It is dark. Wet cobblestones under his feet. They remind him of London, just as the fog wafting around him and the constant light drizzle wetting his coat.
It is not warm but neither is it really cold. More like it was supposed to be warm but isn't.
He can see her.
She is wearing the dress she has worn on the day he had asked her to become his wife. It seems so long ago now.
She stands with her back turned, looking over her shoulder. He reaches out but he can't touch her. There is an invisible wall between them. It feels hard and icy cold under his fingertips.
Will Turner is standing right next to him.
"I'm sorry Former-Commodore-Admiral" he says and steps right trough the barrier. They go away.
He's alone now.
Alone with the cold dead bodies of his men, their blood splattered all over the stones. Trapped there for eternity. He falls down on his knees.
If that's purgatory, he doesn't want to know what hell is like.
"'S not purgatory, mate!" says a cheerful voice beside him. His head jerks up.
Sparrow is sitting cross-legged on the fine white sand. In his hand, what else could it be, a bottle of rum.
He tries to take it but Sparrow holds it high over his head.
"'Tis a dream, mate." He stares at the pirate. "A stupid dream, so wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" Sparrow yells but it's not his voice anymore, the darkness fades, Sparrow's gone, the rum's gone, there's noise…
James opened his eyes and blinked puzzled at the angry face of Marty.
"Finally! Geddup ye lazy dog, a ship's comin'!"
He almost smiled. Not quite purgatory. Just pirates. He could deal with pirates.
