Lost Memories
by insanelilpiratess
Published: 01/12/09
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, or Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Sparrow. Disney and Rob Kidd have that pleasure.
Author's Note: This story has been revised as from January 9, 2011. Chapter twenty-seven holds all the details and shizz. I'm back in business folks! :')
Prologue
I couldn't remember it at all. But I know it happened; yes, I was certain of that. I even have dreams of that night… as if it was implanted in my brain when I was an infant so the thoughts would haunt me for an eternity in my sleep.
Though the facts are strange, and some impossible to be true, I am sure of three things:
First of all, I know that my mother was beautiful; with thick auburn locks and the bright brown eyes we both shared seeming to light up her delicate face. And though this vision never showed her happy, I was positive her smile was as stunning as she was.
Secondly, I know my father was a 'Jack', and he never knew – no, he still doesn't know – I even exist.
And lastly, I was definitely taken away from my mother that night, with the intention of returning to her in the short time of 3 months. Of course, nothing ever works out like that. At least not for me…
x
"Please Jean!" a woman, of who I believe was my mother, pleads to a tall figure, cradling me close to her chest. "Fitzwilliam is still on the hunt; for me and Jack! And what with Jack recently being branded, the East India Trading Company can't protect him as they seemed to have done four months ago!"
The vision always consists of the same two figures; my beautiful mother standing at around 5 foot 6 inches, a bonnet secured over her twisting red curls and her body dressed in a tattered brown gown and holey knitted black shawl. She stands always opposite a taller but slightly younger man with shining green eyes and a tint of ginger to his hair which is covered over with a thin dark bandana. His name never changes, though the vision sometimes does. His name is Jean.
Through the dim light of the dark alley they stood in, Jean, raises his two eyebrows high into his brow, in anxiety and dread as he spoke in a thick accent to my mother;
"He doesn't know little Cat is the baby bore from you both, non?"
His voice is deep but clean and even through the eccentric brogue he spoke in, every word was clear.
My mother shakes her head, quickly, casting a tender glance down to my feeble little sleeping body. "No," she replied in a croak, stifling back tears, "And neither does Jack. I fear if Fitzwilliam knows he can use it against us both, and I could be putting my child in danger. Jean, ye are the only one that can save us!"
Jean bites down on his thin bottom lip, those bright green eyes in filled with awe and threatened with terror.
"Ye must take care of her until this dies down!" continues my mother, desperately. "3 months and it will be alright, I wager."
He nods, clearly feeling he had no other choice. "Alright, mon ami. Young Catherine will be alright with me!"
"No!" my mother suddenly had interrupted, the sweet sound of her voice turning frantic causing the little me to stir in her arms. "Her name must be changed. The last time Fitz and I met I was holding her as a week old infant named Catherine. He could suspect it; ye know how clever those aristocrats can be!"
Jean slowly bobs his head, gradually bringing himself to agree with my mother as she had likely believed he should.
"We name her Catalina," Mother always states, firmly. "Ye are sailing on a Spanish ship, right?"
"Oui…" He always says this single word in the same voice, every time the vision haunts my sleep. He's always almost inaudible.
"Then they shall never suspect it," my mother finishes, bravely, although she was choking back her tears at those very words. This is another thing distinctive to the distant memory; my mother always stands strong…
It then shows my little self being handed delicately into Jean's arms, and a few drops of salty water rolling down my mother's cheeks.
"Hey…" Jean comforts her, softly, "It'll all be fine, Arabella! I assure you, petite Catalina will be back in your arms very soon. She's safe with ma soeur and I…"
My mother nods, unhurriedly, wiping gentle tears from her delicate face. She leans over, hugging Jean for reassurance and minding me in his strong arms.
"Thank ye," she whispers before sensitively kissing in between the few dark hairs on my head. "Don't worry, my kitten," she speaks, ever so sweetly, "I will return for ye… Catalina…"
The distant memory then brought forwards a woman, running up behind Jean, waist length strawberry blond hair hidden beneath a tattered tricorn hat and twin green eyes identical to his shimmering in the moonlight.
"It's clear," she speaks out, softly. "We can smuggle her aboard, but we must leave now!"
My mother is now crying at this point in the terrible scene, holding both hands over her face but they never seem to stop the cries escaping her lips.
"It's okay, Arabella," the new woman always says, with a strange kind of emotion; almost as if she wants to feel sympathetic to my mother but can't. "I promise you, she'll be alright with Jean and I, oui, mon frére?"
Jean nods, gently. "Oui," he says in agreement with the woman, who can only seem to be his sister.
I am then handed into her arms. I always seem to stir, as if I'm not comfortable though I know no different.
"Sshh… it's okay," she whispers to me as I mutter nonsense baby talk in my restless sleep. She then looks up to my mother, who is being hugged tightly in Jean's sleeved arms and sobbing silently into his chest.
"We will bring her back, Arabella, don't worry," she states, confident nothing will go wrong, "Jean, we must leave."
Jean nods, shooting Arabella an apologetic and sympathetic smile, white teeth glistening in the night air. "Look after yourself, oui?"
My mother murmurs a small "yes", her tears glistening in the moonlight. "Please take care of her, Jean, Constance…"
And then it happens. In Constance's skinny arms I am hurried down the alley way getting further and further away from my mother by the second, both of us beginning to cry…
But it never ends there. Of course it doesn't. An infant being taken from her mother doesn't seem like quite enough tragedy for me.
The next scene of my reverie is at open sea, waves lapping against a huge ship, sailing mightily through the waters as if it owns them. There is a figure, sharing the looks of Constance sans for the fact the long strawberry blond hair is hidden beneath a ragged leather hat, staring out to the ocean.
She always stops, squinting a little before turning on her heals and yelling the words; "Jean! Jean! The Navy!" in a strangely deep voice. She races bellow decks; emerging mere seconds later with her brother close behind, holding me against his chest, protectively.
Constance directs her finger outwards, revealing a small ship in the distance. She thrusts a spyglass into the empty hand of Jean's which he isn't using to embrace me to him and he silently places it to one green eye, squinting the other shut.
He pauses, gazing through it before finishing with a gasp, his mouth forming the shape of an 'O'.
"Protect her!" are his first words, covered in his thick accent, handing me to his sister, using his best attempt at doing it carefully, though he's in too much of a rush to do it properly.
He then runs around the deck, wildly yelling at the crew. No matter how many times I have this dream, I can't work them out. Just things on the verge of 'enemy ship' and 'sail away!'
My mind must skip something then. Jean and Constance are suddenly in a hugely grand cabin filled with majestic and luxurious furniture, though distinctively part of a ship. I am still in Constance's comforting arms, but this time her hair is long, dangling down over my feeble little body. My eyes are wide open, filled with curiosity.
"We will never let you take her!" Constance snarls in her venomous accent at a man sitting before us at a long desk, quill in his bony hand.
"Strangely enough, Constance," the man interjects, rising from his red velvet seat, "I would say you were a lot more social as a cat!"
He approaches her, reaching forwards in attempt to stroke at her cheek. Constance hisses, pulling herself, and my little self, away from the blue uniformed man, her green eyes turning a dark shade with defence.
"Leave her!" snaps Jean, "How can you be so cruel, mon ami? What happened to you?"
"I got away from that… that idiot, Sparrow!" he replies, maliciously, standing level with Jean, though quite a way taller, smirking at his comeback. He suddenly casts a venomous glance at me;
"Which is more than I can say for you two! I would recognise that child among millions! It is Catherine, Arabella's daughter, am I correct?"
"Non!" Constance growls, holding me closer to her. "Catalina is my child!"
"Hm… Catalina…" the strange man ponders, clasping his hands tightly behind his back, "I have to say, I prefer it a lot more than Catherine! Though it is blatantly obvious you two are caring for this baby until I give up the hunt on Arabella and Jack, am I correct?"
"Even if you were," speaks Jean calmly in between breaths, "We wouldn't tell you a thing, oui Constance?"
She nods her head, nervously gulping, which is unavoidably clear to hear.
The enemy faced smiles crookedly, "Saying that only implies more to the fact the baby held before me is the daughter of Arabella Smith and, so I believe, Jack Sparrow!" he states, cockily. "Now… if you give her to me, I will, in exchange, let you and your little pirate friends over their go free…"
He outstretches his skinny hand toward Jean, whose lips are pursed together and face red with anger.
"Do we have an accord?" he inquires, his voice slimy and thick with self-pride.
Jean narrows his eyes at him, "You really think I will approve of that, Fitzwilliam?" he spits, heatedly at the nobleman.
"Or I can just take her?" the 'gentleman' suggests, slyly reaching out towards me.
But Constance turns. Not only that, she runs. She sprints to the door, causing me to burst into a fit of strident tears. The door of the cabin is flung open, Jean's cries of "No, ma soeur!" trailing after us as we skid along the dripping wood of the deck and into the arms of a hugely muscular sailor.
"You a'right, miss?" he sometimes asks, but not this time. No, this time he holds Constance firm in his gigantic monster hands, every sailor, soldier and man around ignores my distressed screams as their leader marches forwards, Jean being tightly held in a similar way to his sister and forced to follow.
"I admire your courage, Constance," he leans forward, whispering in my guardian's ear as she snarls, breathing cut short with fury. His hands slither downwards, inches from her skin down past her body and down to me. His slimy paws grip onto my tiny body and yank me from Constance's arms, only ending in me bawling louder than before.
"But I can take it from here…" he hisses, holding me un-tenderly far from his chest.
"Leave her!" Jean cries whilst his sister tries to lunge forward to grab me back.
"I must say you two surprise me," the Naval leader laughs, icily. "It's impressive; we could use spirits such as your own on our side… fighting for Sparrow will only result in darkness."
"Jack couldn't be anywhere near as dark as you!" Constance breathes, coldly, hair falling down over her now yellow eyes.
Our enemy smirks, his expression coated with self-pride. "Darkness for a light cause can be forgiven, Constance!" he smiles, wryly.
"Not by us!" Jean interjects, irately, "I swear, as long as you have Cat in your possession, we will hunt you down every minute of every second of every day, comprendre?"
"A strong speech, Jean," he snickers, "I'm again impressed. But not threatened. Though I will keep my deal; both of your lives can be spared in exchange for the girl. I suppose there is still an ounce of goodness shared in your hearts…"
I've never known what happens next. Before I know it, the visualization moves on and I am in the arms of the enemy, eyes closed and bottom jaw quivering, our ship sailing away, far off calls of my name heard.
"This is great, Admiral," an unctuous old man with a crooked back hisses to the Admiral, rubbing his filthy palms together, "With the kid in yer grasp, ye can finally get t' Sparrow!"
"Yes, it is a promising plan, Mr. Welch," he grins, evilly, "But I think we should wait. Wait until Sparrow has something we really need… and then we can use her to our advantage…"
"Ah, excellent plan, sir!" Welch says, his words slithering around my brain as I am forced to listen to them night by night. "But what are we to do with it until then?"
The Admiral casts a glance down to me. "She'll be a pretty little thing," he states, "Quite like her mother… we shall keep her at my manor until she becomes of age where I shall marry her. 19 years of age difference can't do much harm can it?"
"Indeed not, sir, indeed not," agrees Welch as the two of them retreat from the sight of the distant ship.
Often it ends there. But not always… not tonight… Sometimes I see the dark alley where my mother and Jean stood, three months on.
A slightly ginger haired tall man knocks on the door of a crooked house at the end of a long row of them. It is answered hurriedly by an auburn haired beauty… my mother. She smiles at first, but soon it fades and her glistening light brown eyes turn dark with dread and worry.
"Jean, where's my daughter?" she demands, bottom jaw quivering.
Jean looks up, his green eyes neither bright as usual. His bottom lip trembles a little as he spoke only three words that would bring many tears;
"He's got her…"