Hell over high water

"I'll stay with you. I don't I'll be able to sleep at all tonight..."

 

Roger smiled weakly at her and looked back at Dana. He felt guilty. It had been his idea to come down here alone - Dana hadn't even wanted to enter the room.

He wouldn't stop crying.

With a tiny groan, Roger drew his knees up to his chest, covering his ears. He needed to think - he couldn't think with all this noise.

 

Almost shyly, Clare passed an arm over Roger's shoulders, trying to comfort him a bit.

 

Roger flinched, then blushed slightly. He choked out a little laugh. It was weird - he'd been sitting the same way with Dana in the wheelhouse - what? Roger couldn't tell time, but it couldn't have been long ago. Or maybe it was - maybe it had been years ago.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, "Dana, Dana, I'm sorry."

He laughed humorlessly. He had to - it was the only way he could keep from crying.

((Gotta go! I'll be on later - byebye!))

 

Roger stood up and looked out the window, trying to ignore the conversation of the others as he pondered their fate. The rain was coming down in sheets now, creating a curtain of water against the glass. It was insanity, he thought--all of these things that had been happening to them. If there was a real ghost or evil spirit on the ship, what did it want? Surely it wanted something.

Roger saw a dark shadow move towards him from the corner of his eye and he quickly turned to face what was approaching. Nothing was there, of course, but a blinding pain at the base of his skull nearly made him cry out. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized that there was something very important that he had to do.

The wheelhouse, Roger. You must go to the wheelhouse now.

"Roger, are you okay?" One of the others asked. He nodded without looking at the speaker and rose from his seat. He didn't understand why the wheelhouse was so important, but it was. And he had to go there now. The others did not matter.

Leaving the room, he walked down the hallway toward the wheelhouse, listening to the voice once again.

The safe. You must find the safe, it said. Roger was confused. He hadn't seen a safe inside the wheelhouse before.

"Where is it?" Roger asked aloud, unaware that Clare had followed him out of the room.

There is a cabinet to the left of the captain's chair. Inside, you will find the safe.

The urgency in the voice made him pick up his pace and he began to run down the hallway. He had to find the safe. No matter what else happened, he had to find and open it. Behind him, Clare began to run too. Even if Roger had seen her following him, he wouldn't have stopped. She didn't matter. None of them did, he now realized. The only thing that mattered now was what was inside the safe.

Reaching the door to the wheelhouse, he stepped inside, looking toward the captain's chair. There, to the left of it, was the wooden cabinet. Roger quickly strode towards it and knelt down, sliding the oak panel open. Inside, there was an assortment of important looking papers and personal belongings--a gold compass, rolled up maps, and a flask of whiskey were just a few of the things that littered the shelf of the cabinet. Roger pushed all of these things aside, looking for the safe. And then he saw it. The back of the cabinet was actually the door to the safe and Roger stared at it, wondering how he was supposed to get inside of it.

12-45-22 The numbers came into his head and Roger quickly turned the dial, once to the right, once to the left, then back to the right, landing on 22. The door to the safe opened then and a musty smell emenated from within. There were only three things inside of it: a woman's necklace, a letter, and a very thick, very old looking book.

The book. Take the book!

Roger's heart pounded in his chest as he reached one hand into the safe and withdrew the book with black binding. Its edges were tattered, and the cover was blank, but he knew instinctively that something powerful lay inside of it. His hands were shaking now as the voice continued.

Turn to page IX and begin reading the first passage. You will not understand the words, but I will help you pronounce them.

Roger turned to the page and began reading as Clare burst through the door.

"What are you doing? What is that?" She asked, looking down at the ancient book in his hands. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the one who's responsible for the captain's death and all of the other things that have been happening on this ship!"

Kill her.

She held an ax in her hands, as if to scare Roger. But her anger quickly turned to fear once she saw that he was coming toward her in spite of the weapon. She swung the ax at him, but Roger dodged it gracefully. Then he sent his fist through the air and hit her hard, so hard that he heard a bone crack near her shoulder before she fell to the floor. She screamed out in pain and dropped the hatchet. Roger picked up the ax, feeling the heft of it in his hand as Clare got up.

"Clare, you really ought to learn how to mind your own business," he said, grabbing her by the wrist. "You see, people like you make it hard for people like me to accomplish anything at all."

"Let go of me!"

"Oh, I will. But I just need to ask one favor of you before you go." Roger said. "Would you mind giving me a hand?"

The ax came down on her wrist then, slicing through skin, tendons, and bone. Blood spewed out from her severed wrist and she ran from the room, screaming louder than anyone Roger had ever heard. He dropped the hand to the floor and went back to the book.

 

Roger woke with a start. He sat up, looking around frantically. The young woman and red-haired girl looked at him, concerned.

What...what was that?

He'd been lying on one of the couches. He must've fallen asleep - when did he fall asleep?

Roger looked to the others. The young woman was alright - alive with all limbs intact. Dana sat silently, squinting off into space with the little girl beside him.

Roger's hand flew to his scab. He rubbed and picked at it nervously, trying to calm himself down. That was one pretty messed up dream - he figured it was the spirits or demons or whatever the hell they were, screwing with him.

"How's he doing?" he asked to no one in particular, gesturing towards Dana. The older boy had stopped crying - that was good, right?

 

Cain loaded his pistol and peered around the corner.

Nothing there.

Relieved, Cain sighed and wiped his glasses. He was jumping at every noise and shadow, living in fear of whatever was on the ship. He knew that he had to take charge, that Pem couldn't do this by himself, but he was too afraid to get involved. Somehow, he told himself, if he stayed away, maybe the ghosts would stay away too. But deep down, he knew it was a lie.

Walking down the hallway, Cain kept a look out for anything suspicious. Suddenly, the lights flicked off. Cain was about to cry out before the lights flicked back on again. He stood still for a moment, and when he figured that it wasn't going to turn off again, he kept walking. Hearing the voices of the others, he headed to the lobby, where one of the boys was clutching his bleeding ear.

"What happened here?" he asked.

 

Jean walked close to the Reverend as they looked for the extra blankets and pillows in the various closets around the area. They finally found the correct closet and loaded their arms with pillows and wool blankets. They walked back to find Cain with a gun in his hand.

Jean sighed as she looked at Dana's bleeding ear.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" she asked, as she set the blankets on the sofa, kneeling down next to Dana.

 

"Um...yes! I don't know what happened; I've been scouting around all day," he replied, annoyed.

Everyone looked tired and scared. He supposed he wasn't much different.

"If it makes any of you feel better, I didn't see anything...unusual around the ship, or rather, anything new. There seems to be no sign of any...ghosts."

 

((I'm dreading that PM from GloomKitty - especially since Dana's kinda out-of-it right now ./hides))

Dana turned to look at the woman. Ms. ...what was her name again?

He sent her a half-smile, careful not to move the left side of his face too much. He was numb, for the most part, but he didn't want to risk opening up the wound or anything.

Roger stood in front of him, bending down slightly to look him in the face. He looked tired, worried, and scared all at the same kind.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Dana half-smiled. "Better," he muttered. He kept the left corner of his mouth closed, so the word didn't sound right. "And you?"

Roger forced on a smile. "I'm okay," he mumbled.

Dana noticed him glance sideways at the young woman, shrinking away from her just a little bit. Dana wondered, but didn't ask.

 

Jean brought the blankets around, handing a pillow and a blanket for each person.

"I think if we stick together and we get some sleep... everything might turn out okay." she bit her lip when she said this.

She took Mouse's hand, and put a blanket over her, and sat her on the sofa.

"We just need some rest."

 

Roger helped Dana drape his blanket over his shoulders, deep in thought. That dream...what was it about? A safe...a safe in the wheelhouse. There was a book. Roger had opened it, but he couldn't read? He'd understood it, though. He was sure he had. What did it say?

Without a word, Roger picked up the blood-stained knife and left the room. Was it real? Was there really a safe in the wheelhouse? He had to know - it could be important.

The small boy rushed down the hall, not caring whether it was safe to be alone or not. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but he ignored that. He needed to get to the wheelhouse.

After what seemed like forever, he reached the small room. He hesitated, then went straight for the cupboard. It was dark, too dark to see anything. Roger set the knife down beside him and felt around for the safe. Was it even there?

His hand hit something cold and smooth. This was it! Frantically, he groped around for the lock.

There was a sudden, soft light. Roger turned to see the young woman from the lobby standing in the doorway, lantern in hand. She looked puzzled and concerned.

"What are you doing?"

Roger hesitated, blushing slightly. What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to explain this?

He didn't have to.

The young woman was jerked backwards, dropping her lantern and gasping in surprise. Roger jumped, and stepped forward to help, but stopped.

It was him - that boy. The one who attacked Dana in the dining hall. He held the young woman by her hair. She reached back and clasped his hand, trying to pull away.

What happened next was a blur. A scream, a flash of red, something thin and pale hitting the ground with a sickening thump.

The boy stood over her, blood dripping from his blade and staining his sleeve. He looked at Roger and smiled sweetly, bending down to pick up the young woman's lantern.

She screamed and cried louder than anything the boy had ever heard, gripping her wrist. Everything was going red.

He held the lantern over her to get a better look. She was beautiful, even like this. Such a shame.

The smashing of glass, a burst of heat, a pained screech. It didn't take long for the flames to spread. Hair, gown, it all went up in smoke, but she wouldn't stop screaming.

Roger jumped back, covering his face with his arm to keep the heat out of his eyes. The knife, dripping dark, poked out from his long, red-stained sleeve.

((I'm sorry, Klee! I tried to at least make Clare's death-post not suck, but I kinda failed at that. Sorry!))

 

Armel stood at the door of the wheel house, his heart thumping in his chest. The man stood with the knife looking dumbfounded. The crisped corpse was still withering on the floor. The scent of charred flesh had him gagging. He shuddered as the mans eyes locked onto his own.

“Please sir,” he managed between shocked pants, “Please tell me you won‘t open that safe.”



Clare is dead

 

Roger jumped, whirrling around. He hadn't realized someone else was there.

"Y-You...you saw him. Right? You saw him. You saw him do it. Right?"

His hand was moist and warm. He didn't want to look at it. He felt sick.

 

Armel stuck his hands in his pocket and glared at him, “I saw you.”

He pointed his finger at the smouldering pound of flesh at Roger’s feet. “You did it. Seems the unseelie have taken a liking to you.”

He started backing towards the door. He had to tell everyone to stay away from this man. If he wasn’t dealt with, everyone would suffer.

 

"The...what?"

The boy shook his head. What was going on? Everything was happening so fast.

"No," he pleaded, his voice shaking, "No, I didn't. I didn't do it! It was him, it was that boy! Didn't you see him!? He hurt Dana and he..."

He couldn't say it. Behind him, the young woman's screams were just beginning to die down, but he could still hear her. She moaned and sobbed and gasped for air. The room began to fill slowly with black smoke, but the fire didn't spread. It stayed on her, eating away at her, and soon there would be nothing left.

Roger wished it would hurry up. He wasn't sure how much more of her whining he could take.

Dana, he thought. I need Dana...

 

Mouse laid down on the sofa and pulled the covers over her just as Armel burst through the door of the lounge. His breath came in heaves and there was a terrified look in his eyes.

"Clare has been murdered," he said, panting. "By Roger. He's in the wheelhouse now. He must be stopped!"

Reverend Pem looked sharply at Armel. "Roger?"

"Yes, yes! You must come quick before he gets away!"

Pem rose from his chair and quickly followed Armel out the door.

"We must hurry!" Armel said.

 

Dana looked up. All he caught was "murdered" and "Roger".

Roger...was he...?

The blonde boy staggered to his feet, careful not to drop the blanket drapped over his shoulders. He was dizzy - the ship wouldn't hold still, and there was that sharp pain in his ear. Without a word, he stumbled after the reverend and the other man.

Something was burning, he could smell it. He picked up speed and finally arrived at the wheelhouse.

The reverend and other man had stopped at the door. Dana pushed passed them. Something was engulfed in flames - something big, that seemed to gasp and moan weakly. And, beside it, Roger sat, looking fearfully up at them.

Dana was at his side immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, sharing his blanket. The smaller boy leaned into him, cold and shaking. He was white as a sheet. What was going on?

 

The entered the wheelroom. Roger barely even looked up. Pem stared at Clare's body. He slowly walked over to Roger.

"It's all right son. It wasn't you. It was ..." With a quick twist of his wrist Pem splashed some scotch into Roger's eyes and snatched the knife. As Roger flailed, the Reverend slammed the knife's handle into Roger's skull. Each time he thought of Clare, the handle rose and fell again. The Reverend's muscles burned but he kept at it, until his arm couldn't move any longer.

Between ragged breaths, Pem turned to the firstmate and said, "Now open that safe."

 

The first mate didn't want to open it, but seeing that the reverend meant business, he had no choice. The door to the safe creaked open and a musty smell emitted from within. The reverend approached and withdrew the black book with a shaky hand.

 

Jean ran after them with Mouse at her side. The spectacle that met her eyes filled her with terror. Clair was dead. Not just dead, mutilated from burns. She saw Roger's limp form, and the Reverend with the book in his hand. She watched in shock just feet from the spectacle.

 

"THIS ENDS NOW!" screamed Pem. He grabbed Armel. "I'm taking him back to my room and bolting the door. Leave us - this is personal!"

 

Screaming, struggling, and Roger was down. What just happened?

Dana stared at the motionless boy in shock. He heard the reverend say something, but he couldn't make out the words. Everything else was far away.

He'd landed on his back, head turned away from Dana. The older boy leaned over him, turning his face to look at him. His eyes were closed, and his nose was bleeding. That wasn't a good sign.

"Roger?" Dana asked softly, practically whispering. "Hey..."

 

"Ms. Bequem, I think the reverend's gone mad! Look at what has he's done to Roger!" Mouse cried. A pool of blood was beginning to form around the blonde boy's head, but he was still alive.

 

Oh Almighty Judge and Lord guide your servant. Fill him with your presence and strength that he may accomplish your will.

The Reverend's voice carried through the door and filled the hallways. Nothing could be heard of Armel.

Lend me your strength now, that I may smite your enemies!