Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

Prologue:



It was three a.m. The witching hour.



The crew members not on watch sat huddled together around a group of candle lights. They were all anticipation and the firelight flickered playfully in their eyes. They were gathered below deck. Jack Sparrow was present as well, enjoying himself with a tiny glass of rum and a large bottle of something else. The slightly worn label of the brownish bottle spelled 'Whiskey' to the few who could read. If it really was whiskey, no one could tell and no one dared ask. Neither were they interested, for John had been asked to tell a tale of his past lives which included a golden treasure. The challenge had thus prompted him to tell them the tale of the unfortunate souls of La Navidad.



"It was the year of our Lord 1492, and the gold-hungry Admiral Columbus and his Santa Maria happened to run aground on a seemingly innocent looking sandbar. The Santa Maria was a large, slow moving vessel, about as elegant as an elephant running loose on top of an icy lake. And someone on board The Maria had the stupidity to leave the wheel in charge of History's most inexperienced cabin boy. Needless to say, both Lucifer and I laughed our asses off as we watched that ship hobble about the waves with the crew on board running about, screaming and arguing like a bunch of country maidens quarrelling over the last soldier present in the local village!" John laughed so hard he almost caught his drink in his throat. Upon assembling himself, he gazed onto the listeners while the firelight played and teased in the golden irises of his eyes. Grins and lopsided smiles seemed inevitable with most.



Only Jack remained focused, and he said: "Yes yes, get on with it. Get to the juicy bit, the one about the statue!" he urged on. John looked his father in the eye, and couldn't help a proud smile as he noted a certain familiar spark of greed in the old pirate's eye. It was everything which made Jack into Jack Sparrow. So John went on.



"Now Lucifer decided he was going to have some fun with this bunch of unfortunate sailors. And I decided I'd tag along. What hurt could it possibly do? They were after all Spanish!"



The crowd roared, making the sleeping crewmen stir in their hammocks, ensued by various ill-favoured comments about Spaniards and their inexplicable ways.



"Christopher Columbus had a special talent for befriending natives. He was a devious man, cunning, ruthless and determined to satisfy Queen Isobel's thirst for gold. He sprinkled his eloquent words with the wonders of Heaven, bringing with him fourteen catholic priests and an untold number of the Moldy Bible."



"Yes, yes" Jack interrupted once again, "get to the point!"



"Through his friendship with the local Taino king, it was resolved that the stranded Santa Maria would be dismantled in order to build the first Christian settlement in what was known as the New World. And rumour has it that the Taino king was so impressed with Columbus and his visions, that he ordered built a man-sized golden statue of Columbus in honour of their friendship. Allegedly―"



"―allegedly?! Wha' nonsense is this? Either ye were there and ye saw it, or ye weren't. Don't waste me time, boy!" Jack said, crossing his arms across his chest.



"All right. I was there. It took the Taino six months to make it. And the process cost one Taino his life and another his arm. Imagine to have liquid gold cover your arm― "



"―good! So it's existence is now established. Moving on!"



"In accordance with the Spanish governor Diego De Arana ― the first and only governor of La Navidad, I might add― "



"―get on with it!"



"―the statue was placed inside the fortress, more specifically in its very centre. Now some critiques will claim that the statue bore more resemblance to Lucifer Morningstar than to Columbus, but hey, one can't expect every divine engineer to perform miracles, savvy?! Anyway, Columbus left behind thirty-nine of his crew members to guard the fortress."



"Left behind? I thought they chose to stay willingly?" Jack asked impatiently.



"Stay behind - left behind, who knows what the original words were? I certainly remember a profound ambivalence amongst the crew members considering the departure of the Nina. In anyway they looked at it, they would be left there for an unspecific amount of time, not knowing what lurked in the jungle ahead. Some didn't care. All they saw was the women and the prospect of gold and power. Others had fallen in sincere love with Taino women. Bottom line was: If you put sailors from the lowest echelons of society ― not just Spanish society ― side by side with a proud and honest people in a local and untainted community, the relationship is bound to escalate into open conflict sooner or later.



"―lo -lowest echl, uh, echleons..." Ragetti tasted the word, "oh, you mean good honest pirates like us?!"



"R-a-b-b-l-e like you, yes" John smiled sluggishly. Pintel and Ragetti glanced at each other in approval. A worthy title indeed.



"Moving on!" Jack commanded a little bit more sternly before taking another swig at the supposed whiskey bottle.



"Aye, captain, as you wish. You can imagine what an easy job Lucifer had with that lot. Greed and lust already festered in their Spanish hearts, and the two priests who'd stayed behind pledging themselves to the job of keeping morale and decency high among their kinsmen, soon lost their footing. They would have been capable of holding on quite longer if it wasn't for my, uh, assistance in the matter of going insane, he he...!" John said, taking a sip from his wine bottle. "The sailors must have seen it coming, knowing they couldn't keep on with their indecent behaviour. Then again, Spaniards are a peculiar and short-minded people. I gave the Taino a hand with hiding away most of the Spaniards' weapons and fire power and in opening the gates. Lucifer infested the Taino hearts with a little extra ferocity, and all we had to do was to take a seat and enjoy the mayhem. This happened only three months before Columbus returned. By then, all that was left of La Navidad was blackened ruins, burnt to the ground, with mutilated bodies scattered about."



"And the golden statue?" Jack asked.



"The Taino claimed it had been cursed by El Diablo. In the time before the slaughter of the sailors, a Taino girl aged eight years disappeared. Her body was later found at an ancient abandoned altar, and she'd been drained of blood. The night of the attack on La Navidad, Taino locals swore that the statue had turned red - a sure sign from the gods that they did no longer approve of the invaders."



"Yes yes, poor girl. But the statue?"



"The Taino would not touch it. And Columbus' men failed to move the heavy thing onboard their ship."



"So it still stands?" Jack wanted to know.



"Wouldn't know. Maybe. Lucifer and I both quit the place afterwards. Show over, nothing more to see."



"I'm hereby officially employ ye as our guide to the wretched place" Jack stated.



"You want to go to La Navidad? Oh Jesus Christ. Can't I just find you another treasure chest from somewhere on the bottom of the ocean?"



"I'm tired of boxes. I'm up for a good old fashioned treasure hunt. On land."



"Is there no way out of your 'employment'? I am the gatekeeper of Hell, you know, I have better things to do than to play museum guide."



Jack looked at his son, obviously contemplating his words for a moment. "Absolutely not. Ye can play with yer lost souls later."



To this comment, John had no reply. He simply sighed and got up on his feet. The party broke. Dawn was upon them, and they all wanted to catch a few hours worth of sleep. As Jack and John strolled off to the captain's cabin, they watched Erastus arrive, gliding down towards them from the blue skies. The young half demon's presence reminded John of the pressing matter concerning the demon lords Sakias, Saieros and himself, and how they were to approach Jack on further matters regarding the makings of warlords. The subject was of such delicate matter that John hardly wanted to think about it. Just knowing about it, knowing he kept it from Jack and found himself unable to open his mouth and actually speak the words, made him feel guilty to such an extent he was about to drop onto his knees and beg Jack's forgiveness any second. Being close to his father was becoming unbearable. The more Jack revived into his former self, the more John hated himself for being who and what he was - a part of that cursed demonic brethren triangle. Then, John's conviction would turn on its heel in a matter of seconds, and he would be cursing himself for being so damned human about it. Why did he have to feel so strongly for Jack? He'd never before cared so much for another vessel, like he had for Jack. The whole idea of being infatuated such, was at best absurd. There was however no escaping the emotional bond which bound him to that ex-pirate, and he could think of nothing that could ever make him want to sever it.



So he would be taking Jack to the remains of La Navidad. It was but a few days ot sail to get there, if he remembered its position correctly. A few more days worth of putting off the inevitable conversation. He would have to inform his father of their plans, thus ruining his happiness. But better from him than from one of them. But could John part-take in a foursome? Could he be a part of it, accepting to see Jack mounted by Saieros and Sakias, taking turns to pump Jack full of sperm? There was a streak of jealousy in John's blood which he did not like. Like a snake in paradise, and it angered him that he had to feel thus. How was he to intervene if Jack suddenly changed his mind in the middle of passion? It would be expected of John to just stand by and let them have their way. Every breath in his body resented the very idea. Pausing for a moment, overlooking the calm midnight ocean of the Caribbean, John saw before his inner eye a possible future: A future somewhere far into the jungle, sheltered by tall palm trees and deep caverns. The inevitable, everlasting moist clinging to their bodies, staining their shirts ― their hearts racing in terror at the white threats lingering in the air above, never ceasing to search them out. What was wrong with that picture? John asked himself. Why was Jack tied on hands and feet? The whole scene was stinking of madness, of jealousy, and upon naming those vices, John realized he was picking up on emotions connected to the very fortress Jack was seeking out. An evil of considerable strength obviously lingered in that place. Was it possible that Lucifer had returned after the slaughter in 1492?





A love story:



Leaving this train of thoughts behind, John returned to the Crimson Lotus. It was still void of a crew. He was currently teaching the first mate, Jamie Scarborough, how to master the ship all by himself. It was all about the right chemistry between first mate and mistress. Like lovers learning each other's ways, slowly becoming more than just fleeting acquaintances in the night. He was without question the young, eager to learn boyish lover who delved into her mysteries without concern for the future. She - the soul of the Crimson Lotus - was the elder and much wiser mistress, flattered by his attentions and obvious passion for the game of domination. She, the champion of seduction, took pride in harnessing the young man's temper and lack of patience, teaching him that she was not to be trifled with. She would not succumb to his every boyish whim, and sometimes, she would flip their roles and dominate him, teaching him respect and subservience.



When John was not around, Jamie would, at night, wander out from the cabin and onto the main deck, wearing only moonlight on his skin. There, he would make love to her spirit, grinding and bucking against her wooden hulls, the masts and the railings in a profane lovemaking God himself would have squinted and lowered his gaze from. He would repaint her with his sperm, inch by inch, marking her as his own. In truth, Jamie felt he was being devoured. He was losing his very soul to the boat, and he willingly let it happen. It was like being able to be united with the one, encompassing love of one's life and for then to forever be blind to everything else. He did not see, or cared not to see, that one day the flesh would drop from his bones. It would happen without his knowledge. It would be just like any other day, and he would wander into eternity quite unaware. Still, he would be first mate of the Crimson Lotus, and nothing would ever change between them. Not even Captain John Sparrow would change things between them. Love and eternity was theirs. The demon could no longer intervene. Neither could any crewman.



John found Jamie on deck, carefully rounding up some ropes. John was pleased to find Jamie hard at work every day, keeping her fit and trimmed, always ready for the next voyage. Jamie stopped to nod in welcome as John walked towards him absent-mindedly. When close enough, John planted a kiss on the young man's lips and said: "Tomorrow we set sail for Cap Francais. Or somewhere thereabout."



"Very good, Captain" Jamie replied with a brief smirk before returning to work. He took no notice of John moving up behind him. As the first mate bent forward to place the ropes in a coil by a large barrel, he felt his pants being unfastened. They dropped to the deck without a sound, and Jamie felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation. It had been long since he'd been enjoying his master's cock. He arched his back and timidly stepped out of his breeches, allowing for John to part his cheeks. He craned his neck, moaning quietly at the sensation of his master's teeth nibbling gently on his neck. The Crimson Lotus had fallen silent, and her auras told Jamie she was at peace with the scene unfolding on her deck. She had simply declined to a voyeur's position, eagerly anticipating a good show. John reached beneath the first mate's shirt, caressing the tanned skin, feeling his way upwards until each hand rested on an already hardened nipple. Brushing his fingers ever so slightly across each nipple caused Jamie to shudder, pressing his backside towards John, grinding against the growing demonic member lurking inside his pants. Jamie moaned in anticipation. He stepped out of the breeches pooled around his ankles, and parted his legs. Leaning on the barrel, he took in all sensations - the brisk morning air, the scent of salt and tar, the gentle caress of water on her hulls and the distant sound of sea gulls looking for a prey or perhaps defending their territory, John's fingers caressing his skin, stroking his back, trailing his spine with skilled, massaging fingers ― and Jamie took deep breaths, willing himself into relaxation as John entered his puckered entrance, gently, consistently, impaling him with his organic spear. Moments like these were in deed worth living for ― or dying for, depending on one's perspective. All modesty cast aside, Jamie easily submitted to the here and now ― a state of mind he more than often employed these days. And why not? On the Crimson, there was no telling whether it in deed was day or night.

Funny, how the demon's golden sperm had stopped stinging once it had been released inside, Jamie thought. He could not remember when it had gone from coming back out in hard chunks of pure gold to simply not come back out at all. The best of it was, there was no pain. And when asked, John simply replied: "It's the boat."





Voyage into the night:



It wasn't as if anyone hadn't been trying to locate the Santa Maria before, or fort Navidad. It was a well known story which had tempted many a buccaneer or nobleman. The waters around Cap Haitien crawled with life, and the port was heavily guarded by French military. Cap Haitien had, in the run of more than two hundred years, become a town of consideration because of the island's capability to export tobacco, indigo, cotton and refined sugar. The golden age of the Spanish conquistadors were over, yet the hunger for gold itself lived on in the beating hearts of every soul who heard the tale of the golden statue. Cap Francais was going to have to be avoided - simply because the Black Pearl had built herself a solid reputation as a good luck ship - a blessed ship which always found what it went looking for. Follow the Pearl and you'll find the treasure, that was the current word on every dock. Jack didn't know whether he should feel flattered or annoyed at the recurring sight of lesser vessels which would follow the Pearl, then disappear because they couldn't keep up, only to reappear days later when the crew of the Pearl was packing up to leave again. Having fans was something he'd always dreamed of. But now, with things so different - with demons and children about him - fame had lost its charm. He tried to ignore them as best as he could. Why, Jack always found the treasure first anyway. It was the aftermaths, the getting the prizes on board and to keep from being shot at and boarded which was the tricky part. Most of his fans seemed discontent at always being last, and admiration proved to quickly fade into jealousy, aye, even premeditated attempts of robbery! Jack only rolled his eyes at them. They were pirates, the lot of them, what else was to be expected? Dishonest men could always be trusted to be dishonest. A fact of life.



The midnight wind was favourable and the Black Pearl set out from Tortuga bay at midnight. Cloaked by darkness, she would escape most of those vigilant, scrutinizing 'fans' of hers, and of the rest, only the sharpest on the look out would discern her black sails against the starry sky. In order to avoid as much attention as possible, the Pearl set course due north, rounding the tip of the Tortuga isle and then continuing westbound. Jack knew the location of Cap Francais by heart. He wasn't Jack Sparrow for nothing, having visited the bay on quite a number of previous occasions - mostly to borrow money. Which was, by the way, another very good reason not to make port there for the time being. Being a famous pirate captain did have its back draws, he had to admit that. He did not want to think about the current view among pirates. From having been his allies and compadres, they'd now turned against him following the debacle with Gentleman Jockard. Word travels fast, even at sea. Still, he was considered untouchable. Because of John and the demon legacy. Aye, word at sea did indeed travel fast. Faster than the nigh uncatchable Black Pearl.



They attempted to pass Cap Francais the following night, with lights out and full canvas, trying to catch as much speed as possible from the lazy breeze. It was as if fate was putting her will against the black ship, extinguishing the faint wind, blowing it in different directions and rendering the canvases useless. Jack felt anxiety rise. They were almost at a dead calm. The coastline was lit up by distant orbs of light, signifying the bay of Cap Francais. Being next to invisible had its advantages but also its downsides. The bay was crawling with French navy vessels which could literally run into them any moment. Jack knew John would be there to intervene, but the last thing they needed now was to draw attention.



Glancing upwards at the starry sky, Jack froze as he thought he saw something white flash across the heavens. He held his breath, sensing the hair on the back of his neck rise in anxiety as he whirled around, examining the nocturnal sky. Perhaps it had been a lone bird? A really, really big bird sailing across the sky all alone? Like a pelican? Or a stork? Jack tried to reason his fears away. Before he knew it, he found himself seeking shelter beneath the staircase - the same place he'd hid in when he'd discovered the black spot given to him by Bootstrap. He turned to look at his hand which rested on the wooden boards. Was it he who was shaking, or was it the wood? It was as if the Pearl was sharing his fears. It wasn't like her not to be the bold one.



The hours went fast and the pace was slow. Soon it would be dawn and the Black Pearl would be recognizable. There was a sudden surge before the Crimson Lotus suddenly plunged out from the depths of the ocean, producing a massive wave of water which poured over the deck of the Black Pearl. Mr. Gibbs was about to unleash a string of curses, soaking wet as he now was, but thought the better of it as five lanterns suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He barely had time to comprehend it was the bow of a French brigantine which was headed straight at them, before it was smothered against the hull of the Crimson Lotus. The Black Pearl glided by without harm. Gibbs realized that John had intentionally allowed the Crimson to be seen, in order to make it clear to the French that the Black Pearl had no part in it. Shrapnel and shards of wood came flying, and Gibbs and the rest of the crew took shelter as wood moaned and splintered. The Crimson had surfaced with great speed. Confusion and panic was now total on the French brigantine, and in the dim lights Gibbs made out the name of the ship, The Neptune. He saw a shadow which swiftly jumped on board the brigantine - golden sword in his hand and diamonds glittering maddeningly in the lantern lights. There was a crash of glass, and the lanterns extinguished, leaving The Neptune in darkness. Swords clashed and men screamed, pleading for their lives. Just as it dawned on him what John was about, Jack came to stand by Gibbs' side, and said: "The boy's gone on a rampage again. It'll give us the diversion we need."



"Poor Frenchmen."



"Better them than us" Jack replied, "they belong to the French East India Trading Company, traveling with military escort. Look at it this way; Now we be ridding His majesty the King of England of a few more French soldiers. I don't see any harm in tha'!"





Defilement:



John cut his way through a field of French guards the way a farmer with a scythe would reap his harvest. The air was brimming with fear and unleashed souls, and John drank it all in. His eyes shone in the darkness, glowing like golden orbs with a touch of red. He bared his fangs, drinking in the sensation of the blade cutting flesh, slicing veins and piercing skulls, reading the mind and souls of each and every man as he cut them open just to move on to the next just moments later. It was a mixed crowd of men; soldiers from poor families, middle-class and sons of noblemen. It didn't matter. Most had blotches on their names, stains of blood or other people's miseries on their hands. Rapists and looters, clad in the uniform of La Royale - the French navy. Only a handful proved innocent, marked by the touch of God. Oblivious to the spiritual sanctum on their heads, they fought bravely, showing true courage or idealistic stupidity. John took care to just knock them out.



He had little interest in soldiers, unless they proved unusually handsome. No, there was something else which had enticed him: The presence of priests. They had been stirred from their sleep below deck, and upon ascending to the bloodshed on the main deck, they stared open-mouthed at the six foot tall demon who now fixed his gaze upon them. John produced a dagger from the hem of his right boot and hurled it right at them. The priests, a priest and his deacon, flinched as the dagger whizzed past them. Turning to their right, they heard the blade drop to the ground first. Then the captain tumbled to his knees, reaching for the hilt of the dagger which jutted out from his chest. His eyes glazed, staring open-mouthed at the demon before his pierced heart gave in and the large man crumbled to the deck in a pool of his own blood. The bishop stared from the captain, to the demon and back to the now lifeless body once more. A soldier next to the novice knelt down, taking aim with his bayonet musket, thinking he'd have a clear shot at the golden eyed demon. No sooner had the first thoughts of fame and glory which would subsequently ensue upon undoing a demon fallen into his mind, before his chest exploded as his heart was ripped from its place. The distraction did serve the clerics, who tumbled downstairs and ran for the storage compartment. Instead of going after them, John focused on clearing the upper deck, killing off the first mate and remaining deck officers. Only then, when all was silent, and the final screams of the dying had perished and the blood of the dead had coloured the decks in crimson, did John turn his attention to the decks below. There were cowards hiding behind barrels, goods and animals. He paid them no special heed, for there were larger fish to catch. He wiped clean his golden blade as he walked towards the cargo hold with determined steps. John was curious now, for panic stricken stray thoughts of the priest had reached him. It would seem that John was about to obtain quite an unexpected prize.



The Neptune rocked heavily, it seemed to be thrashing in vain, understanding that the sea soon would be swallowing it. Timber creaked and complained, and the lower levels soon took in icy water. John eyed the door to the cargo hold, and the lock cringed, melting away before the door gave in. The bishop was nowhere in sight, but John didn't have to see him in order to smell him out. The cleric's fear was rank across the cargo hold, leading to a large traveling chest. He'd be dealt with in time. At the moment, there were more pressing matters. And said matter was currently pressing in the inside of John's breeches as he stood face to face with a handsome deacon. The young man, perhaps in his late twenties, was breathing superficially and fast. His face was white from distress and too much oxygen. Those brown eyes stared at John, glanced at him from head to toe, obviously taking in the whole picture. John snapped up a stray thought about Istanbul. And something about a blue crystal shaped like a tear. It instantly nudged his memory, yet the memory itself fluttered about like a trapped bird in a cage. John couldn't quite grasp it. It didn't matter at the moment. The Neptune was about to sink, and time was of the essence.



The deacon had obviously been instructed to fight to the death, protecting the hide of that cowardly priest hiding in the casket. He was ready with sword in hand, aiming it at John, though everything in his posture betrayed his complete inexperience with weapons. There was no malevolence the poor deacon, yet God had not marked him. It was almost as if God had left his side with some disdain, and it had to do with Istanbul which was from where the deacon and the priest had journeyed. The mystery intrigued John, but again, it would have to wait.



He lunged forward at the blade the deacon was holding. He could have lunged out and pierced the man right in his heart, he wouldn't even have seen it coming. But John wanted him alive. The spark in his abdomen would not die out. The sight of the rosary dangling from around the deacon's neck, the way the cross swayed back and forth, combined with the youthful apparition, those wide open blue eyes, those half open lush lips and his trembling slender frame. He rather heard than saw the blade fall to the floorboards. Water cascaded through the door opening, flooding the cargo hold, soaking their boots. The young deacon backed away in terror as it dawned on him he wasn't getting out of this alive. He couldn't help but to let out a scream as John advanced, raising his sword against the deacon. The blade came to a rest against his throat, and the deacon stopped dead in his tracks. He knew instantly that this was the moment where he had to put his trust in God to save his soul from this otherworldly creature.



John grabbed his left arm and swung the deacon violently around, nailing him flatly on his belly on top of the traveling chest. He kept the man's arm in a crushing grip behind his back while John sheathed his sword. He then ventured to undo the deacon's breaches violently, ripping the seams open. They fell splash into the water which swiftly pooled around the deacon's knees. The clergyman had begun to shiver from the coldness of the water, and he stuttered and pleaded for his life, writhing to escape the agonizing pain his bent arm caused him. John paused to position his erect member, parting the deacon's cheeks just enough to pinpoint the direction. He felt the man tense up, before comprehension of what was to come fully set in. Upon inching his way inwards, John said scornfully: "Now, Olivier Demont, let's see how beautifully you can scream for me!" He grabbed Demont's hair with his left hand fingers and pulled. Demont was forced to arch his head backwards, arching his back. The shift in balance forced him to spread his legs wider, and he could not hold back his screams as John pushed on relentlessly. The pain in his rectum was like a thousand knives, and the Frenchman had to grit his teeth, clenching the edge of the chest. He couldn't refrain from staying tense, holding his breath and hoping the pain would subside - hoping for anything which might relieve the pain which came with every thrust. He felt it all, the way the erection slid against his insides and then out again. Each move, each inch of flesh was embedded into his memory with crystalline precision. The sensation of cold Caribbean water inching its way up his thighs only intensified his panic and sense of helplessness. It was hard telling what looked worst at the moment: The prospect of drowning or the fact that this demonic creature was sodomizing him. Either way, Olivier was sure he'd not get to heaven.



The pain in his rectum had dulled into something which was almost unbearable, it was a sensation which reminded him of the need of going to the loo and he associated it with uncleanliness, filth and ungodliness. He hated himself for another emotion which also had come to life, and it was the sensation of lust. How could he be feeling like this? It had to be sorcery, it simply had to be! He could not possibly betray himself and his God by allowing a part of himself to condone such a hideous act, could he? He prayed it would be all over soon, watching in horror as the water continued to cascade inside the door. His head was beginning to hurt from the tight grip the demon held his hair in. An eternity passed. Then it was finally over.

The traveling chest had been alive with noise ever since the priest hiding in it had discovered that the chest took in water. The priest was finding himself in the worst nightmare possible. He was inside a locked chest. He'd ordered the deacon to swallow the key. Now, water flooded the chest and probably the ship. And just outside the thin wood of the chest awaited a demon! He heard the deacon's wild screams, and his imagination was running wild with scenarios of torture. He prayed loudly to God, now, summoning the power of Jesus Christ, the virgin mother and Michael the archangel. The thrashing outside the chest ended, and the priest then assumed that poor Olivier's life was over. There was a heavy splash, like a body falling into water, and the priest wondered what would come next. Water was quickly filling up, reaching up to his neck now, and he found himself gasping for air.