The Pirate and the Soldier Boy

Chapter 12

Carmen lay in her cell that night, face still a mask of dried blood. Sam rushed to the edge of the bars as soon as his shift at her cell came again. "Carmen. I'm so sorry. This was the only way I could help you."

The sorrow was evident in his tone as he whispered, afraid to be heard by the guard who had been stationed across the hall. Carmen replied with a bit more false cheer than normal. "I've had worse beatings." She paused. "Well, maybe not. Anyway soldier boy, you gonna get me a cloth to clean this off or what?"

Sam stood to go. She could hear him whisper as he left. "I didn't mean the beating."

When he returned with a clean wet rag and roll of bandage, Carmen was very grateful for the prison's affinity for keeping the medical supplies clean, if nothing else. She sat up and managed to pull herself over to the bars. She held out her hand for the rag and Sam handed it to her reluctantly, knowing what lay ahead for her. Carmen carefully rubbed at her cheekbone. The pain was almost as bad this time as it had been when she actually received the cuts. She winced involuntarily and let out a whimper of pain as she scrubbed slightly harder and the dried blood pulled on and reopened the cut.

Sam had watched all this with trepidation and pain worn clearly on his face. He reached through the bars and placed a hand over the rag. Carmen pulled away and turned so she wasn't facing him. "Carmen, you're killing yourself."

She didn't speak. The rag fell to her lap and she leaned backwards so she was laying on her back with her legs crossed. "I have to stop, or I will end up crying, and that never helps."

They sat silently. Finally Sam spoke as he sat on the ground, outside the bars. "There's no shame in crying, Carma. Crying, caring, loving, that all shows you're human. Though maybe don't cry too much right now. It makes your face bleed more."

Slow tears leaked out of her eyes as she laughed. The salt stung her cuts, and she took a deep breath. Sitting up, she turned back to face him. He pulled the cloth from her hand and reapplied it gently to Carmen's cuts and bruises. It still hurt more than anything. She clenched her teeth and held onto the bars of her cell as if her life depended on it. Sam's hand rested on top, comforting her pain. She was tempted to shake it off but hurt too much for that much effort. "Sam, remember when we first met and you promised never to hold me hostage at knife point again?"

He smiled. "I thought you'd bring that up. Obviously I failed in my promise."

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. "Sam, before you held a knife to me and almost broke my arm... why did you-"

He shushed her. "You show too much emotion with your face when you talk. You'll end up pulling out my fantastic stitches."

He finished his work, daubing some antiseptic on a smaller cut and wiping away the excess with his thumb. His hand lingered near her face, then tucked a stray strand of hair into Carmen's bandanna. She leaned forward and put a hand on his cheek, kissing him lightly before pulling back and standing.

She carefully watched the soldier opposite, who was silently observing the two with humor in his eyes. Sam stood and returned to his post. The soldier let out a bark of laughter before looking out the window at the sun and leaving for break, his replacement yet to come. As soon as he left Sam sat back on the ground, leaning against the wall, pretending to have been napping on the job. Carmen unlocked the door. It creaked slightly on its hinges and she winced, slipping through the opening it left into the lowly lit corridor. She turned to leave and heard a voice behind her. "No goodbye?"

She turned and looked at Sam. His head still rested against the wall and his eyes were closed, crooked smile on his lips. Carmen contemplated granting his request, but turned and left, dropping Jenna's letter in his lap as she went. Scrawled on the back was a note from her to Sam, one she had scribbled earlier in the day. I read simply: "Goodbye, Sam. Don't come find me, it's no use throwing away the life you have. And if it's any comfort, I don't hate you. Thank you."

She had scribbled out the middle. It sounded awkward and stunted enough without that. Carmen slipped through the prison, safely disguised in Sam's jacket, and through the dark town. She apologized quietly as she stole a cured ham and a loaf of bread from a house that had left the window open, and strapped on her sword, recovered from the prison.

She was half a mile along a deserted road before she realized she still wore Sam's blue and white army jacket. But by then the lights in the town had turned on, searching for the escaped prisoner. She hugged the jacket closer, glad for the warmth and false sense of protection it gave her as she put more distance between her and the chaos behind her. At least she would almost have a friend watching over her as she went.

When daylight came Carmen moved to the side of the road and dug a hole in the snow under a bush. Wrapping the jacket around her, she slept.