Dark Waters Rising

Gone

"Seven Hells," Castor said, kicking the doorframe of the empty cabin in frustration. "This is bad. This is really bad."

"Why don't you sit down?" A warm hand found its way to his shoulder. Castor turned to look at Roman O'Conner but couldn't bear the concern etched onto his face.

Roman had been the elected sheriff of the town for the past three years, and though he was quite young for the position, he was good at it. He had a levelheaded personality, rock solid morals, and one of those faces that you just couldn't help but trust. Castor could tell Roman was about to talk him off a ledge, like he always managed to, but in that moment, Castor only wanted to leap over the edge.

"I can't," he told the man, the hand slipping off of his shoulder as he started to pace. "You don't understand. This whole situation is so twisted and fucked that even I can't fully understand it."

With a brief jerk of his head, Roman gestured for the men that had accompanied them to head back to town. It was only a few moments before the only horses left in sight were their own.

"Castor," Roman sighed, "I've known you for years. I know you care about Wesley, but I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on."

"You wouldn't believe me if I did," Castor said, feeling like he was going insane.

"Try me," Roman said, sweeping a few locks of blonde hair out of his eyes.

Castor's brown eyes locked onto a pair of green ones. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Only if you promise not to lock me up because you think I've gone crazy."

"Cross my heart," Roman said, swiping his finger quickly in a crisscross pattern across his chest.

"Fine," Castor huffed, his eyes flitting around as he wondered where to begin. "Remember when I came to you to report an act of piracy a few months back?"

"Vividly," Roman said, a small smirk starting to tug at the corner of his lip, "You were quite the spectacle."

"Well my captain gave up his freedom in exchange for ours because that sick pirate wanted him. I didn't know exactly what for. Maybe to sell into slavery. Maybe as a whore. Maybe to torture for fun until he died of his wounds. For a long time after the raid, I feared he was dead. But a part of me also hoped he was dead, because death seemed like a much better alternative to the scenarios my mind conjured."

Roman nodded his head in understanding, watching as Castor continued to pace. It was information he already knew, because of Castor's initial report of the crime, but he patiently listened to the man recount it.

"I guess at some point I actually started to believe that, because when he turned up, alive, at my townhouse I was beyond surprised. I thought I was dreaming or something. Seeing a ghost maybe. Gods, he looked like he'd walked through all seven Hells and discovered an eighth when he knocked on my door. He didn't talk much, and I didn't blame him. I could tell there was trauma, but I didn't dare ask him about it. All he ever told me was that the pirate was dead."

Castor ran his hands through his hair anxiously, avoiding the gaze of the taller man as he continued.

"Wes was in a really bad place then. I thought maybe he'd bounce back once life returned to normal, but the more time passed, the worse he seemed to get. He started drinking in excess, and on some of the nights he can't remember, he said some things to me that I couldn't just ignore. He kept talking about death and dying. Like a part of him was already dead and the rest just wanted to follow. I was really worried about him, so I checked on him every day, sometimes multiple times a day, to make sure he was eating and that he hadn't followed through with those thoughts. Then when he disappeared, I lost my mind."