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Blind

Space

Marie

Sexton

The familiar yet forgotten smell of the hallway—

rubber on metal—was shocking. It helped revive me. With each step away from his quarters, a bit more of the fog seemed to clear from my brain. How long had I been

locked in his room? What exactly had happened? I could remember a great deal of pleasure—so much so that

recalling it now made me blush—but little else.

"How long has it been?" I asked him.

"Six days since they refused the ransom. The

Regency agreed to pay for the prince, but they haven't actually transferred the money." His voice was hard. It had distinct edges. He was worried. "The men are getting antsy," he said. "This was supposed to be quick and easy."

I could hear voices ahead of us, the ruckus of a

large group of men laughing and boasting. I remembered Valero telling me the prince dined with the captain. "Will Rikard be there?"

"No. He's taken to hiding in his quarters." His voice was strange, and I wondered why until he said his next words. "He asked for you. I know I should have told you, but—"

"I don't want to see him," I said. He was part of my past. I was never going back there.

"That's fine." I didn't think I was imagining the relief in his voice.

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"What about the other men?"

"We've talked to them all. They have various plans set in place. That part should be easy, but first, we have to get rid of your damn prince."

"He's not my damn prince anymore," I said, and he laughed.

The volume when we entered the kitchen was

overwhelming. After hearing nothing but Valero's soft voice for a week, it was disconcerting. He led me to a table and sat me down. "Easier if you wait here while I get the food," he said. "You know Pierce."

"Captain Kelley," Pierce said. It seemed he was sitting directly across from me. "I was afraid the captain had eaten you whole."

I blushed at his words. In a way, he wasn't wrong. "I suppose I've been out sorts," I said.

"Happens to most men when they're captive,"

somebody on my left said. "Especially when they can't see."

"Most of us have been where you are now." That came from across the table, whoever was to Pierce's right.

"Well, maybe not
exactly
where you are now," the voice on my left teased. "Most of us ain't been between the captain's sheets."

I felt my face turning red again, but they all

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laughed. It wasn't cruel or mocking. It seemed friendly enough.

"Don't worry about him," Pierce said. "Franci'd hop between Captain's sheets in a heartbeat if Captain would have him."

"Not likely," Franci said. "Now, maybe if he had a big, soft set of melons—"

"You're not the only one," a new voice on my right said quietly, and I gladly turned his way to get out of the melon discussion.

"Not the only one what?" I asked. I thought maybe he meant I wasn't the only one Valero was fucking, and the idea filled me with a horrifying sense of dread.

"Not the only member of your crew who's

defecting."

My momentary fear was replaced by surprise.

"Really?"

"Two of your men have come over. And that ship captain of yours might come, too."

"It's normal," Pierce said. "There's always a few.

Either they got nobody to pay their ransom and they choose to join us rather than be marooned, or they see we live pretty damn well."

It made me feel better, knowing I wasn't the only

one. I wondered which of the men had defected, but before

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I could ask, Valero came back with a tray of food. I was used to feeling around for my food when it was only the two of us in his quarters, but suddenly I was self-conscious about it. Still, there was nothing to be done. Conversation continued around me while I ate.

The food was good. And the wine helped ease my

nerves. By the time we finished, I felt… not like my old self. That wasn't right.

I felt better than whatever my 'old self' had been.

"I'm sorry," I said, as soon as we were back in his quarters.

"Don't be sorry, Tristan. It was my fault."

"I don't know what happened to me."

"I've seen it before," he said. I felt him draw near.

He cupped one of my cheeks in his hand. "I knew what was happening. I should have taken you out sooner. But it was so easy to fall into bed with you every time I came back."

Yes, that had been easy. For both of us.

"Tristan," he said, and his voice was strained. "I need you to think about this. And I need you to be honest.

Do you want to be ransomed?"

There was suddenly a lump in my throat. "No," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.

"You didn't think about it."

"I don't need to. I'm not going back."

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"Are you
sure
?"

"Why?" I asked. I couldn't help but be suspicious. I knew I sounded bitter. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he said. He leaned his forehead against mine.

His hand was warm and firm on the nape of my neck. "But if you stay, I want it to be for the right reasons."

What were the right reasons? Was there a 'right'

reason to throw my entire life away and follow him

anywhere he led? To throw away a career at the Regency to become a criminal? I wasn't sure. I only knew the idea of leaving him made my heart clench in my chest. The

thought of going back to my life at the Regency filled me with the darkest dread I'd ever known. It wasn't even an option.

But I could see how the routine I'd been in over the last few days was unhealthy. He was right, of course. If I stayed with him, it meant becoming one of the pirates, not hiding in his quarters. I belonged
with
him, not
to
him. I had to choose to be his partner, not his slave.

"I want to stay with you," I said.

He laughed shakily. It was a sound of relief, backed by something stronger. He might almost have been crying.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tight against him. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

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Three days.

After emerging from my haze, we had three days of

utter bliss. We dined with his crew. I began to learn my way around his ship. We still spent our time alone fucking like mad.

The end caught me completely unaware.

I was alone in his room when the alarm went off. I

was naked, not because I still spent so much of my time that way, but because I was getting ready to shower. I had just enough time to find my pants before he burst in.

"Tristan," he said, "they're coming."

"Who?"

He didn't answer me. He grabbed my hands, and

then there was a familiar pressure around my wrists. He was tying my hands again?

My heart began to pound in my chest. "What's

going on?" I asked.

"I'm going to hit you, Tristan," he said. "Brace yourself."

"What?"

He hadn't been lying. He punched me in the face.

Hard
. Once. Twice. The third time knocked me down. One had been right on my nose, and my eyes were full with

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tears.

"What the
fuck
?" I yelled. "Have you lost your mind?"

"They can't know," he said as he grabbed me and dragged me across the room. "They have to think you're still a prisoner."

"
Who
?"

He shoved me into a tight space. I felt his hands on my cheeks, and he kissed me. "I love you," he said.

That, more than anything, scared me. It was too

soon. We'd never even come close to that word before, and I knew he would never have said it to me if he hadn't feared he'd never have another chance.

"Valero?"

There was a metallic clank, like a door closing, and then there was nothing but blackness and silence. Where was I?

I began to feel around, and it took me only a

moment to figure out. I was in a tiny closet. The door was shut tight. There was no handle on my side. I had no way of getting out. I was an animal locked in a cage, and I did what any animal would have done: I panicked.

It made no sense. I'd been blind for nearly three

weeks now. I was used to the darkness. And yet, somehow, this was worse. My brain knew I was fine, that there was

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plenty of air, that this was only temporary, but it had no power over the blackness surrounding me. The darkness wasn't only in my sight. It was all around me. It was on top of me. It filled my lungs when I inhaled, and stole part of my soul when I exhaled. It was beating me. Erasing me completely. I became frantic. I had to get out!

I screamed. I pounded on the door. I knew with a

sudden and undeniable horror that I was going to die alone in the blackness.

I curled into a ball, and I sobbed.

* * * *

My face hurt. My body hurt. My brain fought like a

rabid animal to stay away from something—some memory I knew would consume me soon. I didn't want to know what it was.

I opened my eyes, and bright white light seemed to

pierce my skull.

I screamed. I covered my eyes with my hands. I

tried to roll over, to bury my face in my pillow, but I fell off of the narrow cot I lay on.

Hurried footsteps as somebody ran to me, and then

there was a hand on my back, and a voice in my ear that was supposed to be soothing. "You're okay. You're safe

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now. Nobody can hurt you now."

It was a voice I didn't know. A woman's voice. Not

the one voice I wanted to hear. Not…

It all came back to me in a rush—the memory I'd

fought to stay away from—being found in Valero's closet.

The voices, full of concern. Everybody telling me it was okay, it was over. I remembered their sounds of shock and confusion as I'd fought to get away. All I'd been able to do was scream for Valero until I'd felt a needle pierce my neck.

After that, more than my vision had gone dark.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"In the medical bay."

"Of which ship?" I asked.

"The URS Santiago."

"Gods damnit lady, not the name.
Whose fucking
ship is this?
"

I could hear the surprise in her voice when she

answered. "The Regency's, of course."

The Regency.

That's who had come. Rather than paying the

measly ransom for his son, the Regent had ordered the militia to take Yima's ship by force, an act that had undoubtedly cost five times more than the ransom had been. It was all about making a political statement.

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"Where are my men?" I asked.

"They're on board as well," she said. "Most are fine."

"
Most
?"

"The defectors have been incarcerated with the pirates."

The defectors.

I was a defector. I was a pirate.

"Where's Valero?" I asked.

Her hand on my back was gentle. I wanted to turn

around and break her fragile wrists.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

I put my head in my hands, and I burst into tears. I cried until I felt the needle pierce my neck again.

* * * *

"Stockholm Syndrome."

My subconscious had been vaguely aware of the

voices for a while, but those two words jolted me.

Stockholm Syndrome?

I began to open my eyes, but the light was too

much. They'd restored my sight, but it would take time for my eyes to adjust. I opted to keep them closed. The voices came from behind me, and I lay perfectly still, listening.

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"What will happen to him?" a second voice asked. It was a man's voice. A deep baritone.

"With time, he should recover," the first voice said.

Also a man, but his voice was higher than the others, heavy with mock concern.

"How much time?" All business, that one.

"It's hard to say. In extreme cases, the victim never fully regains their identity—"

"He wasn't a captive that long."

"No," the other man sighed. "But the severity of his confinement: being blind and locked in a closet. Beaten.

There was a lot of bruising and evidence of, umm, sexual assault."

"Barbarians!"

"Still, as you said, it wasn't a long imprisonment. It depends entirely on Captain Kelley. He could be damaged indefinitely, or he could wake up later today, ready to resume his duties."

A moment of silence, and then the deeper voice

said, "Good. Keep me apprised."

Stockholm Syndrome.

For the first time since being 'rescued', I began to contemplate my predicament.

I'd been asking for Valero, the man they assumed

was my captor, my abuser, and my rapist, since the moment

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they'd found me. Valero had intentionally arranged it so I wouldn't look like a defector. The men who were known defectors were incarcerated with the pirates, and unless something had gone terribly, terribly wrong (and my mind refused to even consider such an option), Valero was with them, too.