Nobody will ever pick me. Nobody will ever choose me. Why would they choose this life where no one remembers them? Why would they choose to stay on the ship with little reprieve, serving me instead of living with real people?
I shake Arnold's hand, not even offering a smile. I doubt he expects one. The moment his fingers leave my grip I know that it's finally done. He said his goodbyes and he's ready to live out the rest of his human existence. There is no bag on his shoulders nor any form of token that shows that he once belonged here. He leaves the ship empty-handed, strolling down the gangway with a new sort of wonderment on his features.
I'm always curious as to what they see when they leave the ship. A world filled with promise? Home? People who will remember them, know them? Without fail, they always look as if they see something. Something pleasant and incredibly inviting.
Arnold gives the ship one last look. His attention trails over the friends that felt like family, and they never find me. He looks back to the city of Himond, stepping onto the dock and into the bustle of merchants and crewmen. He gets swept away in the crowd. With each step, the thoughts of our years together turn to dust and his mind builds something new. Then he is focused. There's a path he must take that points him forward to his new destiny.
He'll never look back again. And even if he does he wouldn't see the ship or the crew. We are as invisible to him as we are to everyone else.
The men around me let out a soft sigh then quickly turn back to their work. I stay on the deck, walking forward until the edge of the wooden railing presses into my stomach. I lean down, propping myself up on my elbows as I watch Arnold until I can no longer see him.
Jac remains at my side. She doesn't speak, she doesn't place a hand on my back, she's just there.
"Why don't you ever make friends with the rest of the crew? Why do you stay with me?" I ask the long-overdue question.
There have been days I'd almost asked it before, but every time I chicken out not wanting to know the answer. I have too much hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be my first friend.
She remains quiet for a moment, contemplating. Or maybe she just wants to drag out my anticipation? She pulls her hat from her back pocket, the brim bent to a sharp C-shape and she begins to pile her braids on top of her head under the cap as she speaks.
"They will all leave. None of them will remember me or that we were friends. You will remember me."
And there it is.
I chuckle under my breath. It's so much better than I ever imagined...also somehow worse.
"I remember all of you."
All of her braids have been safely tucked into her hat and she shoves her hands into her deep pockets. "It's just you and me for the rest of our lives. Well…the rest of my life "
The tightness that was in my stomach creeps up until it settles in my chest. Every beat of my heart is painful and sluggish. Each breath I take is like a leaden weight inside of me.
She doesn't know. And I don't have the heart to tell her.
She is my friend. The only one. If I can even call her that. She did not choose me the way that I chose her. After five years my service will be finished. Her sentence will not. I will leave, I will get my chance to live a human life, and my brother will replace me.
Turning my head, I give her a long look trying to memorize her stone cold expression. Jac holds my gaze. She stares back until I break eye contact, then turns on her heels and she's gone. She leaves me here to ponder which of my brothers might take over for me. I've only met a handful of them; nearly hundreds exist. To say my father is a busy man is an understatement. I wonder if she'll like him more than me. I wonder if she'll hate him. I wonder if she'll miss me. But like everyone else I have the creeping suspicion that when I leave she'll only forget me.
I know some sliver of remorse will haunt me when I leave Jac behind. At some point, I should tell her. No, at some point I will tell her. At some point, I'll be a better man.
Suddenly, I have the strong urge to find myself at the bottom of a liquor bottle... Again. Himond has many bars to offer and I frequented them often enough. Today I'm in a dangerous mood. I could pick a bar, though it's likely that it will dissolve into some sort of fight. I want to fight. Drink. Try to numb this chaos inside of me. Anything is better than the unrelenting loneliness that is my current existence. And yes, the alcohol only softens that agony for a moment. I know that. I also know that I live for those moments.
No matter how bad the fight is, how angry I make someone, or how much I compel them to beat the shit out of me… I can't die. Much less get hurt while I'm in service to my father.
It's been on more than one occasion I've wished for death. That's the funniest conundrum of them all.
8
After The Deal
Millie
The sea is endless. It goes on and on and on, and I know that somewhere these waves reach my now distant shore. My arms cross over my body trying to hold what little heat I have within me. The front of my dress is damp with the salty spray of the ocean.
Sleep hadn't come. At least, when it happened, it hadn't been deep. Totally dreamless. The strings of the hammock had felt like they were cutting into my back and my legs. So eventually I clumsily climbed down and picked my way through the crewmembers that slept. Many were still awake, of course, when I set foot on the deck.
I rose while the stars were still clear in the sky and the sun was hardly a thought on the horizon. Now I curl into a long wooden bench where I stare at a tall muscular man who handles the helm. His chest and shoulders are exposed, his skin glowing in the vast expanse of him. I wonder if he could even find a shirt that would fit him.
His own hourglass is carved into the ripple of muscles on his ribs. It's larger than mine. Could that mean that he gave away more time than I had? If he notices that I stare at him he doesn't say anything. He hasn't even looked toward me or acknowledged my existence. Perhaps that's why I stay here. Even though the cold has clawed its way through my gown.
The man who had fetched me for dinner had warned me that this crew isn't the nicest. Everywhere I go I'm looking over my shoulder and keenly aware of everyone around me. But here in the corner with the silent man, I am safe. At least I think I am.
Eventually, my attention drives away from him and onto the wooden boards under my feet. I stare until my eyes become unfocused until my mind feels distant and my body starts to slowly drift to sleep. Just when my lashes start to flutter, two black boots shift into my vision. Fear startles me, I hadn't heard anyone approach, and I look up to find Rumi smirking.
"Do you find Nathaniel attractive?"
I scrunch my nose scowling. "No…I just find that he gives me a sense of peace.”
Even now as Rumi slides onto the bench next to me, the man, Nathaniel, doesn't look our way. Rumi nods knowingly, his smile only deepens.
"Yes, he does have that way about him. I suppose that's how he's gotten away with at least five murders that I'm aware of."
My shoulders press into the seat behind me. My heart leaps from my chest and into my throat. Rumi brightens as my shock is clear on my face, my lips falling open on a breath. My hands start to tremble but I hold them in my lap to disguise it. I gape at the nearly seven-foot man at the helm as the realization of how truly unsafe I am swells inside of me.
Rumi’s attention bounces between me and Nathaniel. "If he makes you uncomfortable, I can ask him to leave."
Will my discomfort be seen as a weakness? Without an answer, Rumi waves his hand and Nathaniel drops his hold from the helm and walks quietly away. I expect the wheel to start spinning or tilt and turn wildly without someone holding onto the large pegs that stick off of it. Instead, the man next to me snaps his fingers and a wild gust of wind blows between us and the helm somehow holding it steady. Whatever power he has, it goes farther than just tattoos.
He leans back into the seat, draping his arms behind us. I feel the heat coming off of his arm but he doesn't touch me. "No one on this c
rew will get near you." He sits thinking on his statement for a minute and then amends, "unless I allow them to."
I'm safe while in his good graces. I'm safe for now but there is no guarantee that I will always be safe. I shudder when the wind picks up again hugging my arms tighter around me.
"Cold?" he asks.
I'm now looking to where the rising sun pushes against the darkness. I can count on my hands how many times I've watched the sunrise. Each time it was a magical wonderful thing and even now, on this ship of criminals while I'm filled with worry for my brother, it helps to wash away my fears.
Rumi takes in a long deep breath and the tip of his finger trails along my shoulder for only a fraction of a second. The tip of his finger had felt like a brand, as painful and irritating as the tattoo on my arm, but then a gentle warmth akin to the feeling of sunbathing travels over my skin washing away my goosebumps.
"Is that another one of your tricks?" I say bitterly. “Is that supposed to impress me? Or get me to trust you?”
"Tricks?"
"Yes. Obviously, you're an incredible illusionist. With talent like this, I'm surprised you're not famous. Traveling the world…showing off… "
He hums. "I've never been one for showing off. And it isn't a trick."
I tilt my head back with a laugh which only seems to make him tense.
Before I can ask anything further he changes the subject. "Why are you up so early?"
I could tell him that I couldn't sleep or that I didn't feel safe. I hate the hammock and I feel like I might fall right out of it. All those things are true, however, I could have stayed in the crew's quarters until it was time to get up. Really, I got out of bed and came to the top deck because I wanted to marvel at the world around me.
It's all so much different than my home. Being on a ship. Being at sea.
"Just wanted some fresh air. It’s so beautiful here.” I motion toward the light reflecting off the water and the clouds cast in warm hues of pink. "Sometimes I just need a minute to truly appreciate the world around me. Reminds me I'm still living."
I dip my chin a little, chancing a look at him. His upper lip is curled in some sort of a snarl. His blonde brows create wrinkles in the middle of his face.
"What?" I demand.
He shakes himself as if that can get rid of the expression on his face but it doesn't work and the look of disgust remains. "The world is full of evil. It's dark and it's cruel and it's selfish. The sun doesn't shine for you to marvel at it. It's just a bomb waiting to explode and take us all out with it."
What does that even mean? Why is he always speaking in riddles?
"The world is also filled with good. There's light, kindness, and self-sacrifice. Maybe you're just looking in the wrong places."
"Or maybe you're gullible."
"Or maybe you're just a negative person."
"Or maybe I'm realistic."
"Or maybe you need to broaden your horizons."
I watch him and he watches me. Slowly the look of annoyance fades from his face and is replaced with amusement. He hums a little bit to himself again turning away to look toward the sea. For a while, it looks like the captain might be seeing the same beauty that I see, but after a few minutes of silence, Rumi stands and adjusts his jacket.
“Well, we have one stop before we can start after your brother."
I open my mouth to protest, to beg him to continue forward toward my brother instead of whatever silly thing he wants to run off and do but he shakes his head slightly and I find myself closing my mouth.
"When we stop, you should stay aboard the ship. The trip should only last half a day at most then we will be back on course." He pushes his coat behind him shoving his hands into his pockets and strolls forward. This time he whistles and whatever tune he trills is lovely and sad and completely foreign to my ears. I listen to the sound of his steps fading away toward the captain quarters, focusing on the early morning sky. Somehow no matter how far he gets from me I can still hear his whistling as if he's next to me on the bench. A song with words I'll never know. A tune I may never forget.
***
Thick smoke billows off of the only land in view. Remnants of it fog the air, making my throat sore. Several of the crewmembers cough or choke on the taste of ash every so often. This place, whatever it is, is Rumi’s stop.
The captain stands near the helm, his “magic” still steering us into harbor. With the sun now high in the middle of the sky the kiss of his warm touch has faded with my need for it. I sit on my knees on the bench leaning over the edge, watching the water as it splashes against the boat. On occasion, I can feel Rumi’s gaze on my back.
The ocean is a startling blue green color. Something purer than I've ever seen and a startling contrast to the water around Himond that's a murky brown at best. Thin lines of crimson drag against the boat bouncing away and curling like inky tendrils. I squint down at them, cocking my head. The longer I look the more they appear.
I lean farther threatening to topple myself over the edge into the thin lines turning into clouds of color. Red…so much red. Blood. I throw myself back from the side of the ship, teetering on my feet a few steps until the wind at my back pushes me in the opposite direction.
"Let's take her home, lads!" Rumi shouts to the crew.
Many of the crew shout back or shout to each other in response, moving together in a synchronized and powerful way as they bring the ship to anchor. Rumi’s eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds. A look so quick I shouldn't catch the way they've turned from brown to black again. The way that they turn into pools of onyx makes him look hungry for all the cruel dark things in the world that he's talked about.
Why do they do that? Why is he like this? Fear and curiosity are often at war inside of me and today is no exception. More often than not curiosity wins. I wonder if that'll be the case now though.
The ocean laps against the shore, waves of red staining the sand. Whatever town we’ve found isn’t a town any longer. Every building within my line of sight glows red-orange with flames that eat anything they touch. The fire makes the air warmer, and I can only imagine what it's like on land.
Finally, the ship settles, carefully rocking in a way that in any other situation might put me to sleep. The gangway is lowered, and Rumi jogs across its boards. None of the crew follows. Many of them watch. Jac climbs out of the crew quarters quickly finding unbound rope and circling it around her elbow and palm.
No one sends me any sort of fleeting glance as Rumi walks away. My boots stomp against the wood and I don't try to quiet the sound of my steps as I approach Jac.
"What is he doing out there?"
Jac looks at me more amused than anything else. She shrugs. "I don't think that I want to know."
Why wouldn't she want to know?
"I don't understand why anyone would want to remain oblivious. I’ve spent most of my life searching for understanding and knowledge.”
"Seeing it makes it real. If you only think the monster exists but have never laid eyes on it then does it really exist? Once you've seen it, witnessed it, everything changes. I don't want it to change." She could be speaking in metaphors comparing whatever it is that Rumi is doing here to the monster in her story, however, I get the overwhelming feeling that Rumi is supposed to be the monster.
Wails of sorrow and tear filled cries travel all the way to the ship. People hurting, some nearing the stages before death. And his crew full of people who can help sit on the boat and do nothing? I'm supposed to sit here and listen to it all burn down and do nothing about it? I take a step toward the gangway and Jac shakes her head.
"I wouldn't," she says.
"But are you going to stop me?" I lift a brow, breathing heavier with anticipation. Some form of adrenaline already coursing through me.
She shakes her head, no. That's the only answer I need. I become a storm of my skirts waving and tearing behind me as I hurry down the gangway and onto the uneven dock. I try to keep my balance o
n boards that look as though they might give away under me at any minute and forge a path after Rumi. At a distance, I spot him.
Is he here to help? What business does he have here now?
Bodies litter the ground, all of them pale with death. Some sport small but deadly wounds. Others have gaping holes in their chests or have been sliced up so thoroughly it's hard to tell if they were once man or woman.
When I pass the first dead body all I can do is stare. Lifeless eyes stare back and the pool of blood surrounding it stains the edges of my boots. My stomach roils, threatening to get rid of anything inside of it. I fight the urge. My hands cover my mouth; still, I head toward the sounds of people crying out.
Rumi doesn't seem to notice the noise; in fact, it’s as if he's walking away from it. He follows the line of bodies that lead in the opposite direction and I watch as he stops over one, crouching down low, his hand hovering above it. Thick gray smoke pours out of the body and toward his outstretched hand. The flesh and bones arch up toward him, the limbs still lax. Rumi glows, dark shadows gathering around him.
I stop. I blink several times trying to understand what I see. I look up to the sun, I look around for mirrors, I wonder if he's covered in metallic paint. But through the haze of the burning town, it's clear that Rumi burns as hot as any flame here. The aura only dims when the stretch of fog coming from the body disappears and it relaxes back against the earth.
Quickly he stands and moves to the next victim. The process repeats. His hand near a dead body that arches as it gives away that final bit of life. Dark smoke rushes into his palm and his entire being lights up again. When he glows, his hair turns golden and he looks like a god. I'm torn between demanding an answer from Rumi and sprinting back onto the ship to tell Jac she was right. Rumi is the monster.
Chasing Boston Page 6
