Chapter 4
Chapter Four
James
Idon’t make a habit of sleeping on the floor. It’s uncomfortable and unsanitary and honestly unnecessary since I have a perfectly comfortable bed.
I don’t even drink, so getting black out drunk doesn’t explain why I find myself waking up sprawled on the hard floor. It also doesn’t explain why the ground underneath me is swaying… although, swaying is an understatement. It is bucking as if it has a mind all its own.
Did someone break into my house and spike my sweet tea?
I groan, trying to push myself up, but something is wrong with my hand. It immediately buckles underneath me. I manage to catch myself with my right hand and push myself up to a sitting position although I semi regret it because I’m so dizzy the world seems to be swaying.
I try to take stock of where I am as I glance around, but to be honest I don’t even know how to describe this room.
It is made all of wood, from a wood ceiling to wood planked floors; although those are covered by a gaudy red and gold rug.
The door is wood. Even all the furniture is wood.
To my right is a long table covered in what appears to be maps nailed into the wall above it.
I don’t recognize the setting on the map, but then, I could get lost in my hometown.
To my left are stacks of crates with little antique looking chests on top of them.
So far, all I’ve been able to ascertain is that I’ve been kidnapped and I’m being held in a thrift store or somewhere that sells old wooden things.
Behind me, I find a large and far more ornate desk, it’s so fancy with carved claw feet and shining brass handles it looks almost like something out of a movie set.
Floor to ceiling paned windows are just behind it.
I crane my neck but from my position on the floor, I can’t make out anything but the sky and a few clouds.
If I’m not too high up, that window is a likely escape route.
Fortunately, I’m not tied up. However, I am wearing an entirely different pair of clothes than I remember last being in.
Instead I’m in a loose white shirt and britches tight enough to make me blush a little bit.
Large, clunky boots cover my feet and come up midway up my calf before being folded down.
A long brown coat tops it all off. I appear to be dressed like a pirate.
If it were close to Halloween and if I had any friends, I might think this is a prank of some sort.
But neither of those things are the case so I honestly don’t know what is going on.
The strangest thing is that I have a hook sticking out of my left coat sleeve.
I frown and reach over to tug on it so that I can free my hand that must be underneath it, but it doesn’t budge.
My frown deepens as I tug the coat sleeve down.
I find a black casing wrapped around my forearm, holding the hook in place.
I stare at it, as my brain struggles to process what I’m seeing. The casing is strapped directly to my forearm and there’s no room for a hand to be underneath it.
But… where is my hand?
My mouth parts slightly as I continue to stare. My hand, it’s just clean gone. Oddly enough, I don’t feel any pain for having lost my hand.
Not that it comforts me very much.
I scoot back, finally free from my shock enough to make a big deal about this. I yell at the top of my lungs. Deep down I know that I’m not being logical, how can I move away from my lack of hand?
But the greater part of me is panicking and I’m still panicking even as I bump into the table, smacking my head against it as the ground bucks again.
The door bursts open and a fellow rushes in.
He has a rosy, round face that fills me with a sense of trust. White hair and a white beard give him an older appearance, but his face doesn’t have too many wrinkles.
Maybe he just went gray early. His eyes are quite small, but his thick, round spectacles seem to magnify them.
They’re also the oldest fashioned spectacles I’ve seen in a hot second.
It’s almost enough to snap me out of my panic. I sit up slightly. “Do I know you?” I ask. There is something about the man that seems oddly familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I swallow hard, feeling squeamish when I realize I have five fingers fewer.
I tuck the hook behind my back so I can try to trick myself into thinking that it isn’t there.
It’s just my left hand… I try to reason. I don’t even use it for anything. Not that it helps at all, I loved my left hand. I want it back.
“Captain, are you hurt or ill?” the man asks, frowning. He has a bit of a stutter, stumbling over the beginnings of his words, but it isn’t too bad.
Really not as bad as my stutter in school was.
I glance over my shoulder, wondering who else is in the room.
“Is someone in here with ye, Captain?” the funny little man asks. “Is that why you yelled?”
“Uh,” is all I reply. “Where am I?”
“You’re in yer quarters, of course,” the man says with a nervous little chuckle. “Aboard the Jolly Roger.”
I stiffen at that. My eyes dart to my elbow the only part of my arm poking out from behind my back, keeping that accursed hook out of sight.
A hook? The Jolly Roger? My eyes dart back to the man as I realize why he looks so familiar.
I had been working with a casting director to find someone to play him. “Mr. Smee?”
“Aye, Captain, that be my name. Don’t wear it out.” Smee lets out another nervous chuckle. I feel like joining in.
I hold up a shaky finger, pointing at him. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I don’t have any money. If you’re looking for a ransom, then you kidnapped the wrong person.”
Is that what happened? They cut off my hand and sent it to my family? I imagine my mom getting a package back on the family farm in Idaho and try not to throw up.
My mom has seen a lot of things running our farm, but I’m pretty sure my severed hand might even make her sick. “My family doesn’t have any money either.”
“Begging your pardon, Captain, but what family?”
“Uh…” I stutter, surprised by this man’s polite question that seems extraordinarily out of left field.
And also a bit too familiar for a kidnapper and kidnappee, but then I’ve read that if you are kidnapped you should try to build a rapport with your kidnapper.
Remind them that you’re a human being and maybe make them feel bad for snatching you.
Bad enough that they would even take murdering you and dumping your body in the woods off the table.
“My mom—”
“Did you hit your head, Captain? You’ve been a lost boy for at least a few centuries. You don’t have no mama. It’s why I had to raise you.”
Okay, now this is getting confusing.
“You must have me confused with some other guy,” I gasp out as I push to my feet.
“Listen, if you just let me go, I will let this slide. I won’t tell anyone.
I won’t try to avenge my hand…” I mean, I want justice and I’m going to have to go through the rest of my life without my hand, but if I get out of this with my life then I guess I should just count myself fortunate.
This “Mr. Smee” laughs at that. It isn’t even one of his nervous chuckles, this is a full-on I think you missed your calling to be a comedian belly laugh. “You’ve been trying to avenge your hand for as long as I’ve known you, don’t expect me to believe you’ll change your ways now.”
I open my mouth to ask him what exactly happened to my hand, but now that I’m on my feet I can see out the window, and my view is filled with water. Water, water everywhere…
I suddenly find it hard to swallow.
My agoraphobia kicks into high gear. “Where is the land?” I cry, my voice cracking.
“Captain?”
The openness of the sea is making me feel ill. The only thing standing between me and death by drowning (or being eaten by a shark) is some wood and nails. I brace my hand against the table as the world swims before my eyes. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the water. “Get me to land.”
“Pardon?”
I turn my head, frowning. “Port? Is that what you call it? Make port.” I don’t finish my thought and get me off this boat.
“Aye, Captain,” Smee stutters out. He turns to the door of the captain’s quarters and begins hollering. Things like, bring her about, and change the colors. To be honest, I am barely capable of half understanding what he is saying, I’m too busy panicking.
Smee sighs, shaking his head. “It always makes me sad to see the skull and crossbones come down. It‘s like we’re making the Roger something she isn’t… still, on your orders, Captain.”
I swallow, nodding to acknowledge him. Really what I feel like doing is crying. Or maybe laughing hysterically.
I’ve been kidnapped by pirates. That’s weird enough, but for some reason they think I’m their captain.
Still, I won’t argue. Once we get to land, I can sort this out with the authorities.
I glance at my arm and swallow my bile as I look at the hook.
I twist it slightly before I decide I’ll probably be sick if I keep that up.
And maybe check myself into a hospital too…