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I loved you
best I could
I did
I did
I do
It was never enough.
The gunshot is a red-hot lance through his chest—
That’s not right.
It isn’t. But it should be.
Ought to be.
He expected it to hurt, when he’d imagined it. His right hand. Izzy. Dead.
Over the years, he has imagined it from time to time. On occasion. Whenever Izzy took a hit to the chest, a shot, a stab.
It’s supposed to hurt.
Isn’t it?
A hollow nothing inside of him echoes the gunshot back to him, and Ed walks towards the light.
There are storm clouds in the distance.
Hundreds of people have died under Ed’s command through the years. That’s the game—piracy is a risky game, after all. They knew what was at stake, and Ed barely recalls their faces.
He can still hear the gunshot. He can play it back, effortlessly. Perfectly. Can smell the gunpowder and fire. Can hear the sound of a body slumping over in the bed.
Ed might be imagining that part.
He’d been half-dead already; Izzy probably hadn’t raised himself to his elbows.
It should hurt more than it does.
But Ed remembers Izzy’s eyes.
Nothing changed on the Revenge. The crew shudder when he comes close to them, darting away before him.
Perhaps he should be insulted.
Commanding with fear has never been his preference, but it comes easy these days. He glowers. All of them are eager to keep their distance, even Frenchie, despite his bravado.
Some make themselves useful.
Others plot mutiny.
Ed understands the workings of an unhappy crew better than they'd believe.
Izzy used to keep tabs on that.
Nothing has changed.
But it has.
He knows.
They all know.
The ghost of the First Mate lingers.
It’s an onslaught of pain when the grief sets in. Ed hates it beyond anything he’s hated before.
It drives the breath from his lungs in an instant—a squeezing tightness—drowning. He laughs to register less of it, forcing himself to feel the rain on his face.
It’s exhilarating.
He spares a thought for the wailing of weeks past, of sobbing on the cabin floor over someone blond and ridiculous. He laughs louder, attempting to drown this new grief in his chest.
Izzy’s face was gaunt and glistening with sweat, his deep-set eyes staring into Ed’s soul.
Gone.
It hurts now.
Ed has never dabbled in regret. The could-haves. The should-haves.
Izzy did.
What am I
to you?
An impossible question.
I have
love
for you
Grieving what could have been doesn’t matter now. Lightning strikes above, and Ed feels the whip of rain on his face.
The storm is perfect.
I loved you.
Best I could.
The ship keels to the side. The crew emerge from their hidey-holes, scurrying above-deck like rats.
I should
have loved you
better.
They’re shouting. Laughter is bubbling in Ed’s chest. The wheel is gone, the sails are torn to shreds.
I’ll see you soon.