(Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, not to me.)
Paradise of the Mind
The arrow was spinning again.
Pintel blinked at the compass in front of him like it was worthless. After all the trouble the blasted thing had landed him in, he was convinced that it was.
Left, right, left, right, left, right…
It was maddening. Just maddening. What the devil was wrong with this thing? All he wanted to do was find…
The bald captain stopped, dazed. Who did he want to find?
Left, right, left, right, left, right…
BAM!
Pintel slammed his fist so hard onto the table that his hand went numb. He could've just as easily done away with the compass, but it somehow didn't feel worth picking up his discarded sabre from the floor. He didn't even feel like picking up his pistol; he just wanted to vent his anger in the simplest way possible. As soon as the impact rattled up his arm, Pintel's answer finally returned to him.
He studied his hand with muted disgust. Once again, it was shaking uncontrollably.
Ragetti watched him somberly from behind. "…Nobody stays young forever, Pinters."
The older pirate was up in a flash. "Only Jack Sparrow wif 'is bloody fountain!" He shoved Ragetti back roughly for emphasis, angry that the young crewman had caught him so off guard. "And that's wot it always comes back to, ain't it? Good ol' Cap'n Jack Sparrow, who we could never go on wifout!"
Ragetti recoiled a little on his own then. "Well you 'fought that way about 'im once," he pointed out warily.
"And wot a great investment of loyalty that was!" Pintel snapped sarcastically. He stepped back suddenly and thumped into his chair again. "Maybe 'e don't want us t'find 'im. Ever 'fink about that?! Maybe all that lovey-dovey talk 'bout 'is precious li'l ship don't mean a monkey's ass in the real world! Y'know it took 'im ten years to find the Pearl the last time it left 'im behind? Why yeh 'fink that is? And Gibbs said just as much when 'e told us 'bout Sparrow runnin' off t'find 'is stinkin' immortality instead of 'is ship!"
The other frowned and kept his eye lowered. "'E didn't exactly 'ave much of a headin' fer findin' the Pearl."
Pintel snatched the compass furiously off the table and held it up for Ragetti to see. "He 'ad THIS! Yeh know wot this is?! This ain't no normal compass!"
"I knows that, Pinters. I known what it is as long as you 'ave." It took everything the skinny sailor had to hide the pain in his voice.
"He 'ad a magic compass wot told 'im exactly wot 'e wanted and exactly how t'find it! And it weren't this ship!"
Pintel hurled the compass fiercely onto the floor. The sharp clatter earned a jump from Ragetti, who immediately met his uncle's eye again. He hadn't been this afraid of the elder since before the Aztec curse was lifted, but he knew he couldn't afford to back away from him now.
As soon as his violent spurt was over, a complete change overtook Pintel. Instead of an enraged demon, Ragetti now saw the other pirate for what he really was: a cornered and spent old man.
"He gave 'er up!" The captain almost sounded hurt in his anger. "I'm the one who took responsibility for 'er! Me! I'm the only one who wanted to be cap'n, and that's wot I am! And now the 'ole lotta yeh back-stabbin' sots wanna get rid a' me 'cause I ain't bloody great Cap'n Jack!"
With that, Pintel let out a winded cough and slumped back his chair, defeated. Ragetti watched his uncle for a long time before he began walking closer. If there was any hope left of reasoning with this wreck of a man, it would have to be through honesty.
"That ain't at all what it's about, Pinters," he explained softly. He was determined to say Pintel's old nickname as much as possible.
"Rat's wallop," his friend grunted. "Wot other reason would those lads 'ave for it?"
"You let a fellow lead the 'ole crew into a trap. A Navy fellow, Pinters. They don't wanna chance sumfin' like that 'appenin' again."
"Don't wanna chance it?" Pintel echoed sourly, skeptical. "They gave plenty a' second chances t'Sparrow."
Ragetti swallowed hard as he came to stand at his uncle's side. He paused to juggle his dreary thoughts once more, then he tried to reach Pintel in the most personal way he could think of.
"…It was only 'sposed to be a temporary position, Pinters."
It was the worst thing to say.
Pintel's face blazed with an inhuman rage, and he automatically sprang to his feet when he recognized Gibb's last words. As soon as he was up, he spun around to deal with the troublesome long-haired crewman the best way his instinct knew how to: with his sword.
Ragetti barely had time to react. Just a second after he'd finished his sentence, he found himself stumbling backwards with a searing pain in his left arm. He left out a cry when the shock and agony caught up to him, then grabbed his arm on impulse. It was sticky and wet to the touch.
The surprise was overwhelming. All Ragetti could do was gawk down at the blood seeping through his sleeve is disbelief. The thick coppery smell of it hit him in a staggering wave then, and he snapped his head up to stare in horror at Pintel. The captain clutched his red-stained sabre and returned the look with mad, hateful eyes. The sight of him made Ragetti ghostly pale. Pintel was ready to defend his title to the death, and there wasn't a hint of recognition in his burning gaze.
Again, he swung his blade.
Ragetti jumped away with a scream and struggled to draw his own sword. Its sheath hung on his right side, but it felt like daggers were shooting up his left arm when he moved it. Not knowing what else to do, he left go of his wound and awkwardly retrieved the weapon with his less favored right hand. He had no intention of striking back with his sword though—only defending himself with it.
Pintel's blade came down on it with a piercing clang!
"Pinters!" Ragetti shouted at him all the while. "What're you doin'?! Stop it!"
Clang!
"Stop it! Stop it right now!"
But Pintel only snarled and lunged at him again, completely hell-bent. The next blow nearly knocked the sword right out of Ragetti's hand. That was when the younger pirate finally lost his composure.
"WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!" he suddenly screeched. It was all boiling to the surface now. For months, he'd worried himself sick over Pintel, and all his ungrateful uncle'd ever done in return was mock him and ignore him. It was Pintel who'd cast him out and left him alone in this miserable state. It was Pintel who'd dragged him back to the Pelegostso's island where he'd fallen overboard, and now it was Pintel who'd become his greatest danger. Ragetti had broken under his burden at last, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from screaming.
"IT'S ME, PINTEL! DON'T YOU BLOODY RECOGNIZE ME?! IT'S ME! IT'S RAG—"
SLASH!
With a single swipe, Pintel laid a dark red stripe across Ragetti's forehead and sent him toppling back senselessly. The lanky man's fall sent him headfirst into one of the cabin's windows, and smashing against it, he collapsed onto the floor in a shower of shattered glass. There he lay in a motionless heap, now silent.
Pintel moved in to finish it. There was hardly an expression on his whiskered face as he raised his sword and stormed forward. He was savagely focused on running that mop-haired pest through, but just as he reached his unresponsive foe, his foot abruptly came down on something small and round. It was enough to snap him out of his vicious thoughts and make him stop. Puzzled, Pintel stepped back and squinted down at the curious object.
It was a wooden ball of some sort—he could see that now. It was crudely carved, no doubt made by an amateur, and it didn't seem to have any markings. Pintel sank down to one unsteady knee for a closer look. What was this thing?
One leathery hand reached out to prod at the item, rolling it around lightly. It was then that the ball finally turned up and revealed its one marking: a dark circle with an even darker dot directly in its center. Just like that, something registered with Pintel, and he suddenly heard a haunting, familiar sound echo in his head: a scream.
A piercing, chilling, horrifying scream.
Pintel was back on his feet before the awful shriek ended. There was something too familiar about it. He did nothing for almost a minute, simply staring down at the wooden ball—the wooden eye—but once his scrambling thoughts managed to settle together, he lifted his head towards that lanky man lying by the window. After a wary hesitation, he placed his sword on the floor and crept closer to his fallen opponent.
The younger fellow remained still. Both of his eyes were shut, and the dark blood oozing from his forehead was already running down his face and into his hair. Pintel paused one more time, then slowly knelt and leaned over the whelp. He wanted to see if he could recognize him, or to at least convince himself that he couldn't.
An image flashed in his head right then: an image of a boy, probably no more than ten years old. The little blonde runt was sleeping, curled up under a burlap sack surrounded by gunpowder barrels, and he, Pintel, was privately watching him from above. It was an eerie reflection of the situation unfolding in front of him now, and Pintel didn't know what to make of it.
Squaring his jaw, the captain lifted his subject's head and firmly yanked off the red bandanna, letting that mane of blonde hair flop out. Then he gathered up the scraggly mess and pulled it back. What did this lad look like with short hair? Pintel squinted down at that narrow face, trying to spot something familiar through the blood.
And all of a sudden, he did.
Pintel immediately dropped Ragetti's head and flew back in horror. As soon as he hit the floor, the old man rolled onto all fours and frantically crawled over to his table. His green eyes were nearly bulging out of his head as he clutched that flat wooden top, taking whatever support it had to offer. Pintel didn't dare glance back at the body behind him—in his badly shaken mind, he wanted to believe that this nightmare would all disappear if he looked away long enough. It felt like ages before he let another thought wander into his head, and when the full realization of what he'd done sank in, he felt an agonizing burn in his throat.
No...no no no…
The bald pirate squeezed his eyes shut and bit his knuckle, desperate to keep his emotions subdued. No no no no no…
A jolt shot through him then, and his senses snapped back so sharply that he practically sailed across that room to his limp companion.
"Rags! Rags!" He seized Ragetti by the shoulders and shook him. "Rags! Rags!"
The boy made no response. Blood. Blood was everywhere…
Pintel grabbed Ragetti's head with both hands. "RAGS!!"
Still nothing.
Pintel could barely breath through his tightening throat. "…Ra…Rag—…Ragott—…R-Rigad…Ri…" He released his friend with a choking wheeze and began beating himself in the head. What was Rag's real name?! He had to remember it! He'd bash his own filthy brains in if he had to! Why couldn't he remember it?!
"Rags…" Pintel whimpered. "Rags, please…Don't do this, Rags… Don't do this, please…"
And then, a miracle.
"Nnnnn…"
The groan was barely audible. Ragetti's eyes clenched tighter as the first wave of pain came to him, and he impulsively flailed his injured left arm. Pintel made a startled cry and retreated again when he saw this, too overwhelmed to do anything else. This time, however, his waning strength gave out and he stumbled against the wall in a pathetic heap of his own.
Behind him, Ragetti slowly came to and rolled onto his side with another groan. The pain in his head was unimaginable. Every beat of his pulse sent his world spinning, and the suffocating stench of blood only magnified that nausea. It was a wonder he didn't vomit at that very instant. Instead, he grasped his forehead with his good hand until the dizzying sensation passed and blearily opened his eyes. He could just make out the hazy figure slumped against the wall ahead of him.
"…Pinters?" he rasped. He wasn't ready to sit up just yet.
The other kept his back turned and said nothing.
Ragetti blinked and tried to clear the fog from his thoughts. "Pinters?" he asked with more ease.
Pintel couldn't even attempt to hide his anguish. "…I'm goin', Rags."
The one-eyed crewman was till too dazed to understand. "Oi!" he gasped, shakily lifting himself. "You doesn't 'ave to leave!"
"No," Pintel's trembling voice jumped in. "No. My…my mind's goin'. I can't remember anyfing. I can't…" He broke off at that and brought a grimy sleeve up to his face.
Wincing, Ragetti sat up further and dragged himself closer to his troubled friend. He barely moved a meter before he felt a familiar wooden object under his fingers. It was his fake eye! But why was it on the floor? Perplexed, the bony youngster picked up his prosthetic to inspect it. It didn't take long for him to figure out what'd happened.
Ragetti gazed up at his uncle just as the older man turned around, and he could see the heartbroken glaze in those once sharp eyes. "Oh, Pinters…"
The skinny sailor started to move closer, but Pintel sparked with terror and scrambled away. "No!" the bald captain shrieked. "No, don't come near me! Get away!"
Ragetti shook his head, misunderstanding. "It's alright. I ain't gonna 'urt—"
"Get away from me!" Pintel wailed even louder. "Can't yeh bloody see wot I done already?!"
The words made Ragetti shrink back with a devastated expression. Pintel wasn't afraid of him—he was afraid for him.
"But…but yeh knows me now," the blonde pirate insisted pleadingly. "Yeh figured it out all by yerself." He crept forward again, determined to reach his comrade. "Yeh knows who I am, Pinters."
Ragetti stopped just short of the elder and waited. Cornered, Pintel just stared down at the wooden eye in that bony hand. A hand that was covered in blood.
He had tried to kill his nephew. There was no denying it anymore. Pintel'd let his anger drive him so far over the edge that he'd willingly destroyed every memory of this boy—this trusting, innocent boy—and had harmed him so badly that he'd actually mistaken him for a corpse. After all those years of promising to protect this child from harm, he, Robert Pintel, had tried to murder him. And he'd come so terribly close…
Pintel's face crumpled from the strain of this realization. "I'm so sorry," he said in a quivering whisper. "So…so sorry I dragged yeh into this. Sorry I didn't wanna believe it…"
The aging pirate was trembling all over. Pintel couldn't compose himself, not even in front of Ragetti. The broken leader was almost sick with his own guilt and self-loathing, and in that despair, he did the only thing he could think of. Without warning, Pintel reached out, grabbed hold of the lad, and tugged him into an apologetic embrace.
A ragged breath tore through the old man. "I'm sorry fer everyfing!"
Ragetti's first reaction was one of panic. He let out a startled squeal and instinctively struggled, but this stressful onslaught only made his head spin worse. Too injured and disoriented to protest, the frightened runt shuddered and sagged into that iron grip.
Pintel tightened his hold further and placed a hand on the back of Ragetti's head, pressing that bony face into one of his bulky shoulders. He desperately needed to show the boy that it was alright now, to somehow prove to him that he could feel safe around his uncle again.
Another stinging breath cut through Pintel's throat then. He had to prove it…even though Rags had never deserved someone so despicable.
Ragetti felt Pintel wrench from this awful realization. It made him tense up again, but then out of nowhere, he heard a sharp, ragged gasp from his friend—a sob. That was when it hit him.
Pintel was crying.
The spinning grew even faster. Crying. Ragetti could hear more crying, but from someone else this time. From a woman…
An image was rushing back to the disoriented pirate, a long-suppressed memory that'd suddenly chosen to resurface in this moment of chaos. Just like that, he was a child again, and he was wrapped tightly in the quaking arms of a hysterical woman as she knelt on the floor. It was all a huge blur in his mind, but somehow, Ragetti could tell from the sound of those woeful howls that the woman was his mother. Rebecca Pintel was crying and clutching her son. But why?
Unaware of Ragetti's recollection, Pintel blinked back tears and held up one of his own blood-speckled hands. The sight of those hideous crimson stains was all it took to completely push him over the edge; he'd carved a scar right across Ragetti's forehead, just like the one that Windrick had given to him. He'd become the exact same thing that he'd hated all his life, only he'd left a far deeper mark to show for it.
The buccaneer's tears returned with a vengeance, blurring his eyes and spilling outwards, and he finally admitted the dire secret that had clung to him for twenty-six years.
"My nephew. My nephew…" A second sob shook Pintel as the weight of those words sank into him. "My boy…my little Rags…my nephew!!"
Ragetti snapped out of his trance and slowly turned his head towards his uncle. He had witnessed the full devastation that Gibbs's death had left on Pinters, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how much this near loss of his nephew—by his own hand, no less—was destroying the poor man inside. Swallowing hard, Ragetti shifted in that weakening embrace and carefully put his own arms around Pintel.
"MY NEPHEW!!"
"'E's right 'ere," Ragetti said shakily. "'E's fine. It's alright, Pinters…"
Pintel coughed heart-rendingly and heavily slumped against Rags, buckling under his grief. His nephew's hold only tightened.
"It's alright."
And then all of a sudden, they weren't alone. Murtogg and Mullroy froze in the cabin's doorway, fearfully drawn to the commotion. Murtogg took one look at the scene and stepped forward, but Mullroy stopped him short with a firm hand on the shoulder. Even he could tell what'd just occurred in this room, and the former soldier knew better than to rush between his two old friends now. A split second later, a stunned Charloote appeared behind them as well.
Ragetti stiffened at the sight of all three of them. There was silence as he looked to each one, then he turned to shield Pintel from their prying eyes. He had to be the protector now.
The shuffling of other crewmen's footsteps was heard further beyond the three onlookers. Charlotte quickly spun around to force them back with a sharp word. Inside the cabin, Ragetti could only pull his trembling uncle closer.
"I'm right here."
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