"Mama?"….no response.

"Mama where are you?"

The silence was deafening. Without any knowledge of what had or was happening, tears welled up in my eyes. I turned the corner into our small living room. It was dark…. that was strange. Dusk had fallen a few hours ago, but mama hated the dark. Whenever I came home late I would always see all the lights in our house on. There were no lights on tonight.

I gasped in relief when I saw her, sitting in her favorite chair. It was high-backed, facing away from me, toward the window. She always sat in that chair and starred out that window, like she was waiting for something or someone. I could see her beautiful wavy blonde hair over the top of the chair.

"Mama!" she didn't answer me. "Mama, why is it so dark?" I thought maybe she couldn't hear me.

"Mama" I said again while I walked to her side. As I turned to face her, I placed my hand on her arm. I screamed and drew my hand away in fear. She was ice cold.

Slowly, shakily, I turned my eyes to her face. Instantly, both my hands flew to cover my mouth, to lock in my screams. I backed away slowly, my body shaking so hard I thought I would collapse. I tripped over the carpet and fell hard on the floor; I threw my arms out to brace my fall and twisted my wrist sharply. I screamed, but whether from the pain or fear I didn't know.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, and forced my eyes to look at my mother.

A bullet hole punctured her forehead, between her eyes. Her once perfect skin was covered in sticky, red blood. My eyes welled up once again with tears as I looked into her eyes. Instead of the life and joy I was used to seeing, I saw pure, sheer terror. What kind of monster could see that look in her eyes and still pull a trigger?

I was eight years old and the image of my mother's frozen dead body, her lifeless, horror-filled eyes would haunt me till the day I died.

I didn't know what to do. Suddenly, I heard a noise, a familiar noise I was so used to hearing it took me a while to place it…. the stairs.

Someone was in my house.

I bolted up straight and let out a scream. Sweat soaked my body; the combination of it and the cool breeze making me shiver. My face showed fear for only a moment before transforming instantly to one of anger and hatred.

How many times? How many god damn times had I been forced to relive that episode of my life; that scene of my past?

I slammed my fist down onto the ground beside me. It did not come into contact with earth, however, but wood. Surprised, I looked down to wear it had hit. I saw planks of wood, and through them I could see water. I looked around at my surroundings.

I was sitting on the dock. I suddenly remembered where I was and why I was here. I looked sharply to my right, and what I saw made me smile.

Revenge at last.

Slightly put to peace about finally being able to avenge my mother's death, I rested my back against the wooden pole at the edge of the dock. I shut my eyes again, and let my mind wander back to my dream….

Someone was in my house.

My first thought was to run, to get out, but as I looked back at my mother's lifeless form, I knew I wasn't going anywhere. Instantly, my fear was wiped away, overcome by rage. Rage that someone could do this to such a sweet, kind woman, Rage that someone could do this to ME….she was all I had…. and now I had nothing. Someone was going to pay.

I got up from the floor, filled with new strength, and crept silently over to the small desk on the opposite wall. I pulled open the bottom drawer, cringing as it squeaked from being opened so rarely. My eyes shot to the entryway into our living room. I could hear feet coming down our stairs…. lots of feet.

Terror squeezed at my heart once again as I realized there was more than one person. I slipped my hand into the drawer, feeling around for the weapon I knew was there. I strained my ears, trying to guess how many people were there.

They were coming closer…. almost to the bottom of the stairs. I felt around wildly inside the drawer... I knew it was there…. fear gripped me again as I still did not find it.

My mother's voice suddenly shot through my head.

'we'll keep it in here…. here it will be safe, and so will we…. remember child…. remember where it is if anything should happen….'

I knew it was there. It had to be. Finally my fingers came into contact with cold metal. I gripped the pistol tightly and pulled it out of the drawer. I listened to the intruders as they reached the hallway. I slid carefully across the wall, hiding myself from view, just as I had so many times when playing hide-and-seek with my mother, trying to sneak past her to 'safe'.

Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as I thought of her.

Someone would pay.

I clicked the safety off of the pistol, and held it at the ready.

"I know wha' I 'eard!"

"Yer bloody drunk! Ye don' know wha' yer sayin'!"

"So are you!'

My stomach twisted as I heard them bickering back and forth in their drunken way. They sounded only slightly older than me. They must have heard my screams.

I tried to gather my wits. They were right outside the entryway…. I prayed silently to the God my mother had taught me to worship, praying that they would come close enough that I could fight back, that I could give them some of the pain they had given me….given my mother.

"Shut up!" A strong voice yelled at the bickering pair. The steadiness and strength of the voice sent a shiver up my spine. Three, there were three of them.

The newest voice was older than the rest, if only by a few years. My breath caught in my throat. I heard steady feet enter the room, and in seconds saw the strong, built body to accompany them. He walked past me, over to my mother's chair, the two other following him.

"Were you making noise, love?" he asked my mothers dead body. The others laughed. He smiled wickedly and reached his hand out to touch her blood stained face.

"Don't touch her!" I yelled, taken aback by my own bravery, and the steadiness of my voice.

They all turned. I kept my eyes on the oldest one, who I guess was their leader. He looked about twelve, with sharp brown eyes. He was probably a foot taller than me, at least. The others looked to be about ten, and they were obviously twins, with bright red hair and dark freckles. I tried to ignore them and keep my eyes on their leader.

"Well I think it's a bit late for that, love." He said with a smirk. I raised the gun. He ignored the movement.

"Get out of my house." I said, keeping my voice steady. The twins laughed, barely registering my words. I kept my eyes, unblinking, on the movement of the third.

Suddenly one of the twins made a quick movement toward me, reaching out an arm to grab me.

I had never shot a gun before, but as I aimed the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger, I knew I would not miss. I couldn't; he was so close, his grimy hands so close to touching my pale skin. His body stood frozen in midair for a second, his arm still reaching for me before he fell forward. I jumped to the side to avoid him. His skull came into contact with the wall, and he collapsed into a heap at my side.

My hand was shaking now. It shakes so hard I barely keep hold of the gun. I stare at his body, his blood flowing onto my mother's rug. I set my eyes back on the other two, no longer caring about which I was looking at.

More tears slipped down my cheeks and I fought to keep my composure. The second twin looked from me to the body of his brother to his other companion before running out of the room. I heard the door open and shut.

I looked back at the third.

"Did you do this?" I said, gesturing toward the chair where I knew my mother's body still sat.

He looked over at her, then back at me. He nodded. He no longer smirked, but he didn't show any fear either.

"Then you will pay." I said calmly.

Before I could pull the trigger again though, he was on me. He kicked the gun from my shaky grasp, and pushed me to the floor. Before I could even fight back, he pulled a dagger from his boot and pointed it at my throat.

He was straddling me, breathing hard, and I could feel the cold steel against my throat. He said nothing, so I did.

"Kill me then…. I have nothing to live for…." He didn't move. "Come on! You killed her…. why can't you kill me too?" I felt the blade push against my skin harder, and got an idea.

"But before you do!" I hastily said "What is your name?" I needed to know…. I needed to know who had done this to me.

He hesitated before saying "Jack Sparrow"

Jack Sparrow. As soon as the name had registered in my mind, I brought my arm up sharply and slapped the blade from his hand. I felt it slice my throat as it flew, but it was a shallow cut I would worry about later.

He was thrown off guard by my attack, and I used this to my advantage. I threw all my weight to the right and rolled so I was now on top of him. I threw a punch, making contact with his jaw, before he threw me off. He stood, and took a long look at me, before he turned on his heel and walked to the door.

I jumped up and followed behind him, stopping in the hall as he opened the door. He turned, looked at me once more and left. I didn't follow him.

Jack Sparrow.

That was the name that would cloud my thoughts for the next 18 years.

As I disposed of the body belonging to the boy, I realized he was a pirate. I cleaned the blood off the rug the best I could, before giving up and throwing it away.

I found the blade Sparrow had left behind. I held it in my hand a long while. I thought about plunging it into my flesh, then curling up in my mother's lap just like I used to, letting my blood mix with hers as I died. At the last minute I changed my mind though. I would not let Jack Sparrow get away with what he had done.

I pushed the sleeve of my right hand up, and with the blade in my left hand, I carved a shallow 'P' into my skin. I watched the blood flow, before walking over to my mother's body. I kissed her face on the right temple, one of the few spots clean of blood.

Someone would pay. Jack Sparrow would pay.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the noise of many rowdy men. My breath caught in my throat for only a moment until they walked past the dock and kept on their way. With a sigh, I looked over to my right again.

There she was. The Black Pearl. It was beautiful; he didn't deserve her. I have spent the last 18 years of my life training, learning, and searching. I officially became a pirate only days after I buried my mother. I became part of a crew, watching carefully every move, learning everything I could from them. When I was ready I left them. I stowed aboard ships in order to get from place to place, walked through ports and purposefully starting fights to learn new strategies. Because of these fights I had to learn to nurse myself through many broken bones, and gashes. I have numerous scars, none more troubling than a thin, almost pink line across the left side of my neck.

To others it was almost invisible. To me, it was like a branding, a constant reminder of what Jack Sparrow had done to me, to my mother.

I spent the last 18 years of my life preparing to get my revenge; preparing to kill Jack Sparrow.

He would pay.

Disclaimer: I don't own Jack Sparrow or any of the PotC characters.

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