OOM 1: When The Night Falls In Around Me
If this keeps me away much longer
I don't know what I will do
You've got to understand it's a hard life
That I'm going through
Jack stood on the deck of the freighter Andalusia, watching as the lights of Cadiz approached. It had been odd seeing light on the horizon as they approached the Spanish coast after ten days of nothing but heaving swells and the near-complete darkness of the North Atlantic.
He'd made his way north from Los Angeles slowly, travelling by train and bus to the border, then across Canada to Montreal. It hadn't been hard to find a container ship captain that was willing to take on some general help for a trip across the Atlantic, under the table. He'd watched the ships coming in for a couple days before he'd gotten lucky, hearing someone complaining about a couple crew members not showing up. A smaller shipping line, the need for extra crew and the bonus of playing Jack less than the other crew as he was working for his passage. It was a dangerous game, as there were no guarantees the captain of the Andalusia, Andriy Makarovskyi, wouldn't inform on him to the police on arrival, but it was one he had to take. Besides, he was reasonably certain that if it came down to it he could escape.
He rummages in his carrier bag, pulling out two of the things he knows he shouldn't have for safety reasons, but which he couldn't leave behind: a picture of Kim and Teri, and one of Kim, Chase and Angela. He gently fingers the fold lines, the rough edges from keeping them in his wallet for so long. His heart gives an ache at the sight; a dull, empty feeling. But he knows there's nothing he can do now; the door back to Milliways hasn't appeared yet, as much as he's been looking for it, hoping for it every time he opens a door. All he can do is wait, as the things he's tried--touching his badge, his room key to door handles--haven't worked.
"You may want to climb down to the inflatable raft from the starboard gangway. Empty the air from it and leave it at the end of Pier 32. One of my men will pick it up," Jack hears from a few feet to his left. He turns, spotting Andriy and putting his right hand in his pocket, hiding the photos from view. His wariness is clear on his face.
Andriy smiles, raising one eyebrow. "I am right in thinking that you do not want Customs to know you are here?"
"You saw my passport and visas," Jack says, a little stiffly.
"But just because you can get through customs does not mean you want your name in their little computer."
Jack isn't sure what Andriy is thinking; if he has any suspicions he could easily tell the customs officials or the police later, and that's a risk he doesn't want to take. Though how he can get around this, he's not sure. Bribery, possibly.
Andriy drops most of the smile, sobering, though his voice is kind. "Frank, I do not know what you are running from. Perhaps is better if I do not. But you learn much when a man is part of your crew. You are good worker, and, I think, good man. I do not know who or what you are running from, but I trust it is no one I would wish to catch you."
Jack lets some of the tension out of his shoulders, hazarding a smile of his own. He holds out his hand, which Andriy takes, his grip firm.
"If you ever have reason to go back, come here. We dock here often. If I am not here, look for the same shipping line and mention my name to the captain. Good luck, Frank," Andriy says, dipping his hand in his pocket before shaking Jack's hand. Jack can feel something pressing against his palm, but he keeps his face neutral.
"Thank you, Captain," Jack replies, and Andriy nods, then turns to head back down to the deck toward the superstructure that housed the bridge.
Jack looks down at his hand, a wad of Euros tucked in his palm. His pay for the voyage. He shoves it in his pocket without bothering to count it, pulling out the photos again, staring at them for a moment. He doesn't have a photo of Chris, but then he doesn't need it. The memory of her look, her voice, is still so sharp in his mind to be painful, and he tries not to think of her; not that he succeeds very often. Despite the fact that they'd split, that there was little or no hope of them ever making a life together, he still loves her. Which just makes it all the worse.
If you ever have reason to go back... Maybe. Someday. But not now. And not for the reason he'd wish for most.
He shoves the photos and money into his bag, then turns, heading past the containers to the stairs that lead to the starboard gangway door a few decks down. They'll be making port soon, and he needs to be off the vessel before they tie up. Quietly, he makes up way down the stairs, ready to start running again.
And all these days I spend away
I'll make up for this, I swear
I need your love to hold me up
When it's all too much to bear
And when the night falls in around me
And I don't think I'll make it through
I'll use your light to guide the way
'Cause all I think about is you.