"No!" yells Carpentier.

Florence and I have reached the beach and the water's edge. The sun is shining. There is nowhere to hide. The one-time officer runs faster than me. He throws himself at my chest and we collapse onto the sand.

The fight which follows is the most painful one I have ever fought. It awakens the suffering caused by all the wounds on my body. My shoulder, my mouth, my fists. He too is in pain. He has gained a number of injuries during the shipwreck. Grazes show that he fell on the rocks. Fresh drops of blood spot his face. Who did he kill before getting near us? Who has died to allow us to live our happy end?

I know not what miracle helped me, but I manage to get the upper hand. I position my legs on his chest and slip my hand around his neck. All I have to do is tighten my hold to kill him. I can do it. He assassinated Gibs. And Nick. He beat me and humiliated me. I have done it before. I can do it again.

Slay.

Sirena's shadow appears above me. I can just make out her face encircled in light. Did I not make a promise to her? Yes, all this killing frenzy must stay behind me. When Florence agreed to follow me, I really believed it to be the first day of the rest of my life. I do not want to give up this dream of peace for Carpentier.

"It is over," I say, releasing the pressure on his neck.

"Never," he pushes me away, stifled.

"Why are you so bent on harming me? Let me go, and you go North. We shall never see each other again. Forget this story. I am offering you the possibility to rebuild your life. Take it."

"No."

"Why?"

"Fisherman. He denounced you."

If there ever was a name that I was not expecting to hear, that is the one. The distress of my wrecked childhood is laid before me. Florence has listened. She sees the despair on my face. The fear. The shame.

I move backwards in fright, as if saying his name out loud could contaminate me with some vile poison. Carpentier and I stand face to face, covered in sand.

"Why... how?" I stammer.

"I know it all!' he exclaims, spitting his rage in my face. January 1733!"

The date does little to help me assemble the pieces of the puzzle. I was fifteen. The age when I was freed from my contract with the company which employed me in Cork. The year I left the merchant ship on which Fisherman worked as first mate.

"And so?"

"La Balise. You met a woman there. Marie Carpentier. And you beat her son for having trod on your foot."

My memories are muddled in my head. My first time, in La Balise. Yes. The harlot and the boy with the cloths.

"What does this have to do with Fisherman?"

"I know everything about you, Kelly. I have been looking for you for a long time. The first mate told me all that evening. Your friend explained to me what a monster you were."

"That bastard was not my friend," I thunder, coming to my senses.

"You killed my mother!"

My heart skips a beat. It cannot be? That terrible night is etched on my soul like an opaque fog. But I cannot for the life of me remember having beaten that tart to death.

"Carpentier... you are wrong. She was alive when I left her. I hit her, yes, but..."

I glance at Florence. She knows that I am no innocent. She is not stupid enough to believe that I acquired my good situation as a pirate without having committed heinous acts. To admit to having committed the atrocities of my past behaviour in front of her makes me feel uncomfortable. Part of me would like her to see me as the hero I am not.

"I am sorry," I confess, as much for her as for Carpentier.

"Do you know what it is like to see the body of your mother, covered in blood, with her throat slit?"

"No, I swear to you. It was not I. Never... Florence, I did not kill her," I plead. "It is the truth."

"Fisherman told me all. He saw you. It was you, Steven Kelly, who assassinated my mother after having raped her."

Is it true? Am I mad? Did I butcher that poor woman after I assaulted her? No.

No! I feel sick.

"Fisherman hated me. He accused me to wound me. I did nothing."

"You admit that you treated her badly," he roars. "How I regretted not having the opportunity to take my pound of flesh five years ago in the whorehouse in New Orleans! If Cook had not been there, your body would already have rotted in the bayou."

He seems madder than ever. How can I have been so blind?

"Last month, when I found out that you were in my town once again, I came to finish the job. I was prepared to spill your blood in the street. I saw your little game with Basselin. I saw how you looked at her. The matter could become more lucrative. When the Anarkhia left the port, I thought I had once again missed my chance. And who should turn up with his tail between his legs to ask for my help..."

"Carpentier..."

"You are a murderer!" he yells as he almost chokes. "I know of all you have done. How you killed Captain Morris. And you kept his ship in memory of your barbarous acts."

"Guillaume... I rid the world of a monster. And I swear on all that is dearest to me that I did not kill your mother."

"No!" he foams, falling to his knees.

He is beginning to understand that I am not the one that he should have been hunting down all these years. I am absolutely convinced that Fisherman is the real assassin.

"So, that is why you cooked up this chase. You did not only want Basselin's gold or to perfect your brilliant career in the navy. You were preparing your revenge."

"When you came looking for me, it was the perfect opportunity to make you pay for your deeds. The Irishman, the king of pirates, crowing like a cock. I hoped to humiliate you. Make you suffer. I have succeeded. And there you are, with her! You have no right to redemption. You'll rot in hell, you devil!"

His soul, too, is tormented by the despicable acts I have committed. Am I his Fisherman?

Florence watches the scene, aghast. Horrible demons soil my past. The veil has been lifted. She is in love with a monster. A rapist. A murderer.

"Take heed, Carpentier," I say, trying to justify myself. "I was fifteen. I was a fool. But I did not kill your mother. Yes, I injured her and I pray you will forgive me."

I turn towards Florence and take her by the hand. It is time to be done with all this. Carpentier is mad, desperate and dangerous. I do not want to do him in. I dreamed of destroying him, but now I feel a pity that I have never felt for any of my victims.

I have been lucky enough to meet Sirena, to be able to repair my broken wings and fly towards a serene future, free from all the anxieties of the past. I want to offer that to the kid I beat up seventeen years ago.

Florence is watching me. For the first time, she is seeing me as I really am. No filters, no tricks.

"I am sorry," I whisper.

"You have said it all, Steven. All that is behind you. Like Florence and Sirena, the Irishman died in the shipwreck. Our lucky star is giving us a chance to obliterate the canvases of our lives. Let us take it."

The tales and legends of my childhood come back to me. Samhain. The feast of the dead. Dana. Life is offering us the gift of a return to our roots.

Florence and I can start all over again.

We leave Carpentier there on the beach. He is crying his past pain and misery. The sand is soaked by his saving tears. It is over. Perhaps he will find peace one day? Maybe he will be lucky enough to find the woman who will light up his life?

The day I saw Florence for the first time, I knew that my life was going to change. Not only in what her abduction would bring me. Oh, how she shone! She literally radiated.

I can see her in my mind. She was on the deck of the Septon. She was observing the port of Charleston, her hair blowing in the wind, dressed in a pale blue dress that matched her eyes. I prayed that it would be her. That she would be the subject of my contract. I had never once dared in my life approach such a sublime woman. When she came down from the deck, I could not help myself. If I had been careful, I would have been content to watch her.

Impossible! I had to talk to her. I wanted her to know I was there. I wanted to feel her eyes caress me. And she smiled at me. I felt a completeness that had disappeared with my mother on that winter's morning. Perhaps men call that love. No matter! My heart, my body and my soul shook with desire for the Frenchwoman with the deep blue eyes. I was like a butterfly attracted by the light of the fire. I wanted to plunge into that shimmering ocean-blue, even if it meant burning my wings. Burned alive by those shining orbs.

Her eyes are the only waves I wish to sail on for all eternity.

Florence. So beautiful. So strong.

That day, I was born again, in her light.

"I shall not let you leave," Carpentier suddenly calls out behind me. "I hurt you as you hurt me. You took the woman of my life, I take yours!"

He draws a pistol. I recognize it as my own. He aims at Florence's breast and fires. No, her splendour will not be soiled by this horror. I throw myself between her and death. We collapse together onto the white sand.

Florence is quick to react. She is not blinded by the sun at its zenith, and she takes out her pistol and squeezes the trigger. The shot grazes my ears. Carpentier's forehead is pierced in the middle. My mermaid's aim is accurate. The privateer falls into the sea. The spume of the waves is already taking away his torments and his pain.

Florence has not been hit. She is so strong now. But her eyes are troubled. My breathing is short. My back burns. My waistcoat is wet. Blood.

I have received in sacrifice the bullet that was intended for her. Is it a mirage? A brightly-coloured bird is flying high in the sky. It is a phoenix and it bursts into flame. It burns.

The pain is so bad.

Lying on the sand, I can feel my life escaping me. Florence leans over me and looks into my eyes.

So beautiful. So strong.

Tears flood her sea-blue eyes. Never, no never would I have imagined that I could feel such an explosion of love in my heart. She is everything. She is my life. Perhaps this means that I am not really dying. As my eyesight dims, her soul radiates the myriad of tones of the passion that unites us.

Sirena, do not cry.

With you I have tasted the happiness of feeling alive. Real. A man.

The warm blood flows from my injured back. It drains into the sand, nourishing the Earth with the last shards of my life.

My beautiful mermaid. I can hear your song.

A thousand signs declined
That traveled through light
Translate this mystery
That covered my eyes

Accept approaching fear
And courage appears
Death is a certainty
It's growing near

Letting go is fateful

Stuck in the light of day
Waiting for answers
A seed that grew into branches
Another page has turned, ended a letter
Come on home and return to the canvas of life

Facing right and wrong
While waiting for life
Can't change this destiny
The curtain's blose by

While your leaves descended
Earth starts to unfold
Come on home and return to the canvas of life

The stains come alive where the paint has gone dry
You float above looking down reaching out to me
Depicting a beautiful scene that shapes divinity

Stuck in the light of day

Another page has turned, ended a letter

I'll come on home
I'm in the light of day

The final page has turned, sending the letter
Come on home

And I'll sing you the song has painted your canvas of life.

Florence, your song vibrates in me. For ever.

Light, at last.

THE END

Excerpt from the song "The canvas of life " by Epica, album The Quantum Enigma. Arien Van Der Weesenbeck / Coen J. Janssen / Isaac Delahaye / Joost Van Den Broek / Mark Jan Jansen / Rob Van Der Loo / Sascha Paeth / Simone J.M. Simons.