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I noticed his eyes as they moved from mine to my lips. He was close to me. So close that I could feel his quick breaths as he spun me around the open deck. A stirring in me caught my attention. I used every ounce of willpower in my body to ignore it, but it was too strong this time. I couldn’t block it out.
Kiss him, it said.
I knew I couldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. But I was compelled all at once by the other voice in my head and the temporary fleeting emotion of my heart. But I didn’t have to make the decision. I still wonder if I would have done it or if I would’ve been strong enough to resist. But I’ll never know, because Bellamy moved first. He let go of my hand and moved his fingers to lift my chin in one swift motion, and then crashed his mouth into mine.
As quickly as he dove in, he pulled away, grinning like he’d just won a prize. He turned to his crew, earning a jeer from the men on deck. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Everything about this situation was wrong and I couldn’t believe I’d let Bellamy use me as his prize to show off in front of his crew. Noah and McKenzie stood flabbergasted off to the side, and Noah shook his head scoldingly.
As if I’d woken up from some sort of bad dream, I blinked, stopped the motion of our still-swaying dance, and tore myself from Bellamy’s grip.
Without looking back, I disappeared into the dark side of the ship, praying no one would follow me. I threw myself between two cannons belowdecks, where I felt hidden enough to let myself cry until I lost all the tears I was holding in. The muffled sounds of the music and dancing above me lulled me into a strange sense of loneliness and comfort, where I let myself stay until it all died down.
21
Rats from a Sinking Ship
Milo
Itried to sleep there on the church pew. But I couldn’t clear my head. I knew stepping outside this church would mean risking being recognized, but a realization struck me that I couldn’t ignore. My father would’ve most likely been out at the harbor, joining in on the commotion as everyone worked to keep their own boats from going up in flames. Which would mean our house was unattended. This could be the perfect chance to uncover what my father was hiding. Or perhaps…just perhaps…I could find evidence that proved the contrary…that he wasn’t hiding anything. That he was an honest man and had no part in such a nightmarish trade. I doubted it, but I hoped that maybe it could be true.
Besides, I needed something to do to keep me from going mad. If I wasn’t thinking of my father, I was worrying about Katrina. I felt sick about it. I wanted her more than anything right then. I wanted to hold onto her and breathe in the scent of her. I yearned for her, and my heart screamed within me every time the thought crossed my mind that she didn’t survive the wreck. But I knew better. She of all people could survive the sea. She would be alright, I told myself. I just had to find her.
In silence I moved out into the night, carrying the loneliness with me like a shadow. I arrived at my father’s house—my house—as bells in the distance chimed. It was an hour past midnight. My father would eventually be back when he’d finished securing his own ships. I tried the door handle. As I expected, it was locked, but I knew all too well there was a window in my room I often left open as a boy because I loved the sound of frogs and crickets chirping in the night.
I made my way around to that window and leaned my head in. The sleeping boy—me—in the cot against the wall didn’t stir. But the lone lit candle told me he was either awake moments before or pretending to be asleep. I’d take my chances.
I crept in through the window, careful not to make a sound as I cast a foreboding shadow on the wall against the candlelight. When my boots hit the floor, I let out a sigh of relief as the boy remained still. With feather-light steps, I made my way through the rest of the house.
“Finally,” I muttered, approaching my father’s door. I had longed to see what was behind it for so long, and now more than ever.
As I picked the lock, I found myself frustrated that I couldn’t get it open. I’d never found a lock so difficult, as I’d successfully picked open countless others. But by the light of the moon through the window, I caught a glimpse of something on the door handle that seemed strangely familiar. Of course, I’d seen this door a million times. But where else did I see that symbol on the doorknob?
Then it struck me. It was the same symbol carved on the back of my father’s compass. I pulled the compass out from my pocket, holding it up to the door to compare. The same exact mark. A cursive H for Harrington.
I fiddled with the compass in my hand, working the puzzle in my head. I shook it, hearing something rattling inside. I’d heard it before, but I’d never thought much of it, being a 300-year-old navigational tool. But then I wondered…
As quietly as I could, I used my knife to pry off the baseplate of the compass. And there was a small key. I tried it in the lock. When I realized it was a perfect fit, a shiver snaked through me. My father wanted me to find this. He’d given me this compass the day he died. Whatever was behind this door, I was always meant to know.
With a deep breath, I prayed this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe there was a chance my father wasn’t really involved in this dreadful trade. Maybe it was just a one-time mistake or maybe he entered a deal he didn’t understand.
I felt the lock’s gentle click as I turned the key, and the door creaked open with just a touch. The room was dark. But I could smell smoke from freshly put-out candles. I reached for one to light it, carrying it with me to help me see. With nothing but the small flame’s glow, I navigated this new room. A bed, larger than mine. A barrel-turned-table with liquors and rums of all makes on top. A chest with boots and sailcloth. Parchment and maps tucked away in the corner. Nothing I wouldn’t expect in a sailor’s bedroom. Until I turned. I turned and the candlelight illuminated a striking image of a woman on the wall. A charcoal sketch of my mother—pinned to the wall over a baby cradle. It would’ve been my brother’s had he not died along with my mother.
I scratched my head, moving my candle closer to the empty cradle. There appeared to be something inside. A golden ring rested in the middle. I recognized it immediately as my mother’s wedding ring on a thin gold chain. And lying all around it were notes. Scribbled notes of all sorts, scattered across the dusty blanket within. Some were old. Some looked like they were written yesterday. But they were all just random words and cryptic phrases.
Love.
I’m sorry.
Failed.
Forever.
Taken.
Regrets.
As I scanned the notes in confusion, a voice from behind nearly made me jump, but I held my stance. My back was to the door, but I didn’t have to turn around to know who stood in the threshold.
“Did you come for my boy, too?”
