Love's Redemption
By BlueBlazesWildcat88
"This Isn't My House"
~ * THREE MONTHS LATER * ~
"You have three days, Jack Sparrow… d'en I come fer ya, t' bring ya back to dis worl'…"
The cryptic warning of the sea witch rang in Jack Sparrow's ears as he was abruptly sucked backwards into the endless depths of a swirling, watery-like vortex. Not a single drop landed on his person, though water spiraled all around him. He heard nothing but the sound of his own voice; a bellowing cry, that seemed to echo all around him. He fell forever it seemed; all while screaming at the top of his lungs from the dizzying, spinning vacuum that sent him careening towards a blinding bright light.
His cries were silenced when he landed face-down on top of a rug.
"I think she likes me…" he muttered sarcastically under his breath against the fibers that felt scratchy against his face. Groaning, he managed to roll over just as the void above him retracted into the ceiling, and he watched in pure fascination as it dissipated completely from existence. Women… Ohh… me head feels all fuzzy… an' I'm not even drunk… sort of. Alright, maybe a little…
The room was spinning, his head was pounding, and his vision was blurry.
Various shades of tan and brown mixed with a bluish white pouring in from an unknown source bled together like a poorly crafted watercolor painting. It made his head hurt, and there was something else moving above him, going around and around, humming quietly… it was a ceiling fan.
His face was muddled by confusion as he sat up, eyeing his surroundings. 'Posh' was the only word that came to mind as he beheld the classy yet rustic splendor that was the bathroom. A Jacuzzi tub adjacent to a large glass shower that was tiled halfway up was directly in front of him. On one side was a double sink with a fancy light fixture. On the other was a vanity, with a toilet between it and the shower. Beside the vanity was a tall cabinet, and behind him were two doors separated by a wall. A door beside the double sink opened up into what looked like a bedroom. Jack looked down, realizing he was sitting on a large area rug that was two different shades of brown. It had a rustic looking gold star in the middle of a star-rimmed circle, with smaller stars on the bottom and top.
This isn't my house… he quickly deduced. He looked up at the white popcorn-style ceiling. "Oy! I think y' go' the wrong house!"
He was half-expecting an answer from the Jamaican witch, but he wasn't all surprised when he didn't receive one. It dawned on him that it probably wasn't a good idea to go about yelling inside an unfamiliar place, but he hoped it might draw the attention of someone who would be able to help him figure out where he was.
Why am I here when I could be elsewhere? … Where is 'elsewhere?' Or is there no place elsewhere for 'elsewhere' to be other than… here… elsewhere?
His own dizzying intellect made his headache worse.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying more than normal from lingering dizziness as he staggered over to the tub. He peered through the blinds bordering it on two sides, steadying himself against the edge of the sink. He found himself looking out into a small pasture full of horses that were mostly red in color with black manes and tails, with a concrete driveway between the house and the black pipe fence. Drawing back, he drew his hand across his brow as if to brush away the disorganization of his thoughts, his mind reeling.
"… The bloody hell am I?" he wondered aloud.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the open door, dragging his hand along the smooth countertop and watching himself move in the mirror. He stopped just short of going into the bedroom, eyeing the pair of doors before moving on. A four poster canopy bed without drapes was the first thing Jack noticed. Dressers on either side of him lined the walls, and on each side of the bed was a nightstand with a lamp. Everything looked spick and span; neat and orderly.
He didn't like it. Tidiness is the first step towards insanity, I says…
Again, Jack glanced out the tall, arched picture window next to the fireplace, finding himself looking out into yet another pasture filled with more horses. However, his eyes shifted to the pictures lining the mantle above the fireplace… and a sick feeling settled in his stomach.
An' wha' this be?
Jack fingered the intricately knit white lace draped over the wood momentarily, distracted from his previous discovery. The thought of cutting a piece and attaching it to the shred already tied around his left wrist briefly crossed his mind. However, in spite of its alluring temptation… how difficult it was to contradict his piratey inclination for all things valuable… he decided against it. With a wistful sigh, he returned his gaze to the sight that he truly considered to be most unsettling thus far: elegantly framed pictures of his beloved in a wedding dress… in the arms of another man.
He picked up an individual picture of her, his emotions in turmoil. "So… ye've forgotten all about ol' Jacky, eh?"
Truly, she was a vision like which he'd never seen before; like an angel, pure and virtuous, and glowing with pride. Her V-cut dress was ivory colored and stylishly embellished with crystals and intricate beading, which continued down the see-through long sleeves all the way to the cuffs.
Jack felt something rip inside of him at the sight of her, breathing a heavy sigh as he returned the picture back to its place. No longer was she the short, plump little thing he'd sired three children with. The weight she'd gained from her pregnancy was gone. He'd found her attractive even after childbirth, but he had to admit that she was absolutely beautiful now.
Who's this puddin'-headed scallywag?
He scowled ruefully at the picture of the man he presumed to be her husband. He was much taller than her and slender in build, with high cheekbones and a long, pointed nose with sparkling blue eyes. He had dark hair and wore a black felt cowboy hat with his tuxedo and blue jeans. In a strange way, he was reminded of Norrington, except he knew for certain it wasn't him because the Commodore was presumed dead.
An' better lookin' than this bloke, in my opinion…
Jack curled his upper lip in disgust.
An' how exactly did you steal me woman away from me, eh?
A turn about the room concluded his visit and encouraged him to venture elsewhere, determined once and for all to get to the bottom of what he considered to be a complete and utter outrage. Of course, he would never admit to being the jealous type; and his stubborn attempt to keep a straight face as he swaggered towards the door was proof he was trying to keep it together. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all. He was a pirate, through and through. His first and only love was the sea… at least, that's what he told himself now. The truth was he was jealous, and a little bit hurt by her unintentional rejection. Yet a part of him couldn't blame her. He had been gone for six months, after all.
Only half a year at sea an' she's already docked 'er boat a' someone else's port… So much for love, eh? he remarked bitterly to himself. I mean, it's no' exactly like I had any say in the matter, but who am I to judge? As long 's me seedlings are happy an' well-taken care of, I'm satisfied…
But it would taste a lie if he didn't admit that leaving to return to his own world hadn't lacked its own appeal.
My freedom's always been of great importance t' me. An' slavin' away inside some bloody factory twelve hours a day in the heat is far less worthy of its cause… I s'pose it simply makes things easier in the end…
And 'easy' was exactly what he always preferred.
Time an' tide, love…
He bore the weight of his own thoughts as he opened the door, feeling a brief wave of guilt and remorse before it was replaced by something else he wasn't quite sure how to define. Curiosity laced with jealousy and very mild contempt pulsed through his veins as he beheld a vastly open area. A quick glimpse around him revealed not a soul to be seen anywhere, though he kept his wits about him. At the back of his mind, he made a mental note of the nearest hiding space between the stove and the island in the kitchen.
He felt a compelling need to investigate the expensive looking pieces of rustic furniture stationed around another large area rug that was nearly identical to the one in the bathroom. He sat down in spite of himself, bouncing a little in the leather cushion to test its level of comfort before leaning back and placing his feet upon the giant coffee table in the middle of the rug, crossing one ankle over the other.
Well, me bum 'as no disagreements. I may even put one in my cabin… he thought as he draped his arms across the back of the sofa.
He adopted his usual carefree smirk as he glanced around while tapping his foot to an imaginary tune in his head. His eyes eventually wandered over to the stand-alone stone fireplace stretching all the way up into the vaulted ceilings towering above him… and his smirk transformed into a look of confusion. He sat up and moved to the edge of his seat, staring hard at the pictures lining the mantle. His pulse began to race, his brow drawn beneath his red bandanna as he drew himself to his feet. Hesitantly, he ventured towards the fireplace.
It can't be… me kids… they're grown?
The pair of photos in question depicted his twins in royal blue gowns holding matching caps, beaming from ear to ear with pride. Said caps had been placed near their respective photos in an orderly fashion. There were a couple more pictures along the mantle that appeared to be of his wife and her new husband riding horses, but he wasn't concerned about those at the moment. All he could think about were the two young adults whom he knew to be his son and daughter.
My li'l Ronnie…
He cradled the picture of his blonde haired princess.
Never could figure out where she got 'er blonde hair from. Tiff said it was probably from 'er grandmother… She looks jus' like 'er mother…
He set it back in its place, taking the one of his son next.
J.D.,… Bloody hell, how ye've grown, son… this makes no sense… I haven't been gone that long! … No' in my world, a'least…
And there it was.
The gap in time was different. Six years spent here meant nothing in his. The day he was sent back, he'd picked up right where he left off. He zipped back in time only to come up in the Caribbean sea, where he'd found himself in the water looking up at Norrington and his men standing atop the battlements for Fort Charles.
S'the only thing I can figure, he reasoned, feeling overwhelmed. Another heavy sigh escaped from his lips, sorrow overcoming his initial state of shock. His children had grown up without him… he'd missed the most important years of their lives.
He'd made a mistake.
I had no say in the matter… he admitted dismally. Yet maybe he had. Maybe he could've protested with all his might against the sea witch's agenda… he just hadn't wanted to.
Returning the picture to its rightful place… he found himself affectionately stroking the gold tassel of his boy's cap momentarily… he finally turned his attention to the other photos. One was of his wife riding a dark-colored horse around a bronze-colored barrel with the words 'NFR '28' written on its side. The other was of her husband wearing glasses and looking over his shoulder at a small cow he'd obviously just roped. The only thing they had in common was that they appeared to have been taken in the same arena.
That's when Jack realized something.
She go' wha' she wanted… she achieved her dream… withou' me…
Words could not describe how he felt in that moment… could not even begin to define the feeling of utter uselessness, of betrayal… despair, and rejection. Worthlessness. He took another glance at the massive house that stood before him. More guilt… but not for the obvious reason. Stubbornly, he shoved his emotions aside. He was there for a reason. He didn't have time for silly emotions.
He was Captain Jack Sparrow… and he was on a deadline.
Pushing aside his thoughts… pushing aside everything… Jack started to return to the couch, intending to wait for his former lover in hopes of having a very detailed discussion regarding what all she'd been up to during his absence. Then something caught his eye. It was a figure moving outside the French doors several feet away.
It was the husband… and he was coming inside.
The pressing need to hide seized control of him, not at all interested in meeting his dearly beloved's new beau alone. But Jack realized something. He didn't have time to hide; not in his original spot, anyway. He would have to improvise.
Just before the door opened, he wriggled beneath the coffee table. He was grateful his clothes were dark and enabled him to blend in almost perfectly. One door squeaked open, followed by the sound of boot-clad feet traipsing across the floor. Jack watched Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome pass from one end of the area to the other. The former was completely oblivious to his presence, as depicted by his lighthearted whistling. Jack felt a wave of contempt wash over him as he observed his blithe manner of walking; the way he carried himself with such an air about him, like he didn't have a care in the world. He hated the way he moved. He hated the way he whistled. He hated the way he was dressed… he hated him.
Smug bastard…
The husband disappeared inside the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. His footsteps became muffled as he made his way across the carpet. Jack lost track of him because of it.
Where the bloody hell is 'e? He was starting to get a crick in his neck.
Several seconds passed. The pirate debated whether or not he should chance moving to a more secure… and more comfortable… hiding spot. His heart was racing with anticipation as he made up his mind and crawled out from beneath the table, his dark eyes locked on the bedroom door.
Always seize the opportune moment!
Upon deeming the coast was clear, Jack swiftly moved to the dining room behind the sitting area, leaping over the small step to take shelter behind the safety of a solid wall. The room was dark except for the four vitrines at the back of the room. He had to risk the lure of the shiny objects proudly put on display inside, which seemed to beckon him with each passing second.
Wha' is that smell?
He sniffed the air, turning his head to look at the western saddle he was kneeling beside. It's strong, leathery scent and glistening surface strongly indicated that it'd never been ridden in, and there were several others just like it inside the room. Half of them were a different model with taller, skinnier saddle horns.
What point is there in 'aving all these saddles if they're not going to ride in them? He questioned silently. Not that it mattered. He honestly couldn't care less.
The sound of a door opening a second time caught his attention. Jack chanced peeking around the corner. Something lurched in his chest at the sight of his son strolling towards the kitchen.
Is that my son? Jack marveled at the sight of him. He was even taller than he imagined… almost the spitting image of his likeness.
"J.D., I'll be in the truck," the husband announced as he exited the bedroom.
"Alright," replied the boy… no, not 'boy'; a young man. His voice was a smooth, airy baritone. "I'll be right there."
The husband began to walk off.
Then J.D. called him back. "Hey, you want coffee?"
Dustin held up a thermos that Jack now noticed he was carrying. "Already got some."
"Cool."
His son turned to pour himself his own thermos of steaming hot coffee. The smell was enticing. Despite his preference to rum, Jack had to admit that there was nothing like a hot cup of coffee, especially after a night of cold, driving rain at sea.
Smells heavenly… he breathed in its rich, nutty aroma.
Jack felt another bout of jealousy watching his son follow behind the man he deemed as Stepfather. A part of him wanted to jump out and confront the man who had essentially just ruined his life, but he thought better of it. There would be time for confrontations later. Besides, he knew he needed to refrain for J.D.'s sake.
Does my boy even remember 'is dear ol' dad?
A part of him ruled the question as ridiculous… yet he couldn't make himself dismiss it.
He was only six… when I left… an' my little Caity-girl had just been born… She won't know me a'tall!
He had yet to see a picture of her, but he trusted he would soon, when he had a chance to explore a little more.
J.D. vanished with the Stepfather down the hall that ran alongside the dining room. Jack heard the opening and closing of another door at the end. A short time later, he heard the rumble of a diesel engine. He thought he could feel the walls vibrating from it.
The house gradually fell into silence as the rumbling grew fainter… a sure sign that they were leaving. He decided to take advantage of being alone and ventured to check out the shiny objects inside the vitrines. They were trophy buckles; some adorned with precious stones. There were also more pictures along the wall surrounding the dining table that seated six. Most were of his beloved riding different horses around the barrels with her face scrunched up in deep concentration.
For the fun of it, Jack mimicked her. "No' exactly attractive, darling. As fer you…"
He swaggered over to a particular photo of Stepfather looking way too good on his horse.
"… I don't like you, ye licentious profligate."
It was the best he could come up with in the moment, as pathetic as it was.
He heard the door open again, diverting his attention from the long thought train loaded down with one insult after another he was planning to use. A fear for his own safety made him crouch down in his hiding place again, where he could silently observe his surroundings without being seen.
A deluge of emotions rained down on him at the sight of her. Her face looked the same as it did in her wedding photo. Her long hair was tied back into a messy bun behind her head… her 'Pebbles' bun, as he recalled her mother's designation for it. She went through the kitchen before vanishing behind another door beside the refrigerator, which he hadn't noticed it until now. When she returned, she'd removed the sweatshirt she wore previously and was now wearing a navy blue t-shirt with her jeans.
Jack noticed the way her clothing seemed to hug every curve of her small body. He noticed the way her shirt stretched across her perfectly sized breasts… he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. He noticed the way her jeans, despite being dirty, accentuated her very lovely rear end.
She's always had a very lovely little bottom… an' voluptuous love 'andles… I could steer tha' thing anywhere I wanted…
Oh! how he'd missed that woman!
But I can't touch 'er. She's no' mine anymore…
A sly grin came upon his face.
No' yet, anyway…
She busied herself washing her hands in the sink and then prepared to make breakfast. She turned on the stove and set her skillet on top of it to begin heating up. A quick trip to the fridge led her to grab a box of Old Folks' sausage patties and some bacon before setting them on the counter. Grabbing a bowl and a fork, she returned to the fridge one last time to grab what she needed to make scrambled eggs. Vigorous stirring then ensued while the sausage cooked, filling the entire house with the mouthwatering scent of spicy meat.
She never saw her former lover emerge from his spot in the dining room.
AUTHOR'S NOTE— I need to, once again, give a HUGE 'thank you!' to my dear friend, W.F. McLaughlin for helping me out and unyielding encouragement on this chapter. Don't forget, you can check out her books on Amazon, called A True North Love and A True Canadian Love. She's a great author and deserves your love and support! Not to mention she is also a helluva friend! Thank you so much, girl!
I would also like to thank my other fellow writer friend, S. Worrall, for also helping me nail down the description of the house! You guys are freaking AWESOME!
I also want to thank Jane and L. Winters for their reviews! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!