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The Only Rules That Matter: Afterlife (TheCorsair, Madam Mim)

Jenny listened while she considered her cards. So she was a common con artist. How disappointing. But then Mama Lovelle mentioned Shih, and the things she had never told a living soul, not her husband or even a priest. Things Lovelle must only be guessing at, because there was no way she could know for certain.

"Sounds like if you want to continue to have lived nearly as long as me," Jenny said casually, exchanging three of her cards and drawing, "the spirits ought to know what information they need to keep to themselves." She smiled and looked up at the bokor. "You gonna draw, or should I switch to Solitaire?"
 
“Knowledge is power,” Mama Lovelle laughed. “And part of power is knowing when to use it. Your secrets are safe with me, Ref Jenny - as long as I’m safe with you, at least. But... you did ask me how I knew.” With that, she scooped up her cards. “Now. What are we playing? And for what stakes?”

-*-

It was after midnight when Jack finally returned, yawning and carrying a burlap sack over his shoulder that made him look nothing like Father Christmas. “Here you are,” he proclaimed, tossing the sack at the bokor’s feet. “Graveyard dirt, and three nails pulled out of a coffin.”

“And an empty bottle,” Mana Lovelle reminded, cracking an eye. She’d been asleep, or maybe dead, for several hours.

Jack pulled a bottle from his belt and, with a flourish, drained it. “One empty bottle,” he smirked, wiping his lips and presenting it to the bokor. “Except for some traces of rum, that is. Might want to clean that out.”

“Oh, no need,” she cackled. “The Baron likes a bit of rum.” With that, she scooped up the sack and levered herself out of her chair.

For his part, Jack flopped down next to Jenny. “So. Was it as fun for you as it was for me?” He produced a second bottle and offered it to her. “Some people get awfully bent out of shape about graveyards.”
 
Jenny only glanced up when Jack walked in. After Mama Lovelle had mentioned Shih, Jenny had only been good for a half dozen hands of three card draw. The bokor seemed to have sensed this and had settled back in her comfy chair for the night. She had been polite enough to leave Jenny to her brooding and her mood while she reflected on the nature of her afterlife. She was on her 127th hand of Solitaire when her husband returned.

"One empty bottle you took care of by yourself?" Jenny asked without looking up. She arched her eyebrow critically at the cards. She had heard that normal playing cards could be read the same way tarot could, if you knew how. Not that she believed in tarot, but she was tired enough to start thinking that perhaps she was reading their combined future in the cards. She didn't like what she saw.

"Some people get awfully bent out of shape about graveyards," Jack said, flopping next to her and offering her the second bottle.

"Some people have morals and principles, Jonathan," she said. She drew the king of hearts and laid it down. Jenny stared at it for a long moment. The king looked almost like a queen. She took the bottle and drained nearly a quarter in one go. "Not that that ever did much for poor Nat, eh?" She finally looked away from the cards and turned her gaze to Mama Lovelle. "So what now?"
 
“Some people have morals and principles, Jonathan," Jenny huffed, grabbing the bottle and swigging a quarter of it down.

Leaning back, Jack rested the back of his head against his hands. “True. But I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.” The cocky grin faded. “At least, I am right now. Because that’s who I need to be.”

Jenny let the bottle fall from her lips, and stared morosely at the cards spread before her. “Not that that ever did much for poor Nat, eh?"

“He’s trying his best, love,” Jack told her. “And that’s why I’m Captain Jack again. So the poor boy doesn’t have to be.”

Jenny turned her gaze to Mama Lovelle. "So what now?"

Mama Lovelle clinked the bottle on the table. It was a quarter full of dirt and stones and debris, including the nails. “Now you keep this sealed until you plan to use this,” she said, lowering herself into her chair. “Then you catch your victim’s breath in it, and snap it shut.” There was a crack as she clapped her hands together. “Then, to make the corpse come back to life, open it and make the corpse drink it.”

“And it’ll work?” Jack asked.

“Surely will.” Laughing, she grabbed a similar bottle from a shelf. “Don’t it, Pierre?” There was a hollow tapping sound, as a lead pendulum on a string tapped rapidly against the glass. She cackled again, then leaned forward. “It’ll work, Captain Jack. I’d not lose a favor each from the likes of you.”

“And what favor do you want?” Jack asked.

“Dunno, yet.” She shrugged. “May hold on to it. Thing like that is better than hold.” Grinning, she leaned back and puffed her foul old pipe to life. “But it’s late, and these old bones are tired. So unless you two have more business, I’ll thank you to get the hell out.” The stem of the pipe jabbed at them like a weapon. “That’s not the favor, mind. Just an expectation of common courtesy.”

Jack rose. “I wouldn’t think you get much of that.”

She cackled again. “I’m a bokor, Jack Sparrow. I get what I want, or people regret it,”. Grinning, she poked the bottle. “Ain’t that right, Pierre?”
 
Jenny didn't pay much attention to John's defense of Captain Jack. She had stopped paying attention to his excuses long ago. Instead she muttered something about Nat continued to lay down cards, steadily more frantically. King of Hearts. King of Hearts. King of Hearts. King of Hearts. This wasn't her future. It couldn't be. She would never...and even if she would, could she...? Well, that wasn't a thought she would even entertain because this wasn't her future. These weren't tarot cards, she couldn't read tarot from playing cards, and she didn't believe in them. Jenny gathered up her lost Solitaire game, shuffled, and dealt again. King of Hearts. King of Hearts. King of Hearts....

"I'm a bokor, Jack Sparrow. I get what I want, or people regret it." Grinning, Mama Lovelle poked the bottle. "Ain't that right, Pierre?"

Jenny breathed in sharply, gathered up her cards, and stood. Clearly they had been dismissed. She followed Jack to the door, but stopped with her hand on the knob and looked back around at the witch doctor.

"Thank you for all your help," she said, "but next time I would appreciate you not bewitching my cards." She followed her husband out and closed the door on a confused-looking Mama Lovelle before giving her chance to answer. She didn't know whether it had been the bokor's doing, but it was her closest guess. Once they were back on the ship, Jenny pulled her boots off before pulling out another bottle of rum. "So what next?" she asked before taking a long pull. "Go find Nat, tell him 'hey you're gonna die but only for a wee minute' and hope he doesn't run screaming?"
 
“So what next?" she asked before taking a long pull. "Go find Nat, tell him 'hey you're gonna die but only for a wee minute' and hope he doesn't run screaming?"

Jack unbuckled his sword belt and hung it from a peg. “Well,” he said thoughtfully before dropping into a chair on the opposite side of the table, “that’s not far off from what I was thinking, except that we don’t really tell him what we’re doing.” With a grin, he took the bottle from Jenny. “First thing we do, way I see it, is we find him.”

He took a long pull from the bottle, then began using it as a prop to mine his actions. “Then we just walk up and grab him, right? Maybe I grab him, since I’m a bit bigger, and you pop the bottle under his nose. Then I squeeze a little to make him exhale, and any time someone does that he has to inhale...”. He demonstrated, then started coughing and gasping as he inhaled a bit of rum.

“Well, hopefully it goes smoother than that, but you get the idea.” He pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and blew his nose. “God, but that burns. But once he’s dead and we confirm everything’s been set right, we uncork the bottle and apologize for the inconvenience.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, he stuffed the handkerchief back. “Foolproof, right?”
 
"First thing we do, way I see it, is we find him."

"Generally a good idea," Jenny agreed drily, handing over the bottle. John elaborated on his plan and Jenny couldn't help but laugh when he accidentally inhaled the rum. "We'll just make sure the bottle's empty, yeah?" she suggested with a giggle and a trace of her old smile back.

"Foolproof, right?" Jack suggested, dabbing at his eyes before stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket.

"Oh never say anything's foolproof, love," Jenny warned. "They'll only invent better fools. But as far as plans go, I reckon it's a fairly good one. So long as we really can trust Mama Lovelle that her jar does what she says it does."
 
“Trust,” Jack said, “is too strong a word for this. I never particularly trusted these bokor’s. But...” he shrugged. “What’s the worst that happens? It doesn’t work, and Nate’s left thinking we’re lunatics for making him breathe into a bottle?”

He swallowed another slug of rum. “No, actually, worst case is that it doesn’t work and we can’t find another solution and we’ve no choice but to take him in to preserve the natural order and all that rot.” A grin. “So. Why not be optimistic?”

-*-

The vagaries of sailing Oceanus still mystified him. Sometimes traversing the ocean between the worlds meant they needed only a few hours to sail from China to England. Other times, though, it could take a days to cross from Dover to Calais and they’d have been better off sticking to the seas of the mortal wirld.

This journey was one of the fast ones, Jamaica to Dunkirk in less than a day. But as the misty expanse of Oceanus gave way to the darkened waters of the Channel at night, he found himself wishing it had taken a little longer. “That’s... that’s not something you see every day.”

Will had said that the boundaries between the mortal world and the afterlife were thinning, thanks to Nate’s survival. What Jack hadn’t expected, though, was to see it. Through his spyglass he could watch the mists of Oceanus drifting through the town. And strange shrouded figures drifted with it, unseen by the few people out and about.

“Here,” he said, handing the glass to Jenny and taking the wheel. “Looks like we have our work cut out for us.”
 
Jenny put the spyglass to her eye and frowned. "It's worse than I thought," she murmured. Dropping the glass, she looked at Jack and shook her head. "They might actually kill us, you know, if this doesn't work. As in, actually dead. Forever. You in the Locker, me... Well, God knows where."

Where would she go? Certainly not to Heaven. Hell? The Locker? Or would she be doomed to wait forever for her husband on the docks of Fiddler's Green? Jenny shook her head. She had only a few hours ago managed to shake off her earlier funk and the ominous future she had seen in the cards; she wasn't going to go down that road again, not when her whole attention was needed here.

"So where do we start?" Jenny looked around once they had docked. "He wouldn't be too far, I imagine. But it's a big port. I don't expect we'll get lucky enough for him to just wander by." The gloom of late evening caught her attention and without asking she dug into Jack's pocket until she found his watch. Checking the time, she nodded. "Pubs," she suggested. "Speak any French?"
 
“Could be the pubs,” he agreed. “He’s a fisherman, after all. And even if he’s not there, him being a family man and all, I’m sure they can tell us where to find him. Pubs are good for that sort of thing.” A laugh. “As I’m sure you remember.”

The Pearl slipped easily into the docks, nestling incongruously amongst the fishing boats like a warhorse in a sheepfold. Not that anyone else would see it, of course. He could always spot her, but he’d long since grown used to the way she changed shape for mortal perceptions. Most mortal perceptions. A few people - madmen or opium smokers, mostly - had been able to see her true shape. Still, that hardly mattered.

Jack swaggered down the gangplank and onto the dock, peering about. No dockmaster came to meet them, which was an odd thing. Or maybe not, he decided. Not with the sun down and the mists of Oceanus drifting through town. Even if they couldn’t see the otherworld, most people would sense the wrongness of the night and avoid it. The houses he could see from the wharf were shuttered, with flickering lights faintly visible through the gaps.

“Moonless night,” he grumbled, slowly making his way into the dockside road and into town. “Of course it is. Can’t see a bloody thing.” A whispy figure drifted past, and he shivered at the gossamer touch if its robe. “Except for that thing. Hang on, that looks promising.”

It was a public house, well-lit and still well-attended, with quite the crowd in it. A sign hanging above the door displayed three serving-men holding platters high. “Shall we?”
 
The pub was well-lit and clean, just the sort of place she would want to see her descendants frequent. Of course, she was probably a little biased; the place reminded her both pleasantly and painfully of the Anchor. The couple made their way to the bar, ordered a couple of rums, and bided their time as they looked for the right person to talk to.

Nat himself didn't appear to be there, so Jenny eventually leaned in and waved the bar tender over. "No thanks," she said preemptively as he went to take her cup for a refill. "I'm looking for someone. Englishman about yea high, dark hair. Goes by Nat Sparrow. Know anything of him?"

The bartender nodded. "Regular," he said in thickly accented English. "Usually comes in with the tide, but he hasn't been in today. This unnatural fog, probably."

"Know where I can find him?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "What do you want with him?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at her. "Nat is a good kid. If you're here to--"

Jenny shook her head. "Nothing bad," she promised. "I've got a letter from his brother John, that's all. Just trying to do my job."
 
“I’ve never heard him mention a brother named John,” the bartender replied, scowling at them suspiciously.

“I’m sure you haven’t, mate,” Jack replied with a grin. “I’d wager he doesn’t mention his parents either, or his other brothers or sisters. It’s kind of a thing that runs in the Sparrow family.”

“And how would you know that?” the bartender replied

Jack saw that his reply had hit hom, and pressed in. “I’m a Sparrow myself, name of Jack. A... distant relation.”

“Like the pirate?” The bartender asked.

“Yeah. Could say I was named for him.” Jack leaned in. “Look, mate. Like my wife said, we’re just trying to get a message to him from his family. That’s all.”

The bartender looked from him to Jenny. “Probably at home, with his Marie and their baby Jacques. Take the Paris road, and it’s the last house in town.”

Jack grinned again. “Thanks, mate. I’ll...”

The bartender grabbed his arm. “And just yo be sure, since he’s a good kid and all... why don’t you stay here? Have yourself a quiet drink while your wife delivers that letter.”
 
Jenny nudged Jack in an attempt to get him to stop. There was being cocky, then there was being a damn fool and being a damn fool was going to get them into deep waters. Jack didn't stop, though. Of course he didn't, he never did; that was always exactly his problem. That was why he owed the Locker a debt in the first place. She was forced to stand by while he used his real name and even accepted the association with the pirate. There was still a Captain Jack Sparrow marauding the seas, defending lawlessness and disorder wherever he went, though he was the fifth one to do so.

"You think a woman couldn't cause him harm?" Jenny asked defensively when the bartender demanded that Jack stay as collateral while she delivered the message.

"I think a man claiming to be named Jack Sparrow has no business bothering a nice family like them," the bartender returned.

Jenny shrugged. "Got a point there," she admitted before looking to Jack. "I'll be back in a trice, I promise."

With a kiss for good luck she set off down the road, one hand on her sword and the other on the bottle she held in her belt. The Paris Road was long, which made a sort of sense since it presumably went all the way to Paris, but it was at least half an hour before the houses started to get more sparse. When would she know she had passed the last one?

It didn't take long to find that she wouldn't have to worry about that. A figure was taking the road in the other direction in the fog, and ten feet from her it solidified into Nat. Well, that was a relief; she wasn't going to have to kill him in front of his wife. With a deep breath, she approached him. The fog seemed to grow thicker as she drew nearer.

"Nat Sparrow?" she asked.

There was a look of dim recognition in his eye, but more than that of suspicion. "Aye..." he said slowly.

I'm really, really sorry about this," she said, uncorking the bottle. "Please believe me that it's the only way."

"Wh--" Nat didn't have a chance to get out an entire word before she punched him hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Jenny held the bottle to his lips, capturing the soul inside and corking it quickly. She tried to catch the boy as his body fell, but she had no time to do that and cork the bottle. With a sigh she dragged him out of the middle of the road so he wouldn't get driven over and left him there to be discovered. Almost immediately the fog began to clear, and by the time she had returned to the tavern she was even able to see the stars. With a grim, uncertain look she handed Jack the bottle.

"Delivered the letter," she said, then smiled at the bartender. "We'll be on our way now."
 
Jack watched Jenny leave, then turned his attention back to the bar. Hard, stony faces returned his attention. Untrusting expressions from men used to hard work on the sea. Men who, he realized, were not unfamiliar with the name of Captain Jack Sparrow. Men who had probably lost friends and family to pirates.

He shrugged. It wasn’t the worst position he’d ever been in. That went to the time he’d stood with a noose round his neck in Port Royale. No, wait, the Kraken had been worse than that. Oh, but wait. There’d been the Locker. This was far better than the Locker.

No crabs, for one thing.

“So,” he asked, producing a pair of ivory dive from his pouch. “Anyone fancy a game?” Silence. And hard stares. “No? How about cards, then?”

Hard stares.

“Right. Suit yourselves. It’s not like I cheat.” He pocketed the dice and began shuffling a deck of cards. “Not usually. Not unless everyone else is cheating.” He began laying out a game of Patience. “But really, a good cheat’s hard to spot. So if you don’t see anyone cheating you should assume they are.”

-*-

Nat stared upwards, along a vast brownish tunnel that stretched up above him seemingly forever. Stars were visible through patchy fog, stars that swung and swayed. Bracing himself, he started climbing. It was hard going - the walls of the chimney were slick - but he made it.

Then he slipped.

Everything spun in a confused whirl as he fell to the ground. Home. He had to get home. But... where was it? Everything looked so strange, and there was an odd singing coming from the east. Singing, and a white light reminiscent of the dawn. For a moment, he found himself drawn towards it.

...Marie...

With an effort he turned himself towards the west. Marie was to the west. Jacques was to the west. And something else, something that drew him. A vast, familiar bulk stretched along the ground.

Grimly, barely able to crawl, he dragged himself towards it.

-*-

Jack took the bottle, and smiled. “Great news!” he declared, scooping up the cards. He’d been losing anyway. “Any problems? No? Well, let’s be on our way!”

Tossing a coin to the bartender, he took Jenny's arm and headed for the door. “Isn’t it nice when everything goes off without a hitch?”

-*-

Nat sat up clumsily, massaging his hands. They felt numb and chill, like the rest of him. And his gut still hurt, where that oddly familiar woman had pinched him. “What was that all about?”

No matter.

He climbed to his feet, s trifle unsteady. Time to head home.
 
"Don't speak too soon," Jenny warned as they left the pub. "It's always when you say 'that wen't better than expected' that everything goes all pear-shaped."

On the way back to the ship she kept touching the bottle as though afraid it had disappeared or was going to slip. She had tied it securely to her belt with a length of cord and it hit her thigh with every step, but she still didn't trust it to stay put. Knowing their luck it would slip and break or some pickpocket would steal it. But they boarded the Pearl without incident and she set it on a low shelf where even if it fell in a tempest it would merely roll instead of breaking. God knew what would happen if it broke.

"So what now?" she asked, looking around as though she expected Nat's ghost to appear any moment. "The fog cleared, but how do we check to make sure the records were set straight and the accounts were balanced out?"
 
“[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]So what now?" she asked, looking around as though she expected Nat's ghost to appear any moment. "The fog cleared, but how do we check to make sure the records were set straight and the accounts were balanced out?"[/BGCOLOR]

Jack leaned on the sterncastle railing, staring out at the town. “I’d figured the fog clearing was a good sign, really. Oceanus isn’t bleeding through. Not as much, at least.” He grimaced. “Maybe we need to check in with Will? Or maybe make port in Fiddler’s Green and check?”

He stared at the darkness, watching for signs of any supernatural... anything. No hooded figures or musty forms stirred. Nothing sailed overhead, cackling. Maybe it had worked?

“I think it’s working,” he decided. “Why don’t we go feed him his soul again, and go check with Will. Unless you already did that?”
 
"Not yet," Jenny admitted. "I hadn't expected it to be so quick. Right then, c'mon." She grabbed the bottle up off of its shelf and crossed to the gangplank. "We'll give him his soul back, make sure the fog doesn't come rolling back in and all Oceanus breaks loose, then go grab Will to make sure his books are clear."

~*~

Fuck.

"He was right here." She gestured to the ground where she'd laid Nat and to a stick stuck upright in the soft earth. "See? I even marked the spot in case it was too foggy. It was always thickest around him, didn't wanna lose the body." She looked around, hoping maybe she was just a few feet off, but in the clear night everything was calm and still and there was no sign of any body. "He was dead! I checked his pulse, I know he was dead! Dead bodies don't just up and walk away, and who was going about at this time of night that would've just carried him off like that?"
 
[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"He was right here,” Jenny said, pointing at a stick jammed into the dirt.[/BGCOLOR]

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, looking around. “I mean, it was really foggy out...”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"See?” she exclaimed, gripping the stick and shaking it. “I even marked the spot in case it was too foggy. It was always thickest around him, didn't wanna lose the body." [/BGCOLOR]

“All right, fair.” Jack looked around again. “Maybe, maybe the bottle didn’t work after all?” He removed his battered tricorn and scratched his scalp. “Maybe you just knocked him out and...”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]"He was dead!” she insisted. “I checked his pulse, I [/BGCOLOR]know [BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]he was dead! Dead bodies don't just up and walk away, and who was going about at this time of night that would've just carried him off like that?"[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Hm.” Replacing his hat, Jack stroked his chin in thought. “I mean, Resurrection Mendo their work at night, but the ground’s damp and I don’t see any cart tracks. Besides, that’s more of a city thing.” He looked around again. “Not wolves, either. There’d still be traces.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Idly, he gnawed at the corner of a nail. “All right. Maybe he wasn’t as dead as he thought? The bottle’s for making zombies, after all. Maybe his body just sort of, I don’t know, wandered off?” He caught Jenny’s expression. “Don’t give me that, love. It’s not even the strangest thing we’ve seen.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]-*-[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]doN’t GIve mE thAt, lOvE iT’s noT eVen THE stRaNGesT THinG wE’Ve sEEn[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]The words seemed to ebb and flow like water, volume rising and falling as he drifted around them. The people who’d rescued him when his ship was sinking. He was floating above them, drifting like he was on the water, seeing them clearly despite the darkness.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Nat?”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]The voice was distant, insistent. “Nat, love?” An increasing urgency, and a strange sense of motion. “Nat! Please! Please, God, wake up!”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]He opened his eyes into the darkness of his cozy bedroom. Marie was shaking him, fear slowly fading into relief as he looked at her. “Oh, thank God!” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around him.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Huh? What, what’s wrong?” He slid his arms around her, hissing at a pins and needles sensation on his limbs.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“You...” she sniffed. “You were so, so... still. And, and cool to the touch.” She burrowed her head into his shoulder. “It’s silly, now. But, but I was afraid you, you were dead.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“No,” he assured her, trying not to think of the light he’d dreamed of when he lay drunk in the ditch (he had been drunk, right?), the light that had called to him. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
Jenny folded her arms across her chest and cocked and eyebrow, lips pursed. "Wandered off?"


“Don’t give me that, love. It’s not even the strangest thing we’ve seen.” John looked just as disdainful.

"Look." Jenny tossed the stick away into the tall grass on the side of the road. "You may be used to dead men getting up and wandering off, but as far as I've ever seen the dead stay dead."

She sighed and kicked a rock. The night wind blew gently at her hair and with a noise of impatience she pushed it out of her face as she tried to think. Clearly it wasn't impossible that Nat had gotten up on his own and wandered off. But if she were a half-baked zombie who didn't know what was going on... Where would she go?

"Home." Jenny looked over at her husband. "The bartender said his house was the last on the Paris road, right? And he was coming toward me when I found him; we haven't passed his house yet. It only makes sense that he'd go home before anywhere else." She exhaled sharply through her nose and frowned. "But what do we do when we find him?"
 
[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Look." Jenny tossed the stick away into the tall grass on the side of the road. "You may be used to dead men getting up and wandering off, but as far as [/BGCOLOR]I've[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)] ever seen the dead stay dead."[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Jack didn’t reply, beyond s tilt of the head and a cocked eyebrow. Eventually, she sighed and kicked a rock down the road. “[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Home." [/BGCOLOR]

“Hm?” He blinked at that. “What?”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Jenny looked over at her husband. "The bartender said his house was the last on the Paris road, right? And he was coming toward me when I found him; we haven't passed his house yet.”[/BGCOLOR]

“Right,” he agreed, nodding as he began seeing the sense of her words. “So that means...”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“It only makes sense that he'd go home before anywhere else." She exhaled sharply through her nose and frowned. "But what do we [/BGCOLOR]do [BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]when we find him?"[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Well...”. Jack scratched his chin. “Maybe we don’t have to do anything?” He held up a hand, forestalling her reply. “I mean, it looks like everything’s clearing itself up. So we might be done here. Just... just make sure he’s up and walking, and that it’s really him walking around in his body, and call it a job well done.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Glancing at the stick, Jack peered along the road. “I mean, if he’s got his body back, then everything worked out. Right? So, let’s just go have a look and make sure everything’s all right.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]-*-[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Are you all right?” Marie gasped, shifting beneath him. “You... you’ve never done anything... like that. Before.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Still trying to catch his own breath, Nat started guiltily. “Are... are you all right?”Her embrace in the darkness had led to affection, and then to desire, and then to.... blessed Virgin. He’d roughly mounted her, one hand gripping her throat, using her like a whore instead of... [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]She shifted beneath him, encouraging him to roll to one side and ruling against him. “Very much so,” she purred. “Perhaps I should wake you more often?”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Nay wrapped his arms around her gently. “Good.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Mmm. Better than good.” He could heat the satisfied smile in her voice. “What inspired that?”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]I felt cold inside, he thought. Cold, and numb, and wanted to feel. “You did,” he murmured, trying to believe it. He felt himself stirring as her rump moved against him.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“I am definitely waking you up more often,” she laughed. She eyed the window critically, noting the slight touch of pink in the night sky. “Perhaps I could inspire you once more, before we have to attend to chores?”[/BGCOLOR]
 
"You don't think we should, y'know... Open the bottle?" The sky was beginning to lighten and the stars to disappear as they plodded along, unsure of which house would be the last. The gaps between them were getting longer and longer. "Make sure his soul made it back?"

There was a small cottage ahead, and several dozen yards past that was a sign marking city limits. This had to be the place then. With a dubious look at her husband, Jenny led the way to cautiously peer into windows. A sitting room, a nursery, all quiet and still. The baby was sleeping soundly, thumb in his mouth. Jenny smiled at their many-times-great-grandson; suddenly all of this trouble seemed worth it to keep him safe. With a gentle sigh she turned and led the way around the back of the house and to the other side to peer into the last room with windows.

Nat certainly seemed alright. His chest was flat against his wife's back, muscles moving under his skin moving with each hard thrust while he pinned both of her wrists to the wall with one hand. The other gripped her throat, and even though the heavy leaded panes they could hear his panting grunts of exertion and her cries of pleasure. In an effort to tear her gaze away from the woman's swaying breasts and undulating hips, Jenny exchanged a look with her husband.

"He certainly looks alright," she muttered.
 
“Yes,” Jack agreed. “He certainly looks alive.” A grunting gasp echoed from inside the room. “Seems hard to dispute.”

There was a temptation to stay and watch. It was a thing they’d been doing recently, to spice up a perfectly servicible but increasingly routine sex life. But they had work to do. So he caught Jenny’s arm and pulled her away from the window. “So,” he began, “Do you reckon the bottle worked and he just sort of slipped out? Or do we need to bottle him again?”

He eyed the scenery, noting a distinct lack of supernatural fog. “I mean, it really does look like everything worked as planned, even if he is manage to slip the bottle.”
 
Jenny chewed her lip and looked around. Things certainly seemed fine. The weather was clear, the foreboding feeling was gone, and Nat was very much alive and enjoying himself. And yet...

It couldn't be that easy. Could it? Jenny was left with an anxious feeling, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Nat to suddenly drop dead, or for Will to descend upon them to scold and take Nat then throw them both in the Locker. She looked toward the window, then back at John.

"Maybe uncork it just in case," she suggested. "No sense in interrupting them, but...y'know... We ought to be close enough. Just enough that he doesn't wind up soulless."

It was a good compromise, she thought. They didn't appear to need to bottle him again, but just in case some part had gotten stuck it could fix itself.
 
“[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Maybe uncork it just in case," she suggested. "No sense in interrupting them, but...y'know... We ought to be close enough. Just enough that he doesn't wind up soulless."[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)] [/BGCOLOR]

There was a whimpering cry of pleasure from inside. “Yeah, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” John agreed.

Carefully, he lifted the bottle from Jenny’s belt and unstoppered it. Then, moving quietly, he laid it on its side with the mouth pointing into the room. Inside, Nat pulled his wife against his chest, cupping her breasts as he drove into her. Jack watched for a moment, then pulled back against the wall. “Did it do anything?”

Nat’s wife cried out, followed by a guttural gasp from Nat. Jack looked at his own wife. “All right, I think it’s safe to officially declare him alive,” he grinned. “Let’s get out of here, before anyone spots us and asks any awkward questions.”

-*-

The rising sun struck blood and gold from the waters of the harbor as Jack made his way up the gangplank. It had been a delightful walk, reminding him of the good parts of their life together in Dover - the smell of the sea, the sounds of sheep and cattle as they stirred to wakefulness, the scent of dew in the grass. And, of course, the complete and utter lack of incursions from the Other Side.

“Mission well and truly accomplished!” he declared, pulling up the gangplank. “Remind me not to trust bokors, though. She really misled us on how that bottle worked.”

Stowing the gangplank, he leaned against the railing and stared at the waking town. “Where does the manifest say we’re bound for now? Anywhere in particular?”

-*-

Nat sat on his bed, staring at his hands. They looked... unreal. Like they weren’t his hands any more. It was like looking at them from a distance. They clearly were his hands - his fingers flexed when he commanded them. But still, he felt like a passenger in his own body.

“Mmmm,” Marie purred, sitting up and leaning against his back. “What did you drink last night? Because you should get it more often.”

He could feel her bare body sliding against his, lubricate by the sheen of sweat from their lovemaking. Feel her hands exploring his chest. But still, it felt distant. “Just a bottle,” he murmured.

She cupped his chin and drew his lips to hers. As the kiss deepened her free hand found his hardening cock, still sticky from her, and stroked it to life. He leaned her back, rising up to watch her face as he entered her again. “Marie,” he gasped, stroking into her.

“Nat,” she gasped, back arching to take him. “Oh, oh God, Nat...”

He could feel her clenching around him as he moved within her, but it felt... disconnected. Like last night, when he’d drove them both hard in an effort to feel normal. But he didn’t, not in the slightest. So he drove harder, pounding into her, seeking to feel her properly.

She cried out, nails digging into his back as she moved against him. Curse her! How could she feel so strongly? His hands slid up her body, caressing her throat. Then his fingers dig into the smooth skin, thumbs digging into her. Her eyes went wide as she struggled for breath, hands clawing at his wrists and arms and chest. She mouthed words, begging and pleading, and he tightened his grip in response.

She went limp as he climaxed, arms dropping to the mattress as he spent himself into her. The light leaving her eyes made him roar out his pleasure, the feeling of orgasm like nothing he’d experienced before. For a moment, just a moment, he felt normal again.
 
Detroit
May 1813

“I’m really not sure who I should be rooting for,” John said, sipping his beer. “I mean, I’m English. So maybe I should be cheering them on?” He chuckled. “But then, it’s hard not to admire the way the Colonials blackened their eye back in 89.”

Setting his empty mug on the deck, he tose and leaned on the rail. From the sterncastle he had a good view of the harbor and the expanse of Lake Eire. Not where he’d expected the manifest to lead them, mind. But there’d been a bit of a slaughter on the lake when the British had captured Detroit, and more was coming soon. So they’d wintered in the occupied city, watching the tensions build between Colonists - Americans, they called themselves - and the Redcoats.

“I hope they manage it again,” he decided. “The Crown hanged too many good men for my tastes. Some scoundrels as well, but a lot of good men. Be nice to see them taken down a peg or two.”

Shaking his head, he spun and leaned back against the rail. “Looks like we’re still waiting to fulfill our office, so we’ve got time on our hands.” A shrug. “Aurinda De Lorean sent round an invitation to a social she’s hosting at her estate - addresses to Captain and Mrs. Johnathan Crane.” A grin. “Looks like claiming to be a New York merchant trapped here by the war is paying off. Want to go?”
 
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