Kate Hoffmann: The Pirate

He stared down at the book for a moment, then looked up into her watery gaze. "Tell me what this means," he said softly.

"You know what it means," she said.

"I want you to say it, Merrie."

"I-I think it means you can go back…if you want."

"And what do you want?" he asked.

"Don't ask me that," Meredith said. "Don't ask me to make your choices for you, because I won't." A sob broke from her throat. "I won't!"

He pushed the book aside and pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair as she wept. "Don't cry, Merrie. Please, don't cry. Everything will be all right, I promise."

But his words were little consolation, for in her heart, she knew he would leave. And when he did, nothing would ever be right in her world again.

They spent the rest of the day in bed, making love, sleeping, and then making love again. Griffin brought her to completion with his fingers and his mouth and his body, each time trying to drive every thought of his departure from her mind. But no matter how he pleasured her, he couldn't erase the sadness from the depths of her gaze.

Though they had avoided all discussion of his decision, it still stood between them, looming like a storm on the horizon. She knew he needed to leave, and so did he. Yet by not speaking of it, they could still deny what midnight would bring. And with each hour that passed, the clouds came closer and Merrie's anxiety grew.

Finally, as the time for his leaving neared, he pressed his lips against her temple and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. "Tell me that you understand," he murmured.

He glanced down at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. She seemed a million miles away. He wanted to draw her back, bring her close, so they might spend their last hour together as they had the past twenty-four. But he knew it was time to talk.

"I don't," she said. "I don't understand."

"I have left part of myself back there," Griffin explained. "Something unfinished. A debt to my father, and my family name. And until I finish with Teach, I can't live here. I won't be… whole."

"He's not responsible for your father's death," Merrie said.

He nodded. "I know that now. You helped me to see that. But I still have a job to finish. He has to be stopped and if I'm not there to see it done, it may not happen. Who knows how many more people he will harm before he meets his end?"

She sniffled. "I should have left the book in the trash. I should have never told you."

He placed his finger beneath her chin and turned her green gaze up to his. Tears swam in her eyes, but she valiantly fought them back. "But you did," he said, "and it was the right thing to do."

"I don't want you to leave."

"Merrie, I wouldn't leave unless I was certain I'd be able to return."

She pushed herself up and braced her arms beside him, looking down into his eyes. "You can't know for sure whether you'll be able to come back. We're not even sure how you got here-beyond the book. And that may not even be it."

He slipped his hand over her nape and drew her closer, covering his mouth with hers. He drew deeply of the heady taste of her, knowing it would have to last him a very long time… perhaps forever. "What we share transcends all time and space, Merrie-girl. I refuse to believe that we will not be together. If not in this lifetime, then in another."

"What am going to do without you?"

He pulled her down onto this chest and held her head to his heart. "You're a strong woman, Merrie. Stronger than any woman I have ever known."

"I don't feel very strong right now," she said in a small voice.

They stayed that way for a long time, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. And then, as if they both knew it was time, she loosened her grip and pushed away from him, turning her tear-stained face from his gaze.

Griffin pushed back the sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed, raking his hands through his hair. He felt her touch on his back and reached over his shoulder to clasp her hand. "I swear to you, it will be all right."

He waited until her fingers loosened, then drew his hand away and stood.

"Your clothes and boots are in the hall closet." Her voice was even, dispassionate, as if she'd already distanced herself, to stave off the pain.

Slowly, he walked from the room, then gathered his clothes and dressed. He found the leather purse, on the mantel where it had lain untouched for nearly a month. When he was dressed, he returned to the bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed, wrapped in her robe, looking much smaller and frailer that she had just minutes ago. "Is it time?" she asked, refusing to glance at the clock for herself.

"Not yet," he said.

"I can't do this," Merrie said, her head bent. "Please don't make me."

"You can do this and you will. For me. Do you remember what to do?"

"Tell me again," she said.

"Do exactly what you did that night, the night I came here."

"And then what? If it works, how do I get you back?"

"You have told me that Blackbeard will meet his end on November twenty-second. At midnight on that day, you must summon me, the same way you did during the storm."

"And what if you don't come back?"

"You summoned me here once and you can do it again. I will come back."

"Unless you're dead," Merrie said, her voice cold. She turned to him, a suddenly desperate look in her eyes. Her fingers clutched at his waistcoat. "Promise me you won't die. I promise not to grieve if you don't come back, as long as you don't let yourself get killed."

He knelt down in front of her and pressed her hands between his. "Merrie, 'tis time. You must gather your courage and do this one last thing for me now."

She took a long look at him. "I'm going to close my eyes," she said. "And when I open them, I want you to be gone. No goodbyes." Her eyelids fluttered shut, but a tear escaped and traced a path down her smooth cheek. "I'll pretend it was all a wonderful dream."

Griffin stood over her for a long time, looking down at her lovely upturned face. Then he gently brushed his lips across hers, tasting the salt from the tears she'd cried.

"I refuse to hope that this works," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

He smiled. His beautiful Merrie-girl, stubborn to the very end. He took one last look at her face, then turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving his heart and his soul behind.

The beach was bathed in a silver light from the nearly full moon. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the live oaks and the boughs of the tall cedar. He drew a deep breath, the tang of salt thick in the night air, then slowly walked to the water's edge.

The urge to rush back inside the house and pull her into his arms was strong. He turned around and stared at the light filtering from the bedroom window, trying to imagine Merrie inside.

She would crawl out of bed and pick up the book from the bedside table. He held his breath as he saw her figure pass in front of the light.

Then, she would turn off the light and step inside the closet. He watched the window go black.

"It's all right, Merrie," he murmured. "You can do this. I know you can."

He waited, counting down the seconds until midnight. Suddenly, the air around him went deathly still. The night sounds stopped-no crickets singing, no trees rustling, even the waves were silent.

He looked up at the sky, but it was no longer black. The stars had faded into a shimmering blue background, alive with swirling cyclones of light. The wind picked up and the ground shifted, throwing him forward. His legs were swept out from under him and he felt himself falling.

He looked down to see nothing beneath his feet except a great gaping darkness. Fighting back a flood of panic, he closed his eyes and threw out his arms, bracing himself for an impact, preparing to die.