Raise The Jolly Roger: Somewhere In Time

by Tracy Kincaid

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He takes a seat on the bench next to me. “Here, I have an extra water bottle.” He pulls the water bottle out of his backpack.

  “Thank you. That’s so embarrassing,” I say as I clear my tears away before taking the offered bottle of water.

  “Does it happen often? You know if you stretch longer before you run it should stop them from happening. And drink more water. Usually that is the number one factor in muscle cramps,” he explains.

  “It doesn’t happen that often. I came out to forget that my parents died last week. I sprinted here instead of taking an easy jog like I had planned. It was my fault.” I look down at the sand. I don’t want to talk to anyone, yet here I am talking to a complete stranger. Telling him things that I’m sure he doesn’t want to know about.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I finish the water he handed me and begin to feel myself again. “I feel much better now. Thank you for stopping.” I smile.

  “I’m glad I was able to help. Are you sure you’re all right now?” He stands and waits for me to answer.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. It’s passed. I thought a run would help but apparently, I was wrong.”

  “My name is Tom.”

  “Cassy.” We shake hands. “Thanks again for stopping. I should be good enough to make it home now.”

  “Would you like me to walk you home?” he asks.

  “That won’t be necessary.” I’m embarrassed enough, I don’t need to take this guy home when I’m feeling vulnerable. I stand and stretch my legs to make sure they won’t seize up on my way home. “Thank you again, Tom, I really appreciate it.”

  “It was nice meeting you. Take care of yourself. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Maybe,” I turn back the way I came and jog slowly back home. Right now, I want a shower, my bed, and to forget about everything.

  Chapter 2

  A Mysterious Shop

  I started a new nursing job a few weeks before my parents died. The hospital was nice enough to give me three weeks off to deal with their funeral and mourn their deaths. I’m grateful. The first week I was off the grid and just kind of went through the motions of living: wake up, eat, pretend to watch TV, then back to sleep again. It’s week two and cabin fever is setting in. I need to get my life started again. I’ve slept most of the week and when I wasn’t sleeping, I was staring at the wall. It’s Wednesday of the second week. Wendy’s at work and I’m sick of just being here. I grab my purse and make my way to my parents’ house. I need to start getting the house packed up and I need to decide what to do with it all.

  I pull up to the two-story Cape Cod style house, painted in a light blue-grey with black shutters. My childhood home. The first floor holds two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and the kitchen. The second floor holds the master bedroom and bath. The house also has a huge attic where my dad kept most of his things. It’s a beautiful house with a large yard. It would be the perfect house for a family with children. I have lots of wonderful memories sitting with my parents on the wrap around porch. It’s hard to give the house up, but I just don’t think I could handle living here alone.

  I moved out of my parent’s house about five years ago, after I graduated college and got my first nursing job. I wanted to be independent and living on my own. Plus, my hours were going to be crazy. There was no reason why I should keep them up at all hours of the day and night. It was time I was out on my own.

  I walk up the path to the front door. I’m greeted at the door by the new pirate statue my father purchased a few months ago. I shake my head as I poke my key into the lock and walk in. Everything looks the same. It was only three and a half weeks ago that I was here picking them up to take them to the airport. I can still smell my father’s cologne he put on after he shaved that morning. They were so excited to take that trip. I feel a tear slide down my cheek and I brush it away. I’m tired of crying. I need to get this over with and move on with my life.

  I set my purse down along with the flat cardboard boxes and the tape I brought with me. I walk through the house looking at everything they had. Most of the house was decorated with a pirate theme, hence the reason for the pirate statue on the front porch. Tons of artifacts litter the house. Old rum barrels turned into end tables and on the bookshelves, they have a spyglass and a compass. They even had someone take an old ship’s cannon and turn it into a coffee table by surrounding it in plexiglass. On the walls, they have various swords, cutlasses, and pistols that were used during the age of pirates. My parents had a fascination with them. Growing up in this house, you had no other choice but to know everything there was to know about the ocean and the pirates who ran it.

  I think back to my childhood and smile at the strange conversations I would have with friends that I would bring over to the house. Pirate booty was always lying about the house and they would ask if the stuff was real and why my parents were so into it. By the time I got into high school, I wouldn’t bring anyone to my house anymore. If my parents wanted to meet a friend of mine, I’d make them meet them outside or in public somewhere normal. It was downright embarrassing to bring anyone home.

  I walk through the rooms trying to decide which to start in first. I end up in my old bedroom. It’s funny, when I moved out I thought for sure my mom would have turned the room into a craft room or an office for herself. But it looks just like the day I left home. When I asked her about it she said that it would be ready for me if I ever needed to come home. I take a seat on my old bed and look around at the things that are still left in the room: old trophy’s I won for track and field in high school, posters of my favorite bands, and a variety of other knick-knacks that I had collected in my youth. A lot of this stuff I just don’t have room for in my life anymore. Things I collected as a kid thinking that I couldn’t live without them, now I know that I held onto them for sentimental reasons or just because I couldn’t bring myself to toss them. But it all comes crashing back to me; the reason I’m in my old room in a house where no one lives anymore. “Why did you have to leave me?” I yell, knowing I’ll get no answer as I have another melt down of tears, throwing myself back on my bed.

  * * *

  I feel the need to be close to my dad so I start working in the attic, going through some of his boxes. There are so many of them up here it’s amazing. My dad worked at different museums all his life and traveled a lot for his job. During those travels, he would collect items for himself and the museums. He enjoyed going to fundraisers that would hold auctions. He loved pirates so much that if the auction had anything remotely related to pirates, he was always the top bidder. I’m not sure why my mom let him turn our house into a nautical nightmare. I guess you could say they were both geeks and they loved each other enough to put up with their ideas of fashion. Hell, they even had a Jolly Roger hanging in their bedroom, over their bed.

  Sifting through the boxes, I sort out what looks like it should be in a museum and what could be sold at a yard sale. When I turn with a box in my hand, I bump into one and trip over it falling to the floor. “That’s just great.” I stand up and brush the dust off my jeans and t-shirt. I feel a sting on my arm. When I twist it around, I notice a scrape with splinters that is starting to bleed. I climb down the steps in search of a Bandaid and to clean the dust and debris out of my new cut.

  Upon my return to the attic, I begin to clean up the mess I had just created. I come across some old parchment paper that’s rolled up; it appears to have fallen out of one of the boxes. The paper looks antique. I gingerly lift it from the floor and carefully unroll it. The parchment is brittle in some places so I try to avoid those areas. The map seems to be of islands; some I recognize the names of and others I’ve never heard of before. On the bottom corner is the year 1710. The map looks and feels real. It looks as if it’s a treasure map or something that may have been used to navigate with. The bottom corner appears as if it was burned out of the map. I’m not sure if this was on purpose
or not. I wish I knew more about it.

  I gently roll the map up again. Leaving my mess behind, I find my purse, slip the map inside it, and head for my car. If this map is real then it could be worth a ton of money, especially if the treasure is still where it was buried. My mind is racing as I drive to the local pawn shop to see how much I could get for it. Once I have an idea I’ll either try to sell it to a museum or to the highest bidder. Or maybe I’ll see if I can find the buried treasure myself. I could use an adventure.

  I drive toward the strip mall and my mind wanders back to a time when my mom and I would go to this particular strip mall and hang out. We would have the best time getting mani/pedis and grabbing some Chinese food. After we’d have our lunch, we would spend the afternoon strolling through the shops. The pawn shop was always our favorite. We would make up stories about the items they had. Mom would point out all the old toys she had when she was a little girl. I’m going to miss those days. It seems so long ago now.

  I pull into the driveway of the strip mall and find a parking space in front of the pawn shop. Glancing out the window, I see that the shop is closed. “Well that’s just great,” I say to myself. Something catches my eye and I look at the shop next door. “That’s strange.” Next to the pawn shop is a laundromat. The strange thing is that a different shop seems to have popped up in between the laundromat and the pawn shop.

  Hopping out of my car, I lock it and step onto the curb, looking at the mysterious shop’s window. The fancy calligraphy painted in gold reads: Somewhere in Time. What a great name for an antique shop. As I get closer to the shop door, I notice that the e in Time has a pocket watch attached to the tip with the chain that weaves itself under the shop’s name, underlining it. I feel drawn to the store so I open the door and step inside.

  I walk through the front of the store and notice it’s filled with an eclectic array of items. Looking around, I see an old pinball machine, a birdbath with a fairy sitting on top, and many different musical instruments that look as if they belong in a different time. In the center of the store is a wicker baby carriage and a chair with a tartan draped over the back. I don’t notice the grandfather clock sitting next to the items until it starts to chime. I look at the clock and then look at my watch. I shake my wrist and bring the watch to my ear and notice that it has stopped working. I guess it’s time for a new battery. Slipping the watch off, I toss it into my purse.

  As I get farther into the shop, I notice glass display cases lining the back and side walls. Out of the corner of my eye I see a movement. Turning my head, I see a man of average height with a well-manicured grey beard and salt and pepper hair. He looks very dapper in his three-piece grey suit. You don’t see people wearing those types of suites anymore. I don’t think he’s noticed me. He has his pocket watch in his hand examining it. The watch seems to have some sort of a planetary design on the front of it.

  He places his watch back into his pocket and looks up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He has a strange grin that leads me to believe that maybe he was expecting me. “Hubert G. Wells at your service,” he announces with a tilt to his head as he hands me his business card. I take the card and read:

  Somewhere in Time

  Hubert G. Wells

  Antiquities and Fantasies

  As I flip the card over, I find it strange that the business card has no address or phone number, nor does it have the hours of operation.

  “Can I help you find something?” he asks.

  “Actually, I was on my way to the pawn shop next door to have something looked at but it seems to be closed today. That’s when I noticed your shop. I’ve never seen it before.”

  Not taking his eyes off me, he asks, “Might I see what you have? I may be interested in it.” He smiles warmly.

  “Sure.” Setting my purse on the counter, I gently take the map from it and hand it over to Mr. Wells.

  Gingerly, he unrolls it on the counter to inspect it. “Very interesting,” he says as he takes a magnifying glass out to get a closer look at the map.

  “Do you think it’s real?”

  “This is a great find. May I ask how you came about it?”

  “My parents passed away and I’m cleaning out their house. My dad worked for museums and had a thing for pirate history.” I shrug. “I found this in their attic.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. I do think this is a real map from 1710.” He looks to be in deep thought for a minute. “Please, excuse me for a moment.”

  “Take your time.” While he’s away, I look in the glass cases. I see so many wonderful items all neatly lined up and ready for someone to purchase them. A Claddagh ring, a stone crusted tiara, and a vile filled with a red liquid that looks like blood. Also in the case is a miniature treasure chest jewelry box. It looks similar to the one my father gave me when I was a little girl. I can feel the tears pool in my eyes but I fight them back. I’m here about the map, nothing else.

  Mr. Wells comes back out to join me at the counter. “See anything you like?”

  I point to the vile. It has sparked my interest and it won’t make me tear up again. “Does that vile have blood in it?”

  “I have many things in my store. It may or may not be. This store holds items for those who may need them someday,” he grins. “Looking at your map, I noticed a symbol here.” He points to what looks like an oddly shaped circle with a fat cross on it.

  “What do you think it is?” I ask, intrigued. I hadn’t paid much attention to the design before.

  “The design is the same thing that’s on this doubloon.”

  He hands me the coin so I can take a closer look at it. The weight of the piece is heavy and it’s bigger than a half-dollar. “Is this real gold?” I inquire of Mr. Wells as I bring the piece up to my eye for closer inspection.

  “Yes, and it matches the map. My guess is that they go together.”

  I look at the gold doubloon again before picking up the parchment to take a closer look at the picture next to the coin. As I have both pieces in my hands, I get a strange tugging feeling in my stomach. I look up at Mr. Wells but he has now turned his back to me to look at something behind him. I try to call to him but no sound comes out. I look back down at the items in my hand as the world goes black around me. It feels as if I’m falling. I try to grab onto something, anything, but I can’t feel or see anything other than the two objects in my hands.

  I’m wondering how long this feeling will last when I splash into water. My head goes under and I have to swim my way out. Somehow, I manage to hold onto the map and the coin. I open my eyes. I must be in the ocean because my eyes are burning from the salt. When I surface, I cough and take in a few deep breaths as I tread water. I find a plank of wood floating close by. Swimming to the board, I climb on. Looking around I see nothing but water in all directions. “What the hell?” I call out.

  I balance on the plank, hoping that a cruise ship or fishing boat will come by and save me. I’m not sure how I even got out here; I wasn’t that close to the beach to begin with. I roll the now wet piece of parchment and stuff it into my back pants pocket and shove the coin into my front pocket.

  I sit balancing on the plank for a while, just thinking and wondering how I’ll get out of this mess. The sea is so peaceful and calming. This is the calmest I’ve felt in weeks. I balance myself so I can lay on the plank. Thank God, it’s long enough so I can stretch out. I look up at the clouds. I’ve not seen or heard a plane go over at all since I’ve been sitting here. Strange, maybe I’m further out to sea than I thought I was. I feel my eyes getting heavy; may as well close them for a bit. If I don’t fall into a deep sleep, I should be able to hear a boat come by. I tend to be a sound sleeper when I’m really tired, and the way I’ve felt the past few weeks it wouldn’t take much to knock me out. Maybe this will be my end and my pain will go away. Maybe I can be with my parents again.

  Chapter 3

  It’s A Woman

  1710 A.D.

 
; Captain’s Log16th May

  After leaving port in Boston our provisions have been restored and the supplies filled. We set sail for Port Royal to exchange sugar for loot. My men and I will be paid handsomely for our services. The storm was hard on the ship and many repairs were needed to be done. Once the repairs were complete my men took the time they needed to rest.

  It has been days that we have been out to sea. The storm we just weathered was a rough one with stronger winds than we have seen in some time. Me men continue working on repairs of the ship. We be behind schedule and I want to get this ship under way again before nightfall. It has been tiring moving from port to port and me men and I grow restless; nothing a good sword fight or a wench in port won’t fix.

  “Man overboard!” Demetrius calls. I rush out of me quarters and find where he’s looking.

  He hands me the spyglass and points in the direction so I can see what he has seen. “Bring us around to the starboard side,” I call out.

  Floating on a plank of wood, without another ship or other debris in sight, is a man with long black hair, wearing clothing I’ve never seen before. Me men throw a rope toward the plank, but the man does not respond.

  “Cap’n?” Demetrius asks.

  “Send someone in the dinghy. Be cautious in case he’s alive. Have him taken below deck and let me know when he wakes.”

  “Aye Cap’n.” Demetrius goes forth to pass on me orders. What I don’t understand is where this man came from. I look around the ship on all sides and see nothing but ocean. I intend to find out how he came to be out so far.

  Back in me quarters, I pour meself a mug of rum and sit and look out me window. The sea is calm after the storm, ‘tis my favorite time. Maybe the man’s ship did not weather the storm and he be the only survivor. I drink me rum with me thoughts on returning to port and finding a wench to bed.