"The most confused you will ever get is when you try to convince your heart and spirit of something your mind knows is a lie." ― Shannon L. Alder
The Fighter
Saturday @ 06:00 (UK) 01:00 (USA):
I sent the message and threw the phone out of the car window, knowing that with hundreds of cars travelling on this motorway each day, it wouldn't take long before it was destroyed.
Despite the fact it was probably one of the most secure cell-phones in the world, I knew that Interpol would still be able to track it somehow, and I now knew that I was on the run from them, as well.
I wasn't even sure if the family still lived in London, but they were the only people on the planet that I could think of who may be able to help me.
I abandoned the car at the airport, and managed to pick-pocket my way onto the rush-hour underground, feeling guilty and ashamed and disgusted, but knowing that my only way back home to my family, was to beg borrow and steal my way there.
Once in the heart of London, I walked for what felt like forever before I found a public library.
I was able to slip inside and access one of their computers, and after a few hours of searching, I accessed the electoral roll and found who I was looking for.
Printing a Google Map of where I had to go, I prayed I was doing the right thing.
It was dinner-time before I got to the outskirts of London and the run-down neighbourhood.
I knew he'd grown up in the roughest of areas, but I didn't know it was quite so bad.
I took the elevator to the twentieth floor of the high-rise flat and gulped before hammering on the door.
I could hear talking and the sound of the TV on the other side of the door, and licked my lips, praying they still lived here and the voter's register was up-to-date.
If not, well, I could always hang outside for a while until a local gang came by.
The door swung open and a heavy-set man wearing a white vest and old checked-shirt stood, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and greasy white hair slicked back.
"Who the 'ell are you?" He grumbled around the cigarette.
"Mr. Jones?" I inquired in a clear voice and he frowned.
"Who the 'ell wants to know?" He demanded, taking the cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke into my face.
"I'm Melanie, I'm a friend of your son." There was a pause as we stared at each other.
"You're a friend of Jason's?" He enquired and I shook my head.
"I'm a friend of Darren's."
The Comforter
Saturday: 01:00 (USA) 06:00 (UK):
Upstairs, in the hotel room, Spencer stared at my phone, tears in his eyes as my dad and Beth paced back and forth.
"How can we trust this?" My dad said after a while.
"We have to!" I exclaimed and Beth shushed me from the conjoining door where Tilly lay asleep in Spencer's room.
"I haven't told anybody about the code. Even you guys don't know about it, really!" I gushed, wanting to shake them all into doing something.
"There's no way anybody could've... I don't know... guessed?" Beth said slowly, waving her hand about as she pulled her robe tighter.
"No," I said emphatically, shaking my head. "That code... I mean... Do you even know what that means?" I asked Spencer, gesturing to the phone in his hands.
"I... Could hazard a guess..." He whispered slowly.
"Then go ahead. What does it mean?"
There was a long pause as Beth and Aaron stared at him, desperately.
"Hello?" He said after a long time.
"Not even close." I said, shaking my head proudly.
"Then tell us." My dad gushed desperately.
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "Because we have to leave, I don't know why we're all standing around talking about it!"
"And where will we go, Jack, huh?" My dad asked smartly, folding his arms.
"The safe house," I said matter-of-factly. "I know where it is, I had us there last time, I can take us there again." I said to Beth and she was nodding.
"But you went last time," Spencer said. "They'll know where to find us."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Melanie had a blocker around the perimeter so that our GPS' couldn't be tracked. And because it's over the border, the laws are different. We still get cell service, but it works differently."
"You'll have to change your phone, make sure they can't track it." My dad said apprehensively as we all looked at each other.
"I can't, Melanie knows that number, that's the one she'll make contact on. She'll keep changing phones until she's back with us."
"And how do you know that?" Spencer asked.
"Well, wouldn't you?" I questioned. Spencer and my dad exchanged looks and Beth shook her head.
"This is ludicrous," She said suddenly. "I can't believe we're all standing about debating this," She was shaking her head as she crossed to the dresser and yanked open the drawers, pulling her bag from the floor to dump everything inside haphazardly as she continued,
"We've been desperate for even a shred of evidence that Melanie's still alive, we were attacked yesterday and she texts today and neither of you find that damning!" She laughed without humour, turning to the pair of them.
"You're supposed to be agents. Get your shit together and wake up." She snapped, clicking her fingers.
I stood with a smug smile, proud of my second-mom as Spencer and my dad kicked into action, hurrying around trying to ready things.
"We'll have to take my dad's car," I started saying to Beth as she pulled her coat on ontop of her pyjamas. "It's bigger and more powerful, but I'll still drive."
"Are you insured?" She asked worriedly and I nodded with a proud smile.
"Melanie insured me on every family car." Beth covered her mouth with shaking fingers.
"Unbeknownst to us?" She whispered and I nodded my head. "She really did have you prepared for war, didn't she?" She whispered, touching a cold hand to my face.
"We can't take my mom," Spencer said as he re-entered the room, hobbling and wincing as my dad walked behind him with sleeping Tilly in his arms, Spencer's bag over his shoulder.
"She's too ill, she'll never make the trip." He said in a thick voice.
"I'm sorry, Spencer." I apologised, rushing forward to take the bag from my dad.
None of us quite knew what to say as we gathered our things and hurried for the exit. My dad checked us out as I brought his car around to the front of the building and Beth dumped the bags in the trunk.
There was no time to waste.
I had no idea where Mel was or what she was doing or even if it was her who'd texted me.
But we had to have faith.
We had nothing else to lose.
The Fighter
Saturday 17:00 (UK) 12:00 (USA):
"How do you know our Darren?" The woman said shakily from the sofa opposite the one I was sitting on.
Their flat was pretty downtrodden and filthy, but it was a damn sight better than the hovel I'd awoken in that morning.
There was thick smoke separating us as the couple desperately puffed on cigarettes.
"We worked together in the States," I explained, sipping at the water and crunching on the biscuits they'd given me after hearing my stomach fiercely growl.
"We were together for quite some time," I explained. "A lot of things happened, and..." I shrugged.
"Are you the one who put him inside?" His mum asked accusingly.
I gulped and looked down at my lap, my knees bouncing nervously.
His mum was heavy-set too, with grey hair pulled back into a frizzy bun, her blushing cheeks puffy and wrinkly, her eyes sharp and green.
There was nothing about this couple that screamed the rough-around-the-edges type that Darren was.
"I am." I choked guiltily after a long pause.
The couple looked at each other and the man got to his feet, crossing the room to me.
I half expected a smack across the face, so I couldn't help but flinch dramatically as the man extended a hand to me.
"I want to shake your hand, then, love," He said gruffly. "Puttin' 'im away was the best thing you coulda done."
I looked up at his tearful eyes and slid my hand into his, his grey moustache twitching as he swallowed tears and shook my hand.
"What can we do ya for?" The woman asked as the man sat back down beside her.
"I was actually wondering if you kept in touch with Darren at all?" I asked quietly. "I need to speak with him and I can't contact the prison anymore. I can't tell you why, and I'm sorry, but I can't answer any more specific questions as to why I'm here."
"You're a spy still?" The man asked and I nodded my head.
"He calls every few days. We're expecting him to call around eight tonight." I looked at the clock on the mantle and realised I still had three hours until that conversation if it even happened at all.
"Do you have any way of emergency contact?" I asked and the pair shook their head.
"Yer more than welcome to hang around until he calls, love." The woman said gently and I smiled at her kindness.
"Thank you," I smiled. "That's kind of you to offer a stranger who put your son in prison."
She waved her hand in front of her and stubbed her cigarette out into the ashtray as she got to her feet.
"If you're the Melanie I'm thinking of, we have a lot to thank you for m'love." She pushed out of the dim living room into the adjoining kitchen and I found myself feeling rather relieved at my luck.
*
Saturday 20:00 (UK) 15:00 (USA)
The woman made some dinner and gave me some too, a good old English fry-up with plenty of oil and grease.
My eyes kept darting back and forth to the clock, my mind doing the math and trying to figure out if my family would be at the safe house by now. I had no idea how to contact them and began cursing myself for throwing that phone out of my window after all.
But, I knew it was the right thing to do.
I had to be paranoid. I couldn't risk Interpol tracking me, not now. Every time I heard a noise out in the landing, I jolted and held my breath, half expecting Kate or Caitlyn to knock down the front door.
The fact I'd been here for a few hours now, and neither had happened, I considered myself to be extremely lucky.
Instead, I asked Darren's parents for a pen and paper and wrote down everything I wanted them to tell Darren when he phoned.
I sat sipping at the cup of tea, desperately waiting on the phone ringing.
The TV was muted and they'd stopped smoking, the three of us sat on the edge of our seats when the phone rang shrilly, making us all jump in surprise.
"'Ello?" His dad asked gruffly, and then huffed as the automated message from the prison was played.
"Darren?" He blurted desperately after a while and then sank back in relief, smiling and nodding his head at us as he paused for his son to speak.
"No, no, listen, shut up, none of that, I've got stuff I want to say to ya and ya gotta shut up and listen to it," He said, taking the piece of paper from his wife.
"An old mate of yours has come to visit and they're looking for some help," He read, his reading glasses almost slipping off the end of his nose.
"They've given me something to read to ya so shut yer trap and listen," He paused as Darren said something and he rolled his eyes before reading,
"When the sun sets on London, it rises in Yorkshire. The best time of the year is in Twilight, and when the dawn breaks, is the best book of all. An egg for Christmas is worse than snow at Easter..." He shrugged and sat the piece of paper down, removing his glasses as he listened to what was said on the other line.
He extended the phone to me.
"He wants to speak to you."
I smiled and brushed the tears from my cheeks.
"I can't." I whispered, pointing to the paper.
"Your friend can't speak on the phone, son, they've said that The Hills Have Eyes is a great film to watch..." He said, remembering what I'd told him from earlier.
There was another pause before he frantically waved for a pen and his wife dove for the one on the coffee table.
He began writing something down on the paper and then frowned, looked at the phone and turned to us.
"He gave me a mobile number and then hung up." He said in shock.
"What is that?" His wife asked me. "What did you just get him to say?"
"It's the language we used to use when we working together for Interpol. And the Hills Have Eyes also means the walls have ears and people are listening in."
"Spy stuff," His dad grumbled, shaking his head in awe. "It's all gobble-de-gook to me."
I laughed at the old saying and sniffed.
"What did he give you?" I asked, nodding to the paper.
"It's a mobile number," He shrugged. "Feel free to give it a go, love."
"Do either of you have a mobile phone?" I asked, my mind reeling. His mum nodded, getting to her feet and hurrying from the room.
A moment later, she returned with a burner phone.
"I'm not into all of these mod-cons." She explained bashfully, faffing her hand around as she passed the phone to me.
"You're an angel!" I grinned and threw my arms around her unexpectedly, realising that this could be the answer to several of my problems.
But, for the time being, I punched in the number Darren's dad had written down.
It rang for a few moments before,
"Melanie, what the fuck is going on?" I gasped in relief and fell back onto the sofa, my hand covering my mouth. "You're meant to be dead what the fuck?" He demanded.
"Darren, how the Hell do you have a phone?" I hissed quietly.
"That's beside the fucking point, you being alive is a bit more pressing right now." I laughed without humour and rubbed at my forehead.
"I don't have time to explain everything right now. I need to get to Canada."
"Canada? What the fuck, Mel?"
"Stop saying that, can you help me or not?"
There was a long pause.
"You're going to need to get in touch with some pretty shady bastards, Mel..."
"Darren," I sighed. "You have no idea where I've just been for the past twelve months, shady bastards are angels in comparison to who I've been dealing with."
He sighed on the other end of the phone.
"You're going to need to get in touch with my brother," He said simply. "And it's probably best you don't tell my old man."
Once they'd talked to Darren and we'd all shared our conversations, I felt embarrassed and emotional.
"Do you..." I cleared my throat. "Do you mind if I keep this phone?" I asked his mum. "I know I have a neck on me, I promise I'll send another as soon as I can, but," She was already shaking her head and smiling at me. "I really need to try to make contact with my family."
"Not at all, m'love," She said, lighting up another cigarette. "You've already used it more than I ever 'ave."
In the bathroom, I sat on the WC and looked at the phone, trying to fathom what the Hell I should say first. It was already after three in the afternoon where they were, and I knew they'd already be at the safe house.
It had only taken Jack eleven hours to get there before. And, if they'd left when I'd initially texted that morning, then they should have arrived with more time to spare than last.
I chewed on my lip.
Me:
Elizabeth Swann?
I sent the text, my hands shaking and my palms sweating as I waited for a response.
I threw water up on my face, cupped some in my hands and swallowed, patted some at the back of my neck and ran cold water onto my wrists until my veins went numb.
Then, I straightened up, patted my face with the rough towel and appraised my reflection in the mirror.
I was skin and bone, pale and gaunt, large dark circles and bruises beneath my eyes.
My lower lip was still cut and swollen, a scar from my upper lip to my nostril. I had a scar running along the right side of my face too, and my lower left ear-lobe was missing now.
My fingers were covered in scars and cuts, my arms much the same now too.
I was thankful I couldn't see my legs or feet, or the rest of my body, for the sweatpants and t-shirt I was wearing. My feet were cut and aching from the fact that I was wearing trainers without socks.
But, that didn't matter.
What mattered was that I was free, and I was doing everything in my power to get back to my family.
Jack:
Will Turner.
My heart soared and I breathed a sigh of relief, my eyes watering.
Me:
Gibbs?
Jack:
Gibbs.
I wanted to call him so badly, wanted to hear his voice and ask a thousand questions.
Instead, I pocketed the phone and left the bathroom.
*
Saturday 22:00 (UK) 17:00 (USA)
I did tell Darren's old man, and the old man wasn't pleased.
He knew that he had to keep a lid on things because whatever I was messed up in, was enough to have the older couple realising that they needed to help me.
The fact that Darren had spoken with his mum and dad whilst using the burner phones, had softened the blow a little.
And, within a couple of hours, there was another knock at the door.
"You can answer it," Darren's dad said. "I don't want to have anything to do with this."
I gulped and wrung my hands together, walking shakily down the hall. I had no idea who I was going to find on the other side of the door.
I had no idea what to expect, other than a very dangerous man with a quick temper and a tough past.
But, this is who I'd come here to find.
I knew Darren's brother ran half of London, and I knew that if anybody could get me out of the country without Interpol knowing, it'd be this guy.
I pulled open the door and was met with a six-foot tanned bald man, his piercing blue eyes boring down to mine as he puffed on a cigar.
"You're Melanie?" He demanded gruffly and I nodded, choking on the cigar smoke as he puffed it into my face.
"I'm Jason, let's go." He said and turned around for the elevators.
"Hang on," I said, throwing a hand out. "I'm not just going to leave, aren't you going to say something to your parents?" I demanded, pointing back inside the flat.
"No." He said simply and called the lift.
"Ugh, hang on a moment, Christ!" I dashed back inside the flat and hurried back along to the living room.
"I'm so sorry," I gushed as I pulled on my coat. "I didn't realise I was going to be leaving so quickly," I pocketed the mobile and paper. "Thank you so sincerely for everything you've done for me," I thanked as I threw my arms around the woman again.
It was clear she wasn't a cuddly-sort of person, but I didn't care. This was the first comfort I'd received in too long.
"You've saved my life, both of you," I said, and leaned forward to kiss the man's cheek. "I'll send a new phone when I can, and I'll never ever forget this!" I gushed as I ran back down the hall and out into the foyer, just as Jason stepped inside the lift.
We were silent as we got into a Range Rover and Jason screeched out of the car park.
I'd already asked him what he was doing and where we were going, but I was totally ignored.
Instead, he just drove, like an absolute maniac. And, I was flabbergasted as the police stayed in lay-bys and side-streets, and didn't chase after us with blaring lights and sirens.
"I run this show, you got that?" He said as we turned off the main road and into a long winding driveway.
"Y-yeah." I stuttered, and then cleared my throat.
"This is my turf," He said, jabbing a thumb against his chest. "Just because I'm working with you, don't mean this is a joint enterprise."
"Joint enterprise?" I quoted, trying not to laugh.
"With Dazz," He snapped, irritated by my lack of understanding. "I agreed to help because I'm a good guy, and Dazz is a shithead who probably got you into this shit-show."
"So you're fine with getting me out of it?"
"No," He said, the car bumping as it drove over the uneven land.
"But he's paying me top-dollar for this, and you seem like a cool kid." He shrugged and I frowned at his words.
Kid?
I mean, okay, I probably looked like a battered child, and the guy was at least forty. But... kid? I shuddered, pushing aside memories of Morgan.
We approached a large gate-way which automatically opened as we neared, and then we were turning off onto a smooth and luxury drive-way which wound to a huge countryside mansion.
I whistled under my breath and he smirked at my reaction.
There was a large fancy-lit fountain in the centre of the drive-way, and several expensive cars dotted here and there in front of the house as we pulled up.
We both clambered out and he jogged up the front marble steps, pushing inside the huge doorway and into a wide marble foyer.
"Chanice will get you sorted." He said, and a young blonde woman approached me with a smile.
"You're Mr Jason friend?" She said in a thick Polish accent as she gestured for me to follow her up the marble staircase.
I watched absentmindedly as Jason removed his leather driving gloves and pushed into one of the downstairs reception rooms.
Upstairs was huge and luxurious, with plenty of bedrooms and doorways.
Chanice led me into one bedroom with a large ensuite.
She instructed me to bathe and shower whilst she waited in the bedroom, and I did so hurriedly, scared to waste time and scared to soak for too long in case someone either came in to kill me, or my wounds opened and killed me instead.
I got out and dried, feeling a lot more like a human, and brushed my teeth with an unopened toothbrush which was laid against the sink.
"Is this a regular occurrence?" I asked, re-entering the bedroom to find Chanice stood next to the dresser, fresh clothes laid out on the bed.
"We save some person," She shrugged, sitting me down at the dresser. "Others not so lucky," She shrugged, brushing through my hair. "We have to cut this, no?" She asked and I frowned up at her.
"You what?" I questioned, before a knock on the door sounded and Jason pushed inside.
"We have things ready." He said matter-of-factly and I frowned.
"What things? What are you talking about?" I demanded and he rolled his eyes, puffing on another cigar.
"To get to Canada?" He pressed. "Let's go." He said, clicking his fingers and leaving the room.
"No," I said, my temper flaring. "No it isn't just let's go," I said, clicking my fingers as I hurriedly followed him back downstairs.
I wasn't caring for the fact my wet hair hung down my back, dripping onto the floor as I padded after him, barefoot in a bath-robe, my battered and scarred unshaven legs on display.
"If you've made a plan, I want to know about it." I demanded, following him inside the reception room I'd seen him disappear into earlier.
There were at least a dozen men in here, all dressed in dark, expensive clothing, mostly skin-heads, and all with at least one scar on their faces.
Well, at least my battered face and scarred neck and ears would help me to fit in... sort of...
The room was cloudy with cigar and cigarette smoke and stunk of expensive alcohol and cologne. There was a large pool table in the centre of the room, and two men stopped playing to look up as we entered.
I didn't know where I'd found myself in, but this was the last place I'd expected to wind up.
"She wants to know the plan, lads," Jason teased and the men chuckled. "Listen, princess, no offence, I don't know how you guys operate in the States, but over here, we're less informative." He said, turning to me with a cocky smirk as he puffed on his cigar.
"I'm not one of your trafficked slaves, you can't just bring me here, demand I clean and dress and then dance to your merry little transport tune," I snapped, and his expression fell impatiently at my words.
"I'm thankful you've agreed to help, but contrary to the illegal shit-show you've got running here, I'd quite like to be involved on how you plan to get me to Canada, seeing as I have every intelligence agency after me and a terrorist target on my back. Forgive me if I'm a little dubious and suspicious of your arrogance."
My chest rose and fell with my exasperation and he blinked, moving to stub his cigar out on an ash-tray atop the pool table.
"I don't normally ask this," He said slowly, the men in the room shifting their weights awkwardly.
"But who the fuck do you think you are?" He asked, folding his arms and staring down at me.
"It's not about who I think I am," I said clearly. "It's about who I know I am. I've trained with Interpol and the FBI, and I've worked with the CIA, MI5 and MI6, and now, it'd seem, I'm working with some underground British organisation who thinks they belong with Jason Statham in some bad Die Hard movie."
One of the men stepped forward awkwardly, clearing his throat.
"Jason Statham was the Transporter. Bruce Willis was Die Hard." The guy said quietly and Jason scoffed, shaking his head and rubbing at his jaw.
"So you're law enforcement?" Another guy inquired and I thought about this for a moment.
"Not any more," I explained. "Now all US law enforcement want me trapped, away from my family, and the biggest terrorist organisation in the world are after me, and as far as I'm aware, my family too. I need to get back to Canada to protect them. They've spent the last year thinking I've been dead..."
The temperature in the room significantly dropped.
"Now do you see why I need to know your plan?" I pressed.
Jason ran a hand over his stubbled jaw and nodded his head.
"Firstly, you can't go anywhere looking like that..." He said, gesturing for us all to follow him as he led the way out of the room.
I followed him as he crossed the foyer into another reception room, which seemed to be a large conference-come-dining-room, with a large oak table in the centre, surrounded by loads of chairs.
"Our plan was to get you to the airport, take the jet to Europe before connecting to Canada and driving you the rest of the way." Everyone took a chair at the table and someone brought out a notebook. I realised that person was probably too young to be here.
"But?" I pressed, sitting next to Jason at the table. In the doorway, Chanice leaned against the doorframe, a comb and a pair of scissors in her hand.
"But if what you say is true, it'll be harder than that. You'll have to change your identity. Passports aren't a problem," Jason said with a wave of his hand.
"We'll leave in the morning, take the helicopter to France and drive to Belgium. We'll need to fly you from there to Norway, and make connections to Iceland and Greenland, before we get to Canada. We were originally planning on taking the jet, but..." He rubbed at his jaw.
"With so many agencies after you, I don't think that's a good idea... I don't want our business affected by this," Under my pressing gaze he shifted in his seat.
"No offence sweetheart, but Dazz could pay me in cold hard diamonds and I still wouldn't risk taking the jet to Canada with every agency after you. I want our enterprise kept entirely separate. But, we'll get you to wherever you have to go."
"If you can get me to Montreal, I'll owe you my life." I said desperately.
"At this point, princess, you already owe me your life," He scoffed and I gulped.
"Chanice will get you ready and take the pictures for your passports. Each time we land, you'll have to become a different person, understood?"
I nodded my head and moved to push out from the table.
"When do we leave?" I asked and he looked at his watch.
"We'll take the next hour or two to prepare and then we'll be on our way. We want to be on the road for Belgium by dawn."
Jason turned to me with a questioning expression, as if wondering what I was still doing here.
"Listen, I know you said that Darren's paying you top dollar for this, but..." I chewed on my lip nervously, avoiding the gaze of the men around the room.
"Why are you doing this? This is costing thousands... I... You don't know me." I laughed without humour and Jason scoffed, nodding and avoiding my eyes.
"Let's just say that I owe Dazz... Big time... He might be the dark horse of the family, the traitor who turned to law enforcement and left his roots behind, but..." Jason scratched his jaw as a murmur moved throughout the men around the table.
Clearly, they felt the same way Jason did about law enforcement.
"He's saved my skin more times than I care to admit... And our folks," He shrugged. "Well, they've disowned me because of the amount of shit Dazz has had to take for me," He shrugged and turned to me.
"This is costing us more than you'll ever know, princess, but it's only money," He smiled. "Contrary to what you think you know, Dazz has told me all about you over the years. He fucked you over, big time. Call it owing you, or repaying you, or saying sorry, I don't fucking know," He laughed without humour and shrugged.
"You trusted him enough to reach out, and you did the right thing, you might not trust us or believe that we can help, but we'll get you to Montreal. We won't ask questions and we won't hang around. We'll get the job done, and you'll have three months to pay us what Darren decides. The rest, he pays." Jason shrugged as if it was as easy as that.
"I... I need a new sim," I said, deciding that I had to talk to Darren to figure this out for myself.
"I need to make contact with my family." I explained.
"No," Jason said, shaking his head with frantic eyes. "You can't tell anybody what we're doing."
"I won't tell anyone about you. Ever," I said in my serious Chief Hotchner-Reid tone. "You can count on that," I promised. "But my family, they'll be at our safe house by now, and I need to check-in."
"Check-in? Safe house?" Jason looked at me and held up a hand. "I don't want to know," he said. "I've dealt with some shady shit in my time, sweetheart, I won't ask questions as long as you don't volunteer any answers," He nodded to one of the guys who got up and left the room through a door in the back corner.
"Call whoever you need to, we've got multiple sims you can use for the journey, I'm guessing I don't need to remind you of how careful you need to be."
I smirked and shook my head.
"Like I said, Interpol, CIA, MI5 and six." Jason smirked and shook his head.
"Yeah, yeah, we'll all be in cuffs by the time this is over."
The man returned and walked to me, handing me a burner phone and a small box, which I assumed, contained the sims Jason was talking about.
"Now go, prepare for the passport pictures and rest up. We'll leave in the next hour."
I pushed out from the table and hurried to the doorway where Chanice was waiting.
"This all must go, yes?" Chanice said, gesturing to my wet hair as we returned to the bedroom upstairs.
I sighed as I sat down the dressing table, realising that this was the only thing that could guarantee a thorough identity swap.
"Yes," I nodded. "Just shave it all off."
The Comforter
Saturday 11:00 (Canada) 16:00 (UK)
The terrain approaching the safe house is pretty rough and difficult to navigate.
The first time driving here, I was thankful it was daylight to manoeuvre, and now I'm just as grateful.
"Would you like me to drive?" My dad asked from directly behind me, leaning forward to say this quietly Into my ear.
"I've got it." I said through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter to control the jerking of the car as we vibrated over dips and debris amongst the trees.
"Are you sure you're going the right way?" Spencer questioned as Tilly became unsettled.
"Will you just let me drive?" I snapped, accelerating over more underbrush.
They were silent until the trees began to thin and we approached the safe house. It was situated in the centre of a clearing, behind a huge sand dune on the edge of the beach.
We were camouflaged from the noise of the waves and the screams of joy from the beach's patrons.
"This is it?" My dad mumbled as I pulled up to the front porch and cut the engine.
"Yep." I said as Beth and I climbed out.
Beth went straight for Tilly whilst I climbed the steps to the front porch.
The front of the house was on stilts to even out the house due to the uneven terrain. The porch was wrap around with clear glass and wooden slats.
The front entrance was a large and overbearing, seemingly wooden door, flanked by plants and pebbles Tilly and Diana had collected last time we were here.
I gulped at the memory and unlocked the front door, punching in the alarm code and initiating the power on the panel next to it.
Inside was cold, and smelled musty from the last time we were here. But of course, nothing had changed.
Melanie had hired security personnel to come around each month to make sure everything was still intact. We had a security system ensuring everything was untouched, and I'd been wondering what to do with the place up until now.
"This is incredible..." My dad admired as Beth carried Tilly inside and Spencer helped my dad with the bags.
"We'll have to do a clean up..." Beth mused, setting Tilly on the counter.
"Can you tell Mel we're here?" Spencer said in a low voice.
"I've sent the code," I shrugged. "Whether she's still using that phone, is another thing."
*
Saturday 13:00 (CAN) 18:00 (UK)
Spencer and I had taken Tilly down onto the beach whilst my dad and Beth blitzed the house. When we returned, my dad had had some food sorted for us, and then we all retired to rest.
There were four bedrooms in the house, albeit they were small but the place was big enough where we could all be for a long time and still feel comfortable.
Well, I presumed that was the idea anyway.
When I couldn't sleep, I headed back downstairs and out onto the back porch, which was around a dozen feet in depth. The clear glass bannister had a gate which led onto the vast array of grass and debris of the forest clearing around us.
The clearing was around ten square yards, with trees to the left of us and behind. But, about ten yards in front of the back porch, was the beginnings of the sand dunes, leading up and over to the beach.
Even from here, the smell of the sea wafted to us, the crashing of the waves ever so distant.
I took a deep breath and sat down on one of the metal chairs by the table. I became aware of a noise and glanced over to see Spencer leaning on the bannister, a cloud of smoke around him as he pulled on a cigarette between his teeth.
"Spencer?" I said in surprise and he jumped slightly, turning to face me with a guilty and apologetic expression.
"Jack," He breathed. "I didn't hear you."
"Yeah, I figured..." There was a pause as he stubbed the cigarette out and reached for a pack in his shirt pocket. "When did you start smoking?" I questioned, watching him put the cigarette back into the pack.
"It's a long story..."He mused, running a hand over his unshaven face.
He still looked awful from the blast, his face still slightly burned at the edge of his jaw, the cuts still healing. I knew he'd removed the bandages from the burns on his arms and legs, but he was still struggling to walk and would wince and freeze every-so-often.
But, in comparison to yesterday when he could barely move from his wheelchair, he was doing significantly better.
"Well who knows how long we're going to be here..." I said, returning to the cigarette scenario. "I've got all the time in the world for long stories." I folded my arms and he sighed, hobbling over to take to the seat beside me at the table.
"Years ago," He said slowly, narrowing his eyes to help with the pain in his back as he lowered into the seat.
"When Melanie and I weren't together... when she was in New York..." His eyes were far away as I nodded at the memory.
I thought it was excruciating having her all of those miles away. But now... now I'd give anything to have her there.
"I found it hard to cope... smoking uh... I guess it helped with the memories and the anxiety and the tension..." He shrugged. "Maybe it just kept me away from other stuff, I don't know..." His voice was small as he avoided my eyes and licked at his lips.
"When we stopped for groceries earlier on the way here, I... I saw them behind the counter and I guess... I guess I thought that smoking would be the best form of escape in the grand scheme of things."
I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.
"For what it's worth, Spencer," I said as he looked up and met my eyes. "I think you're doing great."
*
Saturday 15:00 (CAN) 20:00 (UK)
It turned out that none of us really slept. Well, apart from Tilly.
Despite the fact she'd slept a lot during the journey.
We ate more food and sat in front of the television, none of us really focused on what to do or say.
We were thankful that Tilly was just enjoying the adventure, and Beth was the one to distract her when she'd asked if this was the same place we'd come to before her mommy had died.
Spencer had walked away with tears in his eyes and my dad and I had lapsed into a paralysing silence.
But now, as we were all sat around in the open-plan living room, I was swirling my phone in my hand, willing Melanie to at least reach out so that I knew what number to contact her on.
It was funny... all of these months without hearing from her, convincing myself that she was gone, and in the space of fourteen hours, I was certain she was alive and every minute I didn't hear from her, felt like an hour.
My phone vibrated in my hand and everybody turned to stare at it, Beth automatically turning the television a little louder for Tilly.
+447123 946 108:
Elizabeth Swann?
"It's her." I said, sitting forward and unlocking my phone to reply.
"What's she saying?" Spencer asked desperately, leaning forward to look at the message.
"She's asking where we are." I explained as I typed a response.
Me:
Will Turner.
I hurriedly saved the number and we sat blinking at each other until she replied a moment later.
Mel:
Gibbs?
Me:
Gibbs.
"What is she saying? What does that mean?" Spencer demanded as I locked my phone and closed my eyes, willing strength and patience and determination that I feared I'd never have.
"Spencer..." I said patiently. "I can't tell you that."
"Screw that," He hissed, and Tilly turned around curiously. "You can tell me," He said quietly through his teeth. "She's my wife goddamit, tell me."
"Spencer..." I groaned, rubbing my forehead.
"She was asking where I was and if we were all together. I said we were. That's it. That's all that was said."
"Can't you ask her where she is?" Beth asked desperately as Tilly turned back to the television.
"I can try, but the code doesn't work like that. I doubt she'll give me a response."
"What do you mean the code doesn't work like that? Can't you just ask her?" Spencer demanded impatiently.
"The code was set up to protect us, not her," I said through my teeth, glaring at Spencer.
"That means that she set it up to ask where we were and how we were, not the other way around. The code was established for our safety, not to open a dialogue."
Spencer groaned and got to his feet dramatically.
"How can you be so calm?" He said, waving his hands in exasperation.
"All this time we thought she was dead and now you're just going to tell me we have to sit tight in the hopes that she'll stick to a fucking code?" He was quiet to begin with, but his words increased with volume until he was shouting the final words and Beth glared at him angrily.
"Daddy!" Tilly shouted impatiently. "Stop shouting I can't hear the movie!" She frowned at him sadly and his face fell.
He rubbed his hands over his face and nodded, crossing to where she sat in front of us on the floor with some bean bags.
"You're right, I'm sorry my sweet princess," He sunk down onto the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms. "C'mere beautiful..." He kissed her hair and she giggled, righting herself on his lap so that they could both see the movie together.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly to Beth and my dad. "It's just how she planned it."
Beth smiled sadly and my dad put a hand on my shoulder.
"We have faith in you, son." He said reassuringly, but that didn't stop me from doubting my own words.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the messages as everybody turned back to the screen.
Biting on my lip I sent another text, doubting she'd be able to respond, but sending it anyway.
Me:
Elizabeth Swann?
The Fighter
Sunday 00:00 (UK) 19:00 (CAN)
I stared at myself in the mirror, my reflection really something to worry about.
I didn't recognise myself. Not at all.
And that was a good thing. A great thing, even. It meant that if I couldn't even recognise myself, then the chances of being recognised were extremely slim.
Chanice had chopped my hair, and then gave me a razor to do the rest myself. I'd stood over the bathroom sink and watched as the remainder of my hair fell into the white porcelain bowl, my head completely shaved and bald.
Scars were visible now, scars that had had decades to heal and hide beneath my hair. But now, they were visible for all to see, and that left me feeling naked and vulnerable.
We knew my tattoos were a distinguishing feature that would get me instantly recognised, but I couldn't exactly put any makeup on them, due to the fact that they were covered in healing scars and stitches, and with the amount we were planning on travelling, there's no way makeup would last that long.
So, I'd opted for long-sleeves and high-necked clothing, scarves and jumpers and hats doing the trick.
Thankfully, it was fall and there was less chance of me looking suspicious.
Chanice had put heavy makeup on my face to help hide the bruises and cuts, and that helped to make me look more normal and approachable.
My clothes were dark and punk-ish, but helped me blend in without standing out too much.
I took a deep breath and glanced down at the phone on the bathroom counter, fully charged now with a new sim. I knew what Jack had asked me earlier still lay unanswered, and I still didn't quite know how to reply.
My fingers hovered over the buttons.
Do I break code to reply? Do I try to find the words?
"Melanie, you must go. Time to leave." Chanice's voice came from the other side of the door and I gulped, typing the text before I could regret not doing so later on.
Me:
Tortuga.
I had no idea if he knew what that meant or not, but it'd already been four hours since his last message and I knew they'd be out of their minds with worry.
But, they had to trust me. They had to have faith in the code and the safe house and they had to trust that I was trying my best to be there.
As I pushed out of the bathroom and thanked Chanice for everything she'd done for me, I couldn't help but feel like I was wading through drying concrete. Like, no matter how fast I worked or hard I tried or fast I ran, I wasn't quite quick enough.
It had taken me all day to get to Darren's parents, all evening to prepare myself for the trip overseas. And I still wasn't on the road yet. In that time, my family had trusted me, upped and left and were gone.
I felt like I was a million paces behind the game and I couldn't shake the fear of what that potentially meant.
For them, or for me.
I hurried downstairs where Jason and a group of men were waiting.
They all started nudging each other as I approached, and Jason turned around to whistle underneath his breath.
"Fuck me, you've done a good job," He admired, nodding his head. "You got everything you need?" He asked, pointing to the suitcase I was carrying.
"Everything that'll keep my head from falling off, yeah," I joked and he cocked an eyebrow. "I have no idea how you do it, baldy," I joked. "I already feel like I'm in the North Pole." His mates chuckled and he shot them a glare, a smirk hinting at the edges of his mouth.
"'Nuff of that," He said brusquely. "Let's get going. We're taking the heli to Paris and driving to Belgium, it'll take us about an hour and a half to get to Paris, and then another four hours to drive to Belgium."
"Can't we just fly there too?" I asked in confusion as people started dispersing.
"No," He said, shaking his head. "We need to make sure there's no chance we can be followed or traced. Shaking up the journey by driving," He shrugged. "It gives them less of a chance to track us."
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck anxiously.
"I hope you're right about this." I said, gathering my case as we left the house.
"I'm always right, love."
The Comforter
Saturday 19:00 (CAN) 00:00 (UK)
After dinner, my dad and Beth decided to take Tilly a walk along the beach so she would be sleepy for bedtime.
Spencer and I sat together in the kitchen at the breakfast counter, neither of us really saying anything, both of us just sitting with our thoughts and silence.
I wasn't expecting it, but my phone vibrated a message in my pocket, and at first, I just dismissed it as being Naomi or someone else. But, then I remembered the gravity of the situation, and pulled it out to check.
Mel:
Tortuga.
I gulped at her response and ran a worried hand across my face.
"What is it?" Spencer asked quietly. "Is it Mel?" I nodded my head and slid my cell across the counter to him.
"Tortuga? What does that mean?" He frowned in confusion.
"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "It isn't a part of our code..." I mused as Spencer scrolled through the messages we had so far.
"I mean..." I cleared my throat apprehensively. "I could hazard a guess..." Spencer looked at me with questioning eyes. "Tortuga... The place everyone goes to fight and drink... I think she's trying to tell us she's someplace unsafe."
"So..." Spencer licked at his lips frantically. "So what does that mean? Can we help her? Do we go to her?"
"We don't know where she is," I said, shaking my head. "We can't just up and leave on a hunch."
"Oh what, like we've literally just done?" He slid my cell back to me, shaking his head and yanking his fingers through his hair desperately.
There was a long silence between us, as I stared at the messages and Spencer thought over them.
A moment later, something occurred to him.
"Let me see the number." He said desperately, extending his hand to me again.
"What?" I said in confusion, misunderstanding what he meant by 'number'. "There haven't been that many messages." I said, unlocking my phone.
"No, not that!" He gushed, frantically sliding off his stool to approach me. He grabbed the cell-phone and clicked on Mel's name, bringing up the number.
"Look!" He gushed, pointing to the twelve digits in front of us. "That's not an American number," He said elatedly, glad to finally have a breakthrough. "She isn't in the States. That's not one of ours."
I frowned up at him.
"So... where's it from, then?" I asked desperately, hope fluttering inside as I realised that if she wasn't in the States, she was taking so long to get here because she was travelling.
"I-I-I..." He stuttered, looking at the number again. "I think it's from the UK..." He said slowly, nodding. "Plus double four is Britain's area code."
I licked at my lips and looked back at the number.
"So... She's in England," I said matter-of-factly. "It's going to take her forever to get here, then."
"That's okay," Spencer said desperately, and I turned to find him grinning down at me emotionally. "That just means that not all of this is pointless," He gestured around us.
"We may have run here desperately, but we can wait as long as it takes for her to get here. It makes more sense if she isn't in the same country."
"That explains why she's taking so long." I mused, nodding now too.
We were interrupted by Beth and my dad returning with Tilly, who was rubbing her eyes in my dad's arms.
"Someone's sleepy," Beth said quietly, as my dad moved for the spiral staircase in the corner. "We'll bath her and put her to bed." She explained and Spencer stepped forward.
"That's okay," He smiled gently. "I can manage that." He nodded reassuringly at her and hurried after my dad, leaving her standing slightly shocked.
"Okay..." She sang, approaching me with heavy eyes. "What did we miss?"
She shrugged out of her light jacket and rested it on the counter in front of us as she stood next to me.
"We figured Mel's in England," I whispered, watching as Spencer followed my dad and Tilly into the bathroom upstairs.
Beth gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers.
"She's using a British number to contact us, and she texted to say she's someplace unsafe..." I gestured to the message and Beth lifted my phone with tearful eyes. "At least... that's what I think that means..." I shrugged and ran a hand over my face again.
"But we have hope... England would explain why she's taking so long to get here."
Beth nodded her head and swiped at her tears.
"We're really getting her back, aren't we?" She whispered, resting the phone back down on the counter.
"I hope so, Beth... I really hope so."