Will was used to being on his own. That much didn't bother him. He had gone his entire life facing danger with no one to protect him. He began a castaway jettisoned into civilian life as the solitary apprentice of a blacksmith in a foreign place. He grew up self-sufficient, and as such, was unafraid to leap headfirst into battle when the need so arose. He was unafraid to find Elizabeth, unafraid to plan Jack's gallows escape alone, unafraid to voyage on his own to find Jack's compass when called upon by the East India Trading Company, unafraid to be the sole person preoccupied with saving his father, and, ultimately, unafraid to face the grave responsibility of captaining a ship to ferry thousands upon thousands of undead souls. Something had always made whatever fear might have accompanied these terrifying prospects bearable—hope. Hope that life might improve, that he might get the girl, that one day he would see her again.
Now Will was alone again. Well…alone in a sense. The Whispers never left. Jones's army of…whatever they were. He had them as sentries, always watching, always keeping guard. But one by one, everyone he knew left him. He was forcibly taken away from his family and made the choice to free his crew.
…and his Father.
He remembered that day. It was only about a year into their imprisonment. Though the Whispers were present, this was back when the inner compartments of the Dutchman, still sealed with tar, could be kept relatively dry, a place where they could converse, convene, and still try to plan a means of escape. He had entered his cabin, where he and the men met daily, and upon shaking what seawater he could from himself, was taken aback upon noticing a rash running along the thumb on his left hand. He touched it, carefully, noticing that whatever it was was swollen, protruding from his skin, but not inflamed. The rash began here, but disappeared beneath the cuff of his jacket. Pulling the damp fabric up, his blood ran cold upon seeing that the rash nearly took up his entire forearm, porous, gaping holes scattered amidst them. Will closed his eyes, daring to look no further. This was no rash. He was a host upon which sea life was beginning to feast, fester, and grow.
I did the job, he thought to himself bitterly. I did everything right, yet we will end up just like Jones regardless.
That's when he knew exactly what he must do. Taking a deep breath, he forced open the second set of doors leading to his cabin, where his crew filled the room, surrounding the dining table, in the middle of a heated discussion.
"It's been an eternity of this. Nothing ever was accomplished by sitting and talking about it. That's why I suggest here and now that we take the ship back!" a cantankerous fellow named Gertrand shouted. His impassioned speech brought about a quiet rumbling of other voices. "Why aren't we acting?" "Let's take her back!"
"Have you selectively chosen to ignore that they control the vessel?" asked Huseby, an older man. "Every part of it? Any step we take is immediately intercepted." A bigger outcry of support followed this point.
Will's father, Bootstrap, tried to mediate things. "Gentlemen, we need to accept a reality where the Dutchman no longer belongs to us."
"Then why aren't we leaving?" Gertrand barked. "We could arrange a distraction while we gradually float to the top. As long as we remain on the sea—"
"Perhaps I should rephrase," Bootstrap interrupted. "The Dutchman no longer belongs to us, but remember that we belong to her. As long as we're still present in this mortal coil, the only reason we stay that way is because of her."
"You're telling me that we can't hail aid from a passing ship?" scoffed Gertrand, rallying his supporters around him. "This is a thoroughfare of travel. If the timing is right—"
"Regardless of timing," spat James, "He and his men will soon anticipate our escape and will destroy whoever dares aid us." He sent an icy glare at Gertrand. "Or shall I remind you of what happened last time?" Indeed, he was referring to something that was all fresh in their minds—Rose had returned to try to rescue the crew. Raising them from the depths, the Whispers seized control, firing mercilessly on the small schooner until she capsized entirely. They knew Rose would have survived regardless, but undoubtedly, her mortal crew perished in the barrage of cannon fire.
Getrand leaned towards him, accepting the challenge. "If your wife is too dim-witted to heed orders, then that's on her."
James, who had grown increasingly irritable day by day he was separated from his family, didn't hesitate to land a punch straight to Gertrand's stomach. The room then erupted into chaos. Boostrap shouted above the calamity, ordering them to cease.
Will should have intervened, but he was frozen in place. This is what had become of over a decade of dedicated duty. Of cleaning up after Jones's mess. His crew was at war with one another, slowly going mad from isolation and the monotony of each passing day. His eyes slowly fell over each man, and he felt his stomach drop with each realization of their physical appearance…barnacles, green, bloated skin, slime…
He began walking forward towards the heated fistfight, and one by one, as each man saw him, the respectfully stopped their actions and stood stoically, awaiting their Captain's wrath. But that never came.
It took a few moments for him to find the right words, and when he did, they came out staggered, as though each utterance pained him. "I have failed you," he began. "I promised you a second chance at life. Some of you are remnants from…his crew, still paying off your debts. Some of you I rescued firsthand. I promised you deliverance, not hell. And as your captain…I should be able to get us out of this." He looked over his men's forlorn expressions as he said earnestly, "I cannot."
"Will," Bootstrap said to his son, pushing through the crowd to him. "This is out of your control. None of us blame you."
Will winced at this. His father too was noticeably started to devolve back into the hybridized creature Jones had turned him into. "But I blame myself," Will said. "They have taken everything from us…save one thing."
He saw his crew perk up at this minor sign of promise. "None of you asked for this," Will continued, "And besides myself, none of you are bound here for good. I have the power to change that." Were his heart still in his chest, it would have been racing as he reached the most imperative detail of what he had just decided had to be done. "Therefore, I have decided to pardon each of your sentences and send you to the other side."
Bootstrap realized what he was saying and immediately began to protest. "Will, no—!"
"William Turner I release you from service!" Will blurted before his father had the chance to go any further.
To this, Bootstrap's movement ceased entirely. He looked down at his hands first, noticing an instant physical change. "Will…" he said, his voice saturated with equal parts sadness and grief.
Will only trembled, eyes wide. He had never freed anyone before, and now he was letting go of his father. "I'm sorry," he whispered breathily. "It's not fair to you."
"I would have stayed," Bootstrap murmured.
Will only nodded, "That's why I had to do it."
Suddenly it was as though a chill went through Bootstrap. He was breathless, but everything about him seemed to glow. His eyes became distant, and a smile formed as he said, "I'll find your mother, Will. Tell her the man our boy grew into." And with that, he dissolved into small particles that vanished entirely.
Will was shaken, staring at the empty space his father once occupied. Sullenly, he quietly ordered his men to form a line, where he would free them one by one. Each man reluctantly took their place, would thank their captain for his fairness, and vanish. Though most would have happily stayed on to fight the fight, they ultimately agreed that in a hopeless situation, which this most certainly was, it was better to accept the promise of deliverance while it was open to them rather than endure hell.
Huseby, the last man in line, embraced Will before being freed. And once he had gone, Will closed his eyes, taking in the empty room. There was one person who hadn't come up to the line. "Norrington," he said softly in exasperation, pleading with him to not stretch this horrible moment on longer than was necessary.
Silence.
When Will finally opened his eyes, James had his sword, the very sword Will had once made for him all those years ago, pointed square at his chest. "If you think I'm leaving," James said, his voice quivering in intensity. "You are gravely mistaken."
Will was in no mood to fight. Exhausted, he began, "James Norrington…"
"TURNER, DON'T YOU DARE," James shouted, raising his blade. "I am bound to this ship as well! I was the moment I married Rose, you swore me to service! It's my family up there as well. I'm not leaving, so stand down!"
Will finally conceded. "It will be hell," he said, deflating.
James shook his head. "Then why would you possibly wish to face it alone?"
And though hell it was, Will didn't want to face it alone. James was there through it all—when the Whispers found what Will had done and decided to beat them both until they fell unconscious, James was there. When Henry nearly lost his life by bravely trying to free him only a year later, James was there, holding off the Whispers until Will could summon the ship downwards, leaving Henry with nowhere else to go but back home. When the Whispers built the current keeping them entombed for what would presumably be the rest of time, James was there. When both of them had accumulated so much sea growth that they were unrecognizable, when the seawater had broken through the tar, rendering not a single dry place of refuge, when it seemed like all hope was gone, James was there.
And then Rose came for James. She made her attack swiftly. It must have been a matter of great urgency, or she was merely at her wits end…or both, for the sheer force it took to break through the current would have been enough to instantly kill anyone who even thought about pushing through it. But she came and went, and James was gone. For a brief moment, Will thought that maybe this was it. With James back with Rose, they could perhaps solve this plight together once and for all.
But James never came back. And Will had stopped keeping track of time ages ago. For all he knew, thirty years had passed. For now Will was truly alone, and though that had never been an issue in the past for him, it was because the loneliness was accompanied by hope. This time, though, hope seemed to be but a distant memory, a foolish wile.
So, he accepted his fate. One day, when the barnacles around his knees made it so that it was too painful for him to walk anymore, he leaned up against the mast. He laughed bitterly. Through it all, he was only ever destined to be a part of the ship. Part of the ship, part of the crew. Part of the ship…
Until one day, something changed. The Whispers ceased and the current disappeared. Will noticed this and opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like weeks. That was when he realized that he couldn't breathe. He began choking, gasping, gagging for oxygen. Then, an excruciating pain in his chest as his entire body began to convulse. It felt as though something was ballooning within his chest, and a radiating heat began to move through him. Soon, his vision was blurred by murky water as the ship around him began to shift and sway. When the pain had finally subsided, Will could feel his lungs begin to fill up with seawater, and began to desperately swim towards the surface. Soon, however, his own ship had caught up with him, rising with increased speed towards the light. He was pressed against the deck, motionless until…
Air!
The Dutchman bobbed and bounced on the surface of the water, though it had crested at a harsh angle and tipped precariously on its side. To make matters worse, a gargantuan tropical storm was churning the sea and sending sheets of rain hailing down around him. Will, heaving for air, all of a sudden felt himself begin to tumble off the side of the ship, falling into the ocean. He regained consciousness just in enough time to avoid the ship's giant mast, which was crashing down towards him as she rolled onto her side. Afraid of getting pulled out to the open sea, Will grabbed hold of the mast, grabbing a loose line and tying it around himself for added security. There, he clung on with all his might. He wasn't sure of what was happening or how he had gotten here, but he had never remembered feeling this tired before. His eyes grew heavy until they closed entirely, where he tried to drown out the noise of the storm by repeating to himself, "Elizabeth. Henry. Elizabeth. Henry…"
"HERE! OVER HERE!" a voice screamed. This was his next memory. Drowsily, he opened his eyes slightly to see a figure also clutching the mast next to him. He could feel the warmth of this person's hand on the side of his throat.
"HE'S GOT A PULSE! HE'S ALIVE!" the voice screamed again.
"Elizabeth…" he croaked, trying to find the strength to raise his head.
"FOLLOW MY VOICE, WE'RE HERE!" she called again. She. Who was this girl? She came into focus gradually. A young woman, dark hair pressed to her head by the tireless rain, familiar eyes… "Captain Turner?" she asked. "It's alright, we've got you!"
"Henry…" was all he could mumble.
"Henry is safe. Henry and Elizabeth. We're all safe. We'll take you to them." She turned, shouting once more, "FATHER! MOTHER! FOLLOW MY VOICE. WE'RE HERE!"
Things became blurry once he felt his body being freed from the line he had fastened and dragged into what felt like another boat. That's when he saw a face he never thought he'd see again. "Rose?" he muttered, seeing her eyes darting wildly and unfocused as she felt around his chest. Finally she found what she was looking for and pressed her ear to where his "E-shaped" scar was located. "He does have a heartbeat!" she cried, looking up in glee. Will followed the general direction to which she was directing this diagnosis. That was when he saw James, helping the girl he had first seen get herself back into the boat. He looked as he once did!
James squinted, shielding himself against the torrential downpour with his arm. "We have to go now!"
"And leave the Dutchman?" the girl asked.
"We can't save her," he replied. "She's turned over."
Rose's hands were still feeling Will blindly. "Will's frail, James. If we try to push out of this storm, he might not make it. We need to get to safety. Can't we tie ourselves up here and find a way to cover ourselves until the storm passes?"
James looked around, scouring for options.
That's when the girl pointed towards the ship, shouting, "There!" she shouted, looking to James for confirmation.
"Yes," he agreed. "That will do?"
"What is it?" Rose asked, unable to see what they were referring to.
"There's a relatively dry bit of the deck protruding from the water," the girl replied. "We'd be seated on the starboard wall of the ship, but we'd be out of the water and out of the rain. Given that she doesn't sink."
James shook his head, "If she's been afloat this long in the midst of this storm, she'll stay that way."
So they made quick work of rowing the boat closer to this dry place, where Will felt all of them one by one climb out of their longboat, and pull his body up inside his partially turned over ship. He looked to his rescuers, and couldn't articulate his gratitude. He was left with no choice but to simply hope they could read his expression. Rose's eyes were vacant…had she gone blind to the night again? But he felt relieved knowing that at least the girl and James saw him. If both women were right about his heartbeat, that meant he looked as he once did as well. That meant he was alive. That meant he was free.
Will was no longer alone.
My voyage with my parents to rescue Will and the Dutchman had been a perilous one, but somehow we had made it. We spent that night sitting with our backs pressed against what had once been the ship's deck, now standing vertically upright. But it was dry and solid here, and we could at least rest assured that we could make it through the night. Sleep came to us all out of sheer exhaustion. When I awoke, I was amazed to find that the storm had passed entirely. The sun had risen, and I could hear seagulls squawking merrily overhead. The only evidence that the storm had ever happened at all was found in what few remaining clouds had yet to dissipate in the warmth of the following day's sun.
I looked around, almost afraid that this had all been a dream—what if I was still on Port Royal with my still-cursed Father in his former home? Worse, what if I was still on Shipwreck, and none of this had ever happened at all? But my fears were soon assuaged when I saw my parents, fast asleep in each other's arms.
I sighed a breath of relief. All was as it should be.
"You're Anna, aren't you?" a hoarse voice said. I jumped when I heard it, turning to find Will, who had propped himself up, his left hand over his heart. His eyes were kind and his smile warm. Seeing him now, Henry truly was the perfect blend of both of his parents.
"Aye," I replied, scooting closer to him. "I have long looked forward to meeting you, Captain."
"Please," he winced. "Call me Will." He narrowed his eyes as he looked me over. "This is an odd request, but how old are you? How long…has it been?"
My heart sank. He wouldn't have known that his son was grown, that he only got to see him but three times as a child. "I'm fifteen," I answered. "You've been gone for nearly thirteen years."
He closed his eyes at this, wincing again. "Thirteen years." Finally, he reopened them. "I bet you don't remember me," he said with a smile. "You were but an infant when we were captured."
"No I don't," I said sadly, "But Henry does. He told me much about you."
He sat up at this. "Henry! You mentioned that he and Elizabeth were safe. Where are they?"
"At home. Shipwreck," I assured him. "Henry is on his way there now on the Pearl."
"The Pearl?" he asked.
"Yes!" I told him. "Henry and Jack broke the curse! They broke all curses at sea!"
Will only laughed, laying his head back against the floorboards. "Of course they did. I told Henry to not chase after Jack, as it would only get him into trouble."
"Clearly both father and son have difficulty obeying direct orders," my father said from behind us, having awoken at the sound of our conversation. Mother also stirred, blinking awake and adjusting her eyes to the bright daylight that permitted her full vision.
Will saw my Father and grinned, though he said good-naturedly, "Took you long enough, Norrington."
Father only nodded his head, accepting the unspoken gratitude. Mother, meanwhile rushed to Will and embraced him with all her might. "Will, my god," she stammered. "I am so sorry I couldn't rescue you too. That day, I needed someone to rescue the children and—"
"It's fine," Will assured her. "If you hadn't, we wouldn't be here now. Not like this," he said, patting his chest. "A beating heart. I had almost forgotten the feeling."
"All curses at sea are broken," Mother confirmed. "We're all mortal again, and the ship is free."
"Well," Father commented, "Free and overturned." He looked to his former Captain. "Do you think you're well enough to move into the longboat? We'll make a break for Shipwreck and have you back within two days' time."
Will shook his head. "A Captain doesn't abandon his ship."
I raised my eyebrows at this. Clearly sharing my same thoughts, Father asked, "After all this time, you still want to rescue her?"
He looked at our surroundings. "I don't know, Norrington. I think we can get her upright and sailing again. She's been through hell as well, I'd hate to leave her behind."
The four of us shared a glance, knowing that this wouldn't be easy, but then again, when had anything ever been easy for us?
"Alright then," Mother said with determination. "If we're going to do this, then we're going to need help."
