XXX A Dilemming Dilemma XXX
Instinct served him well indeed. When Gibbs stepped out of the massive doors leading into the city itself, he saw no other than Jack Sparrow heaving multiple sharp, pointy, and gunpowder filled objects into the little longboat. He was humming a merry tune while seeming to dance upon his feet as he moved. Heaving a miniature cannon into the boat, he did a small waltz with the weapon before settling it on the bottom of the wood. Bags of gunpowder were heaved on by one while waltzing back and forth. Each time he dramatically moved his humming went higher in pitch and he invented the notes that went in between. He paused his humming once to pull a sword from its sheath and watch it reflect the sunshine back at him. The sun gleamed off of his gold teeth and a dark devilish glow came into his eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Gibbs nice of you to join me," he noted, finally seeing the wide eyed, worried pirate standing there.
"Jack, you're going to sink that little boat," said Gibbs.
Jack looked below at the waterline. He measured a full hand and then a half a hand from the water's edge to the top of the wood. Passing it off, he waved his hand down. "Nonsense. And you're a coming with me so let's go."
Hoping Jack wasn't meaning him, Gibbs turned his head to the right and left and then pointed a finger at himself.
Jack smiled and nodded his head.
Gibbs sighed heavily as he stepped forward. Jack was kind enough to save him a small little space between the loaded weapons. Gibbs tucked himself between two bags of gunpowder. As he reached for the oars his eyes widened noticing how low to the water they were sitting.
"Well, go on then. Row," said Jack, waving his hands forward at him.
"All right Jack, now what's put you in such a fine mood?" wondered Gibbs.
Jack merely smiled as he settled himself at the bow of the boat. He presented the raging glass bottle and pointed. "Because I have the feeling he'll know how to get it out."
"And if he doesn't?" Gibbs suggested as he gingerly began rowing forward.
"Being Master of the Sea has to count for something," replied Jack.
Carefully, very gingerly, Gibbs rowed through the maze of the rock leading from the cove to the open ocean. The half hand distance from the top of the boat to the waterline was not comforting, and with all the weapons and gunpowder at the bottom, it was required to take care. Neither of them wanted that powder getting wet. Jack of course didn't want it wet because it wouldn't work and Gibbs did not have any desire to face Jack's fury if it was wet. Gibbs was more concerned about the open ocean with those sharp objects in there. One wrong wave or good blow and that little boat would be sent into the ocean. Depending on the tipping, one or more of those sharp, pointy objects could cause fatal damage to the human body.
What was worst of all was Jack's behaving. Not only was he smiling with that devilish grin on those lips, but he was talking to himself as well like he was after they rescued him from the Locker. He was playing the part of two people and having a full conversation with himself.
Gibbs looked at Jack then let his mind wander as he rowed. He would have thought that unnatural behavior with Jack to have ended years ago, yet Jack was behaving no different than when they first rescued him. Perhaps he was a little more sane than before. While they were tracking down the location to the Fountain of Youth, he did happen to catch Jack off to the side occasionally and he was muttering to himself and acting as though there was another human beside him. And with Gibbs hardly there beside Jack, he wondered how many solo conversations Jack has carried with himself since the Locker
After all this time, Davy Jones' Locker had taken hold of Jack Sparrow's soul; he never did leave it. There was no longer any going back to get what Jack lost either now that the map was destroyed and good riddance to that. He knew that map was too dangerous to have out in the world. Having that map end up in the wrong hands was not a comforting thought to think about and that thought would have been reality had he not thought to destroy it when he did. Besides, if they needed to get anywhere, Jack had a certain compass on his person at all times.
"Right, me hearty, here is good," Jack's voice announced.
"We're in the middle of the Caribbean Sea Jack," noted Gibbs.
"Yes, because the captain cannot set foot on land for another five years," replied Jack. He clapped his hands together. "Now, Mr. Gibbs, how is it you would like to be dying?"
"Excuse me?" wondered Gibbs.
"Why else would I have brought half the weaponry from Shipwreck City? One of us, meaning you, has to be dying. How else do you think he'll come up?" said Jack.
"Why is it me who had to be dying? You need him," noted Gibbs.
"Yes, I need him. Seeing as you do not need his services as much as I do, you will be the one to sacrifice yourself to bring him up here for my need. If I am the one who is dying, his services and time up here will be a waste because with me dying and upon his ship then who is to have need for the Black Pearl since that is why his services are needed and I am captain of the Black Pearl and therefore I am the one who needs his services not you so you are the one who needs to be dying. Savvy?" explained Jack. He picked up one of the small cannons. "Too much?"
Meanwhile, Gibbs was still trying to figure out why he had to be the one who was dying. "Jack, why do I have to be the one who is dying?"
"What about this?" Jack asked as he held up a large cutlass. "Nah, too messy."
"Jack, you owe me," said Gibbs, his voice filling with haste and a bit of fear.
"Nonsense. You owe me mate. Had you not fallen asleep on my ship in Tortuga we wouldn't need to sacrifice you to find a way to get my ship back," corrected Jack. Both a sword and pistol were presented forward. "Either?"
"Neither!" Gibbs cried. He motioned to himself by placing his hand over his chest. "Jack, I've saved your life more than once. You owe me one. Who is it who got the Pearl and the rest of our bottled fleet?"
"Yes, but who was it that gave you the compass? Not to mention it, and I am, who was it that saved your neck from a hanging back there in London Town?"
"Unfair owing there Jack. My life for saving my life. It makes no sense even for you."
"It does to make sense. Besides, you won't be all dead mate. You'll be serving part of the crew."
"Jack, one of them is bad enough to deal with. Now son and father? I'd rather be dead than have to put up with the two of them."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. Now you're getting somewhere. So, Mr. Gibbs, how is it you want to come by this death. I promise I won't make it hurt long."
"Jack, kill your own self."
"I am more needed than you are."
"And what makes you say that?"
"Because it's my ship making me captain and you are not chartman either."
"Ah, but I am chartman because the charts are all up here in this here mind of mine."
"They are all up here too. I've had that map in my possession for five years Mr. Gibbs and I know exactly where everything in this world is. I even know how to get to the Locker. I wrote it down meself."
"Why would you write down the location to the Locker?"
"Just in case something between us goes wrong and all of you need to come a rescuing me again."
"I think this time we'll just leave you there."
Jack opened his mouth to retort and he would have, but something odd and quite frightening happened. Their little boat that was in the water just a second ago was suddenly pushed upward. The upward push caused the boat to turn on its right side and therefore topple the various weapons and necessities to function those weapons. Jack and Gibbs happened to land on them as they too fell. Most of the contents fell and scattered on the wooden deck of a ship
Noticing he was laying on a sack of gunpowder on a ship, but not having the care for that at the moment Jack continued. "And here I was always thinking you came so save me just because you missed me."
"No I didn't," replied Gibbs as he sat up also aware of their odd situation but still wanting to defend himself from Jack's unusual need to kill him.
"Why did you come to get me then? Hm?"
"Because I like the Pearl."
"Oh, so that's it. You want me to kill me so you can have my ship and with me out of the way it'll be simple as pie to get my ship because I'll be out of the way. Mr. Gibbs, the sword or the bullet."
"No rope?" came an amused voice not belonging to Jack or Gibbs.
"I've got that too," Jack said to the figure in front of him.
Yet, when he laid his eyes on the figure, he found the argument was over.
A young man stood, hunched forward with his hands gripping the side of the longboat. His white tunic sleeves were rolled to his elbows exposing his darkly tanned forearms. A blue sash was wrapped around his hips and the tails tucked in tightly and a belt was fasted around the cloth also with the end tucked in. The white tunic was not so white actually, as it was stained with dirt and grime of the sea. A faded blue bandana was wrapped around his head, keeping his always perfect dark curls out of the way. The silver hoop in his left ear gleamed in the sunlight. His once rich, warm brown eyes were darker and had the distinct appearance that they had seen too much. Yet, despite the darkness in his eyes, his white smile and amused laughter were a welcoming sign that he was somehow happy despite his situation. A necklace that was always around his neck hung at his chest and tucked under the cut in his tunic. And there, on just to the left of the center of his chest and cut in half by the black cord to the necklace was a gruesome scar, a constant reminder of what that scar removed.
"William Turner," Gibbs whispered softly like a silent prayer.
"Captain, actually," said Will as he raised his eyes upward and looked over his ship.
Jack slumped low again. He promised himself he wouldn't let it get to him. He always imagined seeing Will again to be a wonderful and not awkward experience. But, before Captain William Turner, he felt small and useless and awkward. Not only was it awkward that it was he who sealed this young man's fate, but because when standing before the captain of the Flying Dutchman certain sense of mortality was placed upon a man's shoulders for the Captain himself was something ethereal and angelic.
A small, private smile widened across Jack's face as the past five years' worth of stories retold through his mind. He always made a point of keeping an ear out for any word of the Flying Dutchman. Wherever he went all he heard were good things coming from the ship. Her captain was an angel himself and the kindest man a soul had known. He went out of his way to see to it each rescued sailor had passage to his destined location. He was known to medically assist a soul in need. When medicine was not enough and the desire to join not present, a swift blade through the heart ended all pain and the body was gently dropped into the sea. Fear was not present in the eyes of those who spoke of the Flying Dutchman. Comfort and a sense of overwhelming peace were in the eyes of their soul. More than once had he passed by the docks and caught a man or family praying to be in the hands of the Captain should the Lord deem it the judgment day or the seas unkind.
With all this good, the stories of the Flying Dutchman and her captain were fading. There was no need to speak what was known. Evil is always remembered and passed down. Humans remember only the evil that has passed. The good is forgotten because the good is what humans thrive upon. When that human thriving is ending, that good is called upon.
Every story, every mentioning, every prayer that went out involving the words Flying Dutchman, Jack always felt the eternal guilt build in his heart, yet peace and comfort. The more stories the more the guilt built and the peace attempt to cure. Seeing Will standing right there in front of him and glancing around the Flying Dutchman, Jack always hoped he would finally find the peace to destroy the guilt he was feeling. It was apparent the guilt was to remain inside him for the rest of his days and he knew it was what he deserved for dragging his friend back out to help him.
A hand in front of his face startled him from his thoughts. He gasped and flinched.
"Easy Jack," Will said calmly.
Jack looked at him sadly. "I was always hoping our next meeting you wouldn't have changed from that whelp who sought nothing more than to save his bonny lass and free his father who was the most pathetic thing to walk this earth."
"And what am I now?" wondered Will.
"The stories of you are right," Jack explained softly. "One cannot help but feel mortal before the Captain and look upon him as though looking upon a piece of Heaven."
"Which I have seen and it is everything everyone ever hopes it is," said Will. "Now get up and stop looking at me like that. You're Captain Jack Sparrow. Enough said there."
Finally. A gold tooth grin widened across Jack's face as he took Will's hand. He shook his hand up and down properly greeting Will. Shaking Will's hand was more awkward than looking at him and to cure that awkwardness Jack sighed as he wrapped an arm around Will's shoulders.
"Much better," agreed Will, as he wrapped both arms around Jack.
They sighed in the company of the other's arms. Both realized there was much more than friendship that had bonded between them. Brotherhood sparked from a meeting in the smithy and the brotherhood merely grew in the absence of each other.
Close to Will's body, Jack felt his guilt growing into a heavy burden. He felt nothing. Will himself felt warm to the touch, but there was no life to him. It was all his doing as well. Had he not ran into Will in that shop none of it would have happened and he wouldn't have felt guilty and he probably wouldn't be alive without Will's help.
Will on the other hand pushed Jack away from his person. His head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought as he looked at Jack.
"You feel different from everyone else," he noted.
"Yes well you've changed," said Jack. He glanced around then back at Will and leaned closer. "Different how?"
"You don't feel like everyone else does to me," said Will shaking his head. A small smirk widened across his face and a sly look came into his eyes. "I'll talk to you later."
"Good because I need your help," said Jack.
Hurried footsteps approached in the form of Bill Turner. "Oh no. No. No. No. N.O." He shook his head at Jack. "Every time you ask me or my son for assistance you end up dragging us clear across the seas and we are the ones who pay for your mistakes."
"There's not much I can do to you two. You are on the Flying Dutchman already," noted Jack.
Bill's sapphire eyes narrowed and his jaw set tight. He grumbled as he looked away. "And I hate it more when are right."
"The problem doesn't take you halfway across the seas; the problem doesn't even require you to move from where your feet stand," said Jack. He raised both forefingers, turned his back, and knelt. Gratefully the bottle landed beside him on the bag of gunpowder. Both himself and the bottle stood straight. "Help," he asked presenting the glass bottle that entombed the Black Pearl.
"New hobby?" wondered Will, leaning forward.
"Looks just like the Pearl," noted Bill. He tapped the glass. "How'd you get the storm in there?"
"It is the Black Pearl," Jack told them.
Bill and Will looked at each other then back at Jack dumbfounded or believing he went more crazy than when they last knew him.
Jack sighed. "If you look hard enough, but not too hard, you'll see that monkey hanging about."
Humoring him, Will moistened his lips. He gently took the neck of the bottle into his right hand and supported the base with his left. After one last amused look at Jack, he studied the ship that looked exactly like the Black Pearl. Sudden movement from inside drew his attention. Did he just? Was that?
He suddenly burst into laughter and clamped his left hand over his mouth. The bottle was shoved against his father's chest and he went walking quickly into his cabin and shut the doors.
Bill raised an eyebrow at his son's sudden antics and took a peek himself. He moved his head back after a moment and shuddered. "That monkey is even more terrifying trapped in a bottle."
"Now put yerself in my place," said Jack, gingerly cradling his bottle against him more.
"Jack," began Bill. He scratched his head then pointed at him. "I know you are disgusted with Barbossa always stealing your ship, but to go as far as putting it in a bottle? Jack, you didn't think about that at all did ye?"
Will emerged from his cabin. His face was clearly bright red and his eyes were wet. The smile on his face was an indication that he needed time away to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The Black Pearl in a bottle with "Jack" inside. "Was it after you put your ship in the bottle that you realized the monkey followed or did you intend to trap him in there as well?" he laughed.
"I think it's rather genius William," said Bill. "No more worrying about who has his ship or where it is because it's always right there in that bottle."
"Was the rum good?" wondered Will.
"He probably doesn't remember," Bill laughed.
"If you want the answer to that question you should have asked Blackbeard," Jack said, his voice biting and snapping.
Will looked at him to say another smart comment, but he found his laughter died with all happy thoughts he was feeling at the moment. Jack's face was solemn and angered and upset and sad. Most of all, Jack felt lost to him. Lost to the world. Lost to himself. Lost to the current situation. Lost without his ship. Lost without any idea of what to do. The Black Pearl was never meant to be in a bottle; Jack's expression was clear to that.
He smacked his father's arm and gave him a look.
Bill saw his son's expression then noticed Jack's. He had a quick change of mood and cleared his through. "What services can the Dutchman provide you?"
"Actually we provide the services," Will said.
"Do you know how to my get my ship out of the bottle?" asked Jack. "I only come to you because Jones raised her from the depths of the ocean last time."
"Give her to me," said Will holding out his hand.
Trusting Will as the only other man with his ship, Jack gave up the bottle instantly.
Thinking logically, Will stepped to the rail of his ship. He held the bottle neck out toward the sea. Bracing himself, he firmly planted his bare feet on the wood in a wider stance and leaned his body back. Quickly and carefully, the cork was pulled and he shut his eyes and turned his head away.
Nothing.
"Huh," he noted to himself looking at the opened bottle.
Curiosity tempting himself, he shut one eye and gazed down the neck of the bottle with the other. He saw the ship fighting the sea and heard the sounds of a ghastly hurricane. Thinking logically again, he shoved his forefinger in his mouth to slick it with saliva then stuck it into the neck of the bottle.
"Well, if it means anything to you Jack, the storm inside is real," he announced.
"Well, that's comforting," Jack told him. He whined again and folded his arms across his chest.
"I'm thinking," said Will.
Overall becoming frustrated, Will shook the bottle, neck down, over the sea. How hard was it to get a ship out of a bottle? It was such a simple concept. Of course. When shaking and pulling didn't have any effect on getting the ship out, the only logical piece of mind was to destroy what held the ship in the first place. Will lined the bottle up to the railing of his ship and raised his arm over his head.
Jack yelped and sprinted to his ship. He grabbed Will's arm with both of his hands and pried the bottle from the grip. His huge eyes pleaded with him and his head shook back and forth. He grabbed the cork from Will and shoved it back into the bottle. A glare was set upon his face and pursed lips.
"You wanted me to get it out of the bottle did you not?" wondered Will.
"Yes," Jack said. "But not destr—"
Jack's breath was suddenly taken from him. His left hand released from around the bottle and wrapped around his throat. Why couldn't he breathe? There was nothing on his throat yet his neck was being squeezed, constricting his air passages. He blinked heavily and struggled to breath. A short gasp was managed. His knees gave and he collapsed to the wooden deck. The bottle slipped from his hand and he shoved his palms forward to support his body. He was both gasping and choking
"Jack!" Will cried, dropping to his knees.
Weakly, Jack looked up at him with a ghost white face.
"It's all right," Will told him as he sat against the wall of his ship. He pulled Jack's back against his torso. "It's going to be all right."
Truthfully, Will knew it wasn't going to be all right. He hadn't the faintest idea what was happening to Jack. Being who he was he thought he saw it all. What was happening to Jack was new. Jack grabbed his hand and squeezed. He could feel Jack's face and body tensing while struggling to breathe against him. Hushing him, he gently wrapped an arm around Jack's torso, not expecting to feel liquid. The liquid was blood and that blood was pouring out of his chest.
"Father, get bandages now!" he screamed, pressing his palm against Jack's chest.
"Captain!" Gibbs cried, also lowering to a knee.
"You know more about what has happened to Jack than I do. What the hell is going on?" Will demanded.
Gibbs watched as Jack's face twisted into pain and turn into Will. He heard the young man gasp and cry out. He watched Jack's legs tense and bend and twist. He saw just how tightly he was squeezing Will's hand. Fear coming in his own eyes and his heart throbbing into his throat, he shook his head. "I—I don't know."
Bill suddenly reappeared before Jack and Will, pushing Gibbs aside. He pulled his son's hand away for a moment only to press a handful of clean, thick wad of bandages on the wound then pressed his and Will's palms on top the wound.
The forceful pressure caused Jack to cry out in pain. He squeezed Will's hand tighter. His small cry took away more of the lack of air. Pale wasn't a word well enough to describe the color of his face. Dead described the color; it looked like the cold, pale blue, ghastly white color of a dead body right before decomposition. His eyes were falling heavier and heavier. His world before him was great blur of color and sounds. No shapes. No clear words. No feeling other than his chest being ripped apart and cut down to the bone. Something felt like it was cutting his chest down to his ribs. His lungs were craving sweet oxygen and his mind was failing because of the lack there of. He didn't understand. One moment he was defending his ship and the next he felt all air taken away from him and then his chest was being—
AIR!
All thoughts were tossed aside as the hold around his throat suddenly ended. Nothing was constricting air passages. He gasped heavily and drew in as deep a breath as he could, too deep truthfully. Choking at the sweet amount of air, he doubled over and would have fallen had Will's arm not been there to catch him. Not even the sweet bouquet of Tortuga was as beautiful as cool air. He could taste the salt in the air and feel the cold going into his lungs. Resting against Will's torso and feeling Will rubbing his arm, he breathed heavily for several minutes.
Clear sight returned to his eyes as he passed the faces of several concerned and confused crewmen. Clear sound rang in his ears including calling gulls, the distant surf, whispered and sighs, and creaking mechanisms of a ship. Clearly, he felt his chest was sore, like it was healing from being cut into. Altogether, the soreness suddenly stopped. The feeling was somewhat vaguely familiar to him.
His head turned from the side and he lowered his jaw to his chest. A quivering, weak hand pushed aside the two hands belonging to Bill and Will Turner. His eyes widened at the sight of what was now scarred upon his chest.
There, in the center of his chest over his erratically beating heart, the size of his palm from knuckle to wrist, and bright red, laid a mark. Two chalices, a sparrow, the letter "A" and a drop were cut into his chest. One chalice was right side up as though sitting on a flat surface. A drop appearing to drip into the cup was above the center of the mouth. The capital letter "A" was in the center of the cup and the letter was done in a Gothic stylized calligraphy that he knew from someone once long ago. Beside the upright chalice was another chalice; however this one was tilted to the right and was positioned to the right side of the other chalice. The handle of the second chalice was in line with the round base of the first. A flying sparrow, the precise image of the sparrow that was on his right wrist was above the second chalice, but, nearly all the right wing was consumed by the mouth of the chalice. The mark had the appearance of being cut into him by a precise, deadly sharp blade. His eyes moved from the scar in the center of the chest to the mark Blackbeard gave him with a certain doll.
"We have a dilemming dilemma," he said hoarsely.
"What was that?" Will asked.
"Angelica," replied Jack. "That would be Angelica."
"Blackbeard's daughter?" wondered Gibbs.
Jack nodded his head. "I've felt that before mates. This here, this Blackbeard himself gave me at our first meeting. He carved his knife into the chest of the doll—"
"What doll?" asked Will.
"A peculiar, unusual, nasty voodoo doll of unfortunate me," replied Jack. "Blackbeard himself fashioned a voodoo doll of myself."
"Those things do not work unless there was something of your person sewn into it," noted Bill. "And knowing you, I doubt you let Blackbeard that close to you."
"Doesn't help that I was poisoned by a zombie's dart and dragged onto the ship and out of reality for days now does it?" wondered Jack.
"Who is this Angelica?" wondered Will.
"She's Blackbeard's daughter. I have not the logical explanation how she came upon the miniature cloth me. Well, that zombie person thing did throw me over the cliff. I must have floated to Rumrunner's Island where I left her," explained Jack.
"Oh, no wonder she's sore at you. You left her," noted Bill.
"Again," Jack muttered.
"Why would she do this to you Jack?" wondered Will.
"Jack, it might not be her," said Gibbs, thinking rationally.
"No, it's her," Jack told him. He pointed to the letter on his chest. "This letter here. This letter beginning the alphabet that reads 'A', this is the fashion she fashions her 'A's when signing her name. Only one person in the world curls the top and the bottom like that."
"Seems to me she's trying to tell you something," noted Bill.
"She is," replied Jack. "Notice the tear is going into her chalice. The other chalice is consuming the sparrow. She is the chalice receiving the tear and I am the unfortunate cup. By drinking the chalice with the tear, the soul receives all the years from the soul who drinks from the cup without the tear. Better put, she's drinking the rest of my years of life away."
"Jack, none of this is logical. Aye, you'll feel pain, but not mortal pain," said Will.
"No, it makes logical logic," said Jack. "One supernatural against another supernatural. The doll has its uses on me mortal and Aqua de Vida."
Gibbs looked at Jack oddly. His head tilted to the side and his eyes searched the horizon as thoughts accumulated in his head. The doll has its uses on me mortal and Aqua de Vida. No! Could it be? He wouldn't have gone through all that effort. He was just as hell bent as the rest of them. Why didn't he just jump ship then?
"Jack, Angelica wasn't the only one to drink from the Fountain of Youth wasn't she?" he asked.
Now standing on his own two feet and keeping the scar on his chest covered with his palms pulling the cloth of his tunic over the mark, Jack sighed heavily. He shut his eyes and softly groaned. His head shook gently and eventually fell to his chest. "No, Mr. Gibbs, she's not the only one."
"You've drank from the waters of the Fountain of Youth?" Gibbs asked softly as if not to let the spirits of the Earth know his words spoken.
"Aye," replied Jack no louder than a whisper.
Gibbs' eyes widened further. He spoke hurriedly and frustrated. "Mother's love, Jack, why didn't you just tell me you found them when we were in the prison carriage? You could have avoided all this mess. Why did you lie to me? 'I'll taste those waters. Mark my words'. Those were the exact words you spoke to me. You're immortal Jack and all this time you've been acting all mortal. You could have been the one to go down in the history books as the man who killed Edward Teach, the great Blackbeard, the pirate all pirates fear. You went on that crazy voyage and put up with all that lot for nothing. Why didn't you just tell anyone you were immortal—"
"I never meant it to happen!" Jack cried out furiously, shaking his hands in front of him. "Yes, I found it. Obviously. With those circly charts and my compass, I found it in two years. I could have drunk from it sooner of course, but I had distractions. Know this all of you; I was one of three, three, who voyaged to that island that day. Only two of us came back. Two. The soul that sacrificed herself was by her own doing. She did it to save my pathetic life. I didn't know there was a catch to this. I had no recollection that one's soul's years were sacrificed for the other. I was nearly dead by the time we got to the final push to the water. Poisoned I was. She figured out the secret and willingly drank into it. Had I known that was the price, I never would have done it. And because of what happened due to my urge to live forever, I cannot live with myself."
Jack's voice raised in pitch with his last few words. Desperation and a thousand agonies of pain swelled with the glistening in his eyes and high eyebrows.
"It's not about living forever. The trick is living with yourself forever," noted Will nodded his head solemnly. "I met your father once and spoke those words to me. Look, Jack, you get this Angelica person and I'll talk to Calypso about getting your ship out of a bottle. There is quite a lot about the Fountain of Youth you two must know. Agreed?"
"Yeah," replied Jack calmly and softly. "And I'm only explaining once how fate decided me to drink those waters. Just know I never meant it to happen. It just did."
Will set his hand on Jack's shoulders. Something was eating away at Jack. By the feeling Jack was giving from his person, Will sensed it enough to know it was heartbreak and guilt. He may have not have had his heart inside him, but strong feelings were enough for him to sense and presently he felt utterly guilty. Jack was being torn apart by emotions that were consuming, no entombing him. He was digging his own grave with those emotions.
After the words from Captain Turner to call him when they got her, Jack and Gibbs, without half the weaponry in Shipwreck City, were floating back into the Caribbean Sea. Unlike before, Jack was sitting calmly at the bow of the boat facing frontwards toward the horizon this time. His head was low yet and his body was tucked in itself. Most like the first time they were used, Jack pulled the strings on the chest of his tunic and tied a firm knot. He wanted no one looking upon the hellish scar upon his chest.
Yet, while he was rowing, Gibbs caught himself continuously glancing every horizon. He felt like something was going to come from the dead and attack them. Drinking from the Fountain of Youth was not a holy action. For some reason he felt the heaven sent was going to strike them; Jack because he was immortal and Gibbs felt they would destroy him as well because he was associated with Jack and knew how to get to the waters.
A storm was coming; he could feel it in the air. It wasn't a storm from the sky either. No, he felt an unnatural storm approaching. The storm was beginning inside the man sitting in front of him and would continue with the soul of the woman they were setting out to join. Which was thunder and which was lightening and how long would this storm rage and who would be the next carrier?
Sacrificed herself…she did it…she figured out the secret… Just who was this female who gave up her life for Jack and who was the other soul that went with them? Clearly, she must have been close to Jack because he swore he saw Jack Sparrow lower his head to the back of his palm a few times; the unmistakable sight of a man wiping his eyes. Joshamee Gibbs knew it was not dust or air particles causing Jack to wipe those eyes. Whoever she was, she was close enough to Jack to cause him to mourn her death three years later and that frightened Gibbs most.
He loved this woman whoever she was. Love was the only thing worth fearing anymore. Nevertheless, love was the only thing keeping a man alive anymore. Now Gibbs had to note that was what he feared most: the sad commentary of love emerging from Jack Sparrow himself.
A Note from TurtleHeart:
well, first and foremost, all reviews have been greatly appreciated and wide smiles to all!
there, another section added to this intriguing and now most likely confusing mess. all questions about Jack's former experience with the Fountain of Youth will be explained in the next chapter along with the arrival of Angelica. just by the way Jack was behaving and knowing about the path to the Fountain, it seemed to me Jack had already been there not to mention he does have a compass the points to what it is he wants most. i am curious though, any thoughts of who you think sacrificed herself for Jack? comments? thoughts? questions? concerns? let me know what you think!
Happy Readings!