Chapter Text
Alex felt a hollow, rotten feeling entering his stomach as he took his first few steps on dry land. The docks were crowded with people. People wrapped in thin, hole-ridden shawls, around their shoulders, around their heads, their sunken eyes peering out, squinting beneath the harshness of the pure white, cloud laden sky. People holding wailing babies, babies that squirmed and reached out and tugged at anything and everything passing by. Children, alone, with bruises, cuts, matted hair. People who looked far worse off than him, with his dirty clothes that practically hung off his thin frame, with his sickly complexion reflecting the consistent seasickness he'd endured on his voyage. These people looked worn down, eroded. Many of them carried lumpy pouches slung over their hunched shoulders, but they didn't walk with purpose, like they were carrying something somewhere. They just stood, staring out at the ships.
Horrified, he turned back to the man who had helped him, hidden him, let him stow away on a ship he had no right to be on, named James Reynolds. The man had offered to accompany him to shore, saying "The Captain won't even notice I'm gone, got shore leave to spare this time 'round anyway. He'll reckon I'm off to see the wife early."
"I don't understand." Alex muttered to him, eyes still flitting over the crowds as they made their way through. Was America not the land of opportunity? He didn't understand. But his words were too soft and the people were too loud for James to hear him, so he didn't slow, he didn't acknowledge Alex, and Alex had to walk quickly so as not to lose his friend(?) in the crowd.
After a few minutes of elbowing and muttered apologies, Alex made it out of the conglomeration of people, right on James' tail, and onto a narrow, sandy street at the center of what seemed to be a barren, abandoned military outpost. They kept walking and Alex noticed the American flag painted on every door they passed, but no one came in or out of any of them. At a few doorways, people were huddled together, hunched over plates of unidentifiable food. James, with his long strides, walked ahead of Alex without even sparing the people a glance, until he stopped in front of one of the doors, where a young girl sat, nursing a nasty gash below her eye.
He stared down at her. Alex watched. It didn't take words, only a few moments of staring, for her to scramble away, trying her best to keep one hand on her face as she wobbled off on clearly unstable legs.
"This isn't where I live." James said, opening the door. "Shore office. Gotta check in so as it's on record I'm back. It'll only take a second, you can wait out here."
"Oh." Alex said. "Okay." He wrapped his arms around himself absently as he waited for James. Numb confusion flooded his mind as he looked out over the desolate town.
When James stepped out of the office, Alex turned to him and spouted out the question that had been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "James, where am I supposed to go?"
Reynolds eyes, Alex had noted early on, were grey. They'd been warm and sympathetic, despite the colorlessness, when he'd approached him with his story and asked for help, back in Nevis. But now, they were only dead. The only hint of life in them was the tint of a sarcastic glimmer, an extension of the smirk he now wore.
"Y'know, kid." He began, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You're welcome to stay with me. I know it's intimidatin' takin' root in a new place. Soil's not too wecomin' here, either, if you hadn't noticed. Why 'on'tcha stay with me? Sound alright?"
"Really?" Alex questioned, voice pitched high. Something in his gut was twisting, telling him something was wrong, and his question came out doubtful. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, really? You- you don't have to do that, I-"
"Really, kid. I've come to like ya, I believe. Got nice hair, too, y'know. C'mon, I don't live far."
Reynolds was already taking long strides back towards the throngs of people at the docks, before Alex could open his mouth to say another word. Absently touching his hair and furrowing his brows at the odd comment, Alex rushed after him. His gut may have felt weird, but he didn't have anywhere to go, James was the only familiar thing in this place, and the rug had been pulled from beneath his feet by the strange place he'd found himself and how different it was from what he had read about America. Logically, this was a generous offer. It was good, it had to be good, it was definitely good, and Alex would be completely and massively foolish not to take it.
They went back through the people and this time walked until the crowds thinned out and they were making their way along another road, this one with sparse trees alongside. Right as Alex was beginning to calm, breathing in the much nicer air that took the place of the smell of dirty people, he saw a man on the side of the road holding a wooden sign, with blood red words slashed across it like a judgement message.
"Welcome to America
Where violence and bloodshed haunt us
Promises of peace and prosperity taunt us
Congress continues to flaunt us
Promoting freedom that only costs us
To gain power that only collects dust
In a court the people cannot trust"
Alex stumbled as he walked, reading over the words. They jabbed at that pit in his stomach, which was beginning to now feel like a deep, rotten cavity. An infected cavity, in a tooth that would inevitably need to be pulled. But what truly drove the feeling deep into his core was the face of the man holding the sign. Grim, hardened. He looked more statue than man, as though he'd been standing there for centuries, in a society that wasn't even centuries old.
Noticing that he had fallen behind, Alex jogged to catch up, but not before the man behind the sign caught his eye and raised his eyebrow in some sort of unreadable expression. An expression, nonetheless, that Alex had a feeling he'd be able to recall as vividly as if it were still right in front of him for a very long time.
Reynolds didn't talk as they walked, and he walked fast. Alex gave up on walking beside him and trailed behind. By the time they were close to James' home, he was out of breath.
It was an isolated spot. Dull green hills rolled over the land, and sickly looking animals grazed sluggishly across them. A lopsided, wooded fence sat around the house, but a section of it was collapsed. it looked like it had been that way for a while, though, with the way the grass grew around it. There were woods in the distance, on nearly all sides, even though just a moment ago Alex had been able to see buildings, some kind of actual civilization, in the distance. He supposed they must have sunken beneath the landscape.
And there sat a small cabin. It looked cold. Well, it looked like it, itself, was a source of cold. Like it emanated cold.
The windows didn't hold curtains, Alex could see inside, and inside was dark, lifeless, dead. The porch sagged. It groaned with James' first step onto it, and with every single step that followed to the very top. Alex did not follow. He stood, trying to quell the nausea threatening to take over. At the top of the steps James turned to look at Alex, his expression dark and somehow sated, and... intimidating.
Alexander gulped, throat dry. "Where- where is your wife?" He asked. "Is she not home?"
"Alexander, what are you talking about? I don't have a wife." James smiled down at him.
"My wife, Maria, is back home with the two kiddies. She's a good woman."
"Oh, you speak French? Maria speaks French, she would like you. She's a smart woman."
"The Captain won't notice I'm gone. He'll reckon I'm off to see the wife early."
"No- No, you said-"
"I didn't say anything about a wife, Alex." James started back down the stairs. "You're tired, and I'm tired, and you're keeping us out here for no reason. It's gonna get dark soon. Animals're gonna be out soon."
Alex took a step back, but stilled himself. "Maria." He said, firmly. "You said you have a wife named Maria. What's going on?"
James started laughing, a stilted, flat sort of laugh. "You really are tired. Now come inside, Alex." He gripped Alex's arm tight. When had be come all the way back down the stairs? "It's been a long voyage, and taking care of you's made it even longer, so come on now."
"No! I kindly thank you for- for the offer, but I need to go."
James' grip only tightened. "That's downright ridiculous, Alex. You don't have anywhere else to go. You're a bastard, orphan, son of a whore, you think anyone else is gonna take you in? You're gonna starve on the streets, bud. 'Sides, like I said, animals are gonna be out soon and the animals here will rip you to shreds in four seconds flat."
He's right. Oh, lord, he's right. Alex receded into his mind of fear, forgetting to fight as James hauled him up onto the porch and in the front door.
The musty scent of mold his him as suddenly as the seasickness had that first week on the ship, and it was all he could do not to double over and empty the contents of his stomach on the floor. Not that vomit would be out of place with the grime already littering the ground, but he would prefer to keep his senses as much as possible, and retching up his guts would definitely put him in a vulnerable position.
Finally, the unpleasantness of the iron grip on his arm went away and was replaced by the slam of the door behind him, plunging them both into darkness. Then the darkness was replaced by the unsteady cast of lantern light as James lit one that was hanging on the wall. There was a light clang and scraping of metal, then James appeared in front of him.
"Are you grateful to me, Alex? That I didn't rat you out to the Captain?"
Alex stared at him, his nostrils flared. "You've been lying to me."
"No-"
"I'm not stupid!"
"Oh, I know. You're so smart, aren't you? You're gonna get a scholarship to King's College, you're gonna practice law, you're gonna make somethin' of yourself, huh? Can't even open your mouth without spoutin' that same old rhetoric. Frankly, it's a little drainin', your voice is annoyin'."
It wasn't that Alex wasn't used to hearing that sort of thing. He was, he'd heard that sort of thing just about his whole life. But he'd never heard any of it from James. Maybe it was naive of him, but he'd come to trust the man who had hidden him, even think maybe they were friends. But something had changed. Or he had been tricked?
Alex gulped, again noticing that his throat was dry. "Why are you saying that, I thought-" Alex stopped himself. The wind outside whistled through the cracks in the door behind him, sending a chill down his spine, and he hunched in on himself, hugging himself, taking a moment to consider his next words. "Can I please just have some water? I'm thirsty." He whispered, looking up with big eyes, which he knew, very well, how to use to his advantage. "I'm so confused. And tired." He kept whispering, he kept muttering, hoping that James would think he was going along with whatever sort of mind games the man was playing. Maybe he would let his guard down, he would step away from the door, leave to get him some water, and Alex could get out. "James, I- I can't think straight. I don't feel good. Please, can I have some water?"
James stepped towards him, that same satisfied smile smoothing out his face deceptively. He reached out and took a few strands of Alex's hair, letting them drape across his fingers. Alex did his best to only look confused, even a bit dazed, but not alarmed. He wanted to hold his breath, go stiff, glare, spit fire, punch this man in the throat for touching his hair, but he couldn't, he couldn't. He could only furrow his brow and tilt his head, he could only blink owlishly and look around as though he was clueless and stupid.
"Of course you can have some water. Kitchen's this way, Alex." James took him by the arm again, and Alex could barely contain a growl as he was led deeper into the house, away from his escape route.
Alex wasn't sure what was happening, and he felt sort of silly, like maybe he actually was being ridiculous. But still, he just knew that something was wrong, very wrong, and it wasn't like James was trying to hide that he was not who he appeared to be. The shift was obvious, the dangerous tension was palpable. Had James actually been faking from the very beginning, when he let Alex stowaway? It was hard to believe, but what else could be true?
One thing was for sure. If Alex was going to get out of this, whatever it was, he was going to have to use his brain, not his physical strength. James was a sailor. He was strong, he was rough, and Alex had seen him brutally handling heavy ropes, crates, tools. Alex was... not. Even just James' hand on his arm made him feel dwarfed, so he was going to have to wait this out. Play dumb, wait for an opportunity to run. He hated it. But it was what he had to do.
The kitchen was equally as bare and dirty as the front of the house, but one thing stood out immediately, caught in the light coming through the back window. Dust particles floated in the air, caressing and swirling around a human skull, which sat there like a centerpiece on the kitchen table. And on top of that sat a rather ratty nest of dark hair, lit from behind by the light, flowing down and pooling on the table.
Alex stopped in his tracks so suddenly that he actually jerked out of James' grip and fell back on his butt, sucking in stale air that only made him feel worse. He may have been faking his dazedness, but he was not faking that he did not feel good. He felt sick, and it was only getting worse.
James slowly turned to look down at him. "Now, what's the matter, bud? Whatcha doin' on the floor?"
"You have a skull on your table." Alex said.
James crouched, putting his hands on his knees and tilting his head. "Yeah. He had nice hair too."
Alex blanched. Those words felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no hiding his reaction. There was no playing dumb when it didn't even seem like dumb was what James wanted. He wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was not Alex's friend. He acted like he was in complete control, like he had already gotten away with... whatever, like he had done this before. But Alex, Alex didn't even know what was going on, just that it was bad and James was dangerous.
But maybe not. Maybe this was an overreaction. Alex took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to rationalize. Maybe James hadn't done anything. Maybe the skull was an item of remembrance of a loved one. Maybe he was reading way too far into everything. Maybe he was freaked out from the frankly unsettling atmosphere of the docks, and the outpost.
"Oh." Alex said, trying his best to compose himself and swallow down his fears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get freaked out. Was he family?"
James smiled and squinted his eyes. "No. He wasn't."
Abruptly, he stood to turn to the sink. Cups were sitting right beside it, three, turned upside down. He filled one with water and set it by the skull on the table, then stepped back.
"There you go, Alex. That's for you."
His mouth was so dry. His throat too. It felt like dust was on it's way to coating both. In fact, it felt like dust was on it's way to coating his intestines. He didn't want to get any closer to that skull. But he didn't want to be rude either, he was only here (in this nightmareland, his mind supplied) by the kindness of James Reynolds. And now he was mentally accusing him of what? Murder? That was a slippery slope.. or some sort of logical fallacy, he was sure of it.
Shakily, Alex stood, grimacing as he had to press his hands against the gross floor to push himself up. James seemed to be watching him like a hawk, eyes still narrowed, as he made his way over to the table. But Alex just tried to ignore him and keep his eyes on the glass of water. Not on James' unsettling gaze, and not on the hollow gaze of the skull. But when he reached out to take the drink, his eyes snapped up for just a split second.
It was a human scalp, placed atop the skull. Rolled over and weaved together at the edges, perhaps to keep it from fraying, perhaps to make it look nicer. It didn't look nice, though, it looked like rotten remains and unkempt, dried out hair barely even hanging on for dear life. Now that he was closer, he could see the clumps that had fallen out around the skull. But even so, the hair was dark, long... clearly had been straight and silky when alive and healthy. It looked just like Alex's hair. Alex was beginning to feel like it was his hair. Was he dead? Why couldn't he even feel his hand as it touched the cool glass of water in front of him?
Robotically, he brought the glass of water up to his lips. As the water flooded through him, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to come back to reality. Then the water was gone.
"Thank you." He said, setting the glass right back where it had been, beside the skull. "I'm very tired. Where will I be sleeping?"
James, in response, walked past him, back towards the front of the house, and Alex perked up, following him.
The light flooding in through the front windows was now a murky shade of burnt orange. Rays cascaded over the tree line and into the room, giving it dark shadows in the corners beneath the windows. Alex's eyes were drawn to those corners. They seemed to morph and change in strange ways, but it was in his head. That, at least, he know was for sure in his head.
To the left on coming out of the kitchen, there were two wooded doors. One was padlocked. The other was not, and was cracked open. Between the two doors was a small wooded statue of a man wearing a hat.
James stepped towards the little statue, and Alex's eyes flitted over to the front door. It was all the way on the other side of the room. Could he make a dash for it? Could he- wait. How had he not noticed before? James must have done it when they first came in. There was a padlock on the front door as well, tightly locked, menacing.
He was not overreacting. He was not overreacting.
His heard began to beat even more erratically, and he wrung his hands, watching as James lifted the statue, which as apparently hollow at the bottom, to reveal a key sat on the ground beneath it. He unlocked the padlock, and pushed the door open, letting it slowly creak inwards all the way before turning to Alex.
"There's your room, bud."
There would be a way out. There had to be some way out. He could escape in the middle of the night, it would be safer than trying to make a mad dash right now. He'd break the window and jump out.
Alex walked into the room, sucking in a deep breath. He'd make it out of this.
The door shut behind him.
There was a light clang and a scraping of metal.
He was trapped.