I spent the next day in bed and hardly spoke to Jack. I know that it was unfair and that I worried him out of his wits. But each time I looked at him, I kept remembering my dream, or rather memory. I kept seeing myself wrapped in a bed-sheet, my arms wrapped around my chest as if to stop myself from falling apart, my head bowed and tears coursing down my face.

Even though I knew that I was being irrational and that I was hurting Jack, I couldn't stop myself from cringing every time he touched me. And when he kissed me, a terrifying thought popped in my head. The thought that he could never be mine fully. The thought that so many other women had felt what I felt towards him before me.

And so I had spent the day inside the cabin, staring out of the large windows, reading and lazing around. The monotony of the day was broken when Magdalene paid me a visit.

I was reading a book, a poetry book, to be exact when there was a light knock on the door and without waiting for my consent; Magdalene opened the door and entered the room with the swiftness of a cat.

She sat on the bed beside me and handed me a glass bottle full of a clear oily-looking ointment. "This is for the seizure you 'ad last night," she said. I frowned as I took the bottle. "Will it repeat itself?" I asked. "I'm afraid so." She said gravely.

I sighed as I leaned back against a propped pillow, wincing as my still healing back rubbed a little too harshly against the cotton night gown.

"What really happened to me last night?" I asked. She took hold of my hand, and while closing her eyes ran her fingertips lightly on my palm, tickling me slightly.

"You 'ave been force fed a drink, yes? A drink that takes over your consciousness, yes?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"Your skin. It feels drier than usual. I'm afraid, that you 'ave not yet rid you'self from this drink."

My throat constricted itself in anger. "So this is all Beckett's fault?" I hissed. She shrugged. I took a deep breath and ran a shaking hand through my hair, trying to calm down. "How do I rid myself of said effects?"

"What were you forced to do?" she asked.

"Tell the truth?"

"Until you tell the truth to the person tha' asked you, will not find peace." She said.

I frowned as I turned and started pacing the length of the cabin once again.

I was pacing.

And thinking.

I was thinking about Beckett and the battle between the Black Pearl and the Flying Dutchman against the Endeavour.

I remember it being blasted into a thousand smithereens and hardly finding any survivors. That is when I stopped and my frown deepened.

'Then how did Beckett survive?' I thought to myself.

Clearly it was humanely impossible for him to survive such an explosion. Not to mention that he had no scars or deformities whatsoever.

"Then how?" I puzzled to myself.

'Humanely, humanely...'

I knew that the answer was within those words, but it eluded me like an eel.

My thoughts turned to Jack. He too had escaped a terrible fate without any visible scratch. He was eaten by the Kraken and delivered to the Locker. Yet there he was, steering the Pearl right at that very moment.

Obviously, he had supernatural help; it was all due to Calypso's help. I gasped and hit my left hand with my right hand as I realised what happened (and winced at the resulting pain in my broken arm).

"Beckett had supernatural help himself! Obviously, a god or goddess helped him!"

'But who? And at what price?' I ruled out the possibility of Hades or Thanatos, gods of death.

He had caused several deaths and was giving them an overload of work. So they wouldn't have helped him get back to life.

Then who?

I moved over to the window and opened it. The cool sea breeze flew in like a soft breath, teasing my hair and leaving its moistness on my lips. However, it felt warm around me, to a certain extent. I smiled, feeling a lot calmer at the feeling of the sea breeze.

Obviously this was Calypso's doing.

Obviously she had helped in the destruction of the Endeavour. And I frowned again.

The sea.

The sea had been becoming a lot more crowded at that time. Pirates, Pirate Lords, Jones, merchants, the East India Trading Company, the Navy... And Beckett had been doing a lot of cleaning up. My frown deepened.

And the sea became a lot more crowded once Calypso had been released. I barely wanted to think the thought. It couldn't be that this was all a scheme, could it? Perhaps a scheme that someone had plotted?

"All these happenings do seem like a very well plotted out game," I said softly to myself. I considered the idea that it was all a plot. Who would benefit from it all? Who would get an easier life at the end?

I had no idea who it was.

All I knew was that Beckett was just a pawn.

Nothing more.

I looked at the cotton nightdress that I was wearing and hurried over to Jack's chest of clothes. I quickly pulled out a crumpled shirt and breeches and, ignoring the pain in my arm and back, put them on quickly and ran out on deck.

I stopped as soon as the hot glare of the sun hit me in the face with full force and shielded my eyes with my arm. I quickly took in the scene in front of me, and without waiting to process it in full; I took off running towards the helm.

"Jack! I need to speak to you, in the cabin. Now!" I said out of breath. It wasn't because the little run had tired me out, far from it. But the little jostling that I had given myself resulted in a lot of pain on my part. He frowned at me.

"Wha' is it, love?" he asked.

"Not here." I whispered in his ear.

"Can ye wait fer a minute? Cotton'll be taking the wheel soon, love." I nodded. After all, if what I was thinking was true, there was nothing we could do to change the 'hidden person's' mind, could we? I closed the cabin's door behind me and started pacing, being quite unable to sit still.

So that was why Beckett seemed quite keen on Jack. Jack was the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean. And I had also forgotten Chevalle. When I was captured, Chevalle was a prisoner as well. He was the Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean, before he made me Pirate Lord, that is.

So that was why he had been captured. And that was why he had given me the Mediterranean Lordship crap. Not because he wanted retirement, but because he wanted less peril in his life.

"That brings us to the next problem. How did Ronda know that I was 'the key' to the cave?"

I pondered on that question for far longer. I thought about my experience on his ship. To be honest, it was quite easy to plan my escape. He must've been very stupid to trust me alone in his cabin. I mean, who in his right senses trusts a woman who was a known associate of Jack Sparrow? A woman that was part of his crew?

I had only ever heard of two other women before me that had stayed on the Black Pearl, Anamaria and Elizabeth. And no one trusted them.

Elizabeth became Pirate King and Pirate Lord of Singapore, and Anamaria had become a captain, the last time I heard of her.

So for someone to trust me would be a clear indication of their stupidity. So Ronda couldn't have been behind it all.

"That would mean that Ronda is another pawn."

'But whose?'

"Chevalle also seemed to know. How did he know?" One couldn't call Chevalle stupid. That much was obvious. Could Ronda have been Chevalle's pawn? I didn't know why, but it seemed highly unlikely to me. I took a piece of parchment and wrote down the names Beckett, Ronda and Chevalle. I put a large 'P' for pawn next to Beckett and Ronda. However, I paused when I came next to Chevalle.

What was I supposed to mark him as?

I had no idea so I put a question mark next to him.

I put a thin line between Ronda and Beckett and underneath it wrote 'Connected?'

"Wha' ye got there, love?" a voice said behind my ear. I threw my left hand backward in fright, smacking the person behind me in the face. Obviously, I had failed to realise that someone was behind me from their hot breath against my ear.

A string of swear words escaped my lips as my arm exploded in pain, and another oath escaped the one that I had smacked. I turned, holding my arm and howling in pain to see Jack holding his nose.

"Wha' the ruddy hell are ye tryin' to do? Ruin me bloody nose?" he hissed, wincing as he felt his sore nose. "You were the one that startled me!" I said. "Wha' the hell's gotten into you today Pia? You've been acting skittish aroun' me, sepndin' yer day all morose and mopin' like in here, runnin' aroun' as if ye've jus' discovered Doom's Day itself...what's goin' on?"

"Nothing, I just...I'm not feeling particularly over the top. Jack, I've been thinking about Beckett."

He frowned.

"Wha' about him?" he growled.

"It seems to me as if he's only being used."

"O'course. That makes sense. Did I tell ye that I'm the pope, darlin'?" he said sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up Jack, I'm being serious! What if he owes someone a pleasure? What if this someone is tad bit more than he can handle and Beckett has to do his bidding?"

"Like who?"

"Oh, I don't know; someone supernatural perhaps? Someone on the same level as Calypso?"

"She wouldn've helped him, love."

"I didn't say that Calypso helped him, idiot. I'm saying someone like her, as strong as her." I frowned "Or perhaps stronger." I whispered.

"What makes ye think she ain't strong, love?"

"I didn't say that. But certainly she isn't the strongest. She was bound inhuman form wasn't she? Now I've been thinking, the sea is becoming crowded lately. You know...Calypso, pirates, Pirate Lords, the Navy, the Company, Merchants, Jones...what if there's someone who wants a cleaner sea? Someone who had no problems before?"

"Such as who, love?"

"I don't know. I did the whole figuring out process. You do the guess work. You're lucky that way," I bit back.

"I'll think about it." He said. I huffed and turned away from him as I stumbled over to the bed and dropped myself on it. He tutted to himself as he turned and swayed to the door. "Wha' a waste o' time..." he said.

And at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to wrap my one good hand around his neck and squeeze till his tongue stuck out like a dog's. But instead, I contented myself by grabbing the nearest item, which so happened to be a thick heavy book and threw it towards his head. He simply ducked and continued on his way.

"Good ter see, ye're finally back, love," he smirked at me before closing the door behind him.

Practically that was the only 'interesting' thing that happened in my day. Because when Jack came back in the cabin, I had already drunk some of Magdalene's concoction, and was already fast asleep. It did stop the physical pain, but it didn't stop the flow of dreams, or rather the flow of memories...

I was in Tortuga; the habitable part of Tortuga, where the poorer folks lived to be exact. As I looked around me, I noticed that the day had already progressed to late afternoon and was almost over to early evening.

I was in a small dusty street. The shacks that surrounded it were dilapidated and extremely shabby; some of them even lacking glass windows.

The sun was shining brightly but the street still remained in the dark. As I was observing the dilapidated wooden houses, I noticed a small group of people.

A beautiful young girl was behind a woman. She was on the verge of womanhood, but still not quite free of her childhood. Usually, young children entering early adolescence, have a rather...awkward phase; a too thin or too bulging body, inflamed skin, a too tall or too short appearance... but this girl, she looked like a miniature version of the woman in front of her.

The girl wasn't very tall, but she wasn't very short either. Her dark black tresses were woven into a very untidy plait. Even though her tanned skin was dirtied, her large dark brown eyes shone with mischief and innocence mixed in an unlikely combination.

Her hands were behind her back and she was rocking on the balls of her feet. She was wearing boys' clothes; brown breeches tatty dirty shirt and barefoot.

There was a tiny petite redhead in a very revealing red dress in front of her. And my heart stopped. I instantly knew who she was.

Her curly spiral tresses gleamed in the little sunlight that reached her. Her skin was a delectable creamy white and I could see her shiny azure eyes were full of life. Her peach coloured lips were slightly parted, revealing her perfect white teeth and showing her lips' softness and suppleness. She was a true beauty; a vision.

I hurried towards my mother and my younger self.

"But she's only eleven years old! How do you expect her to work?" she was saying. It was only then that I noticed the man standing in front of her. He was wearing a simple pair of black breeches, black buckled shoes and clean white shirt.

"Frankly, I don't care. She's as good as any adult now, so she has to pay for her lodgings." He was saying. "She's only ten!" my mother exclaimed.

"Exactly! Ten year olds have a nasty habit of destroying things."

"First of all, she hardly spends an hour in the house that you rented me. And second of all, the house was empty when you rented it to us. So there's really nothing for her to break. " My mother retorted. His next action was so quick that I hardly noticed it. One moment the landlord was glaring at her and the next he had slapped my mother so hard that she almost lost balance.

At that moment, a tiny hurricane rushed from behind her skirts, turned around his legs and pinched him. He turned and caught the small bundle, cursing the hell out of it. "You're testing my patience you little curse!" he spat as he held the ten year old version me from my waist in front of him.

The ten year old me crossed her arms and frowned and stuck her tongue out at him in defiance. His glare turned into a full blown scorching scowl.

"Don't you stick out your tongue at me, you filthy brat!" he hissed as he shook her indignantly. I could see the younger me's teeth rattling at the shaking, and hear the shrill squealing. And a moment later, I saw my dark head of untidy curls bend towards our landlord's arm and sink my teeth in his meaty forearm.

His scream echoed around the deserted dusty street as he let go of the younger me. I laughed to myself as I saw my small hands flinging themselves up and clinging to his arm while the small jaw tightened like a vice around as he shook the child-me like a rat. My mother was trying to stifle her laughter with one hand covering her mouth, as the other hand held her corseted stomach, her breasts bouncing with each hearty laugh.

The landlord struck the younger me between the shoulder blades, and I instantly dropped to floor. I winced as I remembered the shock I had felt when I had felt his blow. I know this may seem a little strange, but it had been the first time that an adult had laid a hand on me. That's right; my mother had never smacked me. The child-me was still on the floor, staring at the landlord in surprise.

I still remembered how I had thought that it was all a joke. But that fantasy was crushed as the young-me saw his shoe coming towards her face; fast. My mother had stopped laughing, and was now screaming and scratching at our landlord's face.

"You dare lay your hand on MY daughter! You filthy, pox-ridden, diseased, cursed, bloody, bilge-soaked, rum-headed CUR!" she screamed. However, her defence was unnecessary as I saw the child-me quickly roll out of the way of the assaulting foot, bite him once hard in his thigh, and run away. My mother as soon as she saw me running away, quickly turned and was about to follow me, but he caught her long red curls and hauled her back. "Do you honestly think that I would let you and that bastard of yours do this to me without payback, you filthy whore?" he hissed. I (meaning the present day me) had stopped laughing and edged closer to my mother.

Without waiting for a reply, his hand dived in her breasts and he ripped her corset forcibly. "No!" She struggled against him as he pulled at her hair once more and turned her towards him.

"I will take what I want. Whore." He hissed as he spat in her face. He threw her to the ground from her hair and tore at her skirt. I immediately realised what was going to happen and closed my eyes and ran blindly away, trying in vain to blot out what was going to happen.

But her screams followed me everywhere, until they were joined by my very own screams; tore from my throat when I couldn't take any more of my mother's tortured voice.