Dear James,

So, Liv and I are doing this thing . . . we're both gonna write about our experiences on The Encantador, then we're gonna talk about it. I know, I know, I'm not usually one for a heart to heart but -- no, screw it. I don't need to explain myself to you. You're freaking dead.

Well, I'm not real good at spilling my guts, James. So shut up and stop complaining that I'm awkward. Trust me, I know. That's why you didn't love me, right? Cause I was awkward?

Sorry, that was pathetic. There's not a eraser on this friggin pencil, though, so it's gonna have to stay there.

Anyways, yeah, obviously The Encantador sucks major balls. Give me a cannon or really anything vaguely explosive and I'd be happy to take out the whole lot of them.

I just think it's disgusting that they SPECIFICALLY went after the women, y'know? Like, I'm all for equal opportunity kidnapping, but that's just dishonor at its worst. And it was worse, because I know he goes after children, too.

Being tortured by the same man who killed my daughter made me . . . I don't friggin know what it made me, but I was mad. Still am.

I think it sort of made me lose sight of who I am, you know? I felt like I used to, as a kid. Like all my fight was wasted, and it would never get me anywhere. I just got this hopeless feeling, like I'd forgotten that I'm not helpless anymore. I fight. I kill people. I can deal with a little pain.

What made me really mad, though? Was how they treated Olivia. They'd push me aside and just go after her, like she was some kind of punching bag. And you know how she's usually so obnoxious and annoying? They hurt her so bad that she stopped.

I'm not gonna lie, I prefer obnoxious Liv over subdued Liv. It's too weird to see her that somber.

Anyway, we're gonna go talk about crap, now. See ya.

              -Heather

XXX

Heather knew where she was the moment she came to.

Same smell, same grungy walls, same creaking from the left and bloodstains on the floor. ten year old bloodstains, bloodstains from someone she knew.

Her head pounded, her body aching. Her stomach felt shriveled to the size of a prune. She felt nauseous too. Her face felt dry and stiff. She couldn't move it or open her mouth. And her hands were in chains, shackled to the wall.

And she wasn't alone. She watched the man's silhouette, illuminated by the thin candle light. Her eyes were slits, droopy and dim. She could see nothing more than his outline.

Her heart felt stoic and still. She sighed to herself. She felt nothing.

"Ah, you have awoken."

The man's voice carried a small trace of a Spanish accent, deep and curled at the edges with amusement. Heath spat in front of her, trying to get her tongue to work. It wouldn't.

The man came toward her, squatting down to her level on the floor. "No need for that, chica," he breathed. He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. Heather didn't want to think this, but she did: he looked like Robin. Same bright brown eyes, same soft layers of hair, even the same hands.

"Who are you?" She managed to ask, though she already knew.

He smiled at her. "I am Mateo Araya, Captain of The Encantador. No need to look so alarmed, chiquita. I will not hurt you if you cooperate."

She glared at him, baring her teeth. His fingers felt rough on her face. "Don't touch me," she spat. "Let me go."

Mateo gave a harsh chuckle, squeezing her chin with his hand. "You are Heather, no?" She scowled for way of answer. "I'll tell you what, Heather. I have heard about you. First mate of James Ramsey, best friends of the infamous Olivia Ramsey. And, hermosa, believe me when I say that I am quite taken with you."

Heather nearly snorted, but was stopped by the expression on his face. His thick eyebrows knit together with conviction, his eyes wide and earnest. Taken aback, she swallowed down the biting remarks she wanted to respond with. Instead, she closed her eyes and said, "Why?"

Rather than answering, Mateo Araya produced a key from his pocket and began to unlock the handcuffs around her wrists. Her arms fell from the wall, heavy and aching. He lifted her hands, rubbing the angry red marks on her wrists with his thumbs. "I will not hurt you," he repeated. "If you cooperate."

She kept her eyes shut, trying not to breathe. The tang of blood filled her nose, stirring up her stomach into a nauseous pit. "Cooperate with what?" she asked.

"See," Mateo began, "We have not only taken you prisoner, Heather. Also on board are your young friends, the girl and the boy."

Heather gasped, yanking her hands away from him. They had Peter and Amelia, too? Poor kids. They must be terrified. "You won't . . . you won't hurt them either, right?"

Mateo clicked his tongue, sighing. "I can't make any promises, Niña."

"They're just kids," she begged.

"Hmm . . ." He frowned at her, tapping his finger against his chin. "See, Heather. They are no concern of yours or mine. What should matter to you is this: If you tell me where The Fina is, no harm will come to you."

Shocked, Heath stared at him. "I don't know," she answered. "We thought you did."

She could tell he didn't believe her. Mateo sighed. "Heather, it isn't a difficult thing. All you must do is tell me where the ship is. That is all."

"Look, Araya," she said, spitting his name. "If I knew where that she was, I'd be sailing it, okay? I have no idea where the damn thing is. I don't have any information for you. Now let me and the other two go."

At this, Mateo laughed. "Oh, Heather. You're never leaving here."