"East!?" Anamaria shouted in alarm, saw the look on Jack's face,
shifted her eyes about
and repeated in a hoarse whisper; "East?"
"Aye, it's what is right," Jack replied, lowly, eyeing the crew that had been recently
herded back onto the ship.
"What about-" Anamaria started, hesitating momentarily, "-the comrade?"
"It's a trick," Jack said simply. "That fiend has no idea who my comrades are. He was
dead long before I made any."
"What are you talking about?" Anamaria snapped. "A dead man can't do - well - what
whoever it was... did!"
"Listen," Jack said under his breath, "I don't know how else to explain it; the man is
dead, yet he walks still."
"Like the curse with Barbossa and the old crew?" Anamaria asked.
"No, much unlike it," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's too complicated - too long of a
story. I'll tell you in time, but right now you have to trust me. We must sail East because
it's the right choice. I happened upon a source that has clearly informed me that although
it may seem wrong... it's not. I assure you."
"I trust you," Anamaria replied, nodding. "Just do what you have to do to make things
right again."
* * * * * * * * * *
..........Twenty-nine years, four months and six days earlier..........
"Come out of there, lad."
Silence. The warm night wind blew the hair around a hard, stony face. Unmoving;
emotionless. The only answer the man received from the eleven-year-old boy was rapid,
terrified breathing.
"I'll drag you out by your eyelashes, now come out."
The boy took a step towards the man, his father, even though the foot he stepped on was
badly sprained, and sent needles up his leg with the pressure he set on it. He was dizzy
from hyperventilating, shaking from head to toe, covered in sticky blood and unable to
tell the difference between his and... the lady's...
With his face set still stony, the man grabbed the boy by the back of the neck, roughly
tossing him onto the deck of the ship like he weighed nothing at all, where he hit the main
mast, fell and lay gasping, hands over his face, on his back. The mast swayed violently
and a crack at it's base spread and opened wider.
The child's head was pounding with the violent images of the recent murder he had
witnessed. His mother - she had been sliced clean in half by his father's blade; he had
been so close that he had been absolutely covered in the gore.
"Don't you have anything to say?" the father asked, striding up to his son and pinning
him to the floor with a strong heel to the chest. "Why don't you scream? Why don't you
cry? You know I grow mad when I do not hear a child's screams and sobs at least twice a
night... You know that, boy. If you scream now, I'll not kill you."
The boy, instead, gasped for air, flailing about and trying his hardest not to give, no, this
time, tonight, he would not give. This was for his mother, no screaming this time, no
crying; he'd die before he gave his father that satisfaction.
The solid man looked upon his boy in disgust, grabbing him up by the collar and getting
no more reaction than a turned head and stiff fists at both sides. The boy was not going to
fight anymore, not physically, but in his mind he strained his hardest to will himself, to
keep from letting all his anger, pain, horror out, to keep from going insane, insane like his
perverted, deranged father who enjoyed hearing children suffer, murder women slowly, or
quickly in the most gruesome ways, break grown men, break them down to nothing...
And there dangled the small boy, making not a sound, making not a move, but biting his
lip to keep from wailing, unable to stare into those stone, amber eyes. He knew if he
caught a glimpse of them, he would surely howl his lungs bloody, and that would make
Him happy, so happy...
"You cannot hold out much longer," the father murmured in the boy's ear, sending chills
up his spine. "I know it." The man pitched his son at the side of the ship, careful not to
throw him overboard and end his suffering too early.
The boy pried his eyes open at a loud groaning of strained wood, a sound, even though
loud, his father could not hear; he was too far gone in the lust of all the excitement. The
blood was on his hands, and now he was manic with it, licking his dripping fingers
subconsciously as the main mast swayed dangerous back and forth...
"You open your eyes, lad," the man remarked. "You are a brave boy... Strong boy...
Dead boy..."
The child, paralyzed against the side of the ship, breathing so hard that his chest hurt with
every gasp, stared at the broken mast, swaying, swinging... For an instant, the boy's eyes
met his father's, and he stopped breathing entirely. His jaw dropped in his terror, barely
restraining any outburst with what little remained of his will power.
"You stare me in the eye, now," the man remarked again, nodding. "And I see your fear.
Goodbye, Jack." The father withdrew his dirty sword from it's sheath, preparing to slice
the boy thinly across his whole body until he eventually died; like a million long paper
cuts... But he never got the chance.
The time came for the mast to finally break free of any constraint it was being held by,
and gave a warning crack that pierced the dry, silent night. Only then did the man realize
this, but far too late, as the long, wooden pole fell swiftly, closer and closer to it's target,
dead straight on to the father.
The man, strong and stone as he was, stood still, even as the mast crashed upon him with
a most sickening crunch. It lay there, propped up atop his head, and for a wild moment,
the boy wondered if it even had any effect on him. After what seemed an eternity, the
man's eyes rolled up into his head, and his skull split apart as he collapsed. The mast fell
with him, and smashed into the ship railing, breaking in two. One half fell into the water,
while the other hit the deck an inch in front of the small boy.
"Goodbye, Jack," the boy mouthed back. And then he blacked out. When he woke up
four hours later, he couldn't remember a second of what had happened the night before,
but found it strange that sometime during the night, the main mast had fallen and he
hadn't woken up. The stony man's body, who's memory was locked in the back of the
boy's traumatized mind, had disappeared from the ship, unbeknownst to the child. The
only thing he remembered, was that his name was Jack Sparrow. And the empty ship he
was on, was his own.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, and I especially love how you shared
your reactions! You really motivated me to write another chapter; thanks again! Hope
you like this one. :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
and repeated in a hoarse whisper; "East?"
"Aye, it's what is right," Jack replied, lowly, eyeing the crew that had been recently
herded back onto the ship.
"What about-" Anamaria started, hesitating momentarily, "-the comrade?"
"It's a trick," Jack said simply. "That fiend has no idea who my comrades are. He was
dead long before I made any."
"What are you talking about?" Anamaria snapped. "A dead man can't do - well - what
whoever it was... did!"
"Listen," Jack said under his breath, "I don't know how else to explain it; the man is
dead, yet he walks still."
"Like the curse with Barbossa and the old crew?" Anamaria asked.
"No, much unlike it," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's too complicated - too long of a
story. I'll tell you in time, but right now you have to trust me. We must sail East because
it's the right choice. I happened upon a source that has clearly informed me that although
it may seem wrong... it's not. I assure you."
"I trust you," Anamaria replied, nodding. "Just do what you have to do to make things
right again."
* * * * * * * * * *
..........Twenty-nine years, four months and six days earlier..........
"Come out of there, lad."
Silence. The warm night wind blew the hair around a hard, stony face. Unmoving;
emotionless. The only answer the man received from the eleven-year-old boy was rapid,
terrified breathing.
"I'll drag you out by your eyelashes, now come out."
The boy took a step towards the man, his father, even though the foot he stepped on was
badly sprained, and sent needles up his leg with the pressure he set on it. He was dizzy
from hyperventilating, shaking from head to toe, covered in sticky blood and unable to
tell the difference between his and... the lady's...
With his face set still stony, the man grabbed the boy by the back of the neck, roughly
tossing him onto the deck of the ship like he weighed nothing at all, where he hit the main
mast, fell and lay gasping, hands over his face, on his back. The mast swayed violently
and a crack at it's base spread and opened wider.
The child's head was pounding with the violent images of the recent murder he had
witnessed. His mother - she had been sliced clean in half by his father's blade; he had
been so close that he had been absolutely covered in the gore.
"Don't you have anything to say?" the father asked, striding up to his son and pinning
him to the floor with a strong heel to the chest. "Why don't you scream? Why don't you
cry? You know I grow mad when I do not hear a child's screams and sobs at least twice a
night... You know that, boy. If you scream now, I'll not kill you."
The boy, instead, gasped for air, flailing about and trying his hardest not to give, no, this
time, tonight, he would not give. This was for his mother, no screaming this time, no
crying; he'd die before he gave his father that satisfaction.
The solid man looked upon his boy in disgust, grabbing him up by the collar and getting
no more reaction than a turned head and stiff fists at both sides. The boy was not going to
fight anymore, not physically, but in his mind he strained his hardest to will himself, to
keep from letting all his anger, pain, horror out, to keep from going insane, insane like his
perverted, deranged father who enjoyed hearing children suffer, murder women slowly, or
quickly in the most gruesome ways, break grown men, break them down to nothing...
And there dangled the small boy, making not a sound, making not a move, but biting his
lip to keep from wailing, unable to stare into those stone, amber eyes. He knew if he
caught a glimpse of them, he would surely howl his lungs bloody, and that would make
Him happy, so happy...
"You cannot hold out much longer," the father murmured in the boy's ear, sending chills
up his spine. "I know it." The man pitched his son at the side of the ship, careful not to
throw him overboard and end his suffering too early.
The boy pried his eyes open at a loud groaning of strained wood, a sound, even though
loud, his father could not hear; he was too far gone in the lust of all the excitement. The
blood was on his hands, and now he was manic with it, licking his dripping fingers
subconsciously as the main mast swayed dangerous back and forth...
"You open your eyes, lad," the man remarked. "You are a brave boy... Strong boy...
Dead boy..."
The child, paralyzed against the side of the ship, breathing so hard that his chest hurt with
every gasp, stared at the broken mast, swaying, swinging... For an instant, the boy's eyes
met his father's, and he stopped breathing entirely. His jaw dropped in his terror, barely
restraining any outburst with what little remained of his will power.
"You stare me in the eye, now," the man remarked again, nodding. "And I see your fear.
Goodbye, Jack." The father withdrew his dirty sword from it's sheath, preparing to slice
the boy thinly across his whole body until he eventually died; like a million long paper
cuts... But he never got the chance.
The time came for the mast to finally break free of any constraint it was being held by,
and gave a warning crack that pierced the dry, silent night. Only then did the man realize
this, but far too late, as the long, wooden pole fell swiftly, closer and closer to it's target,
dead straight on to the father.
The man, strong and stone as he was, stood still, even as the mast crashed upon him with
a most sickening crunch. It lay there, propped up atop his head, and for a wild moment,
the boy wondered if it even had any effect on him. After what seemed an eternity, the
man's eyes rolled up into his head, and his skull split apart as he collapsed. The mast fell
with him, and smashed into the ship railing, breaking in two. One half fell into the water,
while the other hit the deck an inch in front of the small boy.
"Goodbye, Jack," the boy mouthed back. And then he blacked out. When he woke up
four hours later, he couldn't remember a second of what had happened the night before,
but found it strange that sometime during the night, the main mast had fallen and he
hadn't woken up. The stony man's body, who's memory was locked in the back of the
boy's traumatized mind, had disappeared from the ship, unbeknownst to the child. The
only thing he remembered, was that his name was Jack Sparrow. And the empty ship he
was on, was his own.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, and I especially love how you shared
your reactions! You really motivated me to write another chapter; thanks again! Hope
you like this one. :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
