Dear James,

Aye, the captain is back on her feet.

We all knew she wouldn't stay down for long. We're still in Galveston, but she wants to leave port by Wednesday. Robin says he's coming with us.

The two of them are cute together. It's not like they're secretly in love or something, but I think something might happen in the future.

Do you ever wonder about Jesse? Like, what she would be like if she was here? All the other crewmen are getting off the ship to fill up on beer and wander around, but I don't feel like leaving The Fina. I'll fall apart if I see a mother and daughter walking around down there, and trust me. Falling apart is the last thing I want to do right now.

I'm still sick, which sucks major ass. There's nothing good about this.

I'm anchored down to my bed -- if I get up, I feel too dizzy to walk. Now that Liv and Robin are out doing whatever, I'm alone on The Fina. God forbid I die of dehydration or a urinary tract infection before they bother to come back for me.

Eh, I'm not mad at them. They deserve a little time to celebrate. Hooray, we're free. Hooray, we have new crew members. Hooray, I'm gonna sneeze -- no I'm not. Oh, yeah I am.

Crap. I don't have tissues.

Whatever. I'll just use the sheet. Don't judge me, dead man. You don't have anything to wipe your nose on but dirt, and that's a hell of alot worse than bedsheets.

You were always so old fashioned when it came to sneezing. I have your old handkerchief, you know. I didn't tell Olivia about it, because knowing her, she would have kept it unwashed in her underwear drawer for the next thirty years.

Anyway, I washed it, and it's with the pictures of us and Jesse now, nice and clean. Oi, I miss you, but not enough to preserve your snot for the rest of eternity.

Liv wears your shirts, which is freaking weird, but I haven't said anything.

I feel like that's unhealthy, though. Like, if she's going to move on, she needs to stop pulling creepy bull like sleeping with your pillow and wearing your button downs.

Oh, god. What if she's wearing your underwear, too? I draw the line there. I swear, I saw her in a pair of your jeans the other day. That almost pushed me over the edge, but I bit my tongue. That woman is vicious. She will not hesitate to tear my throat out and in this condition? I don't think I could stop her.

What I'm trying to say is, rooming with Olivia is a slow, painful kind of suicide.

But I can't bring myself to kick her out. I understand why she doesn't want to use the captain's quarters, but seriously. I'LL move in there, if that's what it takes.

Feeling nauseous. Too much thinking. Bye.

          -Heath

XXX

Amelia had never felt this confused.

Every sentence the woman spoke brought her near tears again. "I don't understand," she repeated again and again. The woman would give an exasperated sigh and then repeat, emphasizing her words until she finally gathered some scrap of meaning.

But she couldn't respond, even if she understood. She wanted to cry.

The woman had been silent for some time now, though. She'd gotten to work on Amelia's hair, which required some focus.

Amelia looked down at her now manicured hands, at her clipped, buffed and painted nails, at her trimmed hangnails and scrubbed-away callouses. They felt raw and fragile, her palms soft to the touch. She bit her lip. These weren't her hands.

She furrowed her eyebrows with effort not to scream as the woman yanked the comb through her locks. Whatever she was doing, it certainly worked. Amelia looked in the mirror, marveling at her mismatched hair. One half hung in a tangled friz around the right side of her face. The other side laid flat and still, behaving.

Multiple times, she'd caught the woman's eye and demanded, "¿Por qué?" Why? But she just shook her head and spilled out a jumble of Spanish that she wouldn't repeat.

The Amelia in the mirror's eyes glazed over. Her skin shone with the lotion the woman had lathered over her. Her body looked scrawny and pale in its near nakedness.

In the few hours they'd been together, the woman had supplied Amelia with underwear, a bra and nothing else. She had bathed the girl in the adjoining room, lotioned her up, applied several creams to her face, and washed her hair. She'd done her nails while it dried.

Amelia's heart beat faster and faster with every minute that passed. Why, why, why was any of this happening? Where was Peter? Where was The Aceituna?

She winced as her hair caught in the brush. The woman was preparing her for something, but she didn't have the slightest clue what. She'd read so much about the horrors of The Encantador in Olivia's journal. Where was the torture?

Peter's face flashed across her mind every few minutes. Hopefuly, he had escaped and remained on The Aceituna.

She heard screams, but pretended not to.

She could feel the ship rocking and smell the salt in the air. Other than that, there was no indication that they were on a pirate ship. The room had been decorated in red, from the carpets to the curtains. Amelia glanced toward the closet, wondering if there was a red dress inside.

To be perfectly honest, Amelia felt like a pig led to the slaughter. The woman was the taxidermist, stuffing her for a hat.

She pushed the thought out of her head. This was easier if she didn't think about it. Because if she thought about it, this it became real. And this couldn't be real.