"I can handle it Peter, I promise." He is reluctant to tell me who or what is his next plan. I have been bantering for what seems to be ages, for just a sliver of his plan.

"I have informed the driver of where to convey us, it is a matter of your judgements." My judgments, if he would just tell me, I would voice my opinion before we arrive. That way we can discuss this plan of his, also my rather outspoken self can keep her trap shut. For the most part of course.

He sits opposite of me in the carriage, my dress takes up most room in this small space, his legs cross as does his arms, turning to the window away from me. Why will he not look at me, has he really no trust in me. Of either of us I would think I have more sense.

Instead of pleading to him, I stayed quiet, not further questioning him on his so very secret plan.

I peer out the small window to distract myself from him, after such a long wait I finally see him, he is much different than I had anticipated. I glance to him watching his light eyes move across the streets, watching as others walk about with intentions of their own.

"Is there something on your mind, that it requires you to stare Evie." His soft curls are swooshed across his forehead as he turns to me, his expression one of humor.

I fight the urge to blush, narrowing my eyes at him I counter his attempt to make a fool of me, "Not every waking moment do I possess a thought of you. A ego as large as yours Peter, damages the mind, atleast for your health I advise you to keep it at a minimum."

His mouth curved into a smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, "You are quite right, I advice the same when it comes to your loud shouting, I hear a bit roughness only to increase with age. It is for your health of course."

I shake my head, "You are inconceivable."

His smile remains as he wanders back to the streets of Essex.

We stay quiet for the remaining ride, I do as he does, watching at every turn, noticing if we go where I have been, as I look out to the streets for the hundredth time, they are finally unfamiliar. We ride now through streets that are darkly lit, as if the sun does not wish to light up such a place.

As Peter mutters that we have almost arrived, my blood runs cold as I read the large letters plastered to a wall, The Gorge. No one visits this part of Essex, no one in their right mind comes to such a place. No one with certain death on their minds, I certainly do not

"Peter," I warn.

He shakes his head, not looking my way, "You promised Evie, not a word." How can he be so calm in a place like this?

"No you were misinformed, I said I would not speak unless you told me, you did not tell me." I wanted to tell him that I was terrified, people talk about this place, nastily, it never seems to have a dull moment. Constant murders, that happen without the pursuer having fear of being caught. Women disappear, women like me, that fit the description of a young woman, not short in size but short and weak enough to be man handled and killed.

He taps the side of the carriage, startling my ever revolving mind, the driver halts, the horse outside skidding to a stop.

His loud protest match that of my own, I only wish I could present them as he does.

In that moment I envied the horse.

Peter steps out, his hand extends to me, waiting, I hesitate closing my eyes. I have to calm myself first or else I'll leave again, opening them, I take his hand. I know he feels it tremble slightly in his own. When he squeezes ever lightly my heart calms somewhat, to a steady pace.

Peter addresses the driver, "You may leave, thank you." He hands him five shillings before guiding me to...no.

This is where I draw the line, first he brings me to this part of town and now, oh no I am not entering that awful place, he can not make me. "No you can not possibly make me." I argue, to no one really he hasn't even spoken to me.

He turns to me, "It is the only way to help your father Evie."

The only way, that is very hard to believe, "To subject myself to this, to these people."

He drops my arm roughly, as if I have somewhat offended him. "Then stay here if you must or go home, your father will understand your feelings to such a place."

"Do not speak of him in that tone? You have no right." My father would never put me in a position as this, he loved me, I was his only daughter, his only child.

His eyes soften, "I did not mean to upset you Evie."

Yes you did. "Let us go then." I walk around him, forcing myself to enter such a place, I chant, whispering softly to myself, "I am the daughter of a high ranking officer from the Royal Navy, he would surely lose his head to see me in a place of this sort but he would surely understand my reasons." Yes well that made me feel somewhat better.

"What are you doing?" Peter whispers softly beside my ear.

I back away from his sudden nearness, "Nothing, nothing at all."

He shakes his head not bothering to question my small almost prayer like chant, he opens the heavy wooden door, walking inside. I follow closely behind.

The smell is what hits me first, the smell of dry rum, of sweat, of the men who only shower in salt water, of women who allow men to fondle their bodies without question, that is what this place is...a brothel. Just thinking the word clouds everything I believe in, if Rudy could see me here in this place, she'd lose her head.

The sound follows next, the loud horrible singing of the men with bottles in their hands, swaying side to side. Others argue, over matters of their own, women laugh as the men touch them, the men whistle after their swishing hips, it pierces my ears.

"You got the nerve comin here Pan!" The voice is shrouded with others, it is hard to see who is behind it.

"Where is Gnash?" He calls out.

"What's it to you, the last I heard you were dead!"

There has been plenty of here says, first the Captain where Peter supposedly lost everything, then there's this man, who says Peter was dead. The boy I once knew seemed all too unfamiliar, still I cling to his side.

"Come on Clay, just tell me where he is!" I stare up at Peter, he knows who this man is and just by the sound of his voice.

"Who's the gwurl?" His words slur, surely from the the smell of this place rum is hardly scarce.

"No matter Clay," He turns meeting the gaze of a man hidden in the shadows of the Brothel. A woman sits on his lap, her arms wrap around his neck as her hands run down his back, he slaps her thigh indicating she need to stand. She slides off unaffected by his way of commands.

She strides to where I stand, her hips sway as she brushes her long dark hair from her face, it only reveals her skin etched with bruises, her lips smeared, her hair which is in fact matted, "You don't belong here sweetheart." Her words draw out; long and meaningless.

"Leave her be Angelica." She snorts strutting toward us, she stops in front of Peter her eyes are heavy with want.

"Peter," She declares. "Always a pleasure love." Her gaze travels to me, watching our hands entwined. She chuckles, a deep yet seductive laugh, she walks around me sitting on another's lap already sedated by another's touch.

I do not wish to know their small exchange, how could he possibly know someone who is as vile as she.

I wonder back to the man known as Clay, he stands slowly finally coming into the light, I try to avert my eyes, his black coat lays open revealing a naked chest. His trousers nearly undone, they threaten to fall to his feet at any moment. I meet his gaze for fear of seeing anything else, his eyes train on me, gliding over me as I did him. Clay, his name suits his manner, hard edges are covered by hair, his beard is not long but neither kept short, his hair is straight unlike Peter's. His blonde locks stop at his shoulders, the light hair is accompanied by blue eyes. Where Peter's resembles the sky, his resembles that of the sea, dark, yet enchanting.

"Miss.." He draws out.

I do not realize he waits for a reply so I quickly address him, "Evie."

"Miss Evie, the pleasure is all mine." He takes a hold of my free hand, placing a soft kiss before anyone can protest.

My cheeks flare, heating at his closeness, "Yes well, if you do not mind Clay, I would like to speak with this Gnash." Where that courage came from I do not know.

His eyes flick to Peter's, ignoring my attempts at speaking to him. "What is the matter of this mate? You know he doesn't like," his eyes cast over to me before talking to him, "unwanted guests."

"I need but a few words with him Clay."

"He's where he always is Pan, you should know." They exchange a silent conversation, one I am unfamiliar with.

"She stays here."

My eyes open wide, he can't be serious.

"No Clay, she stays with me"

He shakes his head, his blonde hair following his movements, "You see that is why, you never made it as far." He turns, his back to us, "Take em!"

"Clay you bastard!" Men rip him from my grasp, leaving me alone with Clay. I watch as the men grip Peter's arms behind him, pinning him to a table.

I am too startled to respond, my fear traps me in a state of shock.

"Do not forget who put you here!" I flinch at his harshness, he watches me with wild eyes. "You just happen to be in the wrong place, sorry love."

Someone grabs me from behind, I scream for him to let go, finally snapping out of my coma of fear. Peter screams my name as the man grabs my arms pulling me to his chest. I push against him but nothing stops him from grasping my neck, I claw at his arm but nothing prevents air from reaching my lungs. My vision blurs as I my struggles weaken, leaving my arms heavy at my side, I feel myself fall. Peter's face of distraught, of anger, of fear, is the last thing I see.

❇

"Miss Evie."

Pain pierces my head as I lift to hear the voice, which in fact belongs to Clay his head cocked to the side as he sits on a wooden stool. In one hand is a dark glass bottle, he swishes it about before taking a heavy swing. He has changed, his hair is tamed and his beard has been cut short, now fully dressed he appears somewhat civilized, I just wish that were the case.

I reach to rub my sore temple, realizing my hat was gone, my hair left in tangles on the floor. I wipe my forehead, the sticky sweat causing my hair to cling to my face.

"Where are we?" The simple words causes the pain in my throat to intensify, it feels as though hot coals were placed in my mouth and I was forced to swallow them.

I search the darkly lit room for Peter, his absence is a weight I feel deeply, "He is not here, Miss Evie." He speaks my name as if he only wishes to say just those two words. It makes me uncomfortable.

"What have you done to him?"

I see Clay smile, his hands rubbing at his beard, when he stands to leave I rush him.

I loose my footing as the floor sways, I look to Clay terror now running through my veins as I realize where I am. He only leaves me, closing the door with a bang.

I hit the door with clumsy fists, wanting to be released, "Open this door!"

The floor moves again, only more harshly, I loose my balance and fall back hitting the ground hard. The smell of salt water stings my nose, ever more prominent as I lay on the damp ground. The sound of another wave hits the wall beside me, swaying the ship. The ship I have been forced to stay on but of course Peter knows best.

••••••••••••••

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-Ash

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