The Waiting Room
~ Chapter One Hundred-Eight
A Letter Arrives
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”.