This is NOT my closet... (open)
Months had passed since he'd been confined and though perhaps his prison was rather more comfortable than most...it was still a prison and offered little in the way of entertainment. That was to be expected when Jack knew his jailer wished him to only be entertaining himself in one way.
With Lucinda, dear, sweet girl that she was. She loved him or she loved the man she'd once believed him to be, the one he could still pretend to be as it suited him. Even as much as it disgusted him, he played that part for her now. Jack smiled at her, touched her even when he didn't have to. Made her fall in love with him all over again. And the feat wasn't nearly as easy as one might think when he'd spent the first several weeks of his confinement in a sullen, angry silence or railing at her as the mood struck him, but he'd never touched her. He hadn't even looked at her.
Not until he'd found a better way to pass the time. Jack courted her. Teased her out of the quiet, withdrawn mouse she'd become in response to his anger. Pretended he did love her, after all, that he cared about every single hair on her head, every little thought she had in her brain. He played with her, made her melt, and sigh, and shiver. But he never fulfilled her purpose for being there, the reason his father had sent her to him.
Perhaps his father had thought Jack would grow frustrated enough to give in, but there were other ways for him to use her and it wasn't so difficult to imagine someone else's body beneath his when he finally did so. She'd been his father's tool but she was Jack's toy now and she'd do anything for him, of that he was certain.
There was only one thing he wanted her to do, however.
He wanted out.
And today, after so much time had passed, today would be the day. Jack could, indeed, be patient as well as clever despite certain low expectations of him.
A routine had begun when Jack had allowed Lucinda to share his bed. Silas could tell, Jack knew, when Jack had done more with her than merely sleep in the same room. But apparently he couldn't tell exactly what was happening or where particular things were going for every morning after she would be quietly escorted out -- no one spoke to him -- and taken for tests.
Every morning she'd be brought back to him, after, and someone out there, Jack knew, would have to be the unlucky one charged with informing his father that she was still without child. Still and forevermore, if Jack had his way.
They would be taking advantage of that, soon enough, when she awoke, and then Jack would be going somewhere far away from Shiloh and Gilboa where his father's reach didn't extend, there to raise his own phantom army and re-take what should have been his by right and by birth. What he shouldn't have had to take in the first place but he knew now that Silas would never give it up, even if that mean civil war upon his death.
"It's just moving the schedule up a bit," Jack muttered to himself as he opened his closet door, reaching blindly for a clean shirt. Unfortunately for him, his hand only met empty air which was a strange enough occurrence that he turned to look at where his shirts should have been hanging only to see...a street. Cobblestones. And surrounding him, quaint little buildings.
Wait. Surrounding him?
Slowly, Jack looked around. This was definitely neither his closet, nor his room. His shirts were definitely not waiting on him. Nor was Lucinda there, nor anyone else he recognized. And it definitely wasn't Shiloh.
"Apparently," he found himself muttering yet again, "I've gone straight from cabin fever into full-on delusion."
And that was how one Jack Benjamin came to be standing barefoot on a street in Haurvatat in a pair of pants and very little else.
With Lucinda, dear, sweet girl that she was. She loved him or she loved the man she'd once believed him to be, the one he could still pretend to be as it suited him. Even as much as it disgusted him, he played that part for her now. Jack smiled at her, touched her even when he didn't have to. Made her fall in love with him all over again. And the feat wasn't nearly as easy as one might think when he'd spent the first several weeks of his confinement in a sullen, angry silence or railing at her as the mood struck him, but he'd never touched her. He hadn't even looked at her.
Not until he'd found a better way to pass the time. Jack courted her. Teased her out of the quiet, withdrawn mouse she'd become in response to his anger. Pretended he did love her, after all, that he cared about every single hair on her head, every little thought she had in her brain. He played with her, made her melt, and sigh, and shiver. But he never fulfilled her purpose for being there, the reason his father had sent her to him.
Perhaps his father had thought Jack would grow frustrated enough to give in, but there were other ways for him to use her and it wasn't so difficult to imagine someone else's body beneath his when he finally did so. She'd been his father's tool but she was Jack's toy now and she'd do anything for him, of that he was certain.
There was only one thing he wanted her to do, however.
He wanted out.
And today, after so much time had passed, today would be the day. Jack could, indeed, be patient as well as clever despite certain low expectations of him.
A routine had begun when Jack had allowed Lucinda to share his bed. Silas could tell, Jack knew, when Jack had done more with her than merely sleep in the same room. But apparently he couldn't tell exactly what was happening or where particular things were going for every morning after she would be quietly escorted out -- no one spoke to him -- and taken for tests.
Every morning she'd be brought back to him, after, and someone out there, Jack knew, would have to be the unlucky one charged with informing his father that she was still without child. Still and forevermore, if Jack had his way.
They would be taking advantage of that, soon enough, when she awoke, and then Jack would be going somewhere far away from Shiloh and Gilboa where his father's reach didn't extend, there to raise his own phantom army and re-take what should have been his by right and by birth. What he shouldn't have had to take in the first place but he knew now that Silas would never give it up, even if that mean civil war upon his death.
"It's just moving the schedule up a bit," Jack muttered to himself as he opened his closet door, reaching blindly for a clean shirt. Unfortunately for him, his hand only met empty air which was a strange enough occurrence that he turned to look at where his shirts should have been hanging only to see...a street. Cobblestones. And surrounding him, quaint little buildings.
Wait. Surrounding him?
Slowly, Jack looked around. This was definitely neither his closet, nor his room. His shirts were definitely not waiting on him. Nor was Lucinda there, nor anyone else he recognized. And it definitely wasn't Shiloh.
"Apparently," he found himself muttering yet again, "I've gone straight from cabin fever into full-on delusion."
And that was how one Jack Benjamin came to be standing barefoot on a street in Haurvatat in a pair of pants and very little else.