He scuttled along the boards of the rain-soaked deck, like a rat in the sewer. That's precisely what he felt like too: a rat. What he was about to do was so terrible, so unforgivable…but he couldn't dwell on that. He was to complete his task or he would be given a fate far more severe than the one he was to help inflict tonight.
What could be worse than betraying your best friend? The young man mulled, standing in the rain, deliberately allowing his coat to soak in the awful gloom of the stormy night. Not much, he resolved. It had seemed so simple. The rest of the crew had decided upon an uprising. A young man only referred to as 'Hector' was leading this rebellion. No one knew his last name, and he seemed to prefer it.
As the captain's best friend, he had immediately been singled out as the one to carry out the perfidious deed, an act that would surely bring his conscience to the grave.
You're outside the cabin of your captain, not to mention your best friend, Bootstrap whom you're about to help commit third-degree murder against. The S.S. Integrity has sailed.
The young man's name was William Jonas Turner…but only one person ever called him that. The rest of the crew simply called him 'Bootstrap' or 'Bootstrap Bill', thanks to a crazy scheme of Jack's that hadn't ended as planned. Somehow, Jack's contriving never worked out perfectly.
Too bad he won't be around to work out all the kinks, Bootstrap thought bitterly, and I will be mostly responsible. I'll be in hell right next to Hector.
Snapping out of his brooding, Bootstrap realized that this was no time for regrets. The only thing to lament right now was that he was wasting time, time that Hector was spending figuring out how many pieces to cut him into if he failed.
Taking a huge gulp of air and calculating how long 'eternal guilt' would last, he knocked on the door to the cabin.
"Come in…" the voice within called wearily.
Bootstrap's trembling hands struggled with the doorknob, slick with rainwater and kelp. After pausing a moment to compose himself, he wiped the latch off with a less-than-clean handkerchief and stepped inside.
A single lantern that hung in the far corner lighted the cabin. Various objects lay scattered around the room: a hat, a compass, a book of charts, a sword…
Dust and barnacles clung to the "unused" areas of the accommodations. The woodwork had a familiar and soggy, yet comforting, smell.
In the midst of all of this sat Jack Sparrow, the captain of the Black Pearl (the fastest ship in the entire ocean if you feel the need to know). He slumped, half asleep, over a chair at the desk. Bootstrap felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Jack worked himself to the bone all day and they were going to deceive him now?
Looking up from his charts, Captain Jack squinted in the faint light to see. When his eyes adjusted and he caught a glimpse of Bootstrap standing in the shadows, a smile played on his lips.
"Come on William…no need to be shy. By this time tomorrow we'll all be rich men, and then you can return to your bonny missus."
Bootstrap tried to smile at the sound of his given name, but his usual boisterous grin would not come.
Silence filled the room. When Bootstrap's nerve returned enough for him to look Jack in the eye, he noticed that the captain was looking him up and down attentively, As though I'm a case of fine rum he wants to buy. Bootstrap nearly snickered at such a thought, but then he would have to pretend like everything was normal (as normal as their relationship was anyway), and that degree of deception was far beyond his good-natured mental capacity. This was desecrating to his heart, and he hadn't even gotten to the actual betrayal yet.
Jack finally broke the stillness of the conversation. "Eh, something the matter Will?"
That's it, swore Bootstrap under his breath, if he calls me my Christian name once more, I'll have to kill myself.
"No Captain. Nothing's the matter," he heard himself lie. "I just wanted to know if ye would like some fresh air after being stuck in this cabin all day."
Jack's smile returned. "Actually, this cabin is not nearly half as stuffy as Beckett's wig," Bootstrap unwillingly smiled at the remark about one of their…um…acquaintances in the EAC, "but a walk would suit an old sea-dog like me well."
As Jack and Bootstrap sauntered out the door into the night, which had ironically become clear and stormless, Bootstrap's mind was screaming, Tell him about the mutiny, tell him!, but his reason prevailed and his mouth remained as soundless as a steel trap.
Once again Jack spoke, attempting to break Bootstrap's silence. "Are ye excited about the gold Will?"
No, thought Bootstrap. I'll never be able to look at it without thinking that you won't live to see it. Lying, he answered, "But of course captain."
The strain in Jack's eyes told Bootstrap that the captain knew he was lying. Mustering up the last bit of resistance in him, he choked out, "Captain, do you believe in forgiveness?"
"Forgiveness?" Jack burst out incredulously. Clucking his tongue and sighing heavily, he responded, "Forgiveness is a fool's game that only fools play William. Second changes are foolish things given to foolish people by equally foolish people. Answer your question?"
"Yes captain." Bootstrap resigned himself to the fate of Jack's eternal hatred. What he would do was what would be done. Not even the great Captain Jack Sparrow could change that, and if he wouldn't forgive, that was his quandary. Bootstrap knew what to do. He took the barrel closest to the wall and scraped it across the deck's floor before knocking it over.
"What's your problem William? You've the gracefulness of a congested elephant. This isn't like you."
"It's nothing captain."
"You've been acting strange all night. First, you've had this petrified, guilty look on your face the whole time. Second, you start asking me about my philosophy for outlandish things like forgiveness. Third, you keep tripping over your own feet. All three events are terribly out of character for you. Is there something you want to tell me Will?"
Before Bootstrap could answer, a sound so loud that it would outdo the most elaborate menagerie broke free from below decks.
"What in the name of Calypso's hair is that confounded racket?" Jack inquired, turning to face the stairwell.
Now or never Bootstrap.
"Jack?"
The captain (who didn't know that his position wouldn't last long) swiveled to face his former friend.
My mind and hands bewrayeth thee.
"I'm sorry." Bootstrap entreated. "I'm so sorry."
In the flicker of the candlelight, Bootstrap saw a flash of recognition in Jack's eyes. Jack knew. The look in his eyes was not of violent anger or silent reproach, but of shaken unbelief. The sea roared in all its ferocity, so loud that Bootstrap couldn't hear Jack speak. The pirate quickly recalled his infrequent ability to lip read. Jack's one-word message was simple enough.
"William?"
No time for regret Bootstrap he told himself, but it was too late. The pirate was choking on his remorse. He knew that as his guilt garroted him, the restraint team was waiting for his old friend below decks. All it would take was to cut the line above his head and trigger the trapdoor he himself had set up. He was so lost in grief that he didn't see Jack's confused and unbelieving face through the waves…didn't feel his arm raise to the line…didn't see himself cut the thin cord in two…