Second on the Right (31 page)

“Oh, I doubt you’ll find your way, dearie,”
she said with a smile. James stood, making it painfully clear he
wished for her to leave. Daria looked on with what seemed like
concern. "You need this. Just as Eileen needed it, over nine years
ago.
Trust
me. Your trip has been scheduled for this
weekend. Everything is ready. All you need to do is show up," she
explained, smiling.

James had reached his limit. Picking up one
of the plates of food, he tossed it across the room. It shattered
against the wall, smearing bits of egg and shards of porcelain on
the wall and down to the floor. His eyes shone bright blue, his
face flushed. Daria remained composed as she stood.

"James, you're making a big mistake. You have
no strength to avenge your family. Look at you. You’ve lost your
right hand. You’re a mess. You’re weak. Besides, Peter’s long gone
by now. Don't bother dwelling on the past,” she pushed.

"I cannot nor will not move on from the past.
I’ll remember it and it will serve to spur me on towards my goal
and journey's end. To kill the boy who killed my family! I will not
res—" James stopped in mid-sentence. The woman had used his name:
Peter. "H-how… how is it that you know his name?"

Daria blinked at him.

"His name. You called the boy by his first
name.
H
ow do you know his name
?" James’ jaw
tightened, his left hand clenched in a fist.

"D-did I? I'm sure you must have told me,"
she stuttered.

Through clenched teeth, James replied, "No, I
didn’t tell you." He towered over her, his face growing dark,
matching the emotions churning inside.

Daria allowed a sly smile to escape before
walking to the door. Following, James walked with a purpose, a
permanent scowl on his face. She left as she had come.

James slammed the door. Leaning against the
inside, he slid to the floor. He folded his arms, resting his head
against them.

I wish I could go back in time…change things.
I wish…I wish I could find that boy and make him pay!

His grief turned to bitterness. Determination
setting in, he leapt to his feet. Snatching up his bag and keys, he
jumped into the family’s spare car and headed out onto the road.
Despite his missing hand, James managed to handle the
automobile.

At Patrick's apartment, James flicked on the
light switch. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Dirty
clothes were left in various piles throughout the room. Empty beer
bottles and soda cans, among other trash were strewn all over the
sofa, coffee table, even on top of the television. Kicking a few
pieces of trash out of the way, James entered the apartment, the
door shutting behind him.

He frowned, taking a moment to remember his
lifelong friend. Patrick had been there when James had needed him
most in boarding school. He had been present at the wedding and
even stood in as Eileen's father in order to walk her down the
aisle. He had been there to drive Eileen to the hospital when she
had gone into labor with Robbie. James had barely met them in time
to witness the birth. Patrick had been there when the intruder
tried to break in to their home. He had protected Eileen and Robbie
at the zoo. James tried hard to swallow the lump in his throat as
the last image of his best friend lying dead flashed in his
mind.

James straightened and took in a deep breath.
At Patrick's computer, he reviewed any files that looked as if they
were related to the threats or to the strange boy.
Peter
.
James would never forget that name.

James pushed some items aside to make room to
write notes. Something fell off the right side of the desk. Raising
an eyebrow, he leaned over to see what it was. Seeing a scroll,
James reached out to grab it, stopping short. He had reached out
with his right arm. Gritting his teeth in anger, he twisted so his
left hand could retrieve it.

James spread open the scroll using the
bandaged stub of his right arm to pin one side down. It was an
extremely aged map of an island. The edges had been torn as if it
were taken from a larger map. He leaned in close and read the
markings. Having been blessed with a photographic memory, James
soon had the map neatly categorized away in his brain. He squinted,
dust impeding his ability to read the words. Running his left hand
across the map, he rubbed his fingers together. The dust between
them shimmered with an inner light source.
How odd. This reads
like a children’s fairytale
. Then, whispering to himself, he
read off parts of the map: Skull Rock, Mermaid Lagoon, Pirate’s
river, Peter's Secret Hideout. "You
must
be joking," James
said, as if Patrick were sitting next to him.

"Oh, how I wish I could find that hideout. If
he were truly there-I'd like to pay that boy a visit, teach him a
lesson he shall never forget!"

His left hand pounded hard at his last words,
his anger yet again rising. Dust from the map rose into the air.
James was breathing heavily, and he inhaled the sparkling motes
that floated up from the paper. His eyes continued to look over the
map, memorizing every inch, label, and bit of terrain. As he tried
to calm down, his breathing deepened, inviting more dust to enter
in his lungs. James closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a surge
of power. Something began to change within him. Raking the map off
the table into his left hand, he clenched his fist. The parchment
crumbled through his fingers.

"If it's the last thing I do, I shall go to
the very ends of the Earth," James vowed within the quiet
apartment. "I will kill him."

The map crumbled into dust on the floor and
began to swirl, creating a circle around James. In surprise and
terror, he tried to step away, but the circle followed, growing
wider and taller than he. James could have sworn he heard a woman
laughing, but thought his imagination had the better of him. He
tried to push his way out, but the whirlwind blocked every attempt,
even his view of the apartment. Bits of dust, circling rapidly,
stung him as they bounced off his skin. He pulled at his sleeve and
held it over his nose and mouth, but it was no use. The dust had
increased in amount and intensity, pushing past his sleeve,
slipping down his nose and throat. Every part of his body felt
pain. The dull roar of this small whirlwind now loud as the rush of
a hurricane whipped past his ears.

August 29, 1658

As quickly as James had been enveloped by the
whirlwind, it began to fade away. His ability to breath, however,
was obstructed; he realized that it was not dust preventing his
breathing, but water. Pushing with his arms and legs, James
struggled to reach the light source he could see in the distance.
The dark blue waters gave way to lighter and lighter hues the
closer he came to surface. Finally, he broke through the water
barrier into open air. He gasped. His lungs burned as they
stretched to inhale as much air as possible.

After choking and spitting out water, James
put his head back to float. When he caught his breath, he surveyed
his surroundings. He was in the middle of the ocean. He wasn’t sure
where, only that he could see no land in sight. Looking at the sky,
he squinted. The sun was directly overhead. He had no idea where he
was or how he had arrived there, so he treaded the water.

A few hours passed and James was growing
weary. Leaning back to float, he closed his eyes. He was beginning
to believe all was lost and that he would die at sea. That was when
the rope hit him. Pulling it off his head, he stared at it.

"Ahoy!" a man shouted from behind.

Treading water, James turned around. His eyes
fell on a large sixteenth-century wooden sailing ship. The vessel
had a black hull and huge sails and was armed with several cannons.
Surprised by its presence, James tried his best to keep his mouth
closed.

As the ship drew closer, a large wave kicked
up and over James. When the wave subsided, he found himself
underwater again. A man broke through the surface and was by his
side in seconds. He tied the line around James and called out to
the crew to haul them up.

After several pulls, the crew had James over
the railing and onto the deck. He rolled onto his side, coughing
and gasping for air. They crowded around him, pointing to various
parts of his appearance. James, compared to those on the ship, had
no beard, but rather a mere shadow of the start of one. His skin
was white with a slight tan, but not weathered. There were no scars
visible on his face and no piercings. He had a soaked but
still-white shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers. The shoes
he wore were not boots, but a type of slipper and appeared to be
new. Finally, they all noticed the shape of the bandage on his
right arm and knew immediately he was missing his hand.

"What's yer name, boy?!" Smythe barked as
soon as he had climbed back on board the ship and pushed his way
past the crew.

James rested on his forearms bent to support
his weight. He heaved seawater. The rocking of the ship made his
stomach worse. During a break in nausea, he answered quietly,
"J-James."

"That it?" Smythe snapped.

James shook his head. "James Benedict."

There was a collective gasp on hearing the
surname. Realizing there was now complete silence, James looked up.
The crew was staring, wide-eyed and frozen. He raised an
eyebrow.

What the—

The opening of a door and rhythmic thud
announced someone’s approach. James observed the crew's reaction
and concluded it must be a person of great importance, most likely
their captain. James bent back down, resting his head on his arms.
He was exhausted from the swim. His head ached, and his sore
muscles cried out for rest.

"By the powers! People risin’ as if from Davy
Jones’ locker. Why is it the
Mistral Thief
is always
nearby?" the captain chuckled, some inside joke that none of the
crew seemed to understand.

"Cap'n. 'E says 'is name is James," Smythe
whispered. “James Benedict."

"Is that so?" He stepped over, his boots
within inches of James' side. "Tell me, lad. How is it ye managed
ta arrive here?"

James had been looking at the deck. At the
sound of the captain's voice, his brow furrowed.
I know that
voice.
Putting his hand up to block the light, he saw a man who
looked like Captain Robert Benedict, standing before him in full
pirate attire.

James smirked and scoffed, "Is this some kind
of joke?”

The captain didn’t seem amused. "Why are ye
here?" he said, leaning in threateningly.

James met Benedict's gaze without fear. "I
haven't the slightest idea. One moment, I'm in Patrick's apartment
looking at a map. The next thing I know, I'm in the middle of the
ocean. I'm as much in the dark as you regarding my presence here,
wherever
here
is."

Benedict considered him. Straightening up, he
replied dramatically, "You're aboard the
Mistral Thief
."

James recalled hearing Eileen mentioned it.
She had claimed she was at one time on that very ship. Desperate to
have her back, he hoped perhaps she might be on board the ship once
again. "Is she here?" Choked up, James could only whisper the
words.

Benedict raised an eyebrow and shook his
head. He shot a similar question back at him, "I might ask ye tha
same."

"She wasn’t with me." James said, unable to
look into Benedict's eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”

Benedict lost his patience. "Yer lyin'.
Smythe! Throw 'im in the brig." He turned and walked back to his
quarters.

"Benedict!" James snapped, his temper
flaring. He stood. "She's gone. Dead. As is our son, Robbie."

It had occurred to James that the captain
might still have feelings for Eileen. It also occurred to him that
if the captain did in fact love her, James would be able to
manipulate Benedict into helping seek revenge. He needed to turn
this situation to his advantage, "I swear it on my life."