Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1: Restless Dreamer

His legs shake under him as he carries her along the seemingly endless corridor. The previous months in captivity have weakened him, but he cannot give up, not now. He can feel her skin burning with fever through the fabric of her gown and her sweat drenched hair against his cheek. He had never seen her looking so vulnerable, so fragile...
"Edward, stop please..."
They do not have a single second to spare, but he gives into her demand and lays her down gently. She leans back against the wall, struggling to sit up. Her breathing is laboured and she can barely keep her eyes open. Guilt and horror claws at his stomach as truth hits him: she won't make it out of here alive. He tries to fight the realization, to hang onto denial, but she doesn't give him that luxury.
"I've done my part... Will you?"
"If you came with me, I could."
She looks up to him and smiles sadly, her dark eyes filled with tenderness.
"I'll be with you, Kenway. I will."

***

Havana, Cuba

Edward woke up covered in cold sweat, his lips parted to let out a silent scream and his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. "A dream", he thought, gasping for air. "It was only a dream." Edward laid in the dark, trying to steady his breath and unsuccessfully attempting to recall what the dream had been about. It was as if the memory of that dream had shattered the second he had opened his eyes, leaving behind only a few fragments that lingered in the air, teasing him. They danced at the edge of his mind, just out of his grasp, only allowing him a glimpse or two. The only thing he could recall with any clarity was a pair of dark brown eyes.

Rubbing his eyes, Edward reached for the old clock on his nightstand. It was only 4:28 and he knew he was far too shook up to fall back asleep. Sighing in frustration, he pushed the sheets off him and pulled himself out of bed. With a tired grunt, he headed toward the bathroom eager to wash the film of sweat from his skin. He tossed his drenched T-shirt and boxer aside and glanced at his reflection in stained bathroom mirror. He looked like shit. The sweat had made his hair stick to the side of his face and the shadows under his eyes were darker then ever.

For as long as he could remember, his nights had been troubled by dreams like this, but it was never this bad. Ever since the Welshman moved to the Caribbean, the dreams had become much more frequent and left him feeling more overwhelmed then ever and no sleeping aid, medication or therapy had been able to ease his troubled sleep. This week only, it was the third time he had woken up like this, screaming over a dream he could not even remember. It had reached the point where Edward was beginning to fear for his sanity.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he whispered to his reflection, knowing it wasn't a question he would be able to answer today.

***

A bit before 8:00, Edward sat down at a small terrace in Habana Vieja with a large pot of coffee and a plate filled with eggs, peas, potatoes and fruits in front of him. He had spent most of the morning roaming the streets of Havana in an attempt to outrun the inexplicable sadness always followed him like a shadow after these dreams.There was something about the city's oldest part he had always found comforting and familiar. It was strange, but the sight of the old harbour, the Castillo de la Real Fuerza, the Convento de San Francisco de Asis and of all these landmarks had the power to make him instantly feel better, if only for a moment. Savouring the temporary respite, Edward had wandered the maze of streets of the old city until the pit in his stomach could no longer be ignored. Starving, but much calmer and in better spirit, he had decided to head out early to the cafe where he was supposed to meet Ed Tatcher that very morning.

His old mentor did not arrive until 9:30. By that time, Edward was already working on his second plate and his fifth or sixth cup of coffee.

"You're late," Edward said, without looking up from his plate.