Will felt her retreat, stifled a moan when the floor came up hard beneath his back. She'd dropped him and gone away… Why? It didn't really matter. Perhaps now was his chance… if he had the strength for it. Carefully, he levered himself up to his knees, not liking how his vision blurred and blackened around the edges. Significant blood loss, but not enough to make him lose consciousness. He didn't know if he was still bleeding. His skin tingled as if ants were crawling all over him, but he couldn't distinguish the wet stickiness of blood…

He struggled to his feet, far too slowly. His head swam, and he hardly knew where he was… There was a shape in the middle of the room, and he could tell that its surface undulated a little like waves in a pond. The bilge room? Was that the moon pool, where they pumped out the bilge water? He wasn't sure, because thankfully it had never been his responsibility to come down here and do that chore. But if he were in the bilge room, he knew where he was vaguely. Down in the belly of the boat where few people would think to look for him. If he were going to escape, it would be up to him. Rescue probably wouldn't come in time…

A grim thought, but he shut it away and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was harder than he had thought… Blood loss made him dizzy and disoriented, and he had to be careful not to stumble into the moon pool… Why did they call it the moon pool? What was behind that odd name? He shook his head and moved slowly toward the door, praying that wherever she was in the room, she would ignore him just long enough.

And where was she in the room? He listened as he pushed onward. He could hear no breathing; odd… But he heard what sounded like weeping. Why would she be crying? Was it despair, or was it rage? He blinked away the fog, and saw the door, a blur across the floor, impossibly close, impossibly far away… If he could only reach it and slip through… Right now, he doubted he had the strength. But he had never known how to give up; he fought for his patients with everything he had… Every loss was like a knife to the heart. But he never gave up fighting; he wouldn't quit now…

He heard the movement, before he saw her, flashing across his vision to stand between him and the door. She was beautiful, in a strange and terrible way, her eyes glittering, her face dead-pale… He retreated from her, reaching out for a weapon, anything he could use to keep her away from him. His hand struck against the wall; no help here. And he didn't like her smile, as if he were some sort of prey that she could devour…

She spoke to him; her voice was deep and throaty, like Sadie's voice, but this woman wasn't remotely like his wife. He couldn't understand her words. Some foreign language, perhaps Italian? There were several officers and men who probably could have translated, but none of them was here… Her voice was strangely compelling, drawing him toward her. Will resisted it. That way lay only death and destruction. He looked around, blinking against the fog in his mind. Now he could feel a trickle of blood ooze down his neck across his shoulder, and shuddered. There had to be something nearby that he could defend himself with.

He stumbled, and sat down hard on the edge of the pool. God, one more step, and he'd have tumbled into it. The moon pool connected directly to the ocean, and they were far too deep… He shuddered and watched her draw nearer, not sure how he was going to get out of this one…

But the only way forward was to resist… He watched her come, wondering what was next…

*Sharkey felt numb and frozen, strung tight, as the shadows drew nearer. He knew instinctively that he was being stalked; ominous whispers in a language he could not understand surrounded him. He couldn't tell from which direction danger approached. It felt like it was all around him.

He put his hands out and felt the metal bulkheads on each side of him; he was in a corridor on Seaview, but he might as well have been in a cave for all he could see… His worse fear was blindness. His sister had gone blind after a bout with scarlet fever. Her blank eyes had haunted his nightmares for years; he visited her every chance he got, big brother looking out for baby sister, but she had long since overcome her handicap to live a happy fulfilled life. His fear was – if the same thing happened to him – he wouldn't be able to recover, he wouldn't have the strength she'd had…

Shuddering, he eased a step forward, feeling for Seaview's deck beneath his feet, afraid there would only be a yawning chasm. And still something in the shadows watched him and laughed…

"Wake up!" Pugnacious and demanding, the voice rang out, chasing back the shadows. With relief, Sharkey found he could see again. Odd that the voice that saved him belonged to COB Curly Jones, who had preceded him, and whose death had guaranteed his position here.

Curly had recommended him to the admiral, and on the strength of that recommendation, Sharkey had joined the other CPOs on the boat. He'd gotten himself into trouble once or twice, unwilling to be ordered around by a man who was barely out of diapers… But he'd learned to respect Mr. Morton, and he'd never had any problems with Captain Phillips…

He felt himself moan as the shadows began to draw closer once again. But then Curly Jones stepped in front of her, facing the shadows with a snarl, every bit as pugnacious as his voice. "You'll never make a COB, clown, if you don't WAKE UP!"

The shout seemed to hang on the air, as Sharkey jerked away, hitting his head on the top of his bunk. What in the heck…? Shuddering, he leaped out of bed, and ran around, turning on all the lights in his tiny cabin. Oh, the guys would have a field day with this… Sharkey afraid of the dark? Man, he'd never live it down, if it got around…

He automatically slid open the closet and took out a clean uniform. No more sleep tonight… Besides, Seaview was singing dirges all around him, quivering and shuddering like a frightened mare. He had to find out what was wrong with her. Pulling on his pants, he threaded a belt through the loops and cinched the belt around his waist. He'd make a stop in Sick Bay first to check on Ski and Pat, but then he would roust out some of the guys and make a search of the boat. Time to find the bitch that held them all hostage and take care of her once and for all. He buttoned the last button on his shirt and nodded to himself. Curly Jones was right; he wasn't worth his salt as a Chief of the Boat, if he couldn't find this woman and put her where she belonged. It was his job, but it was more; it was Seaview's protection, and the protection of everyone aboard her.

*Signifies a scene change