Chapter 5

Jones was not happy. No, that was an understatement to how he felt. Jones was miserable. Not only had he seen the glimmer disappear from the swan pedant's eye, but he had felt Carolyn's mortality return. It was not something he had wished nor expected when he gave her the necklace all those years ago. He had forgotten people, especially teenaged girls, had feelings and opinions. He never thought she would rebel against her immortality. So now he was at square one. Carolyn would die, like Dawn, and Jones would live on with the pain. But if I don't get close to 'er than it can't hurt. That was his reasoning. He decided to make her work hard and watch her suffer. That little whelp's going to pay fer bein' ungrateful. He needed to clear his head and hence the sea shook once more under the wrath of Davy Jones' music.

Carolyn woke up quickly and sat up. She had hoped to awake in her room with a warm fire crackling and her in her comfortable bed after having an awful nightmare. Such was not the case and instead she awoke in the hold, on an old hammock on board the Flying Dutchman. Around her the other crewmates were still asleep. She was early. Carolyn tip toed out of the hold and up onto the deck. Seeing the blue ocean calmed her reasonably. The water was so beautiful, so angelic. She wondered if her mother had liked the sea. Had she ever stepped on a ship and sailed the endless blue to whatever end? Surely not. Her mother never really struck Carolyn as the type of person who would want to go to sea. Her grandmother had said her mother had been a "very nice and very sweet girl", which meant she must have been ladylike and girls who were ladylike never went off on spontaneous sea escapades. But Caylie, since she had been a year old, has dreamed of going off to sea. It seemed like such a big mysterious world to her and she wanted to discover it all. Her grandparents tried to make her into a lady, and she did it credibly, no mistake, but she was miserable. When they died and she remained immortally fourteen, she saw her opportunity out. There was no one to keep her and no man wanted a fourteen year old tomboy as a wife. She was free and at sea, the two things she loved most in life. But now she wasn't free, she was on the Flying Dutchman. She needed to remind herself of this often, being unable to grasp such a cruel concept. I wonder where I got this love for the sea, Carolyn wondered, maybe from my father. Probably. Carolyn's time of peaceful reminiscing was cut short by the arrival of the other crewmembers. Her first day of work on the Dutchman was beginning.

Jones enjoyed very much watching Carolyn suffer. He had purposely given her the most difficult tasks and she was showing increasing signs of exhaustion and pain. Beads of sweat streaked down her brow as her hair came undone and stuck out in all directions. Still, she worked hard and when the other crewmembers got rough, she knew how to put 'em in their place. Carolyn glared at Jones as she rolled some of the ropes. They were coarse and old, making her fingers ache and turn red. Some cuts were forming on her palms along with some blisters. Why did he hate her to begin with? Did he even HAVE a reason to hate her? Because she wanted her mortality? Why would he care? If he did have a reason, he wasn't telling anyone. If he didn't, then he was just doing it for a good laugh. Carolyn tried to roll the ropes quicker, praying the day would soon be over.

Carolyn was mending one of the sails that had been torn in a recent storm. It was a daunting task, and she was sure she could slip at any given time. Trying not to look down Carolyn continued on with her work. Jones was watching her work again. He seemed to have nothin' better to do. He finally decided to limp over to her.
"Carolyn!" he called roughly, looking up. "Whelp! Get over 'ere!"

Carolyn didn't move.

"Carolyn!" Jones called again. Either she's ignoring me, and if she is there's a floggin' awaitin' 'er or she really can't hear. He wasn't used to using such a long name and it annoyed him. Why couldn't 'er mother 'ave named her somethin' simple with few syllables, easy ter yell?
Finally an idea struck Jones. He looked up again and rolled his eyes. Here goes nothin'. "Carolyna Jessiana Anamaria Adams! Git yer ruddy hide 'ere NOW or ye can consider yerself on the top o' the bosun's list!"
Carolyn heard that loud and clear. No one ever called her by her full name, let alone know it! She almost forgot that WAS her name! She looked down and saw Jones peering up at her and he didn't look happy. She slid down the mast and landed in front of him. How did he even know her name? Surely her mother didn't tell him that! And why did he remember, if she did? At this point Carolyn was sure she would never uncover the mystery that was Davy Jones.

"What?" she asked moodily.

"Took ye long enough!" Jones huffed. He really was gettin' annoyed with her habit of wasting his time. Forgetting what he originally came to tell her, he asked, "don't ye have a shorter name missy?"

"Than Carolyna Jessiana Anamaria Adams, or just Carolyn?" Carolyn asked smartly.

Jones decided at this point out of all the different people in humanity, teenaged girls were the worst with all the cheek she was givin' him.

"Listen 'ere missy, I said it once and I'm not in the habit of repeating meself! I'm yer captain and ye treat me with respect. And I mean a name shorter than Carolyn," he snapped, tentacles twisting in fury again.

Carolyn rolled her eyes. You could have just said that then. "Yes."

Jones looked at her expectantly. "Are ye goin' ter tell me what that is?"

Carolyn shrugged. "I don't know, you're the captain as you pointed out. Are you ORDERING me to tell you?"

Jones was now fiery with rage. How could she act like this with him? He was always one to be feared even by the smartest and bravest men but here was a fourteen year old half his size who was talking to him as though he were just another speck of dust under the rug.

"I am orderin' ye to," Jones answered. "And I'm also orderin' ye to stop usin' those smart remarks if ye want to keep the skin on yer back!"

Carolyn blinked at him. "Caylie. My friends called me Caylie and I can't help it if I'm smart. Are you ordering me to be stupid too?"

Jones grabbed her by the collar and thrust her to the bosun. Enough was enough.

The bosun tied her hand to the gratings and grabbed his whip, flexing it.

"I think it's time, missy, that I educate ye on how ter treat the Captain of the Flying Dutchman," Jones said in a low voice.

Carolyn gritted her teeth as she felt the whip hit her back.

Jones turned away as the bosun 'educated' Carolyn. He couldn't believe he had actually ordered that Dawn's daughter get a flogging. But she earned it. She knew she was getting on his last nerve and yet she continued to pick on the minor things that drove him up the wall. He turned back to look at her. Her back was already covered in scars and they weren't done yet. The blood was trickling down her back and onto the deck but Carolyn didn't cry. In fact, if the whip didn't make a sound no one would think someone was getting a flogging. She just stood, tears in her eyes but she still stood her ground. She hated him. She hated him so much it hurt. How could he inflict such pain on his own kin? How?! Carolyn now knew Tia Dalma was crazy, to say Davy Jones only talked of his sister. He didn't care about her! If he did why would he cause such pain to her daughter? Finally the ten lashes were over and Carolyn was let go. She tried to walk but failed. Jones continued to stare at her heartlessly as Bootstrap hauled her up and brought her to the hold. When Carolyn was gone Jones walked off to his cabin and locked the door.

Caylie lay in the hammock on her stomach, her back aching horribly. She would never let Jones know how much it actually hurt, but the pain was almost unbearable. She tried to close her eyes and think of something else, but all that filled her mind was the flaming pain coming from her back. She could feel the blood trickling down her spine, and it made her shiver.

"What did he give ye a floggin' fer exactly?" Bootstrap asked her, placing a wet cloth on her back gently.

Caylie thought back to what Clanker had told her. When yer Davy Jones ye don't need ter make sense. "He got mad at me for talking to him. He never makes sense."

"Well when yer-" Bootstrap began.

"Davy Jones you don't need to make sense? I've heard it before," Caylie snapped, the pain in her back increasing.

"How long do ye have ter stay 'ere?" Bootstrap asked her, trying to draw her attention away from the wounds on her back.

"Fifty years," Caylie answered.

"That's lucky ye know. Most of us are 'ere for a hundred," Bootstrap said.

"Maybe but Jones can make fifty years for me last like two hundred," Caylie answered.

"I'm almost surprised he took ye so young. Ye can't be more than sixteen," Bootstrap commented, thinking about Will, his son.

"Fourteen actually," Caylie answered.

Bootstrap was really confound by this. What reason could have prompted Jones to take a fourteen year old girl onto the Flying Dutchman? Why did she come in the first place? So many questions flooded his head but he knew it was best to keep quiet. He finished cleaning her back.

"Ye should be gettin' some rest now, tomorrow's not goin' ter be any easier," Bootstrap said, getting up.

"Thank you Bootstrap," Caylie said, turning in the hammock. The pain was hell but Bootstrap's cleaning had helped quite a bit. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Jones sat facing his organ again. He was staring off into space, without any real target at all. He turned slowly to the small chest. It was so exquisite in appearance, a fine wood that seemed to stand the test of time. There were small designs carved into the wood and Jones ran his elongated finger over them softly. There were waves, birds, clouds, butterflies. He pulled his hand away almost in disgust and looked away again. Why had he kept her on the ship? Did he really think he could avoid her, when she looked so much like Dawn? Although his mind was telling him other whys, Jones still blamed Caylie for being the reason Dawn was dead. If only she hadn't been born. At least Dawn cared about him. Caylie-she hated him. And he hated her too. The way she spoke to him was crying out for trouble. Or attention, a smaller voice spoke up in his mind. Jones pushed it down forcefully. His mind began to drift off far into his memory…

Davy gazed out at the sea, as he had done three years ago. Three years ago he had dreamt of the day when he would go out to sea and fulfill his dream. That day came quicker than he had expected, for in a matter of days he was off on The Ebony Enchantress to begin his life at sea. It thrilled him beyond belief but it was not as easy as he had thought it would be because now he had his sister Dawn to care for. Their mother had died a year ago and Davy did not want to leave his sister alone.

"It's what ye've always wanted," Dawn said, having joined him on the dock, her vibrant blue eyes filled with sadness and equal happiness.

"Aye…but I don't want to leave ye here, alone," Davy said sadly.

Dawn sighed. In her heart she did not want him to leave her either. They were so close and she feared what could happen to him at sea. She couldn't and wouldn't bear it if all her family was gone.

"Ye have no choice. I won't let ye give up yer life's dream because of me and ye can't bring me with ye," Dawn said truthfully.

"I wish I could," Davy said, giving Dawn a hug.

A tear rolled down Dawn's cheek. "It's alright. I'm going to live with Mrs. Stuart in London and she'll teach me to be a lady. Then one day, I'll marry a man and we'll live happily together."

"Is that really what ye want Dawn?" Davy asked, hating to see his sister contained to the boring life of an English lady.

Dawn shrugged. "I'm fourteen Davy. What option do I have? Become a pirate? Nay, I ain't got the soul for that. And being a lady ain't half as bad as it sounds. I'll learn to play pretty instruments, talk right and maybe find meself a love."

Davy laughed, his eyes full of mirth. "A love? Ye're just a youngin'!"

"Don't go talkin' to me as though yer an old man David Austen Jones! Yer only four years older than me!" Dawn exclaimed, accenting on Davy's full name, which made him wince. "And there are lots of men in town. In a few years I could fall in love with one."

"I know, I know, but yer me sister and I want to make sure yer alright with all this," Davy said, smiling at her with brotherly affection.

"Oh I'll live," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "Just promise to write to me, every week if not every day."

"Promise," Davy said. "And send all yer letters to Tortuga and I'll get them."

They hugged again and looked to the sea. Never in their lives had the Jones' been apart and now they were going to be separated…forever.

Jones growled. More memories! He hated them with a passion and he had a new found reason to hate Caylie: she brought back memories. And memories, as it were, were Jones' worst enemies. They were cruel and painful. They came at any given moment and dug deep into his soul, digging out his life's most dreadful moments. Having Caylie on the Dutchman only increased the will and intensity of those memories. And Jones couldn't control them. He could control almost anything, but not this. He was angry with Caylie and he promised she would suffer every day more than the last.