I'LL BE RIGHT HERE

Chapter Seven

"O captain! My captain!"
(Walt Whitman. Quoted in: 'Dead Poets Society'.)

-x0x-

Now…

Shawn had never been the kind of person who took a backseat in life and let things flow around him. His instinct for action, though often misguided, was always compelling. Lying on the deck, with his head still rattling from Bluto's punishment, he knew that he had two choices: give in or get up. No contest. He rolled over onto his knees, grabbed at Bluto's sleeve for support and clambered to his feet, letting go as soon as he felt steady enough to do so. Still afraid to speak, he offered up a mute pantomime of apology. Then he stepped back and shrugged, as if to say: what next?

Bluto seemed surprised by his resilience. "Follow me," he growled. "We're nearly at the captain's cabin. Then you'll be her problem, not mine. And don't even think about runnin' away." He gave a yellow, toothy smile. "There's no place to go on this bucket where I won't find you. I know all the deep, dark hidey-holes."

That merited a solid seven out of ten for creepiness. Shawn wobbled along behind the man, trying hard not to lose his footing and pitch right over the rail. He counted two more lifeboats, then an empty space where one was missing. Judging by the motion of the ship, he and Bluto appeared to be heading forwards on the left – no, the port side, he remembered, proud of this tiny achievement. Maybe Henry Spencer hadn't managed to instil a love of fishing in his son but, as it turned out, there was still a useful payoff from all those dull excursions.

Feeling bolder by the second, Shawn risked another question. Something had been bugging him ever since they left the cabin, and curiosity always won out over fear in the end. "It's pretty quiet out here. Where's the crew? Wait, don't tell me – they're cursed, right? Stole an ancient treasure and now they look like skeletons in the moonlight?" When Bluto turned and glared at him, he swallowed, half-believing his own jest for a moment. "Parlay?" he quipped, with a shaky grin and a passable Jack Sparrow imitation.

"You think you're such a comedian. But 'cursed' ain't far from the truth of it." Bluto chose not to elaborate on this disturbing remark. His scowl deepened. "Here's the punchline. There's a skeleton crew on duty but they ain't no ghosts. It's chow time, is all."

"Ooh…" Shawn raised his eyebrows hopefully. "I could eat."

"You could hold your tongue."

"I could try, yes. Don't often succeed, though." He ducked his head as Bluto raised a threatening fist and the bruise on his cheek pulsed an urgent warning. "Good point, well made. I'll be shutting up now. If you hear a growl, it's only my stomach, okay? The last thing I remember eating was a raspberry snow cone – Jules wouldn't let me have a burrito – and I don't even know when that was. Could have been this morning. Could have been three days ago. I might be fading away from hunger as we speak… Oops. Sorry." Shawn clapped a hand to his own mouth. "Mm hmph. Mm hm-hm."

With a snort, Bluto grabbed him by the collar again and steered him through a nearby doorway, using Shawn's body weight to force it open.

"You're welcome," the fake psychic muttered, as he was propelled ignominiously along yet another passageway. His eyes darted from left to right, scanning as many details as possible. He was still uncertain as to the type of ship they were on. It was certainly not a military ship – no flags, no guns, and no sign of Steven Seagal under siege. Nor did it appear to be a typical freighter, unless the bulk of the cargo was secured below. They passed one door labelled 'Sample Room' and another bearing the nameplate: 'Doctor Seely'. Shawn began to suspect that he was actually on a research vessel of some kind – or possibly a floating hospital – but that made no sense at all to his muddled brain. Time to push his luck a little further with the walking gorilla.

He raised a tentative finger to his head. "I sense that you are searching for something," he ventured, trying to sound confident in his assertion.

Bluto's stride never faltered. He yanked Shawn up a flight of metal stairs, little caring how often his prisoner stumbled. "And I sense you're clutchin' at straws. Try that garbage on the captain and she'll soon shut you down. That's a friendly warnin'."

"Friendly. Riiight." Being 'shut down' did not sound particularly pleasant. Shawn pursed his lips in frustration, just as they arrived at a heavy metal door that blocked all further passage. This door had a nameplate too. "Captain Yolanta Bale," he read out loud.

"That's Captain Bale to you." Apparently, Bluto had decided that Shawn needed some kind of lesson in maritime manners. "Not ma'am or miss, nor Yoly neither. Not unless you want to feel the lash…"

"Of her whip?" Shawn said nervously.

"Of her tongue." The bearded man let out a hoarse laugh that made Shawn jump. "This ain't Cutthroat Island. Just the Copernicus." He knocked on the door. When a muffled command came from inside, he opened the cabin door but faltered on the threshold, pinning Shawn in front of him like a human shield, even though he towered over the shorter man.

You're scared of her too, Shawn thought with horrified fascination. What kind of woman was this Captain Bale, if she could intimidate someone as gnarly as Bluto? Was she the person who had kidnapped him? And was he finally about to get some answers? The thought didn't thrill him as much as it would have done a few moments ago.

"Oh, grow a spine, why don't you?" said a stern voice. "Are you coming in or do I have to drag you? No," the captain added, stepping forward. "Not both of you. Just… well, whatever your name is."

"Shawn Spencer." He held out his hand to the tall, dark woman, even as he found himself arrested by her steely gaze. "I'm a psy…" Bluto nudged him and he swallowed the word in one gulp, like a cold piece of liver. "I mean, excited to meet you at last."

"I doubt it." Captain Bale's handshake was strong yet impersonal. It was also very brief. She pulled Shawn into the room and then let go. Bluto took this opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him with a bang that made his captain frown. "But at least you have more manners than the hairy oaf who brought you here. That's a good start." She pointed to a chair and Shawn sat down abruptly, snatching at a small cushion and clutching it to his chest with his usual, instinctive need for comfort. Captain Bale smirked. "Insecure?" she taunted him.

"It's just a habit," he muttered, flushing. The older woman stared down at him with her knowing eyes until he began to feel like a rodent facing off against a snake. Blinking quickly, he turned away and studied the sparsely furnished cabin - which took all of three seconds. Either the captain was down on her luck or she subscribed to the decorating theory that less was definitely more. His cushion and a single framed picture - her young daughter, perhaps, or the captain herself as a child - were the only personal touches in the room.

The migraine that had receded for a while was threatening to return with a vengeance, but Shawn knew he needed to keep his head clear if he was going to survive this ridiculous situation. "Can you tell me where I am, and what I'm doing here? I mean," he continued, unable to resist showing off the information he had already gleaned. "I sense I'm on a research vessel. But something really strange is going on. And I have no idea how I got here – or where my friend is. Dennis Gogolack? Kind of a big nerd, but harmless. We were both together when we woke up in your charming storage room. The lights are out down there, by the way, and I left the freezer open so your ice cream is probably melting. My bad. Anyway, then we got separated." He paused, as something new occurred to him. "Funny thing is, I thought we were prisoners at the time – but no one locked us in. This is all very peculiar…" His rambling monologue faded away on a plaintive note.

Captain Bale was still regarding him coolly. "Finished?"

"Sorry. Yes." How did she manage to make him feel so foolish? Even Lassiter could learn from her. In fact, the lanky detective would probably whip out his field book and take copious notes.

The captain folded her arms and sat down opposite him. There were only two seats in the room. Both were ugly and uncomfortable. Shawn set aside his cushion, rattled by her previous observation and the judgemental way she was still staring at him. "Sensed?" she said.

Whoops. "Um, yeah." He took a deep breath. Maybe Bluto was wrong. "I'm a psychic, you see. For the…" No, maybe not. He should keep that card close to his chest until a more opportune moment. Always assuming he didn't just blurt it out, of course. Without Gus there to give him a warning poke or a slap, indiscretion was always a problem. Shawn dug his fingernails into his palm and tried harder. "For a detective agency. Totally private and confidential. No link to any other crime-solving institutions whatsoever… We've got an office and everything; it's pretty cool. I run it with my partner." Stop talking, he urged himself. Stop talking right now.

"This Dennis you spoke of?"

"Oh, no. He's just a friend. My partner's name is…" Shawn gave a weak smile. "Wilson T. Volleyball." Some habits were impossible to break. "He's my sounding board."

"Lucky man. Does he get a word in edgeways?" The captain shook her head. "Psychic." She rolled the word around in her mouth as though it were distasteful. "There's no such thing. Which makes you a liar. And there are far too many liars on my ship already."

Now that was a strange observation; a spark that ignited a fuse in his brain. "I can prove it," Shawn said urgently. So no one was giving him any answers? Time to work things out for himself. He sat up straight and placed his middle finger against his temple. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focussed as hard as he could on all the elusive details he had gathered, stringing them together, one clue at a time, as he began to speak. "You're the captain of the Copernicus." Bluto had let that one slip. "But, at the same time, you're… not? Someone else is on board and they're making decisions without you." Bale hadn't known his name, or anything about him, which was odd, given Bluto's build-up of her character. Shawn opened his eyes and stared at her face, taking in the tight creases around her mouth and the hardness of her gaze. Suspicious and hurt, perhaps, rather than angry? "You don't know who I am. You didn't bring me here, or my friend. Which means you're not the one who's in control – and that's the curse this ship is under."

"Stop it." Bale's voice was level but her neck and her jaw were rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. Shawn could tell that he was on the right track, so he closed his eyes again and pushed for more.

"I'm getting a name," he murmured. "Calvin? Calamity? Calamine lotion…" All at once, he was back on the beach with Jules and the enigmatic stranger. "No, that's too many letters. He's just… Cal. He's a visitor, brought in by the tide. Is he here too? Or did he escape? Escape again." Shawn's excitement was growing. "He was on this ship all along, wasn't he? But he found a way off – I can see a missing lifeboat on the port side – and then it all went wrong. I'm sensing he capsized… and washed up on the Santa Barbara shore. Aah!" The migraine was pressing outwards on his skull by now. He held it at bay with sheer force of will and the pressure of his finger. "Tommy Lee Jones! Will Smith... Agents! Cal believed that he was being chased by government agents." Opening his eyes, Shawn held the captain's gaze and spoke with certainty. "He was being chased. They're here, aren't they? You're not in charge; oh no. They are – and that scares you. I can feel it." His hand fell back into his lap and he screwed up his eyes in genuine pain for a second. Then he raised his chin and faced her squarely, pale but defiant. "So tell me, Captain, how did I do?"