…abandon your mission and get out alive.

You sigh as discretion wins over foolish valour. Captain Washkin could be above you right now, but she may as well be a thousand leagues away. You know it probably wouldn’t be hard to escape, especially while you’re undetected, but it would be near impossible to kill her and not be killed yourself, be it by her or the other pirate captain, her guards, or even the merchants. Can’t kill them all, can’t outrun them all. You think of everything you’ve done to get here, not just on the island but the months before; interviews, bribes, threats and good old deductive reasoning, all washed away by the vagaries of chance. Then again, perhaps there was no chance at all, not for one lone woman to perform the job of a master assassin on her first try.

“Fine. You win. Time to go.” You can’t keep the resignation out of your voice as you say it. Perhaps you’ll appreciate your decision when you live to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

He notices your slumped shoulders.

“Hey, you gave it your best, right? Probably didn’t waste as much time as I have. Four bloody months! I’ve done things that almost got a bounty on my own head, just to fit in. Life just ain’t fair sometimes.” His woes do little to brighten your mood. “Come on. You and me, let go get a boat an get gone ay?” He picks up the lantern and walks over to the door.

You respond in a flat voice, “I’ve got a boat waiting. We just have to swim out from the back of the island.”

You can practically hear the grin spread across his face. “Even better. We’ll head out the kitchen”.

You follow him out into the hallway, keeping an eye on him and the rooms you pass, shifting in the darkness brought about by the lantern light. The house seems older somehow, more exhausted. Your feet fall loud on hollow floorboards, lying like old bones, and the faded paint of the wooden walls cracks and flakes like diseased skin. While dust has been kept at bay by poorly inclined hands, it feels like the house wouldn’t mind being forgotten. Perhaps it’s just your imagination, though it’s still preferable to judge the decaying house over your own performance. You hate being wrong, yet you were wrong from the start.

You make your way through the corridor and into the kitchen in silence. Thankfully you don’t meet anyone on the way, especially the maid. A final reunion and goodbye with her would have been awkward to say the least. As you walk through the kitchen, the bounty hunter turns and puts a finger over his mouth, unnecessarily indicating that you should be quiet. He puts the lantern down before going towards the little backroom that leads to the buildings backdoor, pulling a small black cylinder out of his pocket as he goes. With the press of a button, a spring loaded blade pops out of its top, surprisingly long for the handle it came out of and making a little click as it appears. Looking into the exit antechamber, the wooden floor leads to stone and grass, and moonlight mixes with the light of a nearby lantern. The bounty hunter walks towards it with confidence, his shadow stretching through it before him.

He grabs the door frame with one hand and lazily swings through it, concealing the knife behind his back, smiling at someone unseen.

“Hey, Zap”, he says quietly. His smile only drops when the blade first sinks in. He stabs the unseen guard repeatedly, his arm bulging with muscle as it still grips the door frame. His expression is that of a man doing something unpleasant, as though cleaning up some foul mess rather than making one, and certainly not ending a mans life. In a moment, it’s over and he drags ‘Zap’ into the room to deposit him into a corner. There’s a dozen or so stab wounds in his torso, mainly around the heart, and the knife still punctuates the last, black rod handle standing out oddly. It would look almost fake if not for all the blood. The man hadn’t even fallen over during the attack; the bounty hunter had simply parked the blade between his ribs and grabbed his top, swinging him through the frame and into the corner with practiced calm. You’re guessing he doesn’t take many bounties alive.

You look at the man as he chokes out his last bloody breath, admiring the speed and efficiency of the kill as much as being sickened by it. So quick, so messy, and with such thoughtless ease. You would never be able to kill unthinkingly. Do you regret that? Or is there pride to be found in it? You don’t know. As you watch the man’s eyes go glassy with ****, any thoughts of staying to finish the job disappear like smoke. This place, this island, is a world so far beyond the lines of decency; this is no place for you. The bounty hunter looks around outside and sees no other people or problems. He retrieves his knife from the dead man, breaking your vacant stare and giving you a slight jump that he thankfully doesn’t see.

He looks up at you and smiles, whispering “This guy? He was a real arsehole.”

He stands and returns to the inner kitchen doorway, looking around the room forlornly before breathing a sigh of his own.

“I’ve lost enough hands of cards to know when to admit defeat. Still, seems a shame to just leave, dunnit?”

What? You’re about to say that leaving was his suggestion, when he winks at you, going back into the kitchen and beckoning you to follow him. You do, to the door at least, wonder what he could possibly be up to. He looks around for a moment before opening the various draws and cabinets that line the outer walls.

“Er, what are you doing?” you ask, thoroughly confused. Is he looking for something of worth? Silver plates? Golden goblets? A bite to eat?

“Come on. Come on” he whispers to himself, completely ignoring you. After a moment he gives a quiet “Ah ha!” pulling out a loose pile of rags and placing them on a nearby counter top in a small heap, and he doesn’t stop there. Another cupboard gives old cloth towels, and he pulls the ratty curtains off the small nearby window as well, adding it all to the pile until its quite respectable. He looks at the room, illuminated by its remaining lanterns.

“I know you honour hounds don’t like just givin up, an truth be told neither do I.” He picks up the folded cloth you used to clean yourself but doesn’t add it to the pile, instead throwing it away idly and wiping his hand on his top. He walks over to one of the lanterns, “So hows about we leave a little gift for good old Captain Wendigo?”

You watch on, speechless, as he picks up the lantern and blows out the flame before opening its oil reserve. He then sprinkles the oil over the rags and the wooden table top before throwing the rest on the floor and the walls.

He’s about to go to the other lantern when he stops, turns, and goes to the water pump instead, pulling out the mechanisms linchpin and rendering it useless, before continuing on to the second lantern. He carries it over to the rag pile before turning to you.

“Care to do the honours?”

You shake your head and swallow before simply answering, “You need it more than me.”

His face splits into a wide grin before he gives an overly ostentatious bow and lights the pile. The flame catches instantly and you back out the room as he throws the lantern onto the fire, completing his casual arson. He follows you outside, retaining his impish grin as you both make a brisk pace into the nearby tree line.

You look back just before being enveloped by the wall of nature and see the angry bright light growing by the second.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says standing close behind you, “but as soon as she gets out, she’s going to be in the middle of the recovery effort, an if she doesn’t get out then there’s no getting the proof of it.”

You turn back to the man, his strong features dappled in tree split moonlight, and sigh and honest answer

“I know.”

You continue through the woods at a slow and steady pace, him at your side if also slightly ahead of you, until the mansion is out of sight and more importantly, you are out of sight of the mansion. He throws the linchpin into a nearby bush before he looks back at you.

“So, where is your boat?” He holds his arms out, as though it would be in the middle of the woods.

“We go to the back of the island,” you had looked at the stars before they were covered in leaves, and point in the right direction, “down the cliffs, and then swim out to sea until we meet my guide.”

“Yes, but where exactly?”

You look at him with suspicion, “He won’t take you without me.”

He looks at you with a wide eyed innocence that he’s probably been unable to do convincingly since the day he was born. “Come on. I thought we were becoming friends? I just need to know where I heroically carry you if get injured or stub your toe or something.” He gives you his most charming smile and you can’t help but feel your own lips twitch upwards slightly.

“If I stub my toe then you can take me down the cliffs at the back of the island where we swim out to sea until we meet my guide.”

He sighs, “Can’t you at least tell me how far out to sea?”

With a small amount of growing mirth you answer, “About half a mile.”

Silence briefly returns as you make your way through the dark wood. You look up at the stars to keep you on the right track, and down to keep you from tripping. Before long the bounty hunter breaks the quiet once more.

“So you swam here from your boat? How did you know she was here?”

You think back to your early investigation, the months you waited, “I learned about this place from the merchants.”

“Those merchants?” He gestures back at the mansion you left behind.

“No, their competition. I knew some merchants would be dealing with Captain Washkin’s stolen property, but I also knew they would never talk to me about it. I realised that their competition would have invested heavily to find the source of their cheap goods, so I convinced them that me getting at Wendigo would hurt their completion, they were very co-operative after that.”

Those merchants were powerful guild types, but legitimate business men. They will no doubt be as disappointed with your failure as you are. You continue with your tale, condensing all the information gathering into simple terms. “With the location of this island in my pocket, my sources in navy intelligence said a deal was going down involving Wendigo and that she would go to ground to do it. I put them both together and here I am.”

He looks at you throughout your limp account, impressed expression on his face, and when you finish he gives a whistle, “And I just joined her crew and hoped for the best. That’s smart. Real smart.” As he thinks, you decide to ask a question of your own,

“How did that work out? I mean, what was it like?”

He thinks for a moment, “Worthless. They say she can’t be killed at sea and they’re right. Her crew are either too loyal or new hires that get watched all the time and have to work the sh-,er, really bad jobs.”

You appreciate the bitten back word, feeling the lack of foul language increasing the distance between you and the people behind you. You try to clarify,

“No, I mean, did you have to do anything...”, you try to word it diplomatically, failing to do so before he finishes the sentence,

“Anything like a pirate?” He says it with a smirk but it fades as he goes on. “Sure. There were loyalty tests and a hand full of raids, mostly on merchant ships but sometimes on land...I only killed people who were going to die anyway.” He looks sad for a moment before brightening up, “The rest of it was kind of fun.” He quickly looks to you and hastens to add, “er, I mean...sea life. Wind in your hair, sunny weather, clean air, you know. Simple pleasures.” There’s something about the way he says ‘simple pleasures’ that you can’t quite put your finger on. He continues, “If you could forget the crew were all killers and ****-, er, rapscallions then they were ok company.”

Your walk returns to silence as the forest gives way to a grassy field, not flat and ready for crops or gardens, but thick uneven tufts of grass that came up to the waist in some places. In the distance, you see the ground give way to sea and you start to pick your way across the fields, the dry grass crackling beneath your feet. You look at him sideways and try to ask about the event you witnessed,

“Er, about, um...nevermind.” Coward. You drop the subject, face going red as you remember him with the strange woman. Why even ask about that?

“Ha, ha! She blushes! About the only woman on this island whose capable I’d wager”, his laugh is genuine and deepens as he watches your cheeks redden further in the moonlight. “Well if you must know, she was a maid called Misty that I charmed when we were last here, which was about a month ago. A good source of information as it happened, knew pretty much everything going on in the house and with the crew. She likes to get hurt, er, don’t ask me how I know that. Figured I’d take advantage if it was offered.” His grin has the decency to be sheepish at least.

“I..ok.” There’s doubtlessly more to it than that, but you don’t push for it. It’s really not any of your business.

Silence returns as you both approach the cliffs and look for a way down. You see a gap in the rock face where the cliff had been shattered somehow, broken stones and pebbles making a steep slope down, and point it out to him. It’s loose stones would be unclimbable from the bottom, but is probably the best way down from the top. You look back and see a glow over the trees; perhaps coming here wasn’t a complete waste of time. You hear pebbles clatter down the slope and turn to see the bounty hunter barely staying upright as he runs down it, stopping just short of the water lapping at the rocks. He waves you down and you follow him, unsteadily breaking into a run as he did. You’re unable to stop as you approach the bottom, careening for the sea before he catches you, spinning you as you slam into his hard chest, his arms grabbing you and yours him as you hold each other upright. For a moment, the sound of the calm ocean water is interrupted by the feel of his beating heart. You look up at him, his face close to your own and realise you’re embracing, tightly, pressed flat against his muscled torso. Your face reddens again before you push away from him, perhaps a little harder than you intended.

“T-the boat should be up against that island. Er, follow me.”

You swim together through the bobbing water, towards the distant island you pointed out. The current seems to make it easy and before long you find yourself swimming up to the ramshackle little boat you came in on. The old man pulls you aboard with one of his surprisingly strong knotty twig arms, and he looks at you sceptically as the bounty hunter comes up behind you.

“He’s with me”, you say breathlessly and he reluctantly lets the man aboard. Both of you sit close together in the little boat, thighs against each other, soaking wet and dripping loudly. You guide begins to paddle onwards.

“Ye get what ye came for?”

You cannot keep the bitterness out of your voice when you say “No.”

Your fellow passenger argues different. “You got your life.”

With a sombre nod of his head and a throaty “mmhum,” the guide agrees with the bounty hunter.

You sit in silence, slowly drying in the breeze of movement. After a while of watching the moon and feeling the breeze, the man you escaped with turns to you.

“You know, we should work together.” You look at him sceptically. The mission you both undertook has just failed, which cannot be a good omen. “I mean it! You’re smart (smarter than me), but I’ve got more sense than you. I know when to walk away.” He puts his hands up in mock surrender at your glance. “Now you don’t have to become a bounty hunter or anything, and I’m damn sure not signing my life away to the nobility, but the way I figure it, you help me on my cases and I help you on yours, we both win! What do you say?” He holds out his hand before hastily adding, “Oh, the names Sam by the way...”

By the time you reached shore, you shook it.

Over the coming months, you worked well together. His cases were often simple and your contacts within the guards made them even easier. He helped with several of your cases, often finding the investigation to be boring, but vastly helping with capturing the less co-operative suspects. You both split the rewards, earning more in the end due to having more work to take on. He would often make you laugh with stories of his past adventures and he would listen with interest at your methods, the cleverness behind them if not the actual legwork. He would also compliment you with flattering regularity, enjoying your blushes and **** acceptance. Wearing you down.

He didn’t letup his charm offensive and four months in, after a particularly trying case, he asked the question. A week later you said yes. You were hard sold on not bringing your parents over for the marriage, or even asking your fathers permission. Sam assured you that they would understand, being an ocean away. He said that it would all be ok. He was very good at that. It was a short sweet ceremony, but a long wedding night, one you knew he had waited some time for from the feel of it. He showed you just how enjoyable lovemaking could be at both its hardest and gentlest moments.

You made a great team, solving crimes and catching criminals together. It was fun, both during thrilling pursuits and the long nights celebration after. He would often leave the more dull parts of research and interviews to you and take on the more difficult task of catching and transporting people. A month and a half after the wedding, you both took on the case of the Roundbridge child killer.

It had been a harrowing ordeal that shook you both to your core. You managed to kill the perpetrator and claim his bounty, but Sam was never the same after. Thinking back, he may have started to grow more distant even before then. Neither of you were in the mood to celebrate that night, yet he…took you by ****, as much as a husband can be said to do so. Perhaps if you had gone along with it, if you hadn’t fought back, then he would have stayed with you. He could have been calmed by your acceptance and love. Instead he turned more violent and distant and started solving cases on his own, returning in the small hours of the morning, smelling of blood, filth, or worse.

You remember the first time he hit you, accidentally really. He had apologised so much and things were better for a time after. The second time was when he was drunk. He took you by **** again that night, not like a woman, but like an animal. Like a bitch. There were no apologies come morning and you didn’t really need them. Drink turns the best men into savages after all. Your bedroom life got worse after that though. You didn’t understand then and still don’t; you were a good wife and did above and beyond your wifely duties whenever he needed them done, yet he only seemed to grow more distant and violent. Why did it have to hurt every time?

The bump of your stomach was just starting to get visible, so you had to tell him, to protect the baby. He was shocked and nervous, but you could see his happiness through it all. He stopped making love to you after that and only struck you once more, though you admit you really deserved it. He seemed not to trust himself around you, spending night after night elsewhere. You told him to stay home, begged him, bribed him, said that you didn’t mind, that you would use your mouth or he could the other way, the he liked but you don’t; anything to keep him with you. You asked what friends he was staying with and what he was doing with his time, but he said nothing. It didn’t take all your skills as a detective to find the other woman. You cried at first. Cried and cried and cried. But you eventually figured it out, that he was hurting her instead of you and the baby. Surely that was it.

It was five months since your cycle stopped before you realised you hadn’t seen him in a week. You learned that he had left on a bounty hunting mission with his new partner; the woman from before. It’s getting harder to do your job now that you’re not so quick on your feet. More dangerous for you both as well. He had taken much of your shared savings to fund his new man hunt so you’re not sure what you’re going to do for money until he gets back. The rent is due and you may not have enough to pay it. The landlord looks at you lustfully when he sees you. The bald old letch would often stair openly at your tender swollen breasts, sending shivers of revulsion down you. Your husband laid with another for you and the baby, perhaps you could make the same sacrifice? You don’t like the idea. You could always return to your parents but the sight of your belly might break your father’s heart. Also, how would you husband feel when he finds the house empty on his return?

If you...negotiate, with the landlord then you may be able to get the rent out of the way for this month. One month. More than enough time for your husband to return.

You look out the window and stroke your belly. More than enough time...