Dear Peter,

What a week it's been! I haven't had time to write.

Sweden is still far, but we're having a good time aboard The Fina this voyage. Do you know what's been especially nice? We brought a very minimal quantity of alcohol along, so the crew is often sober. A nice change, no doubt.

We've all been talking to each other much more now that we're drinking water. Costos sings for us some nights (he's the opera singer, remember?) and Freddy does his tricks. He can balance six bottles stacked on his nose. He juggles knives, too, and even throws them at Costos if they're feeling confident.

Robin and I have had a chance to talk, too. I feel like we've gotten to know each other much better. I told him about you and Aiden and your mother. Uncle Brett, too. He told me about his family and his early memories from before Araya took him.

Poor thing. I can't imagine how confusing it must be for him, knowing he had this alternate childhood that would have happened if his uncle wasn't so evil. In a parallel universe, there's a happy Robin living in Cuba with his parents, looking for a wife to join him in his adventures. He's unscarred, unblemished, untouched.

But I'm glad it all happened. If it hadn't, I wouldn't know him. Even though we're relatively new together, I can't imagine a world without him.

We don't have a label for our relationship right now. I think we should keep it casual. I just don't know how this is going to work out.

I need to bring Robin and Heath to your house. The look on your mother's face would be priceless. She's already really upset that I dropped out of school. Imagine what she would say if she found out I was a pirate!

I spent my entire childhood trying to impress my sister. Now, I hardly think about her anymore. Huh. Funny how these things turn out.

I think about you all the time, though. Don't worry. I'd never forget about you. I wish you were here with me, Peter, but that's not the way the cookie crumbled.

Can I tell you Something?

I think about you and I sometimes, and I wonder what it would be like if you were my son, not Bailey's. I don't know, Peter. You're only three, but I already feel like I see a piece of myself in you. What if you really were mine? We would sail these seven seas together, side by side.

Peter, you don't know how lonely I am. It's the loneliness that makes me think these things. I have Robin and Heath and the crew, but I still find myself utterly alone. I remember when it started. It was after Brett moved out when I was eleven. I had friends at school, but they didn't understand me. My parents just ignored me, and I saw Bailey and Brett less and less.

I never really learned how to be alone. I didn't deal with what life gave me very well. I hope you do better, Peter. Don't hurt yourself, okay? Write poems or draw gory pictures or something. Take it out on paper, not your skin.

You're the only thing I'm jealous of my sister for, I'll admit that much. I see the four of you together, your perfect little family, and the loneliness practically chokes me. I'll never have that.

Hmm . . . but what if I will? I can imagine Robin and I getting hitched and having a kid together. Livi junior. Your little Pirate Princess cousin.

Ah, well. I hope I'll see you soon.

       Miss you!

               -Aunty Olive xoxo

XXX

Brett hated the hospital. The smell of it, the ubiquitous blue, the scratchy cotton gown. There were a million things to hate.

His wife Sara had just left to tuck the girls in for the night. She'd said she would come back, but the hospital was a good forty five minutes from the house. She might end up staying home. Besides, Sara didn't like driving in the dark. Who was he to make her come all the way back down here?

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out all the thoughts swirling around in his head. So many things had happened recently. First Bailey, now Peter. He felt horrible that he couldn't be down there, but there was no way.

Every time he'd been to visit his nephew, he'd always felt a little bit of guilt gnawing at his heart. He felt horrible that he couldn't take them in, but there was absolutely no way he could support two more children on his income. Sara didn't work, didn't have a college degree, and wasn't willing to get her hands dirty. What would she do if he died?

He was glad his father hadn't gotten custody, though. That would have been a disaster.

He lifted his hand, feeling the tug of the IV in his palm. It was a strange thought, that this poison was traveling directly into his bloodstream.

Hmm, what would she do if he died? Poor, sweet Sara. She would fall apart.

Brett closed his eyes, determined not to think anymore. He needed to rest, not speculate about all he'd done wrong in his life.

Spots danced on his eyelids, putting on a colorful show. He focused on them, letting the rest of his thoughts fall away into the abyss of sleep. Soft darkness enveloped him, carrying away his worries and the poison in his veins.

Then suddenly, he felt a warmth like the sun on his skin, filling him from the inside out. His eyes squinted open, blinded for a moment by the light.

His mouth fell open. As the white glow subsided, a figure revealed itself -- herself. Herself. He watched his sister emerge from the light, illuminated in her own soft glow. She looked just the same, but older. Same sea blue eyes, same honey locks of hair, same soft, subtle smile that he had loved for so many years, missed for so many more.

Too shocked to speak, he blinked, sure she was only a trick. A cruel hoax from heaven sent to destroy him all over again.

She smiled that sweet, rare smile of hers, walking toward him with the lightest steps. Her skin was unblemished, saved from the harm it had endured in life. He watched her with wide eyes, caught between fear and a feeling of love so strong that it seemed to smother him into silence.

Olivia's smile widened when she reached his bedside. His breath refused to come out when she reached down and touched his face. She's real, his frantic thoughts told him, she's solid.

Her hand cupped his cheek, real and there as any hand he'd ever felt before. Brett lifted his own hand, hesitating for a moment. Then he reached up and held his little sister's face in his fingers, a face he'd thought he would only ever see again in pictures. He traced his thumb over her jaw, her lips, her nose, her eyelids.

"Olivia," he whispered, voice hushed in awe.

She sat beside him on the bed, the weight of her body indenting the mattress. Taking his hand from her cheek, she held it, skin warm and soft. Brett felt tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to cascade down.

"Olive, wh-why, what are you doing here?"

Her soft fingers interlaced themselves with his. "Come with me," she said. Her voice washed over Brett like ice cold water, numbing his brain for a moment.

He gaped at her, floundering for words. "Where?"

"Somewhere beautiful." She leaned down, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Trust me."

A tear escaped his eye, shooting down his cheek. "You're not real," he choked. "You're just a ghost. Or a dream. I'm asleep."

She shook her head, eyes sad. "Do you want me to be real, Brett?"

Hearing her say his name sent another torrent of tears chasing after the first. "I do, Olive, but you're not. I can't change that. In reality--" he swallowed hard "--In reality, dead people don't come back. You're still underground, Liv."

He watched his sister cry, his heart tugging out of his chest. More than anything, he wanted to believe she was back. That she would take him away. But he knew that couldn't be.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I love you, Olivia, but I can't go with you."

"Why not?" she whispered. Lifting up his left hand, she grazed her fingers over the spot where the IV penetrated his skin. "You're dying anyway."

His vision clouded again. He blinked. "I have to take care of my family," he argued. "And once I'm done with chemo, I have to fly down to Galveston. Bailey tried to kill herself, and Peter's gone missing."

Olivia's smile returned. "Don't worry about them."

"What?"

"Bailey's going to be fine. And Peter's looking for The Fina."

His heart did a somersault. The Fina. The phantom pirate ship that disappeared along with his sister, taking with it the credibility of his and Peter's story. Eight years later, he'd almost begun to believe the accepted story: that Olivia had killed herself and he was crazy.

Pirates, kidnappings, fights, blood. He'd seen it, Peter had seen it. But Bailey claimed she hadn't.

"I have to . . . I have to stop him," he said. "He's only thirteen, for christ's sake! What's he doing looking for a pirate ship?"

Olivia gave him a sad head shake. "It's his ship, Brett. I can't leave it until I know he has it."

Brett closed his eyes. "You're not real."

"I am."

"You can't be."

"Do you think I'm a dream?"

"Yes."

She lifted his eyelid with her thumb, forcing him to look into her eyes. "Take this," She said, twisting the ring off of her finger. It was a gold band, a silver strand twisting around it. "When you wake, you'll know."

He said nothing.

Olivia sighed. "Come with me, Brett." No response. She sighed, placing the ring on his finger. "Goodbye."