Chapter 4

Davy Jones' Locker: the place where the Black Pearl had sunk. Over the years, the location had become a desolate graveyard for sunken and destroyed ships. Every ship that now lay on the ocean floor was now encrusted with barnacles, signifying how long they had lain there. Each and every one had their own story to tell. The sound of the shallow ocean this far under the surface made it seem like these ships were singing those stories in a ghostly monotone.

The only ship that wasn't old, rotted, and decaying was the Black Pearl, or at least what was left of it. The ship that once struck fear into everyone who came into contact with it was now nothing more than a wooden wreck. The sense of fear one would get by just glancing at the imposing structure was now replaced by a sense of pity for its tragic and untimely demise. However, pity was certainly not what Davy Jones was feeling at the moment as he approached the recent shipwreck with his crew. The one and only feeling that was coursing through his inky veins at the moment was anger.

Anger that was mostly directed at the late Captain Jack Sparrow. Jones knew how much of an untrustworthy being Sparrow was, and it seemed that the foolish Captain had taken that trait all the way to his watery grave. Jones admitted to himself that he should have expected a stunt such as this from Sparrow, and Jones had cursed himself for not taking Sparrow's soul the moment he had the opportunity a few nights ago when Bootstrap Bill Turner's son had appeared in the middle of that supply ship Jones and his crew had destroyed. But Jones had put up with Sparrow's antics long enough. If The Kraken had not swallowed the buccaneer whole, Jones himself would find Sparrow's dead body and cut it into the tiniest pieces possible.

Finally, the crew of half humans, half sea creatures reached the remains of the Pearl. They quickly boarded the wreck, the small fish and other sea animals scurrying away to avoid the fury of Jones and his crew. Jones turned to his men.

"Search everywhere aboard what's left of the ship," Jones commanded. "If I know Sparrow well enough, and I do, then he would have hidden my heart someplace that wouldn't appear to be what it is."

As Jones finished barking his orders, his crew immediately went to work. Jones' eyes settled on a particular crewmate. Bootstrap Bill Turner. Bootstrap was trying to look his best to be helping in the search. Jones was not easily fooled. He thundered over to Bootstrap, forcing him to look into his menacing captain's piercing eyes.

"If you think for one minute that you'll serve your eternal-year debt to me without suffering," Jones spat through his squid tentacles, "then think again."

"I'm prepared to handle anything you throw at me, Captain," replied Bootstrap defiantly.

"You certainly do not want to test me at the moment," breathed Davy Jones. He suddenly grabbed a handful of the barnacles that were growing out of Bootstrap's face. "You never know what kind of sadistic thought is running through my head." With that, he ripped the barnacles he had hold of off Bootstrap's face and slung them away, the barnacles floating in the deep water.

Bootstrap let out a cry of pain as he grasped his face. Where the barnacles once were now displayed a gash of blood that was green, instead of red. Jones took the opportunity and kicked Bootstrap in the stomach. There were onlookers, of course, but they did not want to be punished themselves, so they carried on with their task. Jones cast a pathetic look to Bootstrap.

Get up," he ordered. When Bootstrap did not comply, Jones himself grabbed hold of his victim's back, pulling him to his feet. "I show you how serious I am, and yet you still refuse to obey me?"

"You'd be surprised at how high my threshold for pain is," Bootstrap said simply. Jones grinned sinisterly and nodded.

"Ah. I see. Pain inflicted on the outside you seem to handle nicely. But how about pain inflicted on your internal structure?"

"What are you getting at," Bootstrap questioned suspiciously. He didn't like where this was heading.

"I'm talking about all the years of pain and suffering you've had to endure under my command. I know it must be dreadful to look yourself in the mirror every day and think, "Why me? Why did I sell my soul to someone as ruthless and heartless," (Jones stressed the word "heartless") , "as the legendary Davy Jones?"

"I don't know," Bootstrap replied tonelessly. "But I think it's safe to say that you yourself find it hard to look in the mirror everyday without fearing what will start to grow out of your face next."

Jones grabbed Bootstrap's arm and twisted it around. Bootstrap breathed painfully. "You'll be lucky to have a face at all once I'm through with you." Regaining his composure, Jones returned Bootstrap to his regular position. "If you can keep your smart mouth shut long enough, then I might just be willing to offer you your freedom from my grasp."

Those words caught the attention of some nearby crewmates, who stopped their search and turned to look at the scene. After a few moments of dead silence, Bootstrap cleared his throat.

"My freedom?"

"Yes, you heard me correctly. Your freedom. The ability to be able to walk as a free man again, as well as look like a man again, without me hanging over your head. It's what every man on my ship dreams of."

Bootstrap eyed Jones suspiciously. "How do I know you're not just bluffing?"

Jones chuckled in amusement. "Have you forgotten that even though I may be a man without a heart, I always keep my promises? Remember the dice game you and I played with your son? I let him go free, didn't I?"

"Only because of my interfering," Bootstrap said.

"But still," Jones countered, "he won and I let him walk."

It was something about Jones' tone that made Bootstrap feel like he was missing something.

"And...," he began hesitantly, "you're willing to do the same thing for me?"

"Of course," Jones said, sounding shocked that Bootstrap didn't believe him. "But obviously a prize as grand as freedom from a lifetime of servitude isn't something that you can gain with just a snap of your fingers." As Jones said this, he raised his crab-claw arm and "snapped" the two claws together.

"I knew it," Bootstrap grunted. "So what is it that I have to do?"

A nasty grin spread across Jones' face after Bootstrap finished his question. Relishing the moment, Jones pulled out his pipe, lit it with a match, and huffed a few rings of smoke, which even underwater, were still able to float in the air as if they were on the surface. The last ring of smoke was directed towards Bootstrap's face, who coughed as it evaporated before him.

"Well," Bootstrap asked impatiently.

"The one and only way I'll grant you your freedom," Jones began, "is if, and only if, when you're faced with the opportunity to do so, you kill your own son. The only fly that's left in my ointment."

The on-looking crewmates all made noises of amusement as a look of pure horror spread across Bootstrap's face. Just the opposite was true for Davy Jones, as he was currently looking like he had his heart back in his hands.

"Kill my son? That's the price for my freedom?"

"I'm afraid so," Jones sneered. "But from my point of view, it's rather fitting."

"Why would you say that," Bootstrap asked sharply.

"Have you forgotten that you are the reason he escaped from the Dutchman in the first place," Jones asked accusingly. "Since you let him get away, then I think it should be your hand that holds the blade that will be driven through young Will's heart."

"Please," Bootstrap pleaded, "he's only a boy. And he's in love. He told me so himself..."

"Don't you dare attempt to lecture me on love, Turner! I was once in love, but it was my foolishness and ambition back then that caused her to be taken from me. Love is the thing that caused me to rip out my heart! Love is the reason I am the way I am! So if you think that I will let your son live just because he may have a future to share, you've certainly got another thing coming!"

Bootstrap said nothing, just stared gravely at Jones. Jones took a deep breath.

"This is the only chance you have to answer...do you want your freedom?"

Bootstrap took a moment to answer. Finally, he replied painfully, "Yes."

Jones smirked. "Excellent." He then walked away. But unbeknownst to Jones and everyone else, Bootstrap had his fingers crossed in his pocket.

Oldest trick in the book, he said to himself.

Half an hour later, Jones' first mate reported back to his captain with news of no success.

"He didn't have it with him after all," Jones realized. "Someone must have stolen it from right under his nose." Jones then closed his eyes to concentrate. It was then that he heard it.

Thumpthump...Thumpthump...Thumpthump...

It was muffled, which only meant one thing.

"It's somewhere on the surface," Jones exclaimed. "Men, back to the ship!"

As Jones and his crew made their way back onto the Flying Dutchman, Jones found himself musing about Jack Sparrow.

Sparrow, you fool, you weren't smart enough to see if the heart was still where it should have been.

Seconds later, the Dutchman broke through the shallow sea, heading with haste in the Northeast direction...where Beckett and Norrington currently were waiting.