Immortality

William Turner, captain of The Flying Dutchman, stared out across the horizon, tears blurring his vision. It had been sixty years since he had married Elizabeth Swann, the most beautiful woman, not to mention Pirate King, the Caribbean had ever seen. He could still remember the moment clearly. In the midst of clanging swords and firing canons, he had proposed to her and in the middle of that very maelstrom they had said their vows and were wed. The kiss… oh, that kiss! It had felt as though time was frozen. In spite of the insurmountable odds they faced, it had seemed as though things might actually turn out right. Remembering that moment almost brought a smile to Will's face.

Almost.

For it had also been sixty years since Davy Jones had cruelly struck him through the heart. With a blade that he had made with his very hands, no less. The irony of it was unbearable. He could remember the shock that came first, the surprise of seeing a blade protruding from his chest. It was such an odd sight. He had felt strangely detached from the significance of it. But then the excruciating pain had washed over him and Elizabeth's desperate sobs met his ears. His vision was blurry but he could just make out his beautiful bride's distorted face as she called to him. He had tried to focus on her but the edges of his vision were fading into blackness and her voice grew farther and farther away.

But miraculously that hadn't been the end. For Jack Sparrow, in another one of his fleeting moments of upstanding moral fiber, had saved him. Jack had guided his hand, clenching the shard of his blade, into Davy Jones's heart. He gave Will immortality.

And Will took Davy's place as captain of the Dutchman.

Oh, how far away that life seemed now. Throughout the years he had watched from a distance as his friends grew old and faded away into death. It was devastating for he could do nothing but guide these spirits to the next world, attempting to appear detached and uncaring about their losses to his crewmen. When he was alone, however, a tear would sometimes escape him. These men had been both his enemies and his comrades. He had loved them.

But watching his wife fade away? That was the worst of all.

At first it seemed has though it might work out. The day they had spent on the island together right after his transformation had been amazing… to say the very least. Elizabeth was beautiful, her sun-bronzed skin shocking in contrast to her blond-brown curls. There had been hugging and crying and confiding and kissing amongst 'other' activities. Let's just say that the benefits of being a married man were very good.

And he had left her his heart to protect and cherish. Will trusted that she would do so fiercely.

The next ten years had passed with unbearable slowness. The tedium of guiding the dead on to their next life was mind dulling. Yet there were minor upsides. He was reunited with Bootstrap for one. Will and his father soon grew to be fast friends and confidants, even going as far as to name Bootstrap to be first mate of the Dutchman.

Yet he waited with baited breath for the next time he would have Elizabeth in his arms again. He longed to stroke her hair and breathe in her scent. He longed to stare into her eyes. He wanted to see what he would read there.

The time did come eventually… and he wasn't prepared for it.

While he remained eternally young, Elizabeth hadn't.

Oh, she was still stunning, there was no doubt about that, but time had unquestionably changed her. While fire still gleamed in her eyes when he stepped ashore, he could perceive that those same eyes were immeasurably sad. Her figure had grown frail and hollow while wrinkles creased her face about her lips and eye lids. Their embrace and reunion had been as passionate and tear filled as before. In the afternoon they lay together in the sand unspeaking, treasuring their brief time together silently. Occasionally he would turn and kiss her forehead, nose, lips… whatever was nearest to him at the time. She did the same. As the sun began to set their kisses grew more and more desperate.

This set the tone for their reunion every decade for the next forty years. As the years went by Will grew more and more distressed at Elizabeth's condition. She became waif-like. Her hair began to grey. Fatigue overtook her quickly. And Will had not changed at all.

Still scanning the horizon, Will bit his lower lip, willing it to bleed. He welcomed the pain. It was nothing like the pain Elizabeth had been forced to endure.

Yesterday had been their sixtieth anniversary. Yet, when Will went ashore Elizabeth wasn't waiting there. William knew then what had happened immediately; he had feared it for so long. Elizabeth Turner was dead.

He plodded over the sand dunes of the island to her little house. It was abandoned, the faded paint peeling from the wood in twisted curlicues. In the garden he found her grave, a small wooden cross. So small and insignificant for a woman who had made so much of a difference in the world as both a governor's daughter and a pirate captain. She deserved a statue in her honor.

She had been gone eight years, his heart buried with her.

Sobbing bitterly Will cursed his fate. Why must he endure this private purgatory? What had he done to deserve this? He curled up at the foot of the grave, listening to his own beating heart beneath the earth. He did not move until the stars began to appear and he was forced back to sea.

Now he leaned against the railing, watching the speck of an island become smaller and smaller in the distance. What was to become of him now?

A light breeze brushed aside a brown curl. In the distance storm clouds were brewing. It reminded him suddenly of Calypso's words. "I sense a touch of destiny about you, William Turner," she had once said, trapped in human form.

A touch of destiny? Was this his destiny? To wander heartbroken for eternity?

What was immortality really worth, after all, when your life was a living hell?