CHAPTER 3: SALVATION
12 years old
The air is so ungodly hot Hades himself finds the weather comfortable to down-right pleasant. This is how it’s been for a month as the Cosmos cruises through the Indian Ocean while the crew scours ships and steals their merchandise like sweet-tooth trick-or-treaters after the biggest, most divine piece of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate. There isn’t a cloud in the too-blue sky, which makes Summer’s skin burn and blister under its insatiable inferno.
Today there are two crew members who tease her as she cleans the dirt away from the top deck. One of them has only just arrived on the boat, but is evidently close friends with the other crew member Karl. She worries because they are being more touchy-feely than she’s used to. She has seen many slaves beaten and raped in the past and doesn’t want to be one of them. Captain Travis kicks those types of men off his ship to protect his property—which is exactly what she is—but that doesn’t mean incidents like rape don’t happen when he’s not around.
There are no other women left on the ship; she is all they have left, and her young age of twelve never stops them from their obscene and lewd advances. Actually, the older she gets the more they show interest. Summer is alone on this ship, no matter how many crew members live there. No one has lasted as long as she has, and her lack of communication skills automatically put her in the Don’t Even Bother With pile, therefore she’s been friendless for as long as she can remember.
The new crew member, Jarvis, could potentially be a man that will rape her regardless of any warning from the Captain. There is just something off about him that puts Summer on her guard immediately. Between his eagle-like eyes and the smug smirk permanently etched into this pointed and angled face, lies something sinister. She’s seen more repugnant, vicious, vile, immoral men than she cares to admit. Actually, she prefers to not think about them at all. Regardless, she has never felt anything like this before. It’s like he’s dead inside—cold, stiff, and empty. Like he has no soul.
“Hey sweetheart,” Jarvis sneers and smirks at Karl like he’s so clever for that line. Karl is already on her list of Least Favorite Crew Members, and it seems that Jarvis will soon be joining it. “I’ve been awfully lonely these past few weeks. Could really use some company in my bed.” His fingers trail in her hair, and she jerks away in disgust.
What? Don’t the fleas keep you company? she internally mocks, knowing she’ll never say it aloud. She can only imagine the punishment for that insult.
“I heard she dun’ speak at’ll.” Karl elbows Jarvis, though Summer wishes he would have aimed higher and hit Jarvis’s stupid, shiny bald head.
“Really? Nothin’?” He smiles like a mad scientist who’s just had a “brilliant idea,” and lets the decay of his teeth show. His breath is so gag-worthy that she almost loses her breakfast all over his dirty, old boots. Though, honestly, she doesn’t know if he would even notice with how grimy they already are.
His brown eyes seem to lick across her skin as he examines her, his too-shiny head blinding her as the sun glares angrily back. His face is all rough and hard angles—not in a handsome way, but in a he-looks-like-he-eats-babies-for-breakfast kind of way. He winks at her, and her eyes snap down to the ground so she won’t have to stare into his emotionless eyes.
Summer shudders with the thought of them doing the awful things to her she has nightmares about. She’s always hopelessly dreaming for salvation that she knows will never come. Maybe today will be the day, she daydreams.
The men chuckle as they watch her, their gazes like slimy, foul caresses across the back of her neck.
Or maybe not. She sighs internally, trying her best to ignore them. She continues to scrub the lower deck like it will wash their filthy minds away too. Maybe add some Comet to Jarvis’s mouth while she’s at it, though she’s not sure it’ll do the trick. Add a bottle of bleach, she thinks disgustedly. No, not even that will be enough.
“Ya know Karl, she’d be perfect. No screamin’.”
Jarvis and Karl exchange a knowing—disquieting—look. Summer, trying her best to fold into herself and become invisible, subtlety moves farther away from them. In the distance she sees storm clouds rolling in and can’t wait to wash the sweat and grime from the long day off of her skin. Maybe a wave will crash over the side and take Karl and Jarvis with it. She sends a silent prayer to the sea gods.
It’s been one of those days where it’s spent partially in the sun and partially cleaning the crew’s bathroom. And the men don’t aim to please. The thought of water cleansing the day away is the only thing she has to look forward to. She doesn’t know if she should laugh or weep at how pathetic that is.
Jarvis slides down to the ground and leans toward her. “I’ve been watchin’ ya, by the way. From afar.”
She trembles and hastily moves away to clean somewhere else, not caring how obvious it is this time. The thought of him watching—noticing—her when she didn’t know herself makes her stomach want to heave. Actually, she’s pretty sure everything about this man makes her want to lose her stomach acid—just like some creepy alien Aaron, another crew member, once told her about. She still doesn’t believe him, but the imagery works for this situation.
Jarvis follows her, his butt sliding through the cleaning product she leaves behind. “Ev’ry year ya get prettier, and ya look old ‘nough now.” His fingers lift a ruffled scrap of her clothes with interest. She freezes and catches his expression, clearly saying his interests lie in ripping it off. “How ‘bout we have some fun? Whad’ya say?”
Summer jerks free, part of her rags rip under his grip, and moves away to scrub farther down the lower deck. Maybe if she ignores them they’ll go away. Maybe. Pouring Comet in his mouth begins to seem more and more like a feasible—and satisfying—idea. His creepy eyes need a good scrubbing too, don’t forget them, she adds silently.
“She dun’ speak, stupid!” Karl says loftily and hits him upside his dim, slick-with-sweat naked head. Summer bets Karl doesn’t even know what “loftily” means—probably thinks it has something to do with faeries and pixie dust. More creatures Aaron told her about that she still doesn’t believe are real.
Thunder booms above them as droplets of water splash against Summer’s face. It’s the most refreshing thing she’s felt in days, though Karl and Jarvis are ruining her favorite thing. Her only thing.
“Dibs,” Jarvis claims pompously and fist-bumps Karl. “Now get the hell out of here. We don’t need no audience.”
Summer is already on her feet and running towards the doors that lead below deck and to her room—where she can lock the door and hide away. Lightning fills the sky in a show of magnificent power and beauty moments before thunder rumbles out a joyous cry.
“Might wanna get off yer lazy ass and catch her. I bet she’s a slippery one,” Karl says through his chortling. All jokes aside, she wishes the Comet really was in her reach—they both need an unnatural amount of it in their pants. It’s too late to do anything, though. All she can do now is run.
Rain starts to pour down on them as Summer slides to the door, her heart pounding and sapphire eyes dilating in fear. Scared, and in a fit of trembling panic, her fingers clasp the handle but slip because she’s already soaked with the storms pitiless tears. Lightning flashes again, and this time it’s full of menacing splendor, the thunder rolling in seconds later with a clamorous laugh. Spluttering steps pound behind her, and she shakes so fiercely she’s unable to grip the door to open it.
She loses her only hope of escape when arms encircle her waist and yank her backward so forcefully her breath temporarily goes on vacation. They land on the deck, and she fights Jarvis by clawing and striking over and over to no avail. Lightning strikes again, and all the luster and radiance the electrical blue glow used to hold for Summer fades. The accompanying thunder is a booming, nonthreatening entity witnessing it all. She feels betrayed by the storm, nothing but a worthless bystander in the sky. Jarvis seizes her wrists and, with one hand, hold
s her arms behind her back. He’s too strong for her to fight.
“You can’t get ‘way that easily,” he declares, his toothpaste-lacking breath greedy on her neck as he puts his weight on her. Her face is pushed into the soaked deck as his free hand travels under her tattered clothes and begins to trail across her skin with perverse abandon.
Summer whimpers and struggles in his grasp as tears trail down her freckled cheeks, but it’s no use—she’s trapped. Each stroke of his hand is like sandpaper, jagged and agitating to her skin. The feel of him touching her turns her stomach sour, like curdled milk. She wants to yell out, but knows it will cause more trouble than staying quiet. Her silence has kept her alive in the past, and this time is no different. If she yells he might knock her out, and though she doesn’t want to witness or feel what he’s about to do to her, she doesn’t want to be unconscious either. Or he might kill her. She doesn’t have the best life, but she’s still willing to fight for it—no matter how pathetic it is she’s not about to give in.
Jarvis’s hand leaves her skin, and rich, sweet relief floods her. But then she hears the sound of a belt buckle clink against the ground, and the blood-chilling sound of his pants being unzipped. Absolute terror crashes into her with the momentum of an asteroid falling from space. She shakes uncontrollably, and her breathing becomes so shallow her vision fades in and out with the sparking of stars in her vision. She thinks back to the Comet and knows when this is all over she’ll be scrubbing her body with it. Will the oily, body odor of Jarvis ever be rinsed from her nose? Vomiting might not be an option anymore—bile rises into her throat, burning and coating her mouth.
Wind swirls around them, and the once creamy, velvet tendrils of the breeze are now flustered and full of malignant need. Sinister, somehow, like Jarvis taints the very air with his repugnant perversity. He lifts the back of her rags to claim her. The storm above, even in its wild fury, remains passive like an unjust warden with all the authority of lightning but settles with the intimidation of thunder. She thought her life was awful before, but now, in this second, as his bare skin sickeningly touches hers, she realizes she is so unbelievably wrong. This is as low as a person can get. In this horrifically foul moment of utter torment, Summer sobs loudly. The loudest in eight years.
“What the—” she hears right before she slides across the soaked deck forcefully. Her head slams into the side of the deck, and she gasps. She’s not quite sure what game he’s playing, or what to think. Then she sees a figure in the rain. Did he do this? she wonders then shakes her head. Would you rather have a hurt head or lose the only virtue you have left? Hurt head, hands down, she realizes.
Rain drenches her as she stares through the large water-droplets at a blonde-haired boy with such dark, deep eyes she wants to dive into them and discover the treasure within. The boy straddles Jarvis whose arms are crossed to cover his face as he’s pummeled by the blonde. Even in the heat of the moment, she seriously considers finding the Comet. Anything to scrape the filth of Jarvis from her every pore. She can’t help but relive him touching her. When blood joins the puddles of water and gathers around them like a crimson river, she’s strangely satisfied. The boy suddenly stands and kicks Jarvis in the ribs three times with swift, concise hits. Though she’s grateful for the blonde rescuing her, she’s not sure who to fear now.
Summer shivers as she curls into a small ball, afraid of what this boy will do to her when he’s done hurting—or killing—Jarvis. One fear just replaces the other. The boy takes a couple of long strides to her and drops to one knee. He holds his hand out, but this startles her even more, and she lurches away. Don’t hurt me, she tries to beg with her eyes. Maybe he came here to ultimately kill me and Jarvis was just in the way, she thinks irrationally. Or maybe he wants to take me before Jarvis—this could just be a play for possession.
The boy hesitates when he notices her reaction, his eyes flashing back and forth in an attempt to read her. “I won’t harm ye,” he says so softly his voice might as well have been a big, comfy pillow. “I’m Landon. Who’re ye?”
Summer’s sapphire eyes glance over her folded arms to look into those dark eyes—kind eyes, she realizes—and reaches for his extended hand. Regardless of her need to speak to him—to give her name—she stays silent, still afraid to utter a single syllable. He doesn’t act like he notices the absence of her voice as his warm fingers enclose over her hand to pull her to her feet.
“I’m new on the Cosmos,” Landon informs. She jerks her hand from his; she has a no touching policy when it comes to the crew. “I’m not a crew member,” he says quickly, “I’m like ye. The captain told me where to find ye—said ye’d find me quarters to sleep in and teach me the ropes.” He holds his hand out again, and she slowly takes it, uncertain. It’s been so long since she’s had any kind of human contact she isn’t quite sure how she feels. But she’s pretty sure it’s a pleasant sensation and that if her stomach wasn’t still fermenting from Jarvis’s oily fingers touching her, she’d be full of fluttering excitement.
“Let’s get ye cleaned up, Ducky, before ye float away in this storm,” he says charmingly in an accent she’d never heard before.
When she doesn’t say anything, thoroughly frozen in shock, he turns serious. “Aye, I thought it’d be this way. He won’t hurt ye anymore.” To emphasize his words, Jarvis groans loudly and painfully to Summer’s satisfaction. “Shall I lead the way? I must admit we’ll probably get hopelessly lost.”
Summer snaps from her daze and shakes her head.
As they walk to the door leading to the lower levels, she notices the unyielding ruthlessness of the storm; the crashing waves, the bitter sky kissing the water on the horizon, the keening laments of the sharp, cutting wind, and the relentless liquid deliverance of its somber showers. She’ll never forgive the audacity of the storm’s neglect.
They descend into the lower levels of the ship and take several turns in cramped hallways that stink of rust. Some spots on the ceiling leak water from rusted holes. She’s not sure if she should show him where she sleeps, but for some reason she feels like if she can’t trust someone like him, then who can she trust? Honestly? She longs for a human connection—any kind of human connection that doesn’t include a whip or torture—so extremely that she’s willing to take a risk. They stop in front of her door. She pulls from under her rags a long, small chain that wraps around her neck. She lifts it over her head, palms the key that dangles at the end of it, and offers it to Landon who hesitantly takes it. She’s too shaky to try and coordinate actually putting the key in the lock.
After he unlocks her door, they both enter, and she immediately searches for something warm and dry to wear. In the air conditioning Summer’s wet clothes quickly turn so cold her teeth start chattering. She comes across a long, white T-shirt she’s been saving for . . . well, she isn’t sure why. But this seems like an occasion if there ever was one. Landon turns to give her privacy as she quickly tosses her torn and dirty clothing to the floor and replaces it with the nicest thing she owns. She isn’t used to someone being so polite to her, or to someone even caring if she’s uncomfortable or not. But this boy . . . she isn’t certain about him. Saving her, giving her privacy . . . What’s next? Caring? It isn’t feasible.
She sits on the edge of the bed and waits for him to turn back around. But he doesn’t. So she leans back and raps once on the wall her bed is pushed up against. He jumps slightly.
“Are ye . . . dressed?” he asks tentatively.
She knocks once against the wall again, finding his hesitation endearing.
So, so slowly he turns around until he takes her in and blows out a relieved breath. “Are ye okay?” he asks. He seems cautious as he takes deliberate steps towards her. “He didn’t . . . did he?” His expression is so crestfallen that she can’t look at him. “I mean . . .” he trails off, his voice slightly choked. “That bastard!”
With the weight of years of torture, pain, and misery heavy on her shoulders, Summer be
ings to cry, shoulder-shaking, hiccup-inducing, choke-on-your-own-tears kind of cry. Landon, no longer cautious, rushes towards her and wraps his arms around her too-tiny frame. For a moment she is stiff in his embrace, but soon discovers the salvation she thought she’d never find. She holds back the tears after a few minutes of letting them go. She’s already shown too much weakness. Landon finally backs off and perches at the end of the bed, a presence about him like the calming waters of a lake in the rough seas of the ocean.
“What’s yer name?” he asks as he rubs the light, blonde stubble on his chin.
Several minutes tick on by as she stares at him with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll understand. It’s been eight years—she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready.
“Do ye speak at’ll?” He laughs, not being serious.
She shakes her head vigorously and knocks twice on the wall behind her.
His laughter is quickly cut off. “Wait . . . ye really don’t speak?”
She repeats the double knock and head shake.
Landon leans back on her bed so they are both up against the wall. “Well—” he smirks “—that’ll be a change. My sister speaks non-stop.” His smile slowly fades, and a frown replaces it. She knows what he’s thinking—he’ll never see his sister, or the rest of his family, again. She wishes she could reassure him, but that isn’t the case. Still, she gently takes his hand in hers and just holds it. She sucks in a shuddering breath at the feeling. A person, a real, live person is holding her hand and is asking nothing of her. She considers never letting go.