Pirate Peril

Sequel to Winter Crisis. I wrote this around 6 months ago, before I knew about this website, but enjoy all the same! Sorry for the current absence of a cover, I'll have one soon, as it is handrawn. And I'll also find the blurb to add.
We join Lydia on her second adventure, as she sets out on the deep when chaos hits home. Can she survive the raging waters?


14. Last Discovery?

Tammy fumbled with the pages of Mr Anderson’s diary. The tarnished paper fluttered in the wind, restrained by her hands. Coffee stains sprinkled the pages and the handwriting’s scrawl got more intense as the maid dug further and further into the book. Mr Anderson had seemed to give up on his discovery spree and had begun to plan something…

Tammy settled on an entry at last and read: ‘She’s going to hate me for it. I know it. She’s going to take one look at me and run, like she did before. I’m doing this to find out what happened and bring rest to the suffering and an end to loss, but how can I do that if I lose my daughter? It’s all so confusing….’

Below it was another paragraph of careless scrawl.

‘I have been offered two digs, one in Paris and one in Cairo-Egypt. I chose the one to Egypt. The Nile route is most likely dangerous, and pirate-infested, but that’s the plan; I get myself captured, find out the information, neutralise the enemy and keep it from Lydia. The last part is the hardest. I would say she’s innocent but I’d be lying. I haven’t met a girl so familiar with the polluting injustice in this world since her mother.’

Never before had Tammy made it her business to understand her employers, and now she wished she hadn’t. To begin with, her mind was blown by why Lydia-whom she always found to be such a sweet girl-would hate her father, let alone what Mr Anderson could’ve done to anger anyone. Yet now, she was wishing she could put the book down, pick up her dish cloth and forget about everything. Any longing to know about her master had now disappeared, like smoke. She couldn’t find a word for what she was feeling. Shock. Disgust. Fear. Not one could fully describe how she felt. Not one could fill the hole she had-and she wanted to un-fill the space that was stuffed up with her recent discovery, go back to normal. Or as normal as normal could be… Everyone hides things. A sock, a chocolate bar, a Christmas present. Sometimes money or important information. But the people who do that have reasons-good ones. They might want to surprise people or keep their identity (or their treats) safe. But Mr Anderson didn’t seem to have any of these intentions in mind. And this didn’t look like a chocolate bar. At all. It was a major secret, the type that keeps you awake at night, the type that breaks people’s friendships up, the type that spoil brand new father-daughter relationships! Mr Anderson wanted to be captured.

Finally regaining her bearings, the 26 year-old pinched the cover of the diary and slowly turned it over. Page by page, her finger and thumb moved through the book. She stared at the next entry in disgust-if that’s what it was.

‘I expect Lydia will come after me and attempt to rescue me, and someone will try to retrieve this diary. I wonder what the disguise will be like this time. It will most likely be a business man, they seem to scare my maid...’

Her mind trailed of, not only was she infuriated at being referred to as ‘my maid’, but Mr Anderson had thought there would be a business man wanting his diary… Did that mean-? No, it couldn’t, could it? Now beginning to understand-but not being understanding-she returned to the entry.

‘…although, I presume, they will not frighten Lydia, as much as that someone would like to believe she is fearful.’

Devils and angels seemed to waging war inside Tammy’s head as her headache weighed down on her. She stood up, “Time to go-” She broke off as a short gasp of pain escaped her throat. The war carried on, the angel was telling her, “Go to bed, relax and do your chores in the morning. Forget all about this.” It said in a too-good-to-be-true innocent voice. As hard as it seemed to erase her memory: she was tempted. “You need to know more! Aren’t you sick of minding your own business?! Do something!” The devil yelled to her. Pressure gathered in her thoughts, threatening to crush her brain.

It was betrayal. It was unreligious. It was bad. But she had to do it. It was wrong, unholy. It was criminal. But she still had to do it. Her wafer-thin slip-ons scraped the carpet of the stairs. Each step seemed to creak more, commanding her not to do it. However, she was immune to them; she had come too far to back out now. A ring of keys twirled in her hand. Having reached the front door (her destination), she inserted the key into the lock. She could almost hear her angel screaming as she turned the key, and it clicked once, clicked twice, and click a final time. So, you can see why she felt she was letting her devil win.

Keys turned and bolts bolted, the house could’ve been compared to Fort Knox-beach style. A lone tap ran into the metal basin beneath it. Drops strayed from the now constant stream hammering the metal, chiming echoes rung around the kitchen. Tammy was able to see her reflection manipulated in the water, and seconds later, that same water met with her face. Her eyes were wired with red and her pupils were ever-so-slightly dilated. The skin of her lids was an irritated scarlet colour. Sticking out at all angles, her hair was knotted, and her ghostly skin made for a perfect-if unintentional-disguise. It was going to be a long night…

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