Blood And Bones

by B. L. Morgan

  The door to her room faced outward to the street. As we stood in front of her door she turned and looked up into my eyes.

  My heart stopped.

  She said, “For some reason I feel I can trust you. Would you like to come inside?”

  This feeling of familiarity, this feeling of knowing, crackled in the night air like the electricity that wouldn’t be discovered for at least another hundred years.

  My voice came out like a whisper.

  “Yes, of course.”

  She unlocked the door to her modest room and we entered.

  Sari lit an oil lamp and in the dim flickering light she came into my arms and I knew ... I knew that this was Sherry St. Claire.

  It was another time, another place, another life, but it was Sherry St. Claire, the woman I had loved back in my own century. This was the same woman who in my own time had lost her parents while she was very young. She was murdered for trying to help children.

  Circles within circles, lives within lives, patterns repeated endlessly. She had told me that this is what she feels she should be doing with her life.

  I knew she was right.

  I held her that night and we made love slowly and tenderly and we both wept tears.

  I was only a momentary distraction in her life, a moment away from the work she had to do. But that was just fine with me. It was the way that it should be.

  In the morning when I awoke she was packed and gone.

  It was as it should be.

  Circles within circles, lives within lives, we have many soul mates, many who we share this journey with.

  Would I ever see her again?

  Probably.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Back On the Bad Omen

  The Bad Omen stayed docked at Casablanca for another two days. This was to give all the crew the opportunity to have their turns running around in the city.

  I did go into the city a few more times during those days but when night came I just got a room and a bottle, got drunk then slept it off.

  The biggest excitement I had during those two days was buying a pair of leather boots and a decent pair of pants. I was tired of running around on bare feet and the ass on my pants was getting so thin you could see my ass hairs wave when I farted.

  For the time being, living the high life just felt flat.

  Johnny and Carmel spent most of their time together. When Johnny saw me on The Bad Omen and came over to talk Carmel always found something for him to do. I could tell her ordering him around was getting old fast but I wasn’t much in the mood for talking anyway. I stayed to myself and didn’t say much to anybody.

  We cast off and sailed to the North. After two more days of me not saying shit to anyone when everyone else was busy Johnny came up to me.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You’ve been as quiet as a mute rock since that first night out on the town. What the hell happened to you?”

  “Nothing fucking happened to me,” I told him.

  “That’s bullshit,” he said. “I know you too well to believe that.”

  “Does anything we do make any dam difference?” I asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” he answered. “And what the fuck is making you turn all philosophical on me?”

  I went ahead and told him about finding Sherry here in another time, in another life.

  He listened and after a few moments answered, “I’d have to guess that you just answered your own question about whether anything me do means anything at all. It seems to me that this is indication that everything we do matters. Everybody, even the two of us, we all have a job to complete.”

  I asked him, “Then what the hell’s our job?”

  “Other than killing Elizabeth I don’t have a fucking clue,” he answered. “Maybe my job is to strangle this crazy bitch because she’s getting more fucking nuts every day.” He nodded toward Carmel who was at the Captain’s Wheel some distance from us.

  “Jonydavid, “she shouted all the way across the ship. “I need you up here at my side; Now!”

  “You see what I fucking mean,” Johnny said. “This shit sure as hell is wearing thin.”

  We sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar then on into the Mediterranean Sea.

  Out on the wide open ocean the sky was blue and the wind filled the sails and moved us toward places we’d never seen. Yeah, we were out to see the world, meet interesting people and kill the Spider-Bitch.

  Life was strange and that’s the way I wanted it to be.

  Carter and Kane were eating their evening meal of fish, fruit and rum when I came up to them and sat down.

  “Tell me mate, what was it like being dead,” Carter asked without warning.

  This surprised the hell out of me because until now no one in the crew had dared bring up the subject. Through the weeks since we’d been on board the crew gradually got used to Johnny and me. Now they didn’t shun us like we had leprosy.

  Kane gave Carter a horrified look and made the sign of the cross. I don’t think he wanted to hear the answer to that question.

  Carter pressed me further.

  “Soon enough we’ll all find out,” he went on. “But I wouldn’t mind having some advance warning before I step over as to just what’s on the other side.”

  I paused for a moment. Maybe it was just for dramatic effect. I really can’t remember why I kept them waiting. Then I looked inside my memories, memories of another man’s life, but strangely it was my own life also. I told him what I found there.

  “When the knife slashed my throat there was just a stinging and darkness washed over me like passing out from chugging a whole barrel of really strong liquor.

  “Then ...,” and this is where that other life’s memories got very strange. “Then I’m floating in a black nothingness. I can feel myself moving but I don’t know if I am going forward or backward or where I’m going. Not only that, but I’m not sure who I am. My mind seemed a blank.”

  Kane elbowed Carter. “Just like you all the time,” he told him.

  “Shut your trap and listen,” Carter said.

  I went on.

  “The next thing I know, I’m choking on salty water. The life I’d known on The Bad Omen was not the one I really felt was my own but it was someone else’s, someone that I didn’t really know anymore.”

  “So, who are you now if you’re not Jondar?” Kane asked.

  “John Dark,” I told him.

  And since I’d started, I told them the entire story of what happened since my night with Elizabeth. I filled in as many details as I could about life in the USA for them, complete with jets, television and Burger Kings.

  I didn’t really give a shit if they believed a word of what I said. Carter asked me to tell him my story, so I let him have it with both barrels.

  When I was done all Kane would say was, “Bloody-hell!” He made the sign of the cross again.

  “I totally believe you,” Carter announced. “I have dreams me-self of other times. I’ve even dreamed of flying to the moon.”

  Kane waived that off. “Yeah. And the rest of the crew dreams of going to Uranus. You’re a bleeding idiot.”

  “Anything is possible,” Carter told him. “This man has come back from the dead. He’s proof that anything is possible.”

  I knew for certain that he was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Storm Warning

  Heavy grey clouds rolled over the top of the sky and that was followed by a sudden downpour of epic proportions.

  There was barely enough time to get the sails rolled up before we were hit by high winds that spun The Bad Omen like a top.

  The ship was blown out of control. We went wherever the wind felt like throwing us.

  Everyone on the ship was soaked to the bone. With Johnny beside her Carmel clung uselessly to the Captain’s Wheel shouting orders even though most of the crew couldn’t hear her and no one could move around without the chance of being washed overboar
d.

  Most of the crew was shivering below deck hoping The Bad Omen wouldn’t capsize in the storm.

  Beltrain went down into the bottom of the ship to get a bottle of rum clumping and slipping and sliding over the wet slick steps. When he came back up he clutched a bottle in one hand and hoarsely shouted, “The ship’s taking on water. We need to bale!”

  Pictures popped in my head of living through this before.

  I shouted at the men swaying in their hammocks, “Get your asses up and make a line. We’ve got to get that water out or everyone will be feeding the fish. I’ve done it before and you don’t want to.”

  They grumbled but got to their feet. The men formed a long line, all the way from the knee-deep water in the guts of the ship out to the rail on the deck.

  I went down to the lower level and more by feel than anything else found a series of buckets hanging from the wall. Then we started baling the water.

  There was no special technique involved. You just dipped the bucket in the water and handed it to the guy next in line. He handed the bucket to the next guy and so on until the water got tossed overboard.

  A second line was formed to pass the empty buckets back down.

  This was back breaking work. We baled that water out of the ship non-stop for what seemed like days. A few of the guys did get washed overboard. It only took one slip on the slick deck at the wrong moment for that to happen.

  Down in the belly of The Bad Omen in the dark, shivering and shaking with arms, shoulders and necks knotting and burning from the strain, the storm seemed like it went on for weeks.

  We never seemed to ever gain on the level of the water seeping in.

  Then a hoarse shout came from up above, “The rain’s stopped! Calm seas ahead!”

  We stopped baling. All of us, as bone weary as if we’d just come through a war, and in a way we had, climbed the stairs out into the open air and collapsed onto the deck.

  When the man shouted, Calm seas ahead! That sure as hell wasn’t a lie.

  We rested on the deck long enough to recover from the baling then went back to baling some more. The Bad Omen had not sprung a leak. The water in the hold was what ran down from the deck during the storm.

  It had to be removed or the ship would rot from the inside so we got back to work.

  After four more hours of hellish water moving we got as much as was humanly possible out of the ship.

  After that was done, most of the crew retreated to their hammocks to rest worn out tired aching muscles. I wanted to see how Johnny was getting along so I headed back up to the deck.

  He wasn’t doing very well.

  In fact, neither of us would be doing very well anymore.

  While I’d been below deck a thick fog slid in from the horizon and now covered The Bad Omen in a grey cloud that was downright unnerving.

  Talk about weird weather, this was fucking ridiculous.

  First we got hit by a storm that’s dam near a hurricane, then right after that, fog as thick as spoiled clam chowder washed over us.

  I probably should have expected Carmel’s reaction to this even if she wasn’t shouting it to the entire crew.

  “As soon as the fog lifts we are turning The Bad Omen to the West and heading out past the Straits of Gibraltar for open sea. This is a sign that I will not ignore. The portents and omens are not with us in The Mediterranean Sea. We are leaving.”

  From beside her Johnny yelled, “You can’t do that! You agreed you’d take us to Eastern Europe. You know what we have to do.”

  “The signs are against us,” Carmel stated. “To go further would be suicide. I won’t risk the men or the ship.”

  Coming across the deck and climbing the stairs to the Captain’s Wheel I shouted to Johnny, “That’s fucking great! I break my back keeping this piece of shit floating so this lying bitch can turn on us!”

  Carmel’s eyes blazed.

  She yelled, “One more word out of you and I’ll have you flogged!”

  “Not fucking likely,” I yelled back at her. “Listen sister, you and your entire ass banging buccaneer crew can kiss my brown eye. You ain’t gonna do shit!”

  That was when a leviathan barged out of the fog crashing into The Bad Omen and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Royal Navy

  Whether they rammed us deliberately or ran into us purely by chance I’ll never know. All I do know is that one moment I was pissed off and ready to fight the entire crew of The Bad Omen, and then the next moment I was flying through the air from the ship being knocked sideways.

  I landed at the foot of the stairs and thwacked my head a real good one. With stars in my eyes I climbed to my feet.

  Carmel had already leaped down the stairs and over me. She was shouting all kinds of orders for the crew to grab arms and get ready to fight.

  “Get your asses up you scurvy dogs,” she yelled at them. “Are you men or sniveling weaklings? Get your asses up and grab steel. This is a fight to the death!”

  The crew was already in bad shape. They were all battered by the storm, tired as hell from all the baling and most of them had been knocked for a loop just like me.

  They responded to Carmel’s commands but they responded slowly. It was probably as fast as they could move.

  I stood swaying and Johnny climbed to his feet. I shook my head and slapped myself across the face to help clear the cobwebs. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if it helped or not. At least it didn’t make the dizziness any worse.

  The ship that rammed us was now turning to the side. I saw it was a huge English Frigate that was running all her colors.

  Another flash of memory told me that as soon as this ship was sideways to The Bad Omen she was going to cut loose with all her cannons on us.

  Johnny lurched down the steps to where I stood.

  The rest of the crew was staggering around gathering up their weapons. Carmel was against the rail shouting curses at the Frigate.

  “Come on you bastards,” she shouted. “Come on and try to board us.” She waved her sword at them. “Are you afraid of a woman? If so, that makes you men without balls!”

  “Are you ready to get the fuck off this boat?” I asked Johnny.

  “Shit, that’s long overdue,” he answered.

  We grabbed our weapons and ran to the side of the ship away from the Frigate. Everyone else was running across The Bad Omen toward the English ship. Those mother fuckers just didn’t have any sense at all.

  A small life boat hung suspended from ropes over the rail and a few chops with our swords was all it took to send it falling over the side and splashing into the ocean.

  There was a huge boom behind us followed by an ear deafening series of booms as the Frigate fired all its cannons.

  A wave of heat hit us. Splinters of wood, blood, pieces of meat, chunks of bones and skulls showered on and around us.

  We both jumped over the side of the boat.

  My ankle cracked the side of the life boat as the rest of me struck the water with bone jarring force. I went under but came up out of the water a moment later spitting and coughing.

  My head struck the life boat but not very hard. I grabbed the side and hauled myself up and over the side and into the boat.

  Heaving as much air into my lungs as I could I looked over the side and saw nothing but the dark grayish salt water.

  Something that looked like a drowned rat surfaced beside the boat. I grabbed it and found that I had a handful of Johnny’s hair. I dragged him by the hair of the head, then by the back of his shirt into the boat and plopped him down in the bottom.

  He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

  “Mother fucker!” I shouted at him and punched him as hard as I could in the gut.

  A lungful of water shot out of his mouth and hit me full in the face. Johnny came wide awake and vomited up a stomach full of ocean.

  As soon as he was able he wheezed at me, “You son-of-a-bitch! Where the fuck did
you learn that at, The Torture Paramedic School?”

  “I saved your life bro,” I told him.

  “Yeah, but you almost fucking killed me too!” he said.

  Without another word, we grabbed the oars and rowed the hell away from what was certain to be a slaughter behind us and into the thick fog.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Borderline

  Into the grey mist we rowed just as fast and as quietly as we could.

  More BOOMS! came from behind us.

  Screams of pain, curses, and shouts of triumph drifted out of the fog.

  They faded.

  We kept on rowing, not knowing what direction we were going in just trying to get as far away from the battle behind us as we could.

  The screams stopped.

  The shouts stopped.

  The blasts from the cannons stopped.

  We kept on rowing forward into the thick grey fog, forward into whatever the hell was in front of us.

  We kept on rowing.

  We kept on rowing until our backs felt like they were on fire and our arms felt like they were going to come loose from our shoulders and fall off.

  There was nothing else to do so we rowed some more.

  The both of us stopped at the same moment. The two of us had both reached our limits.

  The grey nothingness stretched in front of us.

  The grey nothingness stretched behind us.

  The only sound was our breathing and the sound of the ocean slapping the side of the lifeboat.

  We drifted.

  For what seemed like hours neither of us spoke. Then Johnny whispered and in the heavy silence his whisper sounded as loud as a fog horn.

  “What do you think we should do next?” he asked.

  “Nothing to do,” I answered. “I suppose every now and then we could row some more but until the fog lifts we got no idea even what direction we’re going in.”

  We lapsed back into silence.

  We drifted.

  Something was very strange about this day.

  It seemed like it should be late in the day. Evening should be falling but that grey fog all around us did not get any darker.