke.

"You be you really Commodore?"

James studies her a moment. He really is sick of this game but her could see in the woman's eyes that she is trying to find a truth that a part of her doesn't want to believe. When he answers he is wary, not knowing what will happen with the unstable girl.

"Yes. Commodore James Norrington."

"You be a slaver?"

The sneer that appeared on his face answered her question before the emphatic "Never."

Raven jumped up and it took everything in James' power not to jump. She like a feral cat quick to anger with too fluid of a movement. She swore silently contemplating him before taking the empty cup from him. She storms over to the fire sitting a moment before returning seemingly a bit more calm.

"Up James" she snaps pointing her gun at him.

James stands. She waves the gun and walks to the left. When they reach some bushes she points to the highest shrub.

"That be you piss place, understand?"

James frowned at the accommodations but decided to be thankful that he wasn't require to piss anywhere near his resting place. They moved away walking closer to the pond or small lake, until they reach a section of the pond that poured into a shallow pool about four feet deep.

"Me thinks before you wash stick it. Make sure nothin' bite udderwise, clean yerself here. 'Stand?"

Using the opportunity he said, "And what shall I wash with? Clothes?"

She regards him a moment before tossing a piece of handmade soup at him. Then turning away she says over her shoulder, "Clean yerslef. Clothes I get you. Use it now I have to look at the wound." With that she leaves him some privacy.

After he relieves himself, he strips his pants but keeping on his thin underwear. There is no way he will be caught exposed for this woman. Regardless of the situation he still has a sense of propriety. Timidly he eases himself into the water, finding it cool but not uncomfortable. After a moment of relishing the water he begins the vigorously clean himself, trying to scrub as much of the stench and filth off himself. The soap had a lavender fragrance that actually had the effect of soothing and relaxing him further. He scrubs his hair a bit and noticing that he had enough leeway on the chain, he was able to slide down to dunk his head a couple of times before sitting up resting a bit in the pool. As time passed so did the pain of his wounds and for a moment he could almost forget that he is a hostage.

The snapping of a twig makes James start a bit before slowly turning around to watch Raven approaching. She tosses him some pants that he catches in the air.

"Put those on when you dry."

James nods waiting for her to leave but she just gets annoyed.

"Well get out so I can fix the leg," she growls.

James is aghast but seeing her serious face he hardens his. After a moment he lets his annoyance go. No sense in acting bashful. The fact of the matter is his leg did need tending and he couldn't very well get it done with his pants covering the leg. Also the chances of her letting him do it himself are slim to none.

Raven saw the conflict in his face and almost rolled her eyes. British and they manners are sickening she thinks but waited silent. She watched as James lifted himself out of the water using his upper body to avoid aggravating his leg. Inwardly she braces herself expecting a naked man, something that has always given her pause. Too many times has such men, come at her, attacking her, forcing her to do things she didn't want to do. And most all were white men who felt entitled to used her body for every vice they can think of that they won't do with their wife. Some insulted her body with their clothes on but the man Norrington, that bastard made sure that the naked male physique she will always associate with brutality, power, and her helplessness.

She saw the muscles flex in his arms and chest. Pushing up, his waist is exposed which she is thankful to see white underpants though they were very thin and she could practically see through them. James then sat lifting his legs. Putting all his weight on his left leg he slowly stands and when fully erect watches her.

She takes in his form again swearing. Definitely not the Norrington I know. I be a fool. Seeing him stand reminded her again that this man before her is not the Norrington she seeks. The half naked man's fit body is nothing like the other Norrington who is a lot huskier though still built. The hairs that trialed down James' lower abdomen to a darker thinly covered mass are different from the fairer Norrington. She cuts her eyes away, shaking in both fear and anger. Emmit is right, she screwed up and now she owes a debt to James. She is bound to him. Gods help her.

James swore if she were a paler hue, she would be beet red. As it is she seems slightly embarrassed yet also afraid maybe terrified. When he takes a step towards her she jumps, gun appearing from nowhere pointed at him.

"Back off," she growled in a trembling voice eyes now wild with fear.

He steps back hands down. Watching her he can see that she is scared senseless. The gun that normally holds steady quivers a bit. James is unnerved by the uncontrolled fear that she is displaying as she never acted in such a way before now. He didn't know what to do but he made like a statue hoping his stance will ease some tension in the woman.

Raven's mind is a flutter. Images of men holding her down, screaming with all her might, the naked man not stopping but riding her, the pain, the beating, the constant raping. And the sight of the white man approaching her with a hard body that is threatening to bring pain to her soul.

Vigorously shaking her head she focuses on the memory of the man before her.

"I not your whore!" she hisses at him.

James doesn't speak. He stands quietly not knowing what to say but realizes that he could make it worst if he spoke.

"Don't touch me! Don't come near me! Leave me alone!" she screams backing away as if she doesn't carry a weapon.

The situation for James has become deadly. Before him is a woman trapped in a terrible moment from the past. By the look in her eyes she doesn't even realizes that she is armed. She could shoot just because at that moment in the memory her hand did some motion similar to pulling a trigger. Ironically that is just what happens.

He tried to think of a way out of the predicament but before he could she screams,

"NO!"

James spying her squeezing the trigger tries to move. The finger uses more pressure, which makes the gun fire. Seconds later James is screaming.

"Fuck!" the uncultured word flies from his mouth from being shot in the arm. He crumples down off balanced by the blow sending another shooting pain through his body this time because of his leg.

Raven is heaving, blinking rapidly. Recognition comes to her eyes as she spots James on the ground in an awkward stance griping his upper arm. Blood flowing freely through his fingers. She glances at the smoking gun almost surprised to see it. After a pause she lowering her head she whispers "Emmit, what have I done?"