The Terrible Demise Of Tortuga

Chapter three: Where we’re from…there’s no sun

-By SunnyFox57

(Originally released sometime in January, 2024. Now rewritten and reposted December 27th, 2025)

Aaron’s words linger like an offensive odor inside Aragorn’s head as he lay awake in bed that night. He hadn’t thought they’d be safe here, hadn’t expected it to be at all, and yet the sheer amount of rules and regulations from the mayors was a little bit staggering. This wasn’t just some city where people were simply wary, no they actually LOOKED for trouble. Pushed and prodded until someone reared their ugly head. And then they’d be punished.

And goodness knew that his family was definitely not..the most normal. It was only a matter of time before they were caught, right? What was he supposed to do? He had to protect them. Somehow and someway. Would it seem suspicious to just suddenly leave the town? Would his wife even agree to it? Somehow Arianna liked the town, she thought it would be some sort of..fresh start for them. A blank slate. Somehow he sincerely doubted that his would be so easy to clear. Blood could only be repaid by blood.

“J-Aragorn.” Arianna’s whispering voice beside him suddenly broke into his thoughts. He shifts his head to face his wife.

“Hm?” He hums.

“I can practically feel the wheels turning in your brain right now, hon. What’s wrong?” She rolls onto her side to face him, a slim hand reaching out to press against his cheek, brushing a dark lock of hair away from his eye. He considers his response for a second before responding. He doubted that lying and saying he was fine would persuade her to drop it, she knew him way to well for that. Honestly she probably already knew the answer to her own question.

“I’m worried.” He finally admits. She waits, hand still caressing his face, waiting for him to continue.

“What if..what if something happens? Like what happened before? I can’t lose you, or the kids. I shouldn’t feel like it..but I feel like I’m nothing, even to you, Arianna. Just a smidge of dirt. Worthless. What if fail you all and it’s all my fault? Everything so far, the entire reason we’re here..is because of me. What if he was right? What if..I’m just like…him?” He swallowed, choking a bit on the last words.

Arianna scooted closer to him. “Hey, hey, hey, okay, look, listen to me. You’re not like him, alright? You’re a good man. A wonderful loving husband and father. None of this is your fault, you hear me?”

Unbidden, a lone tear tracked its way down the side of his cheek. A momentary moment of weakness. What a coward he was. A worthless coward. You shouldn’t make promises you don’t keep.

“But..I could have done something. I could have tried. I could have fixed it—it is my fault, Arianna. All of it..”

Arianna moves forward again pressing her forehead against his, her warm breath brushing across his face as she does so. “No. None of this is your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it if you tried okay? They all chose their path and you tried to help. It’s not your fault that they didn’t choose to accept the truth. We’re moving on. A fresh start. Our new life, right? Sure, we may have to work to make some people trust us, but what’s life without difficulty? We’re going to be okay. We’re safe. Nothing’s gonna happen to us.”

Aragorn closes his eyes, in an attempt to keep any other unwelcome tears from escaping.

“You promise?” He asks, unable to stop the ridiculous childish cowardly question that escapes from his lips.

Arianna leans back and kisses his forehead gently, hand still resting against his face.

“I promise.”

~~

Not many people knew how to find the home of the most beloved of the peacekeepers, Paul, even in the small city of Tortuga. Well..”beloved” was a bit of a overstatement. None of the peacekeepers were really that likable much less beloved, but of all of them Paul was definitely the most tolerable.

For Aaron Buckleshoot however, finding the dear peacekeeper wasn’t that hard. He knew where the man’s house sat, nestled snugly close to the lighthouse, and he knew what exact hours of the day that the man would be there. After all, he’d been there many many times. They had a history of sorts, one that went way beyond this small city.

Finally he arrived at the tiny yellow bricked building, raising his hand and knocking loudly on the front door, not caring if any neighbors nearby hear it. “It’s me, Aaron!” He calls. It was a quiet part of town anyway, even when it wasn’t in the early hours of the morning like right now. Every brick house was painted a pale pastel yellow color, with the same crooked uneven steps in front of the wooden front doors. Every house had the same small “garden” that was really just a patch of dirt and plastic fake flowers. If it was anyone except Aaron or one of the inhabitants in any of the neighboring houses, finding Paul’s house among the rest would prove to be incredibly challenging.

After knocking, the inside of the house was silent for a few moments but then the sound of soft footsteps thumping toward the door could be heard if you strained your ears enough, and then the door inched open. Paul’s tired eyes peered out at him.

“Yes. I know it’s you. You’re the only person who comes around here, making such a racket. Especially in the wee hours of the morning.” The man complains, pushing the door open wider. “Well, whatever are you waiting for? Make yourself at home as you’ll do anyways whether I want it or not. Mi casa, tu casa. Or whatever that saying is.”

Aaron obliges, needing no further invitation to step inside. He walks past Paul into the living room. It looks the same as always. The grey overhead fan swishing through the non-air conditioned room. The furniture in the living room, like all the furniture in the other parts of the house, was..ancient. Or at least antique. The couches were a checkered lime green, the carpet a pale runny maroon color from being washed too often, and all hard surfaces like the table, cabinets and bookshelves were made of battered stained black wood. The familiar smell of pipe smoke lingers in the air. Instead of hanging on the walls as they usually did, all of the peacekeeper’s guns were broken into pieces and lined out on the table beside a blackened rag and a jar of some type of black liquid, which Aaron suspected was because his friend had been in the middle of cleaning them.

Paul walks in right behind Aaron after shutting the front door once again and engaging the deadbolt. His grey eyes travel briefly over the living room thoroughly for a moment, as if searching to see if Aaron had touched anything in the five seconds that the peacekeeper had his back turned. It was a habit that Aaron had picked up on after many times of entering new places with the man. It was instinctual, he guessed. The man was surveying the room, making sure he had every object and furniture mapped out, and every exit plotted. Just in case he had to make a quick escape.

They both take a seat, Paul in the couch and Aaron in the armchair.

“What, no tea or anything for your company?” Aaron asks teasingly. He knows that Paul didn’t like that specific type of drink at all. He “prefers his liquid bitter”, or at least that’s just what Paul says. Aaron always reckoned that it was some sort of past experience with the drink that made him despise it. After all, he’d seen plenty of different types of bitter teas before.

Paul gives Aaron a look, lips twitching slightly at the edges but he manages to maintain a look of disapproval at his friend. “If you want anything go make it yourself. I have a lot better things to do than serve old geezers like yourself who pop into my domicile at random times.” He says dully, jabbing one finger towards the kitchen. He picks up a part of a gun and begins running the rag across it to scrape any grime or grease off it.

Aaron chuckles and raises his hands in a mock show of exasperation. “Goodness, if I’d known how much of a “old geezer” I was I wouldn’t have gone and started tackling my senile old Sarco in a attempt to get it back in its cage after it somehow got away!”

Paul rolls his eyes at that, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Oh please, I’m sure it wasn’t that hard. I could have done that in a heartbeat, and we’re nearly the same age.”

Aaron snorts. “Sure. And what was it you said when we went fishing last week? ‘Oh, my back! My poor cramping back!’.”

Paul can’t hold back his amusement anymore and suddenly throws his head back at that, letting out a loud laugh, a harsh unused booming sound that always surprises Aaron no matter how many times he hears it.

“That was you, you buffoon!”

Aaron chuckles along with his friend.

“So it was, so it was.”

Eventually their laughter dies down after a few seconds and Paul wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes and leans forward, still cleaning the guns’ pieces.

“So, what brings you here today? Certainly it wasn’t just to talk about your aching back. You don’t need me to help catch one of your little escapees again, right? As a peacekeeper, I’ve been re-informed that that behavior is not “responsible” and to shoot any “dangerous” creatures on sight.” Paul asks, rolling his eyes a bit at the Mayors’ opinions on all of Aaron’s…”pets”.

Aaron snorts and shakes his head, running his hands through his hair repeatedly, fingers seemingly trying to organize his quickly greying locks. “No, no. Ive been keeping them under lock and key. Last thing I need is getting word that..one of them had been deceased.” His face darkened at the thought. “No, I came to talk about the..new family. You were there when they arrived, right?”

Paul has finished up cleaning the guns’ pieces and now was putting them all together slowly, glancing up at Aaron’s question, brow raising slightly. “Yes..yes I was..why do you ask?”

“I was simply wondering what you thought of them.” Aaron leans forward in the armchair casually.

Paul raises his eyebrows further. If his dark hair wasn’t shaved high on all sides of his head, a military cut that hardened his square face, then they probably would have disappeared into his almost inexistent hairline. “So, in another words…you want to know what the mayors think of them?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Paul shakes his head in exasperation. “Yes, but that’s what you meant. Also, for your information, they seemed very wary to ME, specifically the father. They certainly are… strange. Any sane person can see that. Just how strange are they, is the question.”

“And what did the mayors think?”

“They don’t like them. To be fair, they don’t like anyone, but these people…..they REALLY don’t like them. They were constantly pushing and trying to get under the people’s nerves the entire time.” He leans back in his chair. “In fact, I think it probably worked. I wouldn’t expect them to stay long and if they do…goodness knows what the mayors are planning to make them endure. I wouldn’t get too close to them either, just for your own safety. I know how attached you get to..things and people, but these people—“ Paul trails off, shaking his head as he sets another finished gun done.

Aaron shifts in his chair, eyeing the guns like he wants to help but knowing that Paul probably wouldn’t like it. “Well..I may or may not have already visited them..”

Paul didn’t look up from the new gun he was piecing together but he sighed once again in exasperation, as he often did when he was around Aaron. “Aaron..you-you know if something happens to them or even you, I can no longer help you. This is my job here. I cannot help those who are condemned by the mayors.”

“Not even for a old friend?”

A sharp look from Paul’s grey eyes is enough to answer his question. Aaron sighs.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Don’t worry, I was only informing them of some of…the mayors’ more important roles. Just the basics. I wasn’t “scheming” with them to overrun the city, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s good. Just-just stay away from them, okay? We don’t know much about about them yet so we need to be wary. What is it we always say? Better safe than sorry…”

~~

“Stop moving, please. Sir. Sir, I’m almost done just stay still, okay?”

He flinches as the knife digs into his skin once more. Well, it wasn’t into his skin. It was digging into the edge of one of the many small black spikes sticking from his hands and chest. He lifts his right hand, biting down a little bit on a fingernail, to muffle any unholy sound that might threaten to escape. Another spike comes free with a wet snap, dropping into the waiting burlap sack with a soft clatter. The maid, who was the one doing the terrible task, continues murmuring under her breath as she works, comforting words, he thinks, though they blur together, muffled by the thick fog creeping through his head. Every time one of the spikes is removed, the ache lingers, the absence hurting just as much as the thing itself. Like always, he’s surprised at how little she was afraid to speak much less touch him. She was the only one.

The maid. Her name refuses to surface no matter how much he pushes for it in his mind. The pain has buried it somewhere deep. It happened constantly, taking facts that he should know and hiding them just out of reach.

Moonlight dances through the room from the open balcony door, invasively beaming down on his skin. It catches on the silhouettes of the spikes jutting from his arms and chest, making crooked shadows appear along the walls. Showing what was buried. underneath. The spikes are longer than they were last time. Thicker. Some of them have split his skin completely, forcing their way through red, inflamed flesh, black edges glistening faintly.

Originally they’d used tweezers to pull the thorny things out. He could vaguely remember the day that the thin metal bent uselessly, and the way the skin around the spikes pulled inward instead of giving, as if clutching at it because it wanted to keep them. They’d no choice but to switch to knives after that.

“Do they hurt?” The maid suddenly says, not even looking up at him as she does so, still focused on her massacring of the spikes inhibiting his skin. He knew that she didn’t expect him to answer. He didn’t have to. He was the master here. Plus, he barely spoke at all. Her asking him a question was simply an invitation to answer if he wanted to. He ran his tongue slowly over his teeth, trying to pull the answer from wherever it was hiding in his brain at the moment.

“Whenever they come in.” He rolls his head over to the side slightly as if to see her reaction to his next question. “Do they hurt you? To look at them?” He asks slowly, voice low and hoarse.

She finally glances up at him, her round innocent eyes searching his for a second briefly as she finishes up with his back. She walks round him and settles down on the stool in front of his chair, taking his left hand gently into her own, to begin working on the arm and aforementioned hand. “No. It doesn’t hurt me to look at you, maestro.” She says. Her native language slips in accidentally on the last word, through the cracks of her English. She digs the blade into the base of one of the spikes, making him tense slightly as it makes a sharp scratching noise. “You’re not disgusting to me. It does make me sad, though. Of everything you’ve had to endure. ”

The irritation crawls under his skin at her pointed answer, deeper than the spikes ever reach. They’ve had this conversation before. He’s certain of it. So he only let a small hum in response, letting them settle back into the stiff silence. He distracted himself from the constant jabs of pain by focusing on her face as she worked on cutting of the black thorny pieces of skin. Her face held a relatively calm expression despite the task she was working on, brows furrowed in quiet concentration above her blue eyes. Her blonde bangs stick slightly onto her forehead from sweat, the only sign at all that she might be feeling nervous.

He wasn’t sure if the spikes would ever stop coming back. Every time they were cut off, they grew back twice as long and sharp. It was more painful when they came in then when they were pulled out. Every time the black things poked up from his skin, his mind grew more foggy as the pain settled in, burying everything except for his gloomy thoughts.

The knife suddenly slips momentarily, cutting down on his finger at a angle. He flinches, teeth automatically finding his tongue. He bites down hard, until the bitter familiar taste of blood fills the entirety of his mouth. A flash. Falling. Water. Endless waves. But above all…blood. Blood everywhere.

On instinct he pushes back, gasping slightly as he tries to wipe away the memories, clenching his now injured hand into a tight fist, to avoid looking at the liquid. The maid is already scrambling to her feet, apologizing frantically but he doesn’t care anymore.

“Master, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—“

The rest of her words fall on deaf ears, as the crushing feeling of fogginess begins filling his ears. The taste of blood and bile floods his mouth, practically choking him.

“Get out.” He finally manages to snap through clenched teeth, interrupting her apologies.

“But-“

“GET OUT!!!” He rises to his feet, sending his chair against the wall with a crash in his rising rage. “GET OUT!!!”

The maid wisely does as he says, letting the knife fall to the floor with a clang and rushing out the door. She gives him one last look before letting it shut behind her. He knows that look. She wasn’t afraid of him, no. Instead, pity laced her gaze, practically oozing out of her pores toward him like cold water. How dare she. How dare she pity him. How dare she pity a snarling disgusting piece of filth like him.

Unable to stop himself he snatches the now empty stool in a fit of rage and slams it into the wall. Over and over until it completely falls apart.

“You, stupid, stupid, stupid—“ The words dissolve into a hoarse, broken, unintelligible sound as he clamps his hands over his ears and begins to scream. And scream. Until his voice gives out completely.

When his temper finally calms down he staggers to the sink in the corner of the room and retches violently. A mixture of blood and a bit of vomit spills from his mouth, splattering against the porcelain. His hands shake violently as he grips the edges of the sink, vision swimming at the sight of it. If there was one thing he hated, it was the sight of blood. The irony wasn’t lost on him. There was just something about it now that filled his gut with the feeling that he was dying. All over again.

Eventually the heaving subsides and he straightens, hands still on the sink edges as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t know this face that looks back at him. Black sclera met against yellow irises. Moonlight illuminates the thin skin stretching taunt over the bones on his face, showing every crack and crevice on it. His nose was barely there, the thin strip that was supposed to divide his nostrils was completely inexistent and his lips had sunk in along with his skin, leaving every inch of his teeth and jaw line showing quite clearly. Dark bags of exhaustion hang underneath his sunken eyes. His once favorite feature, his dark colored hair, that he’d used to loved to style now was greying and hung unevenly around his face, butchered. But the most striking feature of all of them was the two giant curved crooked black horns growing out of his head. It was the face of a monster. A face that not even a mother would love. Certainly not his mother.

Usually he wore a mask, a black thing that covered his entire face except for his eyes, almost like a gas mask. It was more for other people’s benefit that his own. Nobody wanted to look at such a hideous creature. Nobody had seen his face in years, especially not this ghastly butchered one. Well, nobody alive anyways. Except for the maid of course. It’d been more of a accident actually, whenever she first caught sight of it. He’d been meditating, with the suffocating mask off and she’d walked in without knocking to deliver something and had accidentally caught sight of his face. She’d flinched and started apologizing frantically in Spanish. Not because of his face though, just from the fear of being reprimanded. She was the only one. His only friend. Wait, no, not his friend. That was ridiculous. She was a maid, and he was her master. He was nothing but a chore for her, a job. And she was nothing but a maid to him. This wasn’t some foolish fairy tale. There was no beauty here. Only rot.

He glances down at his hands again finally. The bleeding from the cut had finally stopped. It hadn’t been that much anyways. It was a small cut. He shouldn’t have yelled at her for such a small accident. The spike was still there though, sticking up at him stubbornly. Without a second thought he lifts it to his mouth, buries his teeth into the bottom edge of it and grips it between them his teeth. The texture is sharp, brittle and warm all at once. He grits his teeth and harshly yanks it out, spitting it into the sink. He returns to looking at his appearance in the mirror, one hand raising unconsciously to press against his bony face. He was wrong, it was his face. There was no difference between him and the reflection. There never was. It had been foretold long ago. He was nothing. Just a disgusting rotting corpse of a man.

The sound of a knock on the door, interrupts his thoughts. He doesn’t answer aloud however, which is an answer in and of itself to speak.

“Sir, your ship is ready now to leave port.” The person on the other side says. When his master doesn’t respond, the sound of the person’s soft footsteps pattering off sounds and he turns back to the mirror once more, breathing a sigh of relief at the scout’s words.

His ship was ready. It was almost time. Hopefully his time here on this gloomy earth wouldn’t be for too much longer. Anwir had told them that she had finally found the right one. All they needed was two more. Just two more and he could be at peace. All the pain of past and present would we wiped away in a short while. And he would be free to finally go back to where he belonged. Hopefully. Unbidden, a shaky smile stretches across his thin face, and he begins to chuckle. His shoulders slowly began shaking, and black inky tears leak steadily down the crevices of his face as he laughs. Or cries. To any person hearing it, they wouldn’t know the difference. So he throws his head back and allows the hysterical sounds to flow out of his mouth, letting the inky tears fill his eyes and flow to the floor, until the world turns completely black.

~~

Author’s note:

Sorry, this chapter is a bit boring. A lot of needed dialogue plus needed filler.

Also, happy late Christmas everyone, and I hope you all have a merry New Year!