AN:
Thanks for the reviews.
Jackfan2, this isn't the dream you suggested. Though I really liked your idea and it was the initial inspiration, my muse then went off on a tangent and left it somewhere behind. However, the setting of the story remains the same and Bootstrap does make a brief appearance in the dream. Thank you for your idea! Although, it hasn't turned out quite as it should have...sorry!
Miss Becky, hope this is worth the wait. I had fun writing it, so fingers crossed that you'll have fun reading it!
Marie, I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one too!
Rat, hopefully this will answer all your questions.
~*~
4.
Last Breaths
I Had A Dream About You Last Night
Jack had a window again. For that small mercy, he was grateful. However, for the rain that drenched Port Royal and drove away every last lingering fragment of the day's warmth, he wasn't quite so appreciative. He huddled shivering in the corner furthest from the window and watched the water dribble over the stone ledge and slowly form a pool on the cell's floor. The metal bars dug into his back and the thin layer of straw did little in the ways of a cushion.
While free, Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't unfamiliar with sleeping in places not designed for the sleeper's comfort, if they were even for that purpose at all. However, in these situations he was normally filled with warm rum and his senses numbed to the extent that he didn't even know that he was lying in a ditch or suchlike.
The pirate captain was better acquainted with prisons than he wished to be. He had been in this same fort jail not so long ago. The door hinges had been changed and the hole the cursed Black Pearl had blasted into the wall had been bricked up, but apart from that everything was the same. Damnably, boringly the same, leaving him with little to do but ponder his approaching death, which wasn't exactly the most cheery thing to be doing.
Instead, Jack's tired thoughts wandered longingly to find the place where he had last seen his coat and hat, items he was currently in desperate want of. Sleep was upon him before he even realised that he had shut his eyes.
A wicker cradle draped in little pale blue sheets and white lace, stood in the gentle sunlight streaming in through the softly billowing net curtains. In the cot, there lay a baby boy wrapped in a white crocheted blanket. He had bright, dark-chocolate eyes and thick wisps of black hair. A tiny pale hand broke out and reached for the ship that hovered above him from a wooden mobile…
Dressed in patent shoes, brown breeches and a white shirt, a five year-old boy ran along a gallery corridor. The air was alive with his light laughter. He flung himself into the outstretched arms of a smiling woman who shared his dark eyes and hair…
A quill scratched against paper. The harshness and rigidity of it was a reflection of the writer, a purse-lipped woman with her grey hair pulled into a tight bun.
"Latin is a terrible bore, Mrs Witherstone," huffed the young boy stood next to her. "When can I learn something useful, like Spanish?"
The quill stopped and tension seemed to build up in the tutor as it would in a coil. The child cringed in anticipation of the release…
The man's face was blotched with red and soaked with tears. His slumped shoulders shook with a heart-deep sob every so often, and his glazed blue eyes stared past his son.
The boy watched his father's wet lips move, but didn't hear the words. He had heard enough. Fresh tears streaked his pale face and glinted in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted to the open doorway behind where his father stood, to the bed within, to the lifeless woman with dark hair who lay on the white linen…
Gulls swooped through the air and their cries echoed off the cliffs. The grinning lad could taste the salt and fish with each breath he drew. Sunlight glittered on the tops of the deep blue waves behind the assortment of fine tall ships, worn fishing boats and little rowing boats that filled the harbour. Around him the dock was bustling with sailors, passengers and tradesmen, as he walked with fascination amongst nets of slippery silver-coloured fish, wooden crates of lobsters and crabs, and the large carcass of a shark.
The short youngster pushed his way through the crowd to a ticket office.
"America."
He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it on the counter…
The rope was thick and ungainly in his hands, as it obstinately refused to tie properly. He took one hand away to wipe the sweat from his forehead and the whole thing tumbled undone to the deck.
"C'mon over 'ere, lad. Ol' William will show ye how," said an older man, motioning the lad over with a sun-bronzed hand…
The woman's face was like a garish painting. Chalk white with smears of pink over the cheeks, thick blue smudges above black-lashed eyes and bright red lips. Her tightly fitting yellow dress revealed the tops of her breasts. Rational thought left him, as she smiled and pushed her long blonde hair off her shoulders. In the golden lamplight, she was beautiful to him…
All the colours of the rainbow danced along the cut edges of the transparent oval stone. It was so dazzling in the midday sun that he had to screw up his eyes to look at it. Thin leaves made of gold had been fixed to its top.
"Would you be wanting a crystal pineapple, señor?" the seller asked him, hopefully…
He realised that he had never felt pain before, not real pain. Burning agony seared through his thigh, where the bullet had sunk deep into the flesh. Blood, hot and wet, flooded out of the hole and soaked first his trousers and then began to form a crimson puddle on the deck…
The wheel was firm in his hands, the wind strong in the black sails and the ship glided with ease through the sea under his guidance. Men followed his orders around him on the deck of the dark-coloured galleon and high above the rebellious and threatening Jolly Roger flew. He listened to every sound his ship made and felt every motion, wanting to get to know her completely. The young captain was in love…
In the gloomy corner of a tavern, two men spoke in hushed tones.
"And where would I find this treasure?" the young pirate captain inquired, lowering his tankard of rum.
"Buried on an island that can't be found 'cept by them that already know where it be," answered the rough old sailor, a conspiring twinkle in his single yellow eye…
"This is mutinous!" he cried, furiously.
His first mate grinned nastily at him. "That's exactly what this be, Jack. A mutiny."
The betrayed pirate captain stopped fighting against the crewmen that held him. His face became a mask of horror…
On the Jamaican cliff top, he stared at her in wonder. She understood. She knew what he had lost and what he needed. The breeze whipped up her long dark hair and pulled it away from her beautiful brown face…
"You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?" the pirate captain asked, frowning at the lad at the end of his sword.
"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates," the young man replied, disgustedly…
The pirate marvelled at the blood blossoming from his chest, as the bullet killed him. The man he had betrayed ten years ago finally had his revenge and watched silently as the mutineer fell to the ground, a green apple rolling out of his hand…
More than one set of hands pushed the captured pirate captain's back, sending him stumbling into the fort cell…
Dark-chocolate eyes snapped open. Instantly, they squinted against the glare of the rays shining in through the window and a stiff arm was lifted to protect them. Grunting with the effort, Captain Jack Sparrow used the prison's bars to pull himself to his feet. He stretched out the tight and cold muscles in his body, as he moved over to the window.
Jack stared out at what was perhaps the last dawn he would ever see. Red, yellow, gold and pink ribbons stretched out from the rapidly brightening horizon. The rain had stopped quite some time ago and the early heat of day had already drawn most of the moisture out of the ground.
The sun was rising, but on Captain Jack Sparrow it was setting.
A lump rose in his throat and he suddenly thrust his arm through the bars, reaching towards the sunrise. Wanting, wishing, yearning.
The unmistakable regimental rhythm of Navy footsteps sounded on the stone steps. The pirate captain jerked his hand back inside and dropped to the floor again. He drew up his knees and rested his arms on them, adopting a relaxed pose.
The soldiers arrived, but they paid little heed to him. Instead, they marching off down the corridor and around the corner to where the remains of Barbossa's crew were being kept.
Jack watched them return with the other pirates and take them up the stairs to be publicly hung.
"We'll be back for you soon," Gillette assured him, cheerily, as he paused outside the pirate captain's cell.
Jack smiled back with a hard grin that didn't get within an inch of his charcoal-lined eyes. His expression slid into a glare of immense dislike, as the Navy officer turned and followed his fellows up the steps.
"Saving the best till last," Captain Jack Sparrow muttered to himself, a dry smirk rising on his features.
Author's ending note:
This is the end of this collection of missing scenes, as what happens next is given screen time in the movie itself. However, I've written a short fic set after the film, which I will post soon - look out for it!