This is not the last chapter; there will be one more!

Chapter 20: New Life and Old Love

I do not want to torture you with what happened next. I do believe that would be too cruel.

Suffice it to say, I passed out soon the sailors began to cut into my chest.

My last memory as a mortal was staring at my father as he smiled and died before my eyes. He was happy in death, and that was worth all the pain.

~*~The Dutchman~*~

I woke up in my fathers, no, my, cabin. On my bed. In my quarters.

Groaning, I sat up.

The scarring was obvious, though the reddish purple hue would fade over time. My clothes were covered in dried blood—my own, I presumed.

Sighing, I got up and went to the chest at the end of the bed, finding clothes that smelled of salt and sweat and my father, and they looked like they would fit. I was tall and skinny enough, anyway.

Skirt and shirt went off, and a new shirt went on. I had been wearing pants under my skirt, a habit I had indulged in since before Jack's wedding. Thankfully, they had not been ruined.

I stared for a long time at the desk, with the tiny chest sitting so innocently on it. The key lay next to it, a cord wrapped around its handle. I put the key around my neck, then went out to meet my crew.

Bootstrap Bill stood at the door to my cabin, hand raised as if to knock.

I raised my eyebrows, head tilted to the side, with a faint smile on my lips. "Is there a problem, Mister Turner?"

He took a moment to recover, then responded: "Not really, Captain Calypso. Just found this rat swimming out to the ship. Relative of yours?"

I looked beyond my grandfather, curious. And there he was, my husband. Michael, dripping wet and kneeling on the deck, hands bound and a sword at his neck.

"Ah, yes, Mister Turner, he is indeed a relative of mine. In fact, he's my husband."

"Calypso!" Michael called. "I'm really not in a mood to die tonight …"

"Let him go," I told Bootstrap Bill. "I know why he's here, and am inclined to accept his request."

"Oh." My grandfather frowned, unsure of what I was talking about. "What request?"

"I wish to join your crew, Captain, here, aboard the Flying Dutchman," Michael finally made it known as he stood and rubbed his wrists.

"That request, Mister Turner." I nodded at the rest of my motley, small crew. "I daresay we can find a use for him, can we not?"

"Aye, Captain." A sly smile appeared on the older mans face. "And will he be sleeping below?"

I gave my grandfather a charming smile. "I sincerely doubt it."

So began my tenure as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman.