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The Waiting Room

~ Chapter One Hundred-Eight


A Letter Arrives


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Grosini backed away from the sink, the chocolate still flowing, filling the sink as the thick gloppy stuff began to solidify. Jack regained his senses and ran over, closing off the faucets.

“Bloody ‘ell. Now we got no water.”

As if to check, Jack reached over and turned on the cold water. Amazingly, only water came gushing forth.

The pirate shook his head confused. “I don’t know what’s going on but this can’t be a good thing, I warn ye.” He turned back to Wilmot. “Not a good thing at all.”

The kitchen door swung open, bopping Wilmot. He cursed, lashing out with his cane as L’inconnu made his way in, giving his apologies in French.

“Well, next time check before entering,” Wilmot complained. “Or knock and wait for permission to enter. No one has manners, I must say! What do you have there, my man?”

The Englishman lifted his cane to point at the paper in the Frenchman’s hand. Seeing the rising cane, L'inconnu flinched, fearing another strike, then realized Wilmot was only inquiring about the item in his hand.

“Cette letter e ete glisse sous la porte,” he said, handing it to His Lordship.

Jack's greedy hands reached out for the letter, anxious to see who it could be. His fingers barely touched the sheet when Wilmot snapped it back.

“I say! This was not given to you was it, pirate?”

Jack glared at Wilmot. “Can’t say directly, no. But then again, me not being up on me French, can’t tell ye what the man said either.” Jack nodded to L’inconnu.

“He merely said that this letter was slipped beneath the door.”

So it was a letter! The girls had come to the door! No knocking! No calling out to him! One of them simply slipped a note beneath the portal. He ran out of the kitchen and to the door. The letter had to be from one of his girls…his little tamale, Jessie…his singing angel Carrie…the girl upon the Flying Dutchman (though those letters eventually disintegrate from the seawater). They had all written to him and he had hoped against hope they would write again.

The door did not budge.

“Come on m’ lovlies!” He called to them.

“One of ye is out there, ol’ Jack just feels it in his bones. Come on now, don’t be shy with Jack. Ye know he don’t bite…unless ye want!”

He smiled, pleased at his sense of humor and waited for a response.

Silence.

No answer.

No reply.

Nada.

He stepped up to the door and pounded.

“Come on now. Jack is here waiting. Why are you being such wenches?”

He paused, giving them time to answer him.

The pirate stepped back, confused that none of the girls called to him.

“Ah!” He nodded, smiling, revealing the row of gold teeth. “Playing hard to get with ol' Jack, are ye? Well! Ye know two can play that game? I’ll just be going back to the kitchen and wait for ye there. Whoever ye be…I’ll be waiting….yes I will…”

He stepped back one, two, three steps.

“I’m going now,” he called out. Another step…another failure to answer.

Jack tiptoed towards the kitchen door. “I be further away now. Ye can come in m’lady, m’darling. Please, Jack is so lonely and he would love yer company!” He confessed.

His hand lay upon the kitchen door. Still there was not a sound.

“Mmm?” he wondered. “Perhaps they be waiting for me to go into the kitchen, then I can come out and be surprised! Of course!” He leaned to call back to the door.

“I understand, ye know. Shy little she-devil! Not to worry. Jack be giving ye privacy to come in, then I shall return and we can share a pint of whatever be your poison, luv!”

Proud that he had figured out the situation, Jack smacked the kitchen door open and took a long stride inside. He got a surprise…a surprise that he entered an empty kitchen.

“What? Where be everyone?”

He looked about, walking all the way around the prep island as if the three men were hiding. But they were not to be found.

Jack ran back into The Room. The table were they had been enjoying tea was empty as well, with the exception of a wet poncho, an ivory handled cane and a set of earphones.

From deep inside, Jack felt a tinge of panic.

This can’t be, he thought, spinning on his heel and dashing back into the kitchen.

He waved his arms in anger. “Ye were all here a minute ago! This cannot be! This is not right!”

As he gestured he stirred the air and a small paper fluttered from the counter to the floor.

He did not know why, but it held his attention and he bent down, retrieving it and recognized it as the paper L’inconnu had handed Wilmot.

On it was one single, large scripted letter. Just as the Frenchman said…a letter.

The letter “W”.



 

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