Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
“—no saving her, James. She’s too far gone.” A gruff voice, one I don’t recognize, pulls me from the darkness.
Where the hell am I? I can’t get my bearings. I was just on the Jolly Roger, wasn’t I? But I don’t think I’m there anymore. Maybe I’ve been rescued.
“Peter!” I call for him, but he doesn’t answer. “Peter where are you? Help me!”
“Don’t summon that cunt.” The gruff voice rumbles nearby. “Lord knows we have enough trouble as it is.”
“Huran, you’d better save her, or I’ll hang you from my goddamn mainsail.” Hook is right beside me, his demeanor tinged with murder.
“Don’t you threaten him. I’m warning you, James. This’ll turn ugly fast.” The gruff voice is somehow even angrier. “He’s doing all he can.”
“He needs to do more, a whole fucking lot more.”
Tension snaps in the air, and I could swear I hear a sword being drawn, scraping along the edge of its scabbard.
But then again, I’ve always had a vivid imagination.
I’d laugh at the insanity of all this if I weren’t burning in fiery agony.
Nope, I haven’t been rescued. Just delivered to some other version of hell by way of Neverland.
“You goddamn bastard, I already told you—”
A smoother voice, kindness laced into its tone, cuts through both of the angry ones. “Put the sword away, my love. It’s all right. Let me work.”
“James you’re an ungrateful prick, as always,” the gruff man grumbles then falls silent.
I try to open my eyes, but when I do, all I see is the white cinderblock wall of my mother’s hospital room.
It’s as if I’m sitting right beside her, both of us staring, dead-eyed, at absolutely nothing.
I wonder if someone might come visit us?
No, probably not. I was the only one who visited her in the end.
My father had already found several other women to occupy his time.
It’s just the two of us, trapped, rotting from the base of our skulls.
“Let me out!” I try to shake off the shackles created by my mind. I thrash and scream, my body on fire as I try to free myself.
“Hold her!” the kind man yells.
Big hands come down on my shoulders, pinning me, locking me into the nightmare.
“Let go!” I can’t breathe, my body hot and cold.
“Hang on, lass.” My pirate holds me in place. No, not ‘my pirate.’ Hook. Hook is the one who’s got me in his clutches, his teeth ripping and tearing my flesh away.
I scream until I’m hoarse, until my throat is nothing but tatters. But Hook doesn’t let me go. He’ll never let me go, will he? I’m doomed.
My tears roll along my temples and pool in my ears. All I can see is that white cinderblock wall, dimpled and grooved like the surface of the moon. Just as foreign. Just as cold.
“All right.” A voice from somewhere, or maybe I’m imagining it. “She should start to feel some relief.”
“When?” Hook bites the word from between his teeth.
“Any minute now. I cut off the worst of it and bathed it in what I had left of Liuna’s salve.”
I sob, completely unable to control myself as the cinderblock wall comes closer, swallowing up everything in my field of vision.
“Fight it, lass. Fight the cold dark. I know it well. Stay with me.” Hook releases my shoulders and pulls me close again, cradling me in his arms like I’m a little lost lamb. “The worst is over.”
I don’t think that’s true, but I can’t say it. I can’t do anything except sit beside my mother and die slowly, the rot spreading at a steady pace.
He rocks me gently as the pain from my leg begins to lessen, a tingling taking its place. But I still ache. Everywhere all at once—in my body and my heart. I can’t put together a thought, a feeling, a desire.
The tingling sensation spreads up my leg, easing me as it goes. Maybe this is me dying. Maybe the infection from the bite is claiming me molecule by molecule until I’m just gone.
I sigh as the cinderblock wall goes fuzzy and starts to fade.
Hook holds me tighter and continues to rock me slowly.
“It’s working.” His voice whispers along my consciousness. “I can feel her relaxing.”
“She’s not out of the storm yet.” The stoic voice counsels from somewhere nearby. Maybe he’s an orderly at the mental hospital or a particularly attentive doctor.
“That was the last of the fairy salve, then?” The raspy voice.
“Yes.” The doctor sounds resigned. “It was quite helpful while it lasted.”
“Aye. Come now, Huran.” The raspy voice softens a hair. “You’ve done your best. Let’s leave them be. We’ll see if she makes it through the hour.”
“She will.” Hook’s voice rumbles through me.
“She’s strong, but she was already drained when she got the bite.” Huran’s voice, the doctor, hovers closer. “I’ll be back to check on her soon.”
“Thank you.” Hook says it almost grudgingly, but it also has the ring of gratitude.
The cinderblock wall is gone, and the tingling has spread all the way through me. I feel like I’m floating. Not on water. God no. No more swimming for me. But maybe on a golden cloud, something with glitter in it. Lots of glitter.
“Glitter?” Hook asks.
I must be talking, though I don’t feel my dry mouth moving.
“You’re going to be all right. Huran is the best healer in the waters off Neverland. Hell, he may be the best in all the waters I sail.” Hook kisses my hair.
I want to claw his eyes out, but I can’t.
All I can do is listen to the steady thump of his heart as he rocks me gently.
It’s a seduction. It has to be. Hook doesn’t give a shit about me.
It doesn’t make sense that he’s going to such great lengths to keep me alive, but perhaps he wants to kill me in some horrible way.
It’s a reasonable explanation. Maybe he wants some public display of my death just to spite Peter and the Lost Boys.
Coy would take it the hardest. I get a flash of his eyes as the life goes out of them. Right, Coy’s dead.
“It couldn’t be helped.” Hook doesn’t stop rocking me. “The Lost Boys are just that. Lost. It’s a mercy to release them.”
I force my eyes to open, and I see the dark scruff on Hook’s face, the sharp line of his jaw, the tanned skin along his throat. A beautiful monster, a murderer of the loveliest design. If I could end him, I would.
“Many have tried it, lass, make no mistake. None have managed it.” He pulls back and looks down at me, his blue eyes holding mine prisoner.
“Though you just might.” When he hoists me higher and settles back into a bed—one in an open, airy room with windows and a soft breeze, I realize we aren’t on the Jolly Roger anymore.
But I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to figure out where I am.
“Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”
I want to laugh, and I swear a giggle bubbles from me, but maybe it’s more of a sob, because the pirate reaches up and swipes some tears away before pulling a blanket over us.
“Shh, lass.” He begins to hum, the sound deep and smooth.
I try to pry my eyes open again, but I can’t. That tingling feeling has changed over to almost numbness. I don’t feel pain. It’s still there, though, lurking beneath whatever magical mixture Huran slathered on my leg.
When Hook sings, his voice so smooth and melodic—that’s when I know I’ve fallen into some other reality, one where villains sing lullabies and heroes can’t save you.
“Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell, Angus is here with fine dreams to sell. Hush now wee bairnie and sleep without fear, for Angus will bring you a dream my dear…”
I wake to a seagull’s laugh. It sits on my windowsill and lets out its raucous chuckle as the moon, now back to only a sliver, hangs in the sky beyond it.
“Out of here, devil.” A man hurries in and shoos the bird from the window. He turns to me, his mouth turning up into a smile. “Well, hello there.”
No words come out of my mouth.
“You’re parched.” He comes to my bedside, his teal robe fluttering behind him, then pours me a glass of water. “Here. Don’t drink too much. Go slow.” With a gentle hand, he lifts my head from the pillow and pours the water into my mouth.
I swallow, grateful for the moisture.
Once I’ve had enough, he lays me back down and places the back of his hand to my forehead. “Good. You’ve been out of the fever for two days, but we can’t be too careful.”
“Who’re you?” I croak.
“Huran.” He dips his chin. “Very nice to finally meet you, Moira.”
“You’re the healer?” It’s an effort just to get the words out. I’m so tired.
“Yes. Among other things.” He winks, his brown skin marked with black tattooed dots all along his cheeks. “May I take a look at the leg?”
I don’t exactly want him to look at any of me, but I’m not stupid. He’s been looking after me for who knows how long, so he’s seen all of me most likely.
“All right.”
“Thank you.” He pulls back the cream-colored blanket and inspects the bandage on my calf. “The drainage has stopped. Also a good sign.” With deft fingers, he unpins the cloth and unwraps it.
I wince when I get a look at my leg. It’s mottled purple and yellow around the bite, and there are stitches where Huran must’ve had to cut divots from my skin.
“I know.” He pats my knee. “It looks rough right now. But when it heals, there’ll only be a few dimples and scars. Nothing to worry about and not too unsightly. I thought I was going to have to amputate, but you pulled through. Your leg will be just as strong as it was before.”
I don’t want an ugly leg but having a working one is the most important thing. “Thanks.”
“Very welcome.” He grabs a fresh bandage from the nightstand and rewraps it as I look around the room.
It’s a Caribbean sort of flavor. No glass in the windows, wide wooden shutters, white walls, a white-washed wood floor, and shabby chic furniture scattered around the four-poster bed.
“Where am I?” I ask as he finishes his work and covers me with the blanket again. The white nightdress I’m wearing looks like something from a Victorian ghost story, but I’m not about to complain about the clothes. I’m just happy to have a leg at this point.