The Legend of James Grey

by Jennifer Moorman

  “Your fault,” Hook said. “You brought this on yourself, like all women do.”

  Emma stilled, staring at the blood now oozing from the wound. It reminded her of the way magma pushed up from fractures in the bedrock. Drops of deep red splattered on the floor, and words wiggled and grew out of them. Fault. Failure. Disappointment. Her stomach rolled, and she would have pitched forward if Hook hadn’t held her so tightly.

  An image of Thomas’ face appeared in her dizzy mind. Thomas had said the deterioration of their relationship was her fault too. Hadn’t she deserved to be talked to that way, to be brought down, to have her flaws displayed? She deserved to be abandoned because she’d never been enough and somehow always too much. The warm blood slid down her arm.

  “You’ll be sorry you chose him. After what he did to me, the least I can do is take away what he seems to care about. You think you’re special? I guess we’ll see if he comes through for you or not.”

  She closed her eyes as the world tilted beneath her. But then she saw James’ face, heard his words drifting through her mind like a steady breeze. James cared about her; she could feel his affection and concern for her. Hook was wrong. Maybe Thomas had been wrong too. And what if Emma had been wrong about herself all this time? She inhaled a deep breath, clenched her jaw, and fought against Hook.

  Her sudden movement startled Hook, and he lost his balance, which allowed Emma to gain hers. She slipped out of his grasp, and he lunged for her, slashing his hook toward her face. Emma darted out of the way, but the hook caught on the hem of her shirt and ripped through the fabric. She scrambled away from him, toward the main staircase, overturning chairs behind her.

  Hook leaped over the chairs and stopped to pick one up and hurl it at her. The chair caught Emma in the back of the legs, knocking her forward, and she slammed into a bookshelf and tried to grip the edge of the shelf for balance. She pulled herself up and yanked books off the shelves and threw them at Hook. He batted them away, but one book caught on his hook. While he tried to sling it from the sharp, silver point, Emma lifted a chair as high as she could and threw it at him. One of the legs smashed Hook in his jaw and spun him away from her. Her eyes focused on a sword hanging in his scabbard. It resembled one that had been encased in the archives—a mysterious sword of unknown origin discovered in Mystic Water a few hundred years ago. The jeweled hilt caught the light, and the crimson rubies sparkled like warning lights.

  Hook turned back toward her with his fist pressed against his bruised jaw. He glowered with his dark eyes full of menace, yanked the sword free, and pointed it at her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Emma ran away from Hook, arms pumping and legs aching with effort, and sprinted toward the back staircase. Within seconds Emma realized the pirate was a much faster runner. He ran up an aisle parallel to her and rounded the end of the bookshelf, wielding the stolen sword. Emma stumbled to a stop, nearly barreling into Hook. With his footing firm, he swung the sword at her head, and she tripped over her feet as she staggered backward, arms windmilling for balance, but unable to grasp anything to stop her fall.

  Hook slashed the sword down at her as she struggled to crab crawl away from him, pushing her shoes against the floor as hard and as fast as possible. The sword hit the top edge of her tennis shoe and sliced off the rubber tip, scarcely missing her toes. Emma barely got to her feet before the blade whizzed past her head as she ducked to the side. She gripped the edge of the nearest shelf, panting and feeling as though her heart would crack through her ribcage any second.

  Hook grinned at her. He’s playing with me, toying with me like a cat bats around a helpless mouse, already knowing the battle is won. Anger and fear collided inside of her, creating a desperate, uncontrollable burst of self-preservation. Fight or flight. She couldn’t outrun or outfight Hook, but maybe she could outsmart him, catch him off guard.

  Emma ran full speed at Hook while he began to raise the sword at his side. She bent over her body so she could ram him with her shoulder. She barely registered the look of surprise in his eyes before he tripped over his boots and careened out of control toward a study table. He slammed into the table and sprawled out on top of it, and the sword slipped from his grasp.

  The jeweled hilt sparkled as the sword bounced against the floor. Emma clambered for the sword, leaped toward it like a jaguar, as Hook pushed himself to standing with incredible speed. In a mad rush, Emma gripped the hilt with both hands, groaning as she lifted the hefty blade, and spun to face Hook just as he dove toward her.

  The silver blade shoved itself into Hook’s chest, piercing him all the way through, exiting out his back.

  13

  Emma stood stunned for a second before she could move. Then she gasped and released the hilt. Hook’s eyes were wide as he stumbled backward, staring down at the sword protruding from his chest. Emma’s heart pounded so hard that it made her want to vomit. Hook’s legs trembled, and he crumpled to his knees, pitching sideways into the table. He gripped the sword with both hands and yanked it clean. Emma slapped her hands over her mouth and gagged.

  Hook dropped the sword beside him and lay on his back. His glassy eyes stared toward the ceiling. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading out from his sides. Deep red wetness stained his shirt in a widening circle as he blinked. Emma gulped in air, and she dropped to her knees beside him.

  Her whole body trembled like someone standing barefoot in the snow without a jacket. She leaned over him and touched his shoulder. Warm blood continued to drip down her slashed arm. “Hook, can you hear me?”

  He blinked again and turned a slow gaze toward her. His dark eyes looked unfocused, and the pool of blood enlarged beneath him.

  “I am so sorry,” Emma blubbered. She grabbed his hand, careful not to jostle him too much. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Hook closed his eyes, and his right cheek dimpled. “Bravo, love. You’re stronger than I thought. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I don’t,” Emma argued. “I’m not a killer. Don’t die, okay? I can find someone to help.”

  Hook squeezed her fingers and exhaled a labored breath. “Not a killer,” he said, his words garbled. “Self-preservation. I didn’t think you cared enough to save yourself. Well played, love.”

  Hook’s body convulsed and he groaned.

  “Hang in there, Hook,” she said. “I’ll get you back on your feet in no time.”

  He grimaced, and his body tightened as his spine stiffened before it relaxed again. He opened his eyes and gazed up at her with dilated pupils. “Sometimes you have to let people go.”

  His watery breath gurgled in his chest as he inhaled one final time. Then he exploded into ashes. When Emma opened her mouth and yelled in surprise, soot coated her tongue as it covered her entire body. She coughed and hacked, spitting black ash onto the tiles.

  Footsteps hammered against the floor, and Emma lifted her palms to her eyes and tried to wipe away the grime. As she blinked, James came into view. He dropped down beside her.

  “What happened? Are you okay? Are you bleeding? What’s this all over the floor?” he asked in quick succession. “It looks like a fire box exploded.”

  Emma burst into tears, crying hard into her dirty hands. James pulled her against him and held her until she could breathe normally.

  “Emma,” he said finally, sitting her upright and pushing her hair back from her face, “talk to me.”

  “Hook,” she said and wiped the back of her hand across her runny nose. Then she stared down at her bloody, dirty arm. A straight, black line of soot clung to the cut. “I—I killed him.”

  “What?” James asked as he gripped both of her shoulders and made her face him.

  The concern she saw in his expression caused her tears to return, and she blubbered the events that led to Hook’s accidental death. When she finished telling him what happened, James pulled her against him again.

  “It’s okay,” he said over and over again while rubbing her back. After a few mi
nutes, he pulled away and lifted her arm gently. “This needs to be cleaned. Stay here.” He rushed off to the upstairs bathroom and returned with two handfuls of wet paper towels. He handed her a couple, and she wiped her face. Then he walked to a first-aid kit hanging on a wall near the bathrooms and pulled out supplies. He sat down beside her and cleaned off the wound.

  Emma clenched her jaw and winced. “Is it bad? Do I need stitches?”

  James shook his head. “Antiseptic and maybe a couple of bandages. It’s not deep.” He wadded up the soiled paper towels and dropped them beside them. He dabbed antiseptic ointment on the deepest sections of the cut before covering the wound with bandages and medical tape. Then he added, “You know…he’s not really dead, Em. He’s just gone back into his story where he will always be alive and roguish. I’m sorry you had to witness that, and I understand why it’s upsetting, but you didn’t really kill anyone.”

  Emma rocked back on her heels and studied the bandages before looking down at what was left of Hook. Words moved in the ashes. Let go. Take care. Strength. She sighed and the ashes shifted. “I know you’re right. It still feels awful. But it’s been a long day. Maybe I could use a good night’s sleep.”

  James stood and pulled Emma to her feet. “I’ll clean up the floor.” He pointed toward the sword. “And I’ll clean that up and return it to its case in the archives. Why don’t you head on over to Morty’s? Get some rest.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  She looked up at him. “Should I wait for you?”

  James gathered the paper towels and paused at her question. “You want me to stay with you?” He sounded surprised.

  “I kinda just killed someone. I don’t want to be alone,” she admitted. “But that’s not the only reason I want you to stay with me. I want to be with you.”

  James twined his fingers with hers. “As long as you need me, I’ll stay with you.”

  Even though Emma knew that wasn’t possible—James staying with her for as long as she needed—she liked the idea that it was possible. She liked the seed of a dream that notion planted in her heart, and she felt it grow, steady and strong, within her.

  Sunday morning dawned with a watercolor-painted sky, a horizontal rainbow of soft pastel colors. Emma stood at the bay window with her mug of coffee while James finished cooking breakfast in Morty’s kitchen. In less than two days, James would be gone. Monday, she thought. Will he disappear in the morning or will I have all day? How much happiness can we fit into a day? She sighed, wishing time would slow down, perhaps start turning backward in order to give them more time. We’ll fit in as much as possible. The days will be so full of joy that we will be overflowing with it. Her mind paused, and she wrinkled her brow. Who are you, and what have you done with negative, heartbroken Emma?

  “Ready?” James called from the kitchen.

  She turned to look at him, to really see the man standing there, and her chest expanded. James was so full of light and hope, and he’d been right: his optimism was contagious.

  “I could get used to this,” she said, repeating his words from the day before, “seeing you first thing in the morning. You making breakfast, me drinking coffee with you.”

  James pulled out her chair at the table. “Sounds perfect.”

  After breakfast, Emma left James at the cottage, and she drove to the hospital to see Morty, hoping he’d be awake so she could talk to him.

  Linda was working behind the desk, blowing pink bubbles and tapping her pen to the rhythm of a country song playing quietly in the background. Linda smiled when she saw Emma. “All ready for the festival?” she asked.

  Emma puffed out air. “As ready as I can be. Morty’s preparation makes it so much easier. How’s he doing? Do you know if he’s awake?”

  Linda nodded. “His nurse just left a few minutes ago. He’s doing well but impatient to go home. Go on in.”

  Emma knocked on the door and pushed it open when she heard him call for her to enter. Morty sat up in the raised hospital bed. He held a cup of coffee in both hands and his pleased expression calmed her nerves.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said, leaning over and putting the coffee mug on the bedside table. “How did it go yesterday with the setup? Did everyone show up? Any problems? Any concerns?”

  Emma grabbed the orange chair and slid it to the edge of the bed. “I told you not to worry. If the doctor gets wind that I’ve flustered you, they’re going to forbid me from visiting. Do you want that? Then who will bring you breakfast pastries?” Emma shook the brown bag she’d been holding before putting it on the bedside table. “All healthy treats, of course, so you won’t get into trouble for these. I imagine after a plateful of cookies, you might need to be cautious.”

  Morty’s eyes widened before they narrowed. “I knew you were somehow involved—sending Dana here with my favorite cookies.”

  Emma held up her hands in defense. “She asked if she could bring you anything, and I just told the truth.” Emma sat down in the chair and leaned her elbows on the bed. “So, how was it? Did you two hit it off? How was the conversation? Did you trip over your tongue? Embarrass yourself?”

  Morty leaned his head back and sighed. “She’s a lovely person.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she bounced her elbows on the bed until he opened his eyes again. “And?”

  “And we’re going to have tea or coffee or lunch when I make my jail break.”

  Emma smiled so widely that Morty looked at her strangely. “What?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages.”

  Emma sat upright in the chair, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. You deserve a nice woman to have conversation with. I like Dana. She seems like good people.”

  Morty eyed her but then continued, “She is. I should thank you for such a nice surprise, but yesterday I assumed you had something to do with her visiting. Then I thought about plotting how I was going to get you back for such trickery. That is until Dana spent the better part of two hours here talking about all sorts of interesting things. I think we could have talked for the rest of the day, but she had to go home to let out her dog. I’m looking forward to seeing her again. But enough about me, tell me about the festival, and I promise not to work myself up.”

  Emma explained how well the setup had gone, due to his impeccable planning, and that there had been no issues they couldn’t handle. She told him about the volunteers and the vendors, and about Vicki and James. But she left out information about Hook and his untimely departure since there was no need to upset Morty now that Hook was no longer a threat.

  When she finished, Morty looked relieved, and he nodded. “That’s what it is then.”

  “That’s what what is?”

  “James.”

  Emma’s body stilled. Her breath caught in her throat, and she waited until her heartbeat slowed. Then she exhaled as calmly as possible, and asked, “What about him?”

  “Someone has turned back on your light. You’re glowing. I’ve missed that. I would tell you to be careful, but love is an adventure worth taking, and playing it safe isn’t always worth it. Sometimes it’s better to take a leap.”

  Emma stared at him. “I don’t—”

  “Don’t, Em. Don’t negate or deny your emotions. Nobody wins in that scenario.” Morty held out his hand to her, and she slipped her hand into his.

  Her throat felt tight when she looked up at him and said, “I’m scared.”

  He nodded. “Love is always worth trying, even when it’s scary. Trust your intuition, and don’t let the fear of the unknown keep you from living. My two cents, kiddo, but I’m just an old man.”

  Emma squeezed his hand. “You’re more than just an old man to me. You’re my family.”

  “Which is why I can tell you to stop sitting on the bench in your own life. Go live it. You’ve only got this one. I suggest you love the hell out of it.”

  “Are you planning to take your own advice with Dana?�
��

  Morty grinned and rubbed his belly. “If those cookies are any indication of our future, it’s going to be a sweet, fulfilling ride.”

  Emma hustled back to the library where vendors and volunteers were already starting to arrive on the grounds. She met James on the back steps of the library and unlocked the doors. Within an hour, a constant hum of energy and chatter filled the air. The festival didn’t officially begin until 12:30, once the local churches recessed for the day, but there were hundreds of people already milling around, slapping backs, and hugging people they hadn’t seen since the year before. Children chased one another around the gigantic oak tree in the parking lot, twirled in empty spots on the bright-green lawn, and grew excited as they watched the booths come alive with activity.

  Emma and Vicki met with all of the volunteers and reviewed their jobs one final time. Then the group wandered off to find their stations, and Emma stood in the library with James.

  “I feel like I want to throw up my breakfast,” Emma said.

  James chuckled. “This is going to be great. You know what you really need to do?”

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  “Enjoy yourself. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than at a festival with you.”

  Emma couldn’t stop her smile. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

  “I ought to. I’ve had a hundred years of practice.”

  Emma’s laughter sent out a surge of happy energy that spread throughout the library, and people nearby smiled wider and leaned a little closer to their friends. Emma glanced over her shoulder and saw Crusoe and Darcy gazing out the nearest window. She walked over to them.

  “You know the rules,” she said. “No book characters are allowed outside of the library.”

  Darcy gazed at her for a long moment before speaking. “Yet Grey walked with you through town. The rules don’t apply to everyone, I’ve noticed.”