Gone – Chapter 21

« Hope finally showed up in February. Kendall stopped one of my punches. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 21 – Unwanted Attention

Hope finally showed up in February. 

Kendall stopped one of my punches. 

I nearly died when he did. For months, I’d been praying for hope. And while it wasn’t great…it was…progress? 

Hawkins brought me back down to earth. 

“It’s dumb luck, nothing more, eh Kendall? See if he does it again.” 

I ignored Hawkins. So did Kendall. Instead, we had a roommate bear hug to celebrate. Just the two of us. Until Hawkins shoved himself in the middle of it. 

I was so happy, I didn’t even care about Agnes yelling after me from morning until night.  

One morning, when the mist rolled in, I went back to Gerald’s cabin. I grabbed a box of pancake mix and some more spices. 

When the mist rolled back it, I appeared in the cold cellar behind the kitchen.  

I came out and walked to the stove. 

“What the hell are ya doin’?” shrieked Agnes. 

“Cooking,” I smiled.  

I made pancakes. I can’t cook, but I can make pancakes, you know? 

Agnes didn’t say anything. She watched, hypnotized by the flat pieces of dough. 

“How do ya-” 

I put a finger to my lips. “My secret,” I said, with a big grin on my face. 

The pan sizzled, and I flipped the pancakes. Agnes jumped. The grease hissed. 

Agnes whined, “I suppose yoo’ll be wantin’ ta serve that too the officers?” 

I shook my head and handed her the plate of pancakes. “For you,” I said, smiling.  

She backed away, shaking her head, “No, no, no, no, that ain’t proper. That’s for-” 

“No, Agnes,” I shook my head, “This is for you. All of this is for you.” 

I popped a huge slab of butter on them. Then, I drizzled the cakes with honey. We didn’t have maple syrup. 

“Eat up,” I said, “Before it gets cold.” 

Agnes’ hands were shaking. She sat down, her hand on her heart. Like she couldn’t take the strain.  

I pushed the plate of pancakes into her lap. I gave her a fork.  

“Eat up,” I said, “You’ve earned it.” 

“I ain’t hungry,” she said. Then, her stomach growled. 

“It’s all right,” I put my hands over hers, “I won’t tell anybody.” 

She grasped the fork and stabbed in through one of them. She brought it up to her mouth and took a bite.  

Her face lit up. Then, for the first time in forever, she smiled. Tears poured from her eyes. 

“Whatever is the matter?” 

Captain Yates walked down the stairs. 

“Why have you not yet begun to serve our supper?” 

He stopped. He glared at Agnes, sitting there.  

“How dare you-” 

He looked down at the plate. “What on earth is that?” 

Agnes didn’t say anything, so I did. “Pancakes, Sir. Agnes made them. She was just testing one to make sure they turned out all right.” 

The Captain relaxed. “You ladies look run off your feet.” 

Agnes and I breathed.  

“I shall have one of my men take the…pancakes out to us. In the meantime, pour yourselves a dram on me.” 

He tossed a coin at Agnes and one more at me.  

Agnes and me smiled and thanked him. He went away.  

By nightfall, Yates was on cloud nine. “Those…pancakes did you call them, Agnes? What a wonderful invention. They were an absolute delight! You must make them again sometime!” 

Agnes didn’t have a problem with taking all the credit for the pancakes. I didn’t care. At least she was happy, and she wasn’t causing me trouble anymore.  

It couldn’t cause any harm, you know? 

From then on, Yates was always coming down to the kitchen. He wanted to see what new things Agnes was trying to make.  

That was a lot of pressure on Agnes. So, she started screaming at me again.  

Bogus.  

One night, Yates walked me back to my room. It was nice, you know? Someone to talk to.  

Then, the next morning, Yates asked me to accompany him for a walk around the fort.  

I did.  

We had a nice conversation. He was so easy to talk to.  

At the end, I remembered I was needed for dinner. I went to go, but Yates yanked me back and kissed my hand.  

Weird.       

Days later, I had a terrible dream. One of something I’d rather forget. You’d think enough time would erase the memory of an old French priest raping you as a child. You’d think God would be gracious enough to take that memory and throw it back into the pits of hell where it belongs.  

My eyes opened. My body shook itself awake. 

I hadn’t had a dream like that for almost a year. 

Why now? 

Beside me, in front, Kendall was still asleep. 

He was worried about Randall, so I crawled into bed with him, both of us fully clothed and wrapped my arm around him.  

“May I enquire as to nature of your dream?” a heavy voice whispered. 

I bolted up and saw Randall sitting in our chair. He was writing something on a sheet of paper.  

“Nope,” I said.  

He laughed. 

My face stayed straight.  

“This disease of yours,” he started again, “Is that the primary reason for your refusal to lie with Private Kendall?”  

“No, the primary reason is that I’m not a pervert. He’s old enough to be my son.” 

I walked over to the door and opened it. “Please leave,” I said, trying to be polite.  

“In time, alma mater, in time.” 

“Why are you even here?” I snapped. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Once again, my mouth would get me into trouble. Hey me, you were supposed to be as uninteresting as possible, remember?  

He raised an eyebrow. “I have been taking an inventory of your pack,” he breathed. 

I must’ve looked worried because he smiled, teeth shining light a lightbulb. “Tell me, what does a reformed woman, such as yourself need with three blades of a very curious origin?” 

I stayed quiet. He began to slowly fold the paper into a small square. Then, he tucked in into his pocket  

“I will discover who and what you are Madam Jackson, make no mistake of that.” 

“I already told you the truth,” I said. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “Did you not…but, why?” 

I blinked. 

“To what end? For what purpose? Very seldom do people tell the truth, usually because they are either very stupid or…” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“Exceptionally wise.” 

I didn’t say anything. “Please leave,” I said. I sounded like a braindead parrot repeating words over and over again without any emotion. 

“You are most interesting, Madam.” 

Oh, dear God, why? 

“Most interesting.” 

He left the room.  

I woke Kendall up. “Get going,” I said, “Or the Captain will tear you a new one. Literally.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

I went down to the kitchen. “Madam Jackson,” a friendly voice called down, “Agnes, a word.” 

I smiled. Captain Yates was a wonderful man. So kind, so friendly. Much better than Hawkins or my roommate.  

Agnes went upstairs, leaving me and Yates alone in the kitchen.  

“Andrea,” he said. He paused. “I am not the most well-spoken of men, but I wish to tell you something.” 

He sounded so serious. What was up?  

“Are you all right?” I asked.  

He let out a small chuckle, “Yes, very well, thank you.” He shook his head slowly, “Always worrying after everyone. Never a thought about yourself.” 

He took one step towards me.  

“I wish to tell you that I find you a most courageous and wonderful woman.” 

He couldn’t… No, I knew what I looked like. Besides, I was over thirty. 

“Captain,” I coughed, “I don’t think-” 

“Shh,” he said, putting his finger to my lips.  

I tried to move, but he grabbed me. “Andrea,” he said, “I have come to love you, deeply.” 

I laughed. I tried to talk my way out of this situation. “Captain,” I said, “You are very kind, but let’s be realistic for a second. You’re a man of good breeding and of a good family. I’m-” 

“I do not care about that. I’ve had my fill of young, pretty things to last a lifetime.” 

He was serious. He was absolutely serious.  

“Andrea,” his hands started to shake, “I want to make an honest woman out of you. Please, say you’ll be my wife.” 

“No,” I screamed.  

That was the wrong thing to say to Yates. “You would refuse me?” he snarled. “How dare you!”  

“You’re married!” I screamed. It was the only thing I could think of. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he whined. “But such a thing can be easily remedied-” 

“My answer is no,” I barked. Suddenly, I didn’t care about being uninteresting.  

He started to tear at my dress. I tried to run away, but he bent me over a table.  

That was it. No more pretending. 

I tackled him to the ground. I jumped up, grabbed a broom and beat the living daylights out of him. “You stupid man. Sleeping with me could’ve killed you. Do you know that?” 

I ran upstairs and back to my room. 

The next day, I was told to go see General Thomas. 

When I saw Yates there, smirking, I knew what had happened.  

The General sighed, bored out of his mind, “Considering your recent behaviour and mannerisms, specifically, attacking an Officer and your immediate better, you are expelled from the Fort. Your belongings will remain confiscated. I give you three hours to make your farewells.” 

I didn’t say a word. I’d gotten what I’d wanted. But, something felt wrong.  

I met Hawkins in the hallway. I pulled him to the side. “Get me one of my swords from my bag,” I whispered. “I’ve been exiled from the Fort.” 

Hawkins glared, “Why?” 

“I’m a woman alone, do I need a better explanation than that?” 

Hawkins sighed. He knew I was right.  

Within two hours, I had one of my swords. The one with painted crosses on its scabbard. I grabbed Hawkins’ neck tie. 

“Oi!” he said. He stopped when he saw me reach under my skirt.  

From down below, I saw both of them turn around.  

I tied the sword to the inside of my thigh with the tie.  

When I got up, I heard a knock on the door.  

It was a very happy, over-the-moon, Captain Randall.  

“I have come to say farewell, Madam Jackson,” he bent down slowly to kiss my hand. “I shall dearly miss your presence here.” He stared past me, at the other two, “As will we all, of that I am most certain.” 

I walked over to Kendall. I gave him a hug and whispered, “My other swords are in his office. If he tries anything, cut him in two.  

Kendall was scared to see me go, but Hawkins didn’t seem to care. Or, maybe he knew something I didn’t. 

Randall escorted me down into the courtyard. The soldiers around us didn’t seem to care either. Good, that meant I wasn’t interesting enough for anybody to come after me.  

I didn’t have my journal. I didn’t have one of my swords. And I was ticked off. But what could I do? Take it by force and draw attention to myself? To my skills? 

That would’ve been stupid. So, I walked off the base.  

Thankfully, Agnes let me keep the dress.    

Gone – Chapter 13

« Shouts woke me up.

Worried, I looked around. The kitchen was pitch black. Then, four soldiers came into the kitchen, they grabbed me. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 13 – The long night

Shouts woke me up.

Worried, I looked around. The kitchen was pitch black. Then, four soldiers came into the kitchen, they grabbed me.

They were laughing as they pulled me along.

I could’ve killed all of them. But, then I saw more men coming down the stairs.

“Do you have her?” one shouted.

“Yes,” one of the four hollered, “Here she is!”

All the soldiers laughed. They dragged me up the kitchen stairs. Then, more soldiers with torches surrounded us. It was like all the men here were present. But, for what?

They led me outside.

As soon as I was outdoors, I saw Captain Randall. There he was, with a huge stupid smirk on his face. He was holding a torch.

Next to him, was the boy I kept saving. The boy’s hair was untied. Black hair fell down to his shoulders. He was dressed in nothing else by a nightshirt. His legs were exposed to the cold. It was freezing outside.

When Randall saw me, his smirk got longer.

“You’re here,” he laughed, “How is she? Did she give you any trouble?”

“Fine, Sir,” the soldier next to me said.

Then, Randall smiled, “Come here, my dear, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

When I didn’t move, he held out his hand, “Here, take my hand.”

I still didn’t move.

His eyes turned cold, “You will take my hand.”

I looked around at all the men standing next to Randall and the five beside him.

All of them were armed. They weren’t aiming at me. They were aiming at the kid. If I didn’t cooperate, they would shoot him.

I tried to think of a way to save him and myself as I grabbed onto Randall’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, “Come, this way.”

He led me over to the boy. Smiling, he turned to the rest of soldiers and raised my hand up. They all cheered and started to yell obscenities. “Dearly beloved,” Randall yelled.

I stared in horror at the boy. Oh Lord, please, no.

“We are gathered here today,” Randall continued, “To make a man out of this pitiful excuse of masculinity.”

I tried to run, but the soldiers grabbed onto to me and stopped me. One of the men put the end of his rifle on my chest.

Randall walked up to the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder. He yanked the kid over to me.

“I give you this woman,” the Captain sneered. The boy nodded, scared out of his mind.

That was when my mouth shot off. “Damn you to hell!” I screamed. Then, remembering who I was, I slapped myself.

Randall looked at me like I was insane.

“Cursing,” I said. Like that explained it.

Randall didn’t say anything. I don’t think he knew what to say. Neither did anyone else.

But, I swallowed my pride and went over to Randall. He just watched me.

“I’d like to apologize,” I started, “For cursing. I realize that by my actions, I may have caused some of you to stumble.”

Captain Randall went to say something. Then, he stopped.

“To the bridal chamber!” he called.

The men cheered and dragged the boy and me back inside the main building.

We traveled down a long hallway. Then, at the very end, was a door. Randall opened it. Then, one by one, he took me and the boy by the hand and pulled us into the room.

Once inside, he looked at the boy and said, “Lie with her.”

Randall gave me an angry look. It meant: do what I say.

I glared right back at him. That made him smile. He left us in the room.

Outside in the hall, I could hear Randall ordering the men back to their duties.

I was about to give the kid a piece of my mind, when suddenly, he started to cry.

He fell down on the floor. He hugged his knees.

I kneeled on the floor beside him. “Shhh,” I said, “Shhh.”

I’m not a touchy-feely kind of girl, but I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him up, so that he was kneeling in front of me.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said, “I won’t hurt you.”

The kid started to cry even harder. Without thinking, I hugged him.

After an hour, he stopped.  

Looking around the room, there were two small beds, one right beside the other. There was a smooth armoire and large wooden chair.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Kendall,” he said.

I moved over to one of the beds and sat down. I turned away from him. “Look,” I started, “I know what the Captain said, but let’s ignore that for a second. You don’t have to do what he tells you-”

I turned my head around only to see the boy taking off his shirt. He moved towards me.  

Son of a-

I got up and beat the living daylights out of him.

After pounding his lights out for a good half hour, I jumped into one of the beds. I turned and looked over my shoulder, “And if I catch you anywhere near my bed, I will slap you silly, you know?”

His black eye blinked and his bruised head nodded, “Yes, Madam Jackson.”

And with that, I went to sleep.

***

The next morning, an unusually cheerful Captain Randall went to visit the happy couple. He was most anxious to revel in the scent of shame and innocence lost that was to be expected. It the most perfect revenge he could have concocted for the both of them. If his Maker was to damn him so, he would thumb his nose at said Maker for all he was worth.

Upon entering their room, which had been furnished on his orders, he was displeased to discover the two of them slumbering in separate beds.

He ripped off the cover of Madam Jackson’s bed and noticed that for some strange and unknowable reason she was wearing trousers.

Enraged, he pulled Kendall out of bed, “What did I say, boy? What did I say?”

“I, she, I,” the lad stammered.

“What did you say?” he shook Kendall, harder, “What did you say, hmm? Hmm?”

“Please let go of me, Sir,” the boy whined.

A force to be reckoned with knocked Randall over. Standing above the Captain was a very annoyed Madam Jackson.

“Leave him alone,” the whore said.

He didn’t say anything in reply. He gathered himself slowly from the floor, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

Once he was standing on his own two feet, he went back to his study and locked himself away for the rest of the day.

He would have that whore make a man out of that whelp and there was nothing his Maker could do about it. The boy could do with a bit of experience and, since, taking a woman is a gentler experience then being bedded by an older man, he prided himself on his patience and ingenuity towards his soon-to-be lover.

That’s when the Captain remembered something. Yes, he had something of the whore’s. Her pack. He had locked it away and never…

Why had he never looked through it?

Disturbed, Randall immediately went to the closet where the sack was kept…

Gone – Chapter 12

« Captain Randall was downright incensed. That woman had violated his rights as Captain. She had gelded him with Private Kendall and now she had charmed General Thomas and the others into liking her, believing her mad and defenseless. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 12 – Reflections

Captain Randall was downright incensed. That woman had violated his rights as Captain. She had gelded him with Private Kendall and now she had charmed General Thomas and the others into liking her, believing her mad and defenseless.

Randall stopped and paused for a moment. A punishment. For his crimes. All crimes were punished in the end, were they not? As the Captain peered our his window, he began to contemplate his life.

Had God sent this woman to punish him? Indeed, someone so uncouth could not be the promised companion. His Maker would have known better than that. It had been so simple, he was to have had Janet. But no, he had insisted on defying his Maker and now look what had become of it.

You foolish idiot. Randall cursed at himself for a good hour. He muttered under his breath. He mourned his fate. Instead of beautiful, fair Janet, he was now cursed to share his fort with the ugliest companion ever created.

He wanted to run and hide in a church. He wanted to beg his Maker’s forgiveness. No, he would not beg. As far as he was concerned, the Wager was still on. Or at least, that’s what his pride told him.

Randall quietly held his head in his hands. He breathed in deeply. Weeping quietly to himself, his self-hatred filled the room, choking him. He needed help. God have mercy. He needed help.

« Give me another chance, » he breathed,  « Let our wager continue. »

Somewhere in heaven, God was smiling. Even though Randall was convinced that his God had never even heard him and that he was doomed to live in damnation for eternity.

At night, Randall would toss and turn in his sleep and wake in fear, helpless to a fate he was already certain was to be his, once he was dead and gone.

In the hallways, when he would pass Madam Jackson, he would keep his eyes straight ahead, as if avoiding a dagger.

When would she kill him? When would the final blow come? He wondered.

Gone – Chapter 11

« Captain Randall led me down some stairs. There, at the bottom, was a skinny gal covered in flour. He cheeks were painted with soot. Strands of black hair stuck out of her bun. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 11 – Hate from the kitchen 

Captain Randall led me down some stairs. There, at the bottom, was a skinny gal covered in flour. He cheeks were painted with soot. Strands of black hair stuck out of her bun.  

“Who’s she?” 

Captain Randall smirked, “I’ve brought you the help you have so desperately been requesting. The General has decreed that this…whore is to be put to work in the kitchen.” 

“Former whore,” I clarified.  

The stick glared at me. 

“Whatever is the matter, Agnes?” the Captain asked. 

The stick’s glare changed instantly. “Nothing, Sir,” she squeaked, “Not a thing, Sir. Thank ye very much, Sir!” 

Randall smiled, “Then I shall take my leave of you. I shall allow the two of you to…get acquainted. Agnes.” 

The second he walked up those stairs, Agnes slapped me.  

“What the-” 

Then, she slapped me again.  

“You stupid whoore,” she spat, “Coming in heere to make things worse for old Agnes.” 

“I-” 

She slapped me twice.  

“Thankfully, most of the officers dinnae bother taking a second look at me. Especially considering my five bearns!” 

“What the hey does that have to do with anything?” I asked. “Why are you mad at me?” 

She looked at me like I was supposed to know.  

She went back to her kneading, tears streaming down her face.  

“What’s wrong?” 

She glared at me, “The men on the other hand, luckily none of them came after me because of that brute. Now that he’s dead, I’m fair game, ye see.” 

I went over to her and put my hand on her shoulder. She pushed it away. “Get your filthy hands off of me, you hussy!” she chirped, nearly blowing out my eardrum.  

Then, she started to beat the living daylights out of the dough. “It’s one thing being raped by one man, it’s another to be raped by a hundred,” she muttered. “It was better when he was alive.” 

Looking down at the floor, covered in flour and grease, I reached for a broom in the corner. Looking over at Agnes, I saw somebody who looked like their whole world had been shattered.  

I shrugged off her hate and cleaned up the floor.  

“You’ll see,” she barked when I was done, “They’ll try to get at ye, too. Men, that’s what they do when they don’t have women of their own!” 

I put the broom back where I found it. Then, I walked over to the table and said, “I don’t know how to cook.” 

She stopped kneading. “What did ye say?” 

“I can’t cook.” 

She raised her hands up to the ceiling.  

From then on, my relationship with Agnes became worse. I slept in a corner of the kitchen until morning. Agnes would then wake me up with a slap. Then, she’d drag me by my hair over to the table. She’d scream at me while I tried to make bread. She hollered when I didn’t move fast enough.  

After a week, she gave up on teaching me to cook. She still expected me to help her make food.  

So, I burned bread. So, the oatmeal was dry, hard or thick as glue. 

After a month of that, the troops revolted. 

Agnes shoved me out into the dining room. The men threw their plates and knives at me.  

Agnes complained to Captain Yates that I was no good in the kitchen. She told him to get rid of me. Captain Yates put me on clean-up duty. That, I liked. Deep under the belly of the beast, I washed floors. Better still, nobody came to bother me. Then, after the floors, I did laundry. Laundry for more than fifty people.  

Agnes complained that my work was too slow.  

Captain Yates threatened to starve me.  

So, I worked twice as hard. 

Agnes told the men I was a whore.  

In the middle of the night, asleep beside the stove, some of the men came to see me. I beat them all and sent them packing.  

After that, I took a knife from the kitchen. I hid it in the side pocket of my dress.   

The next day, Agnes came into the kitchen. She said, “I dinnae want a trollop like ye in my kitchen. One more mistake and it’ll be your last. You can whore yerself out on the street.” 

But Agnes wasn’t the biggest problem. You see, Randall kept my bag in a locked closet. He had the only key, too. And inside that bag was my medication.  

Not the weed, a bottle of pills; without them, my condition would get worse.  

I couldn’t ask Randall, he’d made it clear that he hated me. I couldn’t ask Yates without that information getting to the former.  

After two weeks without medication, I prayed to God that he might flip time again. Back in the cabin, was another bottle of pills.  

After three weeks, I was scared out of my mind. God knew what would happen if I didn’t have those pills. I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. 

After four weeks, I tried to make friends with Agnes. But, when I tried to talk to her all she did was spit in my face and say, “Whoore.” 

Then, one morning, I woke up to find myself in the middle of a huge field with stones ruins.  

A very confused tour group stared at me. 

I smiled. Then, I ran away.  

I found my horse in the middle of a wide field, grazing.  

A few hours later, I was back at the cabin. I ran inside and grabbed the pill bottle. I stuck it down in the front chest of my dress. 

“Go back.” 

I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned around. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Behind me, was a glowing man. At least, I think it was a man.  

“Go back to the fort.” 

I shook my head, “No, I need to go back to the convent.” 

The thing shook its head.  

“You’re needed at the fort.” 

The fort? Why would I be needed at the fort? 

“It’s time to go back,” the man said. 

I don’t know why, but I jumped on the horse and rode back to that field. When I did, the horse threw me off. I landed in a river.  

The next thing I felt, were hands grabbing at my arms, pulling me out of the water.  

Above me, were two soldiers.  

“Slipped while you were gathering water, did ya miss?” 

I saw an empty bucket in the river next to me. I nodded, “Thank you.” 

I grabbed it, filled it and dragged my heavy skirts out of the water. Walking back to the gates of the fort, I looked up.  

There, looking at me through a window, was Captain Yates. He smiled down at me.  

Well, at least somebody was glad to see me.  

Gone – Chapter 10

When I woke up, I was cold. 

A young, blonde man was shaking my shoulders, “Wake up, lass. Wake up, now.” 

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 10 – Old Whore 

When I woke up, I was cold. 

A young, blonde man was shaking my shoulders, “Wake up, lass. Wake up, now.” 

“Who the hey are you?” 

My chest was in agony. I think I snapped the ribs right over my heart.  

Judging by the cold, my guess was the room was actually a cell. Great. Go back to the past, wind up in somebody’s dungeon. 

Bogus.  

“Where am I?” I asked. Looking down at my chest, I noticed I was naked. I shot the man my best “You better explain why the hey I’m naked” face.  

The man ignored my look. He was too busy being afraid, “Where? Where? Hell. That’s where ye are. Hell. And the devil’s going to walk-” 

“The devil, huh?” 

The man blinked, “You dinnae…dinnea tell me ye never heard of Black Jack Randall?” 

My chest was killing me. I tried to get up, but found I was a little weak. The man raised me up and cradled me in his arms. He pulled the shirt off his back and wrapped it around my body.   

I giggled, “Black Jack?” I snorted out.  

The man looked at me like I was nuts.  

“Like a pirate?” 

The man shook his head at me, “No, as in the Captain of his Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons. That Randall.” 

The way he said meant that everybody knew who this guy was.  

“I’m Alex,” he said. The blonde man next to me looked worried. Then, a door creaked. He snapped his neck away from me.  

“Andrea,” I said.  

“Hurry, get up.” He ran to a small table in the room. He moved to grab at it.  

I slowly got up. “Where am I?” I asked.  

“Shh,” the man hushed.  

Suddenly, a huge lump of a man came through the door. He had a huge, stupid smile on his face. He was leering at me.  

Licking his lips, the giant neared me, “Spread yer legs.” 

I snapped his neck. 

I dropped the shirt and took the giant’s instead. Putting it on, I grabbed the stunned young man by the hand and led him out of the cell. 

Looking down the hall, I saw a big door. Pushing it open, I told the young man to make a run for it.   

The minute he ran, I went to look for my clothes. There was no one in the hallway. So, I wasn’t too worried about being caught. 

I went up some stairs and I found my bag on a table. I grabbed my brown dress. I couldn’t find my pants, so the dress would have to do. I grabbed my bag and was ready to run…  

When I heard shouts in the hallway. 

I saw a young boy run into the hallway, panting for breath.  

An older man caught up to him and grabbed him. He pulled the young man into a room. The boy was screaming as if his life depended on it. 

Slowly, I moved towards the room. I saw a spare plank of wood on the floor and I grabbed it. I could hear the older man jeering. I could just imagine the smirk on his face.  

I ran into the room. I smashed the attacker’s head with the plank. I grabbed the boy and ran away. The attacker lay there on the ground. He didn’t move.  

I ducked out the first set of doors I saw. It led me and the soldier to the outside.  

The minute we got out there, we were surrounded. Soldiers with muskets came at us from all sides.  

With my swords in my bag and the amount of loaded guns pointed at me, I surrendered.  

First they shackled me. Then, they started to harass me.  

“What a face!” one said. 

“Old whore!” yelled another.  

They started to try and pull my dress up.  

They started to harass the boy. “Trying to sneak some woman, were we?” 

“And you didn’t even think to share!” 

“Leave him alone,” I yelled, kicking at the hand that was going up my thigh, “I took him as a hostage. He’s got nothing to do with me!” 

The men stared at me. Whoo, boy. Well, guess the cat’s out of the bag now. 

An older man came towards us, he ordered his men away from me. “Your accent,” he said, “It’s most unusual.” 

He started to smile. I think he meant it. But why was he smiling at me? “That’s a noble thing you did just now, trying to save that boy.” 

I snorted, “I think you’re giving me way too much credit.” 

He smiled, “Madam, unfortunately I-” 

“Just do whatever you need to do,” I snapped.  

He frowned. He grabbed my arm- 

“Captain Yates!” 

A voice rained from above. 

“Who is asking?” called the older man. I guess he’s Captain Yates. 

“The aide of the General, Sir!” 

“Is that so!” 

“The General wishes to inquire after the ruckus down below!” 

Captain Yates looked at me and the boy. Then, he called upwards, “It’s on account of one woman, Sir.” 

The aide turned around. We didn’t hear anything. 

“A woman?” the aide called. 

“Tell the General she has a sword, Sir,” the Captain called.  

“A sword?” the aide repeated. He looked down at me. “It was found among her belongings, Sir,” Yates explained. 

The aide turned around again.  

Then, he turned back. He hollered down, “Well, for God’s sake man, bring her up!” 

They dragged me up the stairs and pushed me into a large room. There were seven people sitting at a table. The one at the head of the table, got up.  

He took one step towards me. 

He looked…happy to see me.  

Weird. 

“This is extraordinary,” the man chuckled, “I have not had much excitement all week.”   

The other men were not so happy. Some of them looked down at their plates. Some of them leered at me; like I was a tiger in a zoo. Barf me out. 

The first folded his hands behind his back, “Brigadier General Lord Thomas, at your service.” He went on to introduce the others. By then, I’d stopped paying attention. Looking around the room, I realized I was in every single period drama ever.  

“Please,” the first man said, “Sit.”  

“If it’s all the same to you, Sir,” I started. 

My accent got everybody’s attention. They zoned in on my mouth. The first man looked worried. “You, you, are you English?” 

“I’m from the colonies,” I said, “And I’ll stand.” 

His smile got wider, “My, my, my. Did you all here that. The lady will stand.” 

There was the arrogant superior. Would he be the one who looks the other way, or would he be the arrogant superior who is just plain stupid? 

Everyone in the room started to laugh. I shrugged it off. “Tell us your story,” one jeered, “Starting with your name.” 

I shrugged my shoulders, “Sure, but you’re going to be disappointed.” 

“Really?” said another man at the table.  

“Really. There’s not too much to tell.” 

“I do not believe you,” said the first man. “However, I should like very much to be proven wrong.” There was a small threat in his voice.  

“My name is An-dray-yuh Jackson.” 

The best way to play it was to be uninteresting. In every period drama Muldoon made me watch, there was one character you wouldn’t want to be. The pretty, smart and interesting one. Luckily, I’m no model, so I already had one strike against me. After that, as much as I hated it, I’d have to start playing dumb…Starting with the voice. 

Keep it boring. 

If there’s one thing I learned on the streets, it’s that you try to be as little worth the law’s time as possible. I already lost their interest, so now was the time to start playing dumb. Luckily, in this century, it was already taken for granted that women are dumb. All I had to do was act like that was true. 

Now, I realize that I should want to be the smart, pretty, interesting woman. She’s the one the men respect, the one everyone takes seriously. She’s also the one who’s constantly under attack from handsome, powerful and wealthy suitors. 

But on the flipside, she’s also the one constantly being locked up. Or tortured. Or sometimes even raped. And as for the man thing, I’m a lesbian so…no dice there. 

If I kept it stupid and dumb enough, they’d probably just throw me back into the same cell I was in. Then, I’d wait until nightfall, bust out, grab my bag – hey, they might leave it one the same table, you know?- and bust out again. 

At that moment a man in an apron came into to the room. “General,” he said, “It is my opinion that you are wasting your time with this woman. She’s clearly insane.” 

“Well,” the General said, “Is it true? Are you insane?” 

Casual sexism. Done.  

“This woman is clearly a victim of hysteria,” the apron man said. 

Less casual sexism. Quota filled.  

Room full of yes-men?  

“Quite, quite,” they all hummed and hawed together. All accounted for.  

My fingers tickled each other behind my back. I was so happy. Just think about it, standing in a room and seeing for the first time ever where all those characters came from.  

I kept my mouth shut. I was actually waiting for the other character to show up. The evil one, you know? You know the one. The evil, debauched officer. The one who can outdo everybody. He’s arrogant. He’s a rapist. Usually bipolar, too. 

Getting back to that officer. Where was he anyways?  

At that moment, the boy’s attacker marched through the door. He glared at me.  

Bingo! 

“General,” the man marched to the front of the table. Then, he pointed at me, “I am placing this woman under arrest.” 

“What on earth for?” 

The attacker was panting and holding onto a chair. My guess is that he was still out of it from my blow.  

“For having assaulted my person,” he breathed, leering at me.  

The General took one look at me and glared at the attacked. “Captain, if you got drunk and fell down somewhere, you cannot blame your actions on a mentally deficient woman.” 

The leer turned into a sneer. The Captain started to insult me, “Mentally deficient. Well, now isn’t that interesting. Is that what this whore told you?” 

He leaned in close, “You seem familiar. I believe I recall seeing you at the local brothel… Hmm? Where are you from?” 

I decided the best thing to do was to tell the truth; I’m no good at lying. Besides, my story wasn’t impressive or wonderful. What the hey was I supposed to say: daughter of a noble house, princess, good sister… Good night! Tell them the truth because it’s the last thing they’d expect. 

“Formerly,” I said. The Captain blinked, “What?” he said, “I do not-”  

“I used to be a whore.”  

The man’s eyebrow arched. “Used to be?” he asked.  

“Until I came to life in Christ,” I said. My voice stayed boring. The Captain didn’t roll his eyes. Weird. He looked upset, actually. 

“Are you a nun?” he asked. 

“No,” I said. It’s true. I wasn’t. Not anymore. 

He backed away from me, “Your accent-” 

“I’m from the colonies,” I explained. “I used to be a whore there. Then, I found God. I got an education. I learned accounting and became a professor.” 

There was a long silence in the room. The Captain slowly walked behind me. I turned my head to look over my shoulder. “Is there anything else you wish to add to that statement?” the Captain smirked. 

I had to think about that, “Well, I did some missionary work. But, that was a while ago…Well, that’s it.” 

The General and the others looked confused. 

Finally, the General cleared his throat, “Well, I for one was not expecting that.” 

Nobody chuckled. Nobody laughed.   

The Captain bent down over the General’s chair. He let out a huge sigh. Anger was splashed on his face.  That was soon washed away by hate.  

But, that changed again. He motioned towards my blade, laying on the table. “A sword,” he whispered, “Quite the unusual item for a whore to carry.” 

I was ready for that, “Well, when I was working-” 

“When you were a whore?” 

He seemed to get a kick out of throwing that word around. 

“Yes,” I frowned. “I had to learn how to defend myself.” He looked concerned, “Really?” 

“Many men tried to rape me. More than once.” 

He nodded. He looked glum. “Where did you acquire it?” 

“The sword? Got it from a friend.” 

“The design?” 

“She said it came from far away.” 

“Where?” 

“Asia.” What? Japan was in Asia. 

He folded his arms, “And this friend was a whore?” 

“No, the friend is a nun.” 

“A nun?” 

“Yes?” 

“You are Catholic, then?” 

“Yes.”  

Randall sat down in the General’s chair. Then, he got up. He kept getting up and sitting down. He was starting to make everybody nervous. 

“Where?” he barked, “Did you learn how to fight?” 

“Easy,” I said.  

He blinked, “Easy?” 

“From my friend.” 

Everybody at the table died laughing. 

“This is absolutely incredible,” the General laughed, “I’ve never heard such a more ridiculous story.” 

“I believe the good doctor’s diagnosis is correct,” said one of the others at the table. 

“Even she believes it, poor thing,” howled another. 

The Captain, however, was silent. Then, he glanced at me and said, “You are free to go.” 

Wait, what? You people are the English. You’re supposed to be evil. Was that it? No rape? No torture? Guess all that talk about English atrocities was bunk.  

He turned to the General, “Still, it would be irresponsible for me to send you back to that cave.” 

“A cave?” the General asked, “What’s all this I hear about a cave?” 

“It is where I found her, Sir. We should do our Christian duty and give this poor creature a home.” 

The way the he said it made my skin crawl.  

“Quite so,” the General nodded, “Quite so.”  

“Let her stay, here, with us,” the Captain begged, “The Scots will eat her alive. Let us put her to work in the kitchen, hmm?” 

 The General frowned, “But what about her story? Is there any truth to all of it?” 

The Captain breathed in. Then, he breathed out. “I have no reason to question her story at this time.” 

The General smiled. “Very well, my dear,” he patted me on the head, “You shall stay with us for the time being. Captain Randall, if you would show our guest to the kitchen.”  

Captain Randall opened my shackles. He grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me out the door. We walked in silence. Then, once we were far enough away from the others, he slammed me up against a wall.  

“I will not forget,” he hissed, “Your earlier actions. And I swear to you, Madam, I will discover what you are hiding.” 

He let me go.  

“In the meantime,” he breathed, “You will stay here, you will do as you are told, you will cook, and you will clean on your hands and knees.” 

There’s just one problem with that theory, Captain. I can’t cook. 

He grabbed me by the shoulders, again. He pushed me down the hall. We walked for ages in silence. He walked behind me. Every time I tried to turn around, he’d shove me up ahead. He kept at it until we got to a wooden door. “The kitchen is downstairs,” he said. There was no emotion in his voice.  

I took a step forward. “Stop,” he said. I could feel his smile when I did. 

“What is your age?” 

“What’s the date?” I asked.  

“1740,” he said. “Do you require the month?” his voice went up a notch. 

“Yes.”  

“March,” he explained. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “The day is-” 

“Thirty-two years old,” I interrupted. 

He grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. Standing face-to-face again, he leaned in close, sneering, “You are beyond all hope and desire, then. Are you not, old whore?” 

I didn’t react.  

His sneer left his mouth. He pulled the door open and shoved me through it.  

Gone – Chapter 9

« It took Randall until May to recover from his injuries, hating every minute he was away from the Fort, from his men, from all human contact. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 9 – Meeting in the cave

It took Randall until May to recover from his injuries, hating every minute he was away from the Fort, from his men, from all human contact.

His men had left him alone at the inn. No one dared come to visit him, fearing his wrath upon the lot of them.

Worse, there was no sign of the mysterious figure that had rescued him. Or, who had attempted to kill him. Truthfully, he could not remember much about that day in March.

He briefly remembered meeting Death. Or perhaps it was only self-delusion. He could not be sure of either one.

Once the doctor gave him leave, feeling somewhat generous and confident that he had won the wager, Randall went to church.

Smirking at the altar, he watched as horrified eyes darted away from him. The priest at the front seemed to shake. Their bodies backed away from his imposing stature.

Women, men and children, all at his mercy.

At the end of the Mass, he went in line to receive communion.

The priest seemed to push the hosts slightly faster than usual.

Randall sneered. Then, he paused. Annoyed, he turned to confront the person to his right that was far too close to his person.

He snapped his neck to the side and found no one.

Impossible. There had to be someone there. He had felt them, had he not?

Turning away, Randall attempted to move up. Only, he bumped into something.

The priest stood in front of Randall, terrified.

The Captain was annoyed, he was trying to move up, but he could not do so. Something was cutting him off.

“Please, Sir,” the priest stammered, “If it please you, Sir. Please, take the host and leave.”

Now he had a right mind to beat the man half to death. He lunged at the man, then found, miraculously, that he could move up.

Angry and deciding that he should not waste whatever remained of his youth and his vigor on the small skeleton of man, he took the host, put it in his mouth, took a sip of the wine and left the church.  

After that incident, he spent his time trying to locate pieces of information about the mysterious killings which had started after his departure.

He became more concerned with the situation when the men he sent out came back fewer in number. Even more confounding was the fact that now, most of his men were beginning to desert their posts. Or, they would simply refuse all together.

He was hanging more men than could be replaced.

Randall took it upon himself to investigate. Unfortunately, his patron would constantly call him away from his venture. Worse, General Thomas was keeping a close eye on him, making sure to stop him every time he attempted to leave the Fort.

It took until Winter for Randall to make his escape.

In town, he watched as the good Father Bain sat on a box, clamoring and yowling. “The Year of the Demon is upon us!” he wailed. “’Tis God’s judgement for your sins and your infidelity towards His Truth!”

Watching the priest in the square, he decided to pay the good Father a visit.

Once inside the church, the Captain cornered the priest in the latter’s study.

“This Demon,” Randall crooned, “Where is it?”

Randall looked the man over, up and down. The priest was shaking in his shoes.

“Well?”

“The f-f-forest,” Bain stammered.

“How specific.”

Randall drew his sword and held the blade to the man’s throat, “We both know that you can do better than that.”

The Priest shook his head, “R-r-Rothiemurchus.”

The soldier blinked, “Rothimurchus.”

“That is where the Demon is said to dwell.”

Randall eagerly left the Priest and returned at once to Fort William. He was eager to find this Demon, if such a creature did indeed exist.

He had neither forgotten his own humiliating defeat at Lallyboch, nor the escape of the two Fraser children to France.

Randall had written to Brian Fraser in May, inquiring after the health of his family. The elder Fraser, Brian, played the fool; saying that while he was away, his brother-in-law had sent him word that he was graciously going to send his children to France to experience culture and therefore, to have a proper Catholic upbringing. And Brian, having no fortune to be able to afford the best for his children, was in no position to refuse such an offer at all.

Randall had then written to inquire where all the servants had gone.

Brian explained, through another letter, that they all went to work for his brother-in-law who could afford their pay, (save for one loyal man, who was willing to work at half-price). However, Brian was currently staying with his brother-in-law and would soon be joining his children in France, which would make it impossible for him to visit Randall at Fort William anytime soon.

The Captain knew that Brian knew that the former could not walk onto MacKenzie lands whenever he wished. Randall had no way to confirm the story. He also had no way to corner Jamie or his sister.

So, he went to Lord Thomas to ask his permission to find the Demon. It would be easy. A few insinuations, a well placed, “this Demon makes the English out to be weak in front of the Scots” and the rest would take care of itself.

That was what he had expected.

However, instead, that arse told him he shouldn’t be frightened of silly superstition. Surprised, Randall felt he had to press the man for what he wanted. Thomas practically made him beg for it which made him despise the man all the more.

The General did give in though, but not as he had hoped.

“In Spring, by yourself, you can go and waste time. I will not lose good men on a useless endeavor like that.”

Determined to get the results he wanted, Randall wrote to his patron.

He received a reply back from his brother stating that Sandringham had suddenly felt the urge to go to France. The Duke instructed Randall to stay behind and wait.

Seething, Randall waited until the first of March.

The snow was gone and the weather was warm. He then went to the forest to find the Demon.

After searching through several clumps of trees and after digging through several gatherings of bushes, he heard a horse neigh.

He followed the sound to a canyon. It sounded as if the horse was somewhere down below.

Intrigued, Randall jumped into the crag and traveled along the river.

That’s when he spotted a cave at the very edge of the river.

Inside the small opening, he found the animal that had called out to him.

She was no magnificent creature, but the horse was sturdy and could carry a loaded cart, by the looks of her. The mare rose up from its squalid resting place and whinnied, pitifully. He stopped to caress its nose, intrigued that the horse allowed him to do so.

He walked away from the horse. He was most entranced by the second opening in the cave.

Approaching the second entrance, he felt that someone else was there with him. He stopped to look behind him, but found nothing.

Turning around, something dropped on him, knocking his body over.

He blinked and looked up, letting out a small cough.

Standing on top of him was an ugly youth with short, black hair.

“Who are you?” the youth screamed.

Pushing the end of his blade into the Captain’s neck, the youth hissed, “Speak.” His voice was a little high for a male…

Suddenly, the ugly youth dropped the blade that had been pressed to Randall’s throat. The youth grasped his chest, apparently in discomfort.

How intriguing.

The youth then fell over, apparently unconscious. Perhaps he was dead.

Slowly rising from the ground, Randall looked at the body next to him. The person looked like a youth, but, youths did not possess wide hips. Upon lifting the black vest that hung off of a very wide chest, Randall came to the conclusion that he was looking at the ugliest woman he had ever seen.   

Short hair. Boils and sores speckled her face. Yellow teeth. How could nature have allowed such an error to exist?

Even the lids of her eyes were not spared. There was no one colour of her skin. Instead, there were patches of red and white all over.

Running his hand over her forehead, he recoiled from the sensation. He hoped she was not a Smallpox victim. If so, he had brought himself one step closer to death.

Truly, she was the ugliest woman he had ever seen. 

Her shirt was most peculiar. It was a vest with no buttons. She wore no shirt, but her breasts were bound with thick, woolen strips of cloth.

He contemplated stripping her naked then and there. But, he hesitated. Surely, if her face was ugly, what little clothing she wore could be hiding more unpleasantness.

Yet, there was still something about her he found intriguing. Sighing, he lifted her up and draped her over his horse. Pulling the mare and attaching her to his steed, he was about to leave when he remembered the sword on the ground.

He felt a pull to investigate into the cave even further.

Behind the second opening, was a small area with a firepit, clothes and a bag. He took the clothes, bag and the sword with him. At the fort, he dropped the woman onto the ground and barked at a few of his men to pick her up and bring her to the surgeon. He called to some others and told them to put the mare in their stable and to keep her away from the horses that were ungelded. 

In the surgeon’s room, the older man went to remove the woman’s clothing, but, thinking upon the matter, he ordered Randall and his men outside, for decency’s sake. 

When the door opened again, Randall calmly strode in. The surgeon ordered the others away. The woman’s body was now covered with a sheet. « She’s taken quite the beating, » the surgeon explained, « Her body is covered in bruises, scars. Especially her hands.” The surgeon lifted one up, « See the marks on her hand; here and there. »

The older man droned on about her muscular body, noting that while her body was strong, she most probably suffered from a weak heart; the latter statement having come as a conclusion from Randall’s report of the incident.

Shooing the Captain away from the sheet, the Surgeon noted, “She’s been underfed for quite some time. There’s frostbite on the fingers, too. She’d been living out in the cold for God knows how long.”

The surgeon washed his hands, “She’s probably mentally deficient, given the cave. She might be extremely dangerous.”

Well, now, what a charming notion.

The scars were crude, the hands were covered in clumsy callouses. They were of no interest to him. Her skin was rough and covered with an inch worth of grease.

Picking up the body, dragging it through the doorway -despite the surgeon’s protests- Randall threw the naked woman into a cell. He knew that Alex would be wanting some company.

Ah, the fun he would have with the two of them, once the day’s work was done.

At that moment, Morley burst through the door. He seemed intent on finding a woman. He told Morley that he may have his way with the creature on the ground if he so wished it, but to spare Alex. Alex would be his and his alone.  

Leaving the two of them to get acquainted, Randall went up to his office.

He looked at his desk, piled with paperwork and commenced his work.

Then, he was interrupted by a small, hesitant knock on the door. “What is it now?” he barked. The door did not open. Smiling, he called out, “Come in!”  

An extremely nervous Private Kendall opened the door.

The Captain smiled, his day was getting better and better. 

Knowing that the Private was easily startled, he jumped up from his desk. The boy jumped back in response.

Oh, that creamy skin and that fine complexion. He clutched the wrists of the dark-haired boy, pulling him towards the Captain’s body.

What handsome features.

“Please, Sir, let go-”

“Such soft hands. Kendall, is it not?”

“Please-”

“Well? Yes or no.”

“Yes, Private Kendall.”

“Private Kendall, what?”

The boy was beginning to sweat. “Private Kendall, at your service, Sir.”

Oh, you most certainly will be.

Kendall was most interesting. An orphan. Randall had personally inquired after his parents. His mother and his father were both dead. The boy had nowhere to run, no one to depend on.

Letting go of the boy’s hands, Randall cooed, “How are your parents? They must miss you so.”

Oh, the pain in those big, blue cow eyes. “My parents have passed on, Sir.”

He feigned sorrow, “Poor lamb.”

“Please, Sir,” the boy was embarrassed. Randall placed both his hands on the small of the boy’s back. He had kept him from the hardest work. Instead of allowing the child to go out on patrol, or to stand watch, Kendall stayed indoors. He would find him work in the kitchen or in the stables, whatever tickled Randall’s fancy.

Pressing his lips to the boy’s neck, Kendall’s body froze.

Pulling away, Randall released the boy.

The boy took off in an instant.

Laughing to himself, Randall ran off after the boy.  Licking his lips, he was already picturing what he would do to the boy, once he caught up to him.

Gone – Chapter 8

« Stuck in the cabin, I planned my escape.

For a whole month, Gerald and Muldoon stayed away. They didn’t want the coppers following them.« 

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 8 – The Year of the Demon

Stuck in the cabin, I planned my escape.

For a whole month, Gerald and Muldoon stayed away. They didn’t want the coppers following them.

Gerald had let me keep the horse. I was grateful to God he didn’t ask where it was from. 

The horse stayed out back, hitched to the umbrella in the table. After the month was over, I got to walk him through the woods four times a month, while supervised.

Muldoon like the horse. Gerald hated the horse. Every time he’d come and visit, he’d glare at its big brown eyes. The horse didn’t care. He liked being hitched to the table umbrella.

During the third month, I packed my black bag. If I went back to the cave and stayed there, Muldoon and Gerald wouldn’t be able to find me. Then, I’d head back to the convent.

My chance came one June afternoon.

It was warm and the weather was clear. So, I packed some food, two jars and a bag of coffee into the saddle bags. I made sure I had two bags of spices with me. After my swords were packed, I climbed onto the horse. The horse started to move without being asked. Like he knew where I was going.

Smiling, I looked up at the heavens. I was sure God was looking down at me, happy as all get out. I was finally doing what I was supposed to do. I was going to make things right. Unlike Jonah, I got the point of my lesson.

So, off I rode. I rode north for a few hours. A mist rolled in over the countryside.

The mist was so thick I drowned in it. It was so cold. Thankfully, I was wearing my coat. I pulled my scarf out of my bag and looped it around my head. My face was covered.

So cold.

Then, the mist lifted.

I could hear someone shouting.

When the mist started to lift, I was in the middle of a forest. Then, I saw the same three bandits. They had grabbed a man and a woman. Two of them were beating the poor man. The third one was grabbing at the woman. “No,” the poor man yelled, “Leave me wife be. For the love of God, leave her be!”

I took out one of my longer blades.

Riding up to them, the bandits froze. “Leave,” I growled, pointing my sword in front, “Or else!” 

The bandits turned away and went back to their terror.

“Leave!” I shrieked.

They stopped again.

“Or else!” I thundered. My voice sounded like it came from hell.

They kept at it. They started beating the man again. The third one lifted up the wife’s skirt. I killed them all.

The man and his wife were in shock. I snapped them out of their silence.

“Follow,” I growled.

They ran to their wagon. Their horse followed me. I led them to the edge of the forest.

“Tell no one,” I growled again.

I galloped off, leaving them. I was hoping I could find my cave again.   

The mist started to grow. After it did, I saw a sign. No, a literal sign that said “Spean Bridge”. Cars flew by me, honking.

I think some drivers might have cursed at me.

My heart sank. Why was God doing this? I didn’t get it. I was doing what He wanted. I made a plan. I was sticking with it. Then it hit me, my punishment wasn’t over. I was still in the wrong. That’s why I keep going back and forth in time.

I found my cave after I passed a sign that said Rothiemurchus. It was cold and damp inside.

The mist rolled in again.

So, there I was, back in the past. A wet and soggy time. Luckily, I had a loaf of bread, weed, a couple of protein bars and coffee. I could live off of that for a while.

Taking off my scarf, I cuddled up with my coat in the corner. The horse actually fit inside the opening. He went down on his knees and put his head down to the ground. The cave was dark. Too dark to see. I cut a small opening in the top with my sword. That hole let in a line of light.

Gathering a few rocks from the cave, I went to find twigs and grass. Clawing at the dirt floor, I made a fire pit in the cave. It was right at the front entrance, under the hole. That way we couldn’t choke on smoke.

A week later, my food ran out. And I, I was still stuck in the past.

Barf…me…out.

What the hey was God even thinking?

I went out to try to find something to eat. I’m a vegetarian by nature, but, I was seriously tempted to kill an animal. For the sake of survival.

I laughed. Survival. Been there, done that.

You looking for some love tonight?

You want some action. No? How about you?

In the end, I resolved to fish. Less bloody.

I buried the smallest sword in a hole in the bottom of the cave. Insurance. In case my swords got lost in the past. That, and I didn’t want to be reminded of my first kill here. Besides, the dead Officer would be a reason for the army to go looking for that sword. I couldn’t risk it. I’d have to use the other two blades.

Wrapping my face in my scarf and my body in my coat, I went out. I took both my long swords with me.

I went out to the stream beside my cave and staked a few flippers. Small fry. Then, I lit my campfire.

The next morning, I was still in the past.

Shouts echoed around me. I went up out of the canyon to investigate. I made sure my body was covered. I took the horse for back-up. We hid in some bushes.

Following the shouts, I saw a young woman. She was being tossed around by a group of English soldiers. The men were howling with laughter. They thought it was funny to torture her. The girl looked scared out of her mind. Her hands and legs were tied.

I guess they must’ve carried her off from her family.

I came out from behind my bushes. My voice low, I demanded they release her. First time around, they refused. I warned them again. They were now untying the girl’s legs.

I killed them all. Fast and clean.

I put the girl on the horse. I jumped up to join her. She rode in front, legs over on the one side. The girl was in shock. She didn’t say a word the whole way. After an hour, I saw a church. That’s where I dropped her off.

Then, I ducked behind some trees. I could smell fire.

The smoke led me and the horse to find an awful sight. A group of men were burning down a house. There was a man with a white mustache. He stood in the middle, arms crossed. The family, scared, huddled together.

I rode up to the man with a mustache, shrieking.

Most of his men ran away, taking to their horses.

I jumped off the animal. I tried to stamp out the flames. The rest of the family joined in to help me. The mustached man drew his sword. Then, he stopped. He took off with the rest of his friends.

Most of the livestock were dead. But, there were two horses left behind. I grabbed their bridles and handed them to the family. “Why burn?” I growled.

The man, who I assumed was the father, hung his head. “Me and mine support the English cause,” he said, quietly. His family hung their heads. They looked ashamed.

I took out a bag of nutmeg from one of the saddle bags. I called to the wife, “Bowl.” She ran to get one. I poured the contents out into the bowl. Their eyes widened. They knew how much it was worth.

“But why?” the father asked, “Why?”

“Judge not,” I hissed.

Then, I left.

The mist rolled over the field. The country changed from nature to town in an instant.   

Then, I thought about it for a second. That cave was the perfect hiding place. The best one He could’ve given me. Maybe God didn’t want me found. Maybe He was helping me.

If I waited a couple of months, the Superior and the others might give up. Muldoon and Gerald wouldn’t have to worry. The coppers might show up and ask questions, but, they’d never get the answers. Now I got it. This was His way of keeping my friends safe.

If I was nowhere to be found, then nobody could be arrested.

My heart got a little lighter. God had given me the best hiding spot. Besides, nobody comes down to the canyon anyways.

I went back to my forest and stayed in my cave. The front part, I used as a stable for the horse. Behind, in the back, I set up my bunk. It was on the other side, away from the pool.

The cave was damp. There were no bats or any other life. It was completely empty. Outside the cave, there were fish and animals. But nothing lived in the cave. Except for the horse in the big room out front. And me, in the back.

One day in the present, I went to church. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

When I was in line for the wafers, I looked to my right. I could’ve sword somebody was there. It felt like they were glaring at me. My body went cold. I looked at the priest. I could feel somebody else there. Right beside me.

I shivered. I felt something warm touch me on my left arm.  

As I went up to get the Host, something bumped into me. Right behind me. I turned around and found nothing.

The priest looked at me like he thought I was nuts.

I laughed, quietly. Then, I took the wafer. When I put it into my mouth, the room flashed for a second. The brightly lit church was now dark and cold. Then, it was bright again.

All right, God. Now, I’m freaked out. 

After that, my days were spent back and forth in the past, trying to stop the killing. When I wasn’t doing that, I was praying. I almost broke the beads on my wooden rosary.  

After a while, people seemed to get it. Don’t rape. Don’t rob. Don’t murder people. Then, I won’t have a reason to come after you. On the streets, I’d seen my share of cops look the other way. One time I’d been beaten by two cops and raped by a judge. Next day, after that happened, that same judge sentenced me to two months in prison. The two cops stood guard.

Let’s face it, this is the past: everybody is out to rape, murder and kill everybody else, every day…because of some socio-political mess I don’t understand and have never read up on.

Muldoon had tried to teach me history. First, he tried English. When that went nowhere, he tried Scottish. (And, keep in mind, he didn’t know a whole friggin’ lot about that.)

When I was young, there wasn’t any justice. But, there’d be peace and justice now. 

When I got back to my forest, the mist came in. I heard some old men in a cart talking about the legend of The Demon. Hidden behind a tree, I honed in.

“They say if ye stop yer wickedness,” said one, “When asked, he’ll leave ye be.” He cleared his throat, “If not, then you loose yer life and go to hell down below.”

The other man let out a nervous cough.

“They found the bodies up north of Fort William,” the first man said, “Cut so clean, as if someone was tryin’ ta carve a man in two, just enough so as to reach the soul inside.”

“I feel so uneasy just sitting here,” the second man butted in.

His friend laughed, “Dinnae fash, we aren’t doing anything wicked. The Demon only comes to those who are wicked.”

“True, true,” the other grumbled.

“Besides,” the first man chuckled, “If he does show up, it’ll be on account of the wicked whiskey in my coat. If he comes by, what say we offer some to him?”

I was glad my act was working. If I was going to live here, I wanted to keep the peace between English and Scots. I didn’t want to take sides. Both were capable of evil.  

A week later, still in the past, I put on my sweatshirt. I rubbed mud on my face. I went into town, dressed up as a mute boy. I went to go around begging for food and money.

The people at the local tavern gave generously.

In the tavern, two English soldiers sat, talking.

“They say they gut their victims, stealing all their gold.”

“Those two sisters have given the army quite a scare, my good man. The General’s been trying to get them for days. He sent a whole crop of men, but they were never heard from again.”

I saw the poster for the reward on the wall. I needed money for food, so why not? I needed to get home too, but, the mist hadn’t rolled in for a month. Besides, I couldn’t stay with these people. No Gaelic plus my accent equals trouble.

I was scared to death of the English. Considering what happened at the farm… Who knows what the Scots would do to me!

With the coins I’d gathered I went to get food. A few ears of corn, two loaves of bread. Food for at least eleven days.

So, grabbing my horse, I found the sisters and tied them up. They tried to escape, so I killed them with my bare hands. It was self-defence in the worst way.

When night came, I dropped the bodies off in the middle of a town I passed.

“Who’s in charge?” I hissed, well-hidden under my scarf.

Several men went running. They came back with an older man.

“Reward!” I shrieked.

The man looked at the bodies and glared at me, “No.”

“Reward,” I growled.

He stared at me. “No!” he yelled.

“So be it,” I answered.

The man looked pleased. The people around him looked scared.

I left. There’s nothing I can do. I couldn’t kill a man for being greedy.

In the morning, I went out to fish, again.

Walking through the forest, something shining caught my eye. At the edge of the forest there was a small basket. Bread, meat, cheese and a bottle of alcohol. Attached was a small note in English. What a surprise.

It said: Please pardon the Sheriff. Please accept this humble gift from a good Christian family and please spare us when you come back to town to claim vengeance against him.

To my left, I found another small basket a few feet away from the first. This one had only two loaves of bread. It also had a tiny note. It had one sentence on it. That sentence was as follows, “Who knew the Devil is English?”     

So, I had enough food to last me for a while.

A quarter of a loaf, four days food. Three loaves, twelve days. Cheese: two days more. I don’t drink, but I had no choice. The bottle filled me for four more days. The meat, kept me for two.

By the first frost, I didn’t go out riding anymore. I spent my time in the cave; trying to keep warm. Living off of fish, when I can find some. Hard to catch because of the ice. Thankfully, I can live on two fish a week.

Also, I still had my weed. I smoked it once in a while to keep warm. I tried to brew coffee in one of the jars I took from the cabin.

That went badly.

I used some of my leftover spices to season the fish.

I was zonked, cold and ready to go back to my own time. I was also really, really, really, confused, you know? I didn’t understand what God wanted. Was it more punishment? I couldn’t be sure.

The Mistake: A Star Wars Fanfic

Hello everyone. I’d like to introduce you to my first fanfic posted on this website. A Star Wars story I’d like to call The Mistake.

Warning! This story contains references to premarital sex and alcohol abuse.

The pairing for tonight’s story is Rey/Kylo Ren.

Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Loss

Rey ran to find Chewie.

She’d had the dream again. Luke Skywalker standing before the entire First Order only to vanish. She could have done more than just stand there. The girl had enough will; she had faced Snoke’s guards and she had survived the encounter with Ren. How could Rey have been so useless?

She could see it in General Leia’s eyes. And in Finn’s. She could see it in everyone’s.

There goes Rey. She was supposed to convince Skywalker to come and save us all. Instead, he’s gone and now all we’re left with is Rey. Small, disappointing, can’t do anything against the First Order, Rey.

She glared at the lightsaber at her side. She could use it, yes. But she was no Master. It had been months since Skywalker’s death. And what had she done? Nothing. She had brought home no victories and she had won no great battles. She wasn’t the legend Luke was. Sometimes, Leia would stare at her and sigh. 

Rey shook the sleeping Wookiee awake. Crying, she begged him to take her someplace far away. Chewie refused and went back to sleep.

In the morning, Rey found him making repairs to the Falcon. She begged him to help her. The Wookiee growled, clearly annoyed, but agreed.

They snuck away from the Resistance in record time.

Chewie dropped her off at a small moon in some remote system. She told him to pick her up in two weeks.

Rey needed to clear her head. Training. Yes, training was what she needed.

The Wookiee had dropped off two crates from the ship’s cargo hold and had shaken his head. He didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it. Chewie assumed it was some weird Jedi thing that only a Jedi would understand. As a Wookiee, he didn’t much care either. Still, he was worried about Rey. It wasn’t the first time she’d woken him up in the middle of the night.

Leia had told him to keep an eye on Rey. The General didn’t want any more trouble; the Resistance was already in bantha fodder, it didn’t need to become it. Still, Rey needed her privacy and it didn’t look like she’d hurt the Resistance any by being out here by herself.

Chewie sighed. Hopefully, in two weeks she wouldn’t be completely out of her mind.

Click [here] for Chapter 2!

In which a Manic-Depressive Christian Goth Had A nervous Breakdown

Originally published on my website Goth Film Critic for Christ.

Dear Reader,

I suppose you’ve all been wondering, why did it take me so long to write another post?

Long story short: my OCD and inability to cope put me in the hospital. Will we discuss this further in this post? For the sake of my mental health, absolutely not.

But, that time spent in the hospital was not for absolutely nothing.

To pass the time in the psych ward, I reflected on the past. When I was young, if a show I loved took a wrong direction or suffered from a bad ending, I’d try to come up with a better one. (This often would involve me creating an original character which was a suped-up narcissistic creation. Then, I would have said narcissistic creation go on bizarre and depressing adventures in the fictional world of my choosing.) However, over time, specifically in the last year, I started to revisit past ideas and, vague ideas turned into thoughtful visions. In addition, they were accompanied by a profound desire not just to write for the sake of liking writing, but to write for God.

This applies not only to my blog, but also to the project which I am proposing to you now.

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem on the internet. That problem is called fanfiction. It’s not going away just because we don’t like it. So long as authors/TV writers/comic book creators/etc. keep failing at their jobs, fans will do their best to correct these mistakes through written fantasies of their own.

Now, writing a story based off another’s story for free and posting it on the internet for all your geek friends to see is not a bad idea in itself. Heck, look at the amount of people that have reimagined Dracula. It’s possible to tell the same story two different ways. Look at Wicked.

The problem. Well, the problem is that only a very small fraction of fanfiction is innocent. The rest of it is…

Straight from the pits of hell. (And no, I’m not exaggerating.)

The majority of fanfiction is misogynistic, perverted and filled with all kinds of unhealthy ideas about relationships. Go ahead, prove me wrong. I dare you. Ask anyone who’s been on any fanfiction website. They could probably tell you horror stories that could make your hair curl.

Pedophilia? You got it.

Bestiality. Absolutely.

Here’s the problem I have. I’m good at writing fanfiction. (The good kind, let’s be clear.) And since, fanfiction won’t be dying anytime soon, I think it’s time to do my part. So, starting very soon, -a.k.a. don’t ask me for specifics, I work on Bipolar Time- I’m setting up a Christian fanfiction website with stories written by yours truly. Some involve characters of my own creation. Some of them won’t. I offer stories with real-world problems and Christian responses to them.

I’m going to the trenches, my Christian brothers and sisters, into the heart of enemy territory. I’m going with my laptop and my cell phone, where all my story notes and ideas are kept. I’m going with the Lord by my side and I ask that you all would pray for me as I endeavor to lead people away from the awful fanfiction to a better substitute.

Photo by Maria Pop on Pexels.com

If you’re not on board, that’s fine. It’s your call. But seriously, think about dropping by some time. I mean, have you seen the alternative?

(Biblically speaking, I know we’re not supposed to talk about what the heathens do, but, chances are, you know somebody who’s been reading that kind of filth and needs help. So, consider this post as educational, like a drug PSA.)

Now, for those following this blog, don’t worry. I’ll still be doing my mental health posts and movie/show reviews. That won’t be changing anytime soon.

Sincerely,

Ravens Bane

[P.S. Hey, if the Salvation Army could rewrite bar tunes into hymns, there’s got to be some way to this, right?]

Photo by Martin Lopez on Pexels.com