23Yay, chapter two again! Blerg. What a busy week. I have a 10 page research paper on animal exploitation due on Tuesday, and a Bio exam, AND finals coming up! AAAHH! But Mom and I went to see The Lion King at the Academy of Music. My mind is blown.
Do not own.
Chapter Two: Dark Visions
Evening had already come, and the two vans in Amy's group stopped as they were coming to the top of a hill, sun setting behind the dense, grey clouds. It was here that the representative described to them the living conditions and numbers of people unemployed or homeless. "I wanted to show you guys the Philadelphia skyline, but as you can see, it's too foggy," explained the representative, Kris. True enough, all that was visible of that marvelous skyline was a dark, looming shadow, revealing only that something was there, and nothing more. Ames looked around and noticed something sparkle as it passed her. Her gaze sought it out and followed it to the grass. A snowflake. It had begun to snow again. The tiny crystals swirled all around them, cold though beautiful. Her gaze swept to James some distance away and saw him gazing in almost wonder at the minute white particles. She walked over and stood at his side, hands dug deep into her pockets, as she'd forgotten gloves. Again.
"It's been so long," he murmured after a few moments. "I only lived in London until I was seven. ...We sailed around the ports for a few years while I was still a cabin boy , but the Caribbean held so much more promise. I haven't really seen it snow since." They huddled together, gazes directed skyward, just watching the snowflakes spiral and shimmer to the frozen ground.
There was a call and they turned back to the van and followed the other passengers inside. The van sped slowly into the cold of night.
The final stop, after several others...nearly such a frightful tale in itself! Yet alas, all parts of a story must be told for the sake of the plot. The final stop was beneath an old bridge in the more rundown part of the city. Unlike the beautiful and clean Center City they'd seen at an earlier stop, all that could be seen in the murky orange light of the streetlamps were the rusty old bridge, and the puddles and litter and weeds growing through the cracked concrete. Such a place made the girl shiver with something other than cold. A sudden feeling surrounded her heart, as if something were clutching it, squeezing it. She tightened all the muscles in her upper body, hoping to be rid of such a disconcerting sensation. But this feeling, this pang, was so strong, there was nothing could be done to chase it off. Something bad was going to happen. Such a pang about the heart always held a premonition of some sort. And judging from the intensity, such an event would be very bad, and very soon. She shook her head, trying to focus on what was being said, but instead, a blinding white light hit her, and she ceased to be aware of the world around her. Instead, she saw James, chained to a post, outermost clothing in a pile some distance away. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes glittering with rage. A flourish of orange and green material floated in front of her gaze, and she saw a woman stalking toward him, a maleficent glint in her eyes. She held up a gun. Her finger wrapped around the trigger, then tightened, and James... Suddenly, Amy found herself back under the bridge. She looked hastily around for Norrington and spotted him near the van, some distance away, looking out over the expanse of the city, eyes lit with a silent wonder.
Ames sighed with relief. What had just happened? Perhaps it had something to do with Hannah. He would know. But if she explained such an occurrence as this to him, would he not be angry with her for imagining such a thing happening? For she had convinced herself it had merely been some passing train of thought related to the foreboding sense she was feeling. She shook her head again, frustratedly trying to clear it. Whatever. She could always talk to him later, in private.
"So what do you think the average life span of a homeless person is?" Kris quizzed the teenagers. "Go on, try and guess."
"Forty."
"Twenty."
"Twenty-six."
"Thirty-two."
"Nine," came the answer. There was a shocked silence.
"Because of all the infants," Amy mumbled to herself. She found she was again glancing at James. Had he been a cat, she could've sworn she saw an ear pricked at the conversation, although his gaze continued to scan the streets lit dimly in the weakening sunlight. She turned her attention back to the information that was being explained. Contrary to expectation, this stuff was actually interesting! Several minutes passed before she heard a muffled cry. She turned slowly, dread shooting up her spine.
He stood, arms tightly and painfully restrained by two thugs, gritting his teeth angrily as he struggled for freedom. The smaller of the two began to roughly remove his blue naval coat. He ripped off the sword and holster, tore the pistol from its place at James' ribs, examining the latter scrutinously before throwing it carelessly down to the small pile growing at his feet. He patted the man down before proceeding to roughly rid him of his waistcoat and several small, hidden knives that had been underneath. Shoes, hat, and wig were thrown off as well, discovering extra shot in the latter two and very tiny knives in the first. They forced him to a street light pole, and a metallic clink echoed deafeningly as they handcuffed his hands behind him and around it. They couldn't leave him like that—he would freeze! "James!" Amy cried out, stumbling toward him. One of the thugs pulled out a handgun and pointed it at her.
"Nobody come closer, got it?" She looked from the burly white gangster to her nephew and back several times, gaze finally coming to rest on Norrington. He shook his head quickly, and she nodded acknowledgment, returning to the group. The second thug also pulled out a handgun, pointing it at James as he stooped and looted a small pouch of coins from the sapphire coat's pocket. "No cell phones," began the first, "no yelling, no sudden movements, no runnin' away from the group; or we'll shoot." He paced along the front edge of the group as he spoke, gun resting threateningly on his shoulder.
The second thug, less burly than the first, spoke to James. "No funny business, ya heard? You chill, and we ain't got no problem."
"Funny business? What's really funny is your grammar."
The barrel of the nearest gun was pressed to his forehead, but he only gazed back, eyes like stone, unperturbed. The white turned to watch the scene, and Amy chose this moment of averted attention to dart behind one of the vans. "No funny business," the smaller thug repeated with a death glare, pulling his gun away.
"Ever'body—coats off—now!—Yeah. Now up against the wall, hands where we can see 'em." Everyone complied, and the villain began the process of patting them down one by one and emptying their pockets. Cell phones, money, and anything of value were stuffed into a small, off-white sack, probably a dirty old pillowcase. Ames watched from her hiding place, desperately trying to come up with a plan. But her ming was reeling, and each time she tried she came up empty-handed.
One of the girls cried out and tried to squirm away when, but the thug roughly shoved her back into place, drawing a hand back to strike her and remind her who was boss when James' commanding voice cut through the air. "You won't touch her."
"Oh yeah? An' whachoo gonna do 'bout it?"
"Oh nothing really, besides snap your friend's neck," came a chilling, nonchalant reply. Everyone looked to see that the Commodore had managed to get both his feet around the Latino's neck, positioned just so, so that in one swift movement the man's life would end. He must have done this sort of thing before.
Go James! Amy silently cheered for him, still groping for a solution and hoping that his actions were all that were needed. The thug stepped away from the girls just long enough that his friend kept his life before a gun was pressed to the naval commander's temple from behind. The lass cursed profusely and ducked down lower for fear of having been heard.
James, in his one moment of confusion, swiftly turned to face a third person who had come to help out with the 'mass robbery.' The face he met was both beautiful and fear-inspiring: an aesthetic woman of a race he could not identify, eyes deadly, daring him to make one more false move. His guard lowered somewhat, the thug he'd been threatening took hold of one of his legs and twisted it hard. A gag was stuffed in his mouth as he cried out in pain when a distinct cracking noise echoed around the bridge, light glaring off his stocking as Amy noticed randomly, before the limb fell limply to the ground, hanging at an odd angle. With a grin, the looting goon turned back to his plundering.
However, in Amy's case, sometimes it payed to be so randomly observant, for the glare of his stocking reminded her of the neglected pile of weaponry and clothes—and weaponry—lying some distance away from all the action. Her eyes sought out the gleam of the sword, a plan forming in her head. Her timing had to be perfect on this one. And she hoped (dearly) that an opportune moment would present itself soon, because time was running out: she recognized the woman as from her vision, and inferred that it could only be a matter of time before she tried to do what the lass so feared her doing.
The woman's gun guarding James—who was probably now unable to even try and fight back anyway—the second thug went over to the pile of coats and began to empty the contents of all the pockets.
The wheels in her mind spun furiously as Amy worked the kinks out of her plan. All she had to do now was wait to put said plan into action until the aforementioned opportune moment. "You know, guys," the woman called to her accomplices after a while. "It's been a while since I had so much fun doing this. How often do one of ya'll almost get killed?" Both men sniggered, not looking up from their looting.
"Maybe you should make it even better," one of them grinned.
Pastor Scott's head shot up, and he locked gazes with James. After a few moments, the latter's expression turned from pain to panic as he realized what she meant. He manipulated the gag in his mouth apprehensively as she sashayed around front of him, stepping back to take in his appearance. In a last-ditch effort to look intimidating, the former-Commodore drew himself up, standing tall on his still-operating leg and squaring his shoulders, lips pursed, brows drawn together, eyes darkening. It only succeeded in making himself look more dashing. "Damn. You hot, aincha," breathed the wench. "Shame I'm gonna ugly that pretty face."
Amy groaned inwardly. James, why did you have to be born so handsome? she thought despairingly.
One of the woman's hands snaked out to caress the strong line of his jaw, and he abruptly turned his head away from the touch, eyes blazing, angrily manipulating the socks that had been stuffed into his mouth. He suddenly caught sight of the lass, hiding behind one of the vans in the dark. She was looking from his sword to the two goons, as if waiting for a perfect moment. Then, as if remembering a lingering threat, she looked back at the woman, and seemed startled to meet his gaze. Her surprised expression was all he managed to see, however, before hands that looked deceivingly delicate forced his face back to the woman's, and her lips forcefully met his. He struggled for freedom, but her hands bound him from moving. When at last he was permitted to breathe, he jerked his head away, panting for breath, eyes automatically seeking out the girl's.
"What you keep lookin' at?" the woman asked distractedly, glancing over her shoulder. Even with himself as a distraction, James noticed, she was still alert to her surroundings.
Amy ducked down just in time not to be seen. When she thought it safe again, she dared to peek over the hood. The woman was fiddling with her handgun at the moment. Her gaze locked with James', and his eyes flitted from her to the clothing pile and back, and he subtly nodded his understanding of what she planned to do. There was a pause in their silent communication as he watched the offending woman with a sideward glance. Then his eyes danced back to the lass's, and something in his gaze changed as he made a decision. And Ames knew what it was. "No, no no no!" she mouthed frantically, shaking her head. No, James, don't do it—don't do it, James! With a shaking breath, his expression changed, and he turned to face the woman again, a teasing smirk covering his inner turmoil. In one swift motion, there was no going back: he outstretched his neck and locked lips once again with the woman. She smiled into the kiss, eyes gleaming with victory, hands running through his short hair. As she closed her eyes and deepened the action, James motioned the younger lass into action with his own.
She nodded, blinking away the blurriness in front of her eyes at what his sacrifice might cost him, and, realizing both thugs had their backs turned, darted silently out from her safe-spot, snatching up the sword and handkerchief before 'appearing' behind the goon standing guard. She pressed the blade to his throat, whispering dangerously in his ear, "Drop your gun and loot and go silently, and I won't kill you, nor will I call the cops upon your departure...or your demise." The thug laughed amusedly, but before he could say anything, she pressed the sword more tightly against his neck, making it difficult to move at all without he started to bleed. She felt him swallowing heavily against the blade, and saw a trickle of blood begin to wind its way down his neck and into his shirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, the gun went down, and the money bag fell from his hand, landing with a soft thud. The girl placed her foot upon the pistol and drew it back to her. She removed the sword and shoved him away. He sprinted off and did not look back. Carefully, ever carefully, using the handkerchief to hide her own fingerprints, she picked up the gun. She glanced up as she stood and saw the shocked expressions, especially that of Scott, but did not waste time explaining, instead giving them a solemn nod, and putting her finger to her lips.
Amy's eyes darted back to James. The woman brought up her gun and pressed it against his chest. He broke off the kiss. "What have I ever done to you?" he growled around the gag.
She chuckled maliciously, leaning against him. "You're distracting me. Can't let you catch me with my guard down like you did Vinnie." She claimed his mouth with more force than before. "But that gag makes it hard to have any fun."
"Then take it off."
"And have you shout? You already too talkative as it is." But she reached up and removed the gag anyway. Before he could react, she slid the gun up until its barrel was pressed against his lips. "Fun's over."
The lass aforementioned turned and crept slowly and stealthily up behind the other goon, apparently called 'Vinnie'. She held the pistol to the back of his head. "Drop. Your. Weapon," she growled, punctuating it with an audible click as she pulled the safety back. He did without question, gun clattering loudly and immediately to the ground. "Money too. Good. Now go." He nodded and hurried away.
Meanwhile, James was attempting to talk his way through the situation. "What will you gain by killing me?"
"You had weapons like you a fighter. You was keepin' watch when nobody else looked like they cared. You're the kind of guy who'd come after us. It's easier if I get rid of you now before you end up a threat to the rest of the gang."
"Then...why the kiss?"
"Because you so damn hot." He opened his mouth to continue, but she shoved the barrel as far into his mouth as it could go. "Shut up already, or I'll make you." He gagged on it, but she didn't remove it. "Too bad. You was such a pretty face, too." She stood back as though to clear herself of the certain gore, and pulled back the safety on her gun. But she hesitated. In that time, there was a metallic click, and the cold muzzle of a handgun was pressed against the woman's neck.
"Leave. Him. Alone," came a growl with such thunder in it that the woman decided to comply, dropping her gun and stepping aside. Just in time, too, for James' gagging had brought up his last Caribbean meal and he vomited violently onto the cement, gasping for breath as he continued to retch, coughing and sputtering, and collapsing against the pole. His lower lip was bleeding from the pressure of the gun, the crimson running down his chin and so to his throat. The woman stepped farther away to give him some space, and Ames looked at him worriedly. Taking the girl's averted attention as dismissal, the lady started to edge away. She froze when a low laughter echoed around the bridge. It was as if seeing James' blood had put her in a vengeful frenzy. "You really think I'm gonna let you go, don't you?" she growled. "It's either jail or death, wench," the lass purred dangerously, whipping out her cell phone, handgun still carefully aimed.
"Amy," came a hoarse voice. She looked over to see James, completely unmoving but for his panting. He made an attempt to shake his head, but the only movement ensuing was a quirk of the eyebrow.
But she understood the message. Never taking her eyes off the man collapsed against the pole, she waved the handgun in vague dismissal. The woman understood, and, glancing at James, she fled. Ames did not watch her go, nor check to see that she had gone, but instead traveled over to her nephew, still holding the firearm by the handkerchief. She lifted it, but, contrary to the dismayed assumptions and cries of the group, she went around the back of the pole. She murmured to James to keep his mouth and eyes shut. Taking careful aim, she pulled the trigger. There was a dull clap, a clatter of cement as it exploded from the impact of the bullet, and the clink of chains as they dangled against the metal of the pole. Arms freed, James slid to the ground and sat motionless, eyes glazed with pain. She reached out and cupped his cheek in what she hoped was a comforting manner, gun falling forgotten to the ground. "J-James?" He blinked slowly, and came wearily back to life. Her eyes, burning with unshed tears, asked the silent question.
"I had to," he managed, voice cracking. "It was either me or everyone... Think in the rules of...of good business...or a good trade...Give one...receive many... Ahh!" His face screwed up in pain and he clutched at his leg, unable to ignore his discomfort any longer.
"What? What's wrong?" she asked, pushing down the panic that rose like bile in her throat, though already knowing the answer.
"It's been dislocated...," he puffed.
"Is there anything I can do?" He nodded, and instructed her on what to do. Uncertainty flickered across her face like the flames in a hearth. "What if I'm not doing it right?"
He blinked understandingly. "If I'm in worse pain, you're doing it right," he assured her. With careful but firm movement and manipulation, following his instruction exactly, she moved his knee, and then his kneecap back into their proper places. He cried out, gasping for breath. "Well done," he choked.
"Will you be all right?"
"I just need some rest." Ames frowned. That hadn't been what she meant. Knowing him, he'd be physically recovered within a few days. But his mental and emotional recovery...But she let the subject alone. He was right. He needed rest.
"And you look about to freeze!"
"It's fine," he murmured exhaustedly. "Let it be."
"And you accustomed to the Caribbean? We get you warm as soon as possible." He looked reluctant. She looked back to everyone else, expecting an offer for help, but the chaperones were desperately trying to calm their nearly hysterical charges and contain the vengeful males in their company. "Let me help you to the van at least."
"If you insist," he nodded. She helped him to his feet, allowing him to lean heavily upon her shoulder as he kept his weight off the injured leg. Together, they made slow progress toward the van.
Seeing the pain he was in sent Ames recoiling into the depths of her mind to think. Someone should have seen this coming, she thought angrily, before remembering with a bitter pang the vision she had experienced. I should have been able to stop this. ...I wonder why she hesitated like that? That was really lucky. "That was really low," she grunted furiously. "Anyone who does that sort of thing should—"
"Reason's got more to do with it, I think," James interrupted. "She lost her child in the same manner that you might have lost me. I don't think I've ever witnessed such a pain as this that it made someone so desperate that they would do anything to bring their child back. By selfish means I have seen many such acts, but for grief, I never have."
"How do you know?" she asked, somewhat mystified, though her anger still burned irately within her.
"It's amazing what you see in the depths of a person's eyes when such an act is being attempted." He fell silent, and both pondered. "Though I cannot fathom why anyone would think that such an act would bring back a loved one," he murmured as he leaned against the van, the girl sliding open the door for him. "Although I suppose she did not believe it either, or I certainly would not be standing here now. It's a curious thing, what happens in a person's mind when driven by desperation."
"She may have been 'driven by desperation', but it was still the complete wrong way to go." He nodded agreement, and eased into the van with a grunt. "It won't be much warmer in here, but it's shelter from the wind at least, and it's more comfortable to rest on." He nodded again, pulling up his coat around him. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
"No, no. You go on. I don't want to distract you from your mission."
"Are you sure? I mean...all right then." She left the van, returning to the cold, sliding close the door behind her, and strode back to the huddle of shaken Christians.
"Is he all right?" "What was that all about?" "Oh my Gawd." "Why didn't you call the police?" "What were you going to do with that gun?" plagued the group of her.
She looked up as this last question from where she had been trying to burn a hole in the cement with her eyes. "Some of the best bluffing I will ever have done in my life," was her answer with a weary smile.
"And what if they didn't buy the bluff?" another chaperone asked seriously. It was strange not to see even a trace of cheerfulness among the group of Christians. "What would you have done then?"
The girl merely laughed softly, shrugging helplessly at him with a shake of her head. "Lord knows," she murmured, smile quickly fading.
"We should call the hospital," somebody suggested.
"No need," Ames cut in quickly. "She did not do anything important, and James is insisting that he only needs to rest his leg." Everyone exchanged uneasy or uncertain glances. "Trust me. ...Trust him."
Scott stepped forward and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder in reassurance. "Sorry about all of this."
"Why? It's not your fault. You couldn't have foreseen this. No one could have." Except me, she added mentally, with a stab of guilt.
But Scott looked consoled. "Is there anything we can do?"
She thought a moment, eyes growing distant and unfocused. Deafening silence followed. "Pray," she managed at last.
The young pastor nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at the group. "I think we've had more than enough for tonight. Everyone back to your vans."
Everyone began to disperse, eerily quiet, chatter absent, all looking shaken to the core. "Do not let this discourage you," the girl said aloud with a voice more confident than her heart or mind. She gestured off in the direction the two thugs had gone. "Exhibit 'A'. Exactly why we're here. To help people who may be as desperate as that. Maybe to help ease that desperation, before they turn to such risky actions. We're on a mission. We can't forget that." There were murmurs of agreement, and all went back to their vans. At her own van, she warned everyone to try and be quiet. "I think he's asleep," she relayed a premonition via her intuition to them. They quietly opened the door to see the sleeping form, enveloped by his blue naval coat, curled up across the back row. Well, that was three seats taken. "We'll manage," she murmured to the uncertain-looking others. They nodded and filed in. She took a seat on the floor beside his head. The other four girls took the two seats in the middle row, all being good enough friends to sit in one another's laps. Kris and Mrs. Kel climbed in last, turning to Amy to make sure she had settled. But with such the intense emotion that she watched him sleep, they did not interrupt her train of thought. She reached out and gently wiped a small tussock of hair from his forehead, unaware of the several pairs of eyes watching her. Had they looked upon the action with any eyes other than those of teenagers, they might have identified such a tender act as that of a caring mother. And thus she sat with him, watching him as the vans sped off into the night, leaving a scorched mark in the cement where they had been standing.
There you have it! I don't think I'll ever be fully satisfied with this chapter, but each time I rewrite it, I feel like it's getting closer. See you next week!
Review?