Jet grimaced as she moved around the cabin. The pain in her left arm was constant. She made her way toward a narrow hallway near the back of the vessel. As she was leaving, she heard the doctor ordering lunch. Her stomach growled at the thought of eating. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d last eaten. There were some rooms on both sides of the narrow hallway. She had to grab hold of the handrails attached to the walls for support. The boat rocked, but not as roughly as before. She reached the end of an open hallway, and there was a door to the left with a restroom sign on it. Seymour stepped out, and his eyes darted in several directions.

“Please,” Seymour said as he kept the door open for Jet.

You are not a gentleman. Who the hell do you think you’re kidding? Jet thought.

Just as she attempted to enter the small bathroom, a large wave crashed against the vessel. A spray of seawater hit Jet and Seymour and, as she looked out toward the water, a dark gray sky loomed overhead. She shivered as the combination of the cool air and cold water hit her skin.

Seymour grabbed Jet’s bad arm, and she backhanded him with her good arm.

“Ahh, that hurt,” Seymour said as he touched the tender area where Jet had struck him. He continued to stare at her until she shut the door.

Several minutes later, Jet rejoined Dr. Randy.

“I was getting worried, but there are few places to get lost here,” Dr. Randy said, chuckling. “Have a seat, my dear.” He pointed at a place setting opposite from where he was seated. A block of cheese, crackers, and an assortment of fruit lay before her on a platter. The food moved a bit at the boat rocked. Jet picked up the small knife next to the block of cheese and paused for a moment. The weight of the knife felt good in her hands. She cut a small piece of cheddar and then placed the knife back next to the cheese. Need to wait for the right moment, Jet thought.

“Where are you taking me?” Jet asked the doctor. She tried to remain calm. She pushed down her anxiety and tried focusing on other things, like the food.

“To meet the Sultan.”

“Who is that?”

“Oh, forgive me. I forgot that you haven’t been properly briefed. Every year, the Sultan selects two women for his harem. This year, he made an exception: he picked a third. You.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Don’t I feel honored!

Dr. Randy’s smile widened, and Jet got an uneasy feeling. She didn’t want to press her luck by trying to escape; that would have to come later.

The boat rocked, and the half-eaten platter slid across the table, spilling over. Several young servants came in to pick up the cheese, fallen cups, glasses, and silverware. Jet glimpsed something shiny on the floor.

“Time to secure you again,” Dr. Randy said.

“I don’t want to be tied up!”

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own protection.”

Jet got up and made a run for the open door. Dr. Randy stopped her well before she got there. He proceeded to tie her up again, this time to the chair that she was sitting in.

“This will only be for a short while, I promise.”

Jet’s eyes filled with tears. She gave Dr. Randy a pleading look.

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” Dr. Randy looked at Jet for a long moment. “It’s for your safety,” he repeated.

Dr. Randy left Jet to her own thoughts.

Jet rocked back and forth, but the chair would not budge. The chair must be fastened to the floor, Jet thought.

Several minutes later, Seymour reentered the cabin. He seemed unaffected by the constant rocking of the boat. He squatted down beside her and stroked her hair again. “You do remind me of my daughter. She was so lovely. I miss her,” Seymour said.

“What happened to her?” Jet asked.

Seymour didn’t speak for a very long time.

“She had an accident. I tried to help her.”

Seymour untied Jet’s right hand—her good hand. He placed it on his face, closed his eyes, and then groaned.

What the hell is the matter with this guy?

She was about to pull her hand away when she saw a glint of something out of the corner of her eye; it was the knife that had dropped during the servant’s hurry to get the table cleared before the storm. It was less than two feet away, but she would need to bend down to pick it up. Seymour suddenly placed her hand over his mouth and kissed it. Jet pulled her hand back in disgust. Seymour grabbed it again—hard. Jet head-butted him as hard as she could.

“Argh! You bitch,” Seymour said, staggering back.

Jet reached for the knife, but the blade was just an inch or two short of reaching her hand. She wiggled her body, trying to gain just another inch. Her finger touched the tip of the blade, and she moved the knife toward her. Seymour regained his footing, and then lunged for her.

Jet let out a scream. Seymour slapped Jet, then put his hand over her mouth. She opened her mouth then bit down on the fleshy portion of his palm.

“Argh!” Seymour called out in pain, backing away and examining his hand. In a sudden, quick motion, she straightened her arm as far as she could and grabbed the knife by the blade. Seymour grabbed her by the throat, choking her. Jet coughed. She realized that she had the knife in her hands and, with a thrusting motion, she lunged at Seymour’s throat, feeling it hit its mark. He smacked her. Jet started flailing the knife in random, short, stabbing motions. Seymour grasped at his throat then left the room.

I must have hit a nerve. Good! Jet thought.