Chapter 8 #2
The dead fish on the surface jolted in a fresh wave of electricity.
The crocodile surfaced briefly, the ridges of its back were broken and scarred.
She could see parts of its ribcage were missing, replaced with sections of what looked like an old-fashioned antique turbine.
And a clock, the hands spinning around like a timer.
With each rotation, lightning arced out into the water.
It shouldn’t be possible. But then again…mermaids. Fairies. Flying children. And a world where nobody aged.
She tried to time the electric waves.
“One…two…three…four—”
Vhmmmmm-SNAP!
“One…two…thee—”
Vhmmmm—SNAP!
Shit. They weren't consistent. She kept counting for another wave. That time, it was five. The one after that it was back to three. All right. Between three and five seconds. She’d try to play it safe and say three.
So…three seconds to get across between rocks, before the crocodile would electrocute the water and she’d be dead.
Really, that window was just a fail-safe anyway. She could make the jump. It was long, sure, but she could do it. She never had to touch the water. She just had to make sure she wasn’t touching the water. That was all.
Three seconds. She could do it. Jump, make it to the next rock, run to the boat before Hook sailed away.
Vhmmmmmmm—SNAP!
She could do it. She really could. The next one. She’d do it on the next one. Totally on the next one.
Three more cycles passed. The water was getting higher. It was now or it was going to be never.
Vhmmmm-SNAP!
One.
She reared up for the jump.
Two.
She jumped.
Her front foot hit the stone. Her back foot hit the water. She tilted forward. Her front knee hit the stone, her hands bit the damp, rocky surface. She lifted her back foot.
Vhmmmm-SNAP!
Three.
She was safe.
Pressing her forehead to the rock, she let out a sob of relief. She’d made it! She’d made it. Dear god, she’d made it. Now, she just needed to see if Hook had sailed away without her. He probably had. She’d have to swim ashore, or just wait for the tide to come in and drown.
Standing, she turned to look at Peter and Sidney. “I’m sorry—I can’t help you!”
“Go.” Peter’s makeshift bandages were already bleeding through. “We’ll find our own way. We always do.” His smile was lopsided and confident. Was that Virtue? Or Peter? It was hard to tell. She supposed it was all the same to a certain extent.
Turning, she ran from the cove and the horrifying crocodile, her heart pounding in her ears. Did Hook wait to see if she’d made it?
The ocean had almost crested the beach. Hope for her had almost been exhausted. But there, on the last shred of sand that was left before the tide took it away, was a dinghy with one pirate holding the oars, and Captain Hook sitting at its fore.
It had just pushed away. But it was still there.
Running to the boat, she waded through the shallow water and jumped into it. She never wanted to get into the water again.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Smee.” Hook checked his pocket watch. “I was beginning to grow concerned.”
“Fuck. You.” She ground the words out between gritted teeth.
She was crying, the tears streaking down her cheeks unchecked.
She was shaking from the adrenaline. Her sister was probably going to die, eaten and electrocuted—Peter was bleeding to death.
And she’d just narrowly escaped. And it was all his fault.
“You left me to die! I needed your help!”
“Clearly, you did not.” He leaned back against the railing of the boat as he watched her, dryly unamused. “As you sit here, cross with me for absolutely no good reason, but quite unharmed.”
“Cross—” She sputtered in anger. “You abandoned me!”
“I trusted you to get yourself out of the situation on your own.” Now he was the one getting angry in return. “Would you prefer I treat you like some fainting damsel in distress? Some wilting wallflower?”
“I would’ve stayed behind to help you escape that thing—”
“One, doubtful. Two, even if you mean what you say, that is all very well and grand, but have you considered what that beast is to me?” He shouted at her with such fury that she shrank back from him in surprise.
“That thing hunts me relentlessly, no matter where I go, no matter what I do. And it will always win—it will always have its way, won’t it, Sasha?
The crocodile always gets its way. And when it’s done, what then?
Like Sisyphus and the boulder, we begin again!
That monster haunts me like a demon in the pit, endlessly devouring me across every page of every poorly-penned piece of derivative tripe—” He broke off as agony and pain, horror and terror, fury and hatred twisted through his features in unison before he visibly pushed them back behind a wall within him.
Letting out a wavering breath, he tugged on his coat and straightened his lacy cravat. “Dignity. Above all, we must maintain dignity.” He flicked his gaze back to her. “So, forgive me if I did not save you when you did not need to be saved, where matters of that thing are involved.”*
Sasha just stared at him in wide-eyed, silent shock. She had just been schooled by a children’s story villain.
But that wasn’t why she was staring at him. He was every villain. And it was just starting to sink in what that meant exactly.
He wasn’t just the concept of them.
He was their experiences, too.
Every death. Every failure. Every betrayal.
All of them.
Every page. Every version. Every movie.
For better or worse.
And she was really starting to lean toward “worse.”
* Consider for a moment, dear reader, that I do not even get to choose whether or not I am afraid of it. Even that agency has been removed from me… -V