Disclaimer: I'm still hoping, but last time I checked I was still a poor high-school girl who didn't even own the bed she sees for perhaps five hours a night . . .
AN: My entire family thinks I'm nuts. I thought this would be a good way to burn some nervous energy, but I think I'm more high-strung now than when I started . . .and having a lot more fun. Still a heart-felt thanks to those reviewing, and I try to consider each one as I write the next part . . .though usually I've already posted more chapters before the results come in from the previous posting. Oh well. Here's more.
A Taste of Misery
Chapter 9
Jack opened his eyes to slits, waiting for the burning ache in his skull to recede slightly before attempting to distinguish any objects. A slight pull on his sleeve and a droning in his ear informed him that someone was in the cell with him.
"This isn't right . . .damn them, the Commodore can't miss this . . .damn yourself, Lanebridges, if you want him to miss this . . ."
The young redcoat had propped him up against the bars and was doing his best to clean the various scrapes and cuts that covered Jack's body. The pirate sat still for a moment, collecting his thoughts, until the boy picked up his injured wrist, drawing a hiss of pain from between his lips.
The lad's eyes widened perceptively, his already-pale skin whitened to a chalky grayish color, and he jumped what Jack decided must have been at least four inches straight up into the air and six back.
Under any other conditions, it might have been considered hilarious.
For what seemed like an eternity, the pirate's dark gaze locked on the blue eyes of the young redcoat. It was the lad who dropped his eyes and moved hesitantly forward, picking up the bloody cloth he had dropped in his fright.
"Please just stay still . . .I swear I'm not trying to hurt you . . ." He spoke as if Jack was a dangerous dog that could turn on him at any moment. The pirate attempted his trademark grin, decided that hurt too much, started to laugh, decided that definitely hurt too much, and settled on a thin half-smile.
The lad continued talking as though he hadn't made any move at all. "I know this hurts . . .and you've got to be scared, facing the gallows and all . . .and I really don't condone what they're doing, I swear . . ."
"You don't stop it, either." The young man's blue eyes widened again and he stiffened, though he didn't jump back.
"You don't understand . . .they think you did . . .that . . .and I bloody well should, too . . .Silverfirth is an important man . . .we haven't seen any action here in a long time . . .not anything real since the Pearl raided three years ago . . .they're bored and angry and frustrated and if I told on them they'd turn on me . . ." Brian stopped babbling as he realized that Jack wasn't listening. "Did you . . .?"
"No."
"Then why . . ." Jack almost felt pity for the lad, looking so lost and confused. Pity was dangerous, though . . .pity could lead to more . . .and Jack wouldn't allow anyone close again . . .no, not again . . .
"I don't know why they believe Jade was my fault, boy, but I've done enough for them to hang me. They've tried twice already. Third times a charm." He paused to catch his breath. "You're wasting your time, boy. Come dawn tomorrow I'll be feeding the crows."
Brian backed away slowly, and Jack again felt keenly the fact that he was being treated like a mad dog.
If the lad wanted a mad dog, maybe Jack should give him one.
Angry now, he lurched to his feet . . .and grabbed the bars for support as the world tilted around him. He was dimly aware of hands resettling him in the corner, and he heard the clang of the cell door closing again. His vision cleared quickly, and he gazed at the young redcoat, standing as though in indecision outside his cell, specks of blood evident on the white part of his uniform. For another eternal moment pirate and redcoat stared at each other.
Then the young soldier turned and ran, not the controlled, conditioned run of a soldier, but the frightened scamper of a child whose world was turning upside down.
Swinging his eyes down, Jack saw again the bloody cloth that the lad had been holding. Picking it up, he felt his own eyes widen in surprise.
A gentleman's handkerchief to clean a pirate captain's wounds.
A familiar mixture of anger and despair rose inside him, tinged this time with guilt, and he pounded his fist once in frustration against the wall, biting back a cry of pain. Then he settled back into his corner of the cell, biding his time.
The two roughs would come again.
He would fight again.
He would die either at their overeager hands or in the gallows tomorrow.
He determinedly decided that he would not . . .could not . . .care.
