Chapter 3
The guard looked down with a sneer of distaste at the recently subdued prisoner. He noted the small amount of red liquid welling from the fresh gash on the pirate's forehead, a wound which was steadily growing larger and darker. He then, in turn, noticed the faint smear of blood on the butt of his rifle. With a sigh of disgust, he unceremoniously wiped the blood from the rifle onto the unconscious prisoner's shirt.
The guard then turned and abruptly left the cell, closing the door firmly behind him. Before he stepped away to begin his late evening rounds, he turned back to make doubly certain that the mad captive's cell door was indeed locked tight.
~*~
"Wake up, Sparrow."
Jack flinched both in- and outwardly at the words. He assumed the nagging, evil voice had returned to drive him to complete insanity.
"Sparrow, this is the last chance for you to get up on your own," the voice came back with a demanding tone.
There was something distinctly different about this voice, however. This voice was cool, calm, commanding; whereas the other voice was sly, seductive, (in a rather twisted way,) and slightly evil. By this train of deductive reasoning, Jack was relieved to discover that this could not be the same voice that had haunted him.
No, this voice belonged to-
"SPARROW!"
Jack started into complete consciousness. He sat bolt upright and his eyes snapped fully open. Both actions proved to have unpleasant consequences.
The lighting in the prison was much brighter than he recalled. Squinting against the unyielding sun, he tried vainly to decrease the throbbing in his skull. Most of the pain seemed to be emanating from a line on his right temple. When the pirate slowly reached up and dabbed gently at the spot with his fingers, he accidentally rubbed various particles of grit, straw, and sweat into the open wound and winced. He withdrew his hand and examined his grimy fingers; the tips were coated in a thick film of half-dried blood.
"Last evening's watch informed me that you caused undue ruckus," Norrington explained, clasping his hands behind his back and standing even straighter.
"Apparently," Jack mumbled in sarcastic agreement, rubbing his fingertips together and watching as small flakes of dry blood dropped to the stone floor.
"Well, I do apologize for the unpleasantness, however, you have an appointment, Mr. Sparrow; one from which I will not keep you," Norrington said, his voice monotone and carefully emotionless. He glanced in turn over at the two soldiers standing to either side of him. "Take him up."
~*~
The redcoats roughly tugged on Jack's arms, forcing him up the stairs. He wasn't exactly fighting them, but he seemed to be having difficulty forcing his legs to be obedient. As if they were composed entirely of lead, they felt heavy and uncooperative, and he found himself stumbling along the steps.
He stared off, his eyes fixed on no point in particular, the last words of that malevolent voice reverberating through his brain.
'They've left you to die, Jack Sparrow.'
Despite the simplicity of the phrase, the pirate captain was having immense difficulty in deciphering its meaning. They couldn't leave him to die. They wouldn't.
'What's tha' supposed t' mean?' Jack silently questioned, half hoping that the voice would answer, but at the same time dreading that it would.
As it was, he didn't have to worry. Before the voice could have replied, they were out the door, and a blast of intense sunlight snapped the pirate back to reality.
The guard looked down with a sneer of distaste at the recently subdued prisoner. He noted the small amount of red liquid welling from the fresh gash on the pirate's forehead, a wound which was steadily growing larger and darker. He then, in turn, noticed the faint smear of blood on the butt of his rifle. With a sigh of disgust, he unceremoniously wiped the blood from the rifle onto the unconscious prisoner's shirt.
The guard then turned and abruptly left the cell, closing the door firmly behind him. Before he stepped away to begin his late evening rounds, he turned back to make doubly certain that the mad captive's cell door was indeed locked tight.
~*~
"Wake up, Sparrow."
Jack flinched both in- and outwardly at the words. He assumed the nagging, evil voice had returned to drive him to complete insanity.
"Sparrow, this is the last chance for you to get up on your own," the voice came back with a demanding tone.
There was something distinctly different about this voice, however. This voice was cool, calm, commanding; whereas the other voice was sly, seductive, (in a rather twisted way,) and slightly evil. By this train of deductive reasoning, Jack was relieved to discover that this could not be the same voice that had haunted him.
No, this voice belonged to-
"SPARROW!"
Jack started into complete consciousness. He sat bolt upright and his eyes snapped fully open. Both actions proved to have unpleasant consequences.
The lighting in the prison was much brighter than he recalled. Squinting against the unyielding sun, he tried vainly to decrease the throbbing in his skull. Most of the pain seemed to be emanating from a line on his right temple. When the pirate slowly reached up and dabbed gently at the spot with his fingers, he accidentally rubbed various particles of grit, straw, and sweat into the open wound and winced. He withdrew his hand and examined his grimy fingers; the tips were coated in a thick film of half-dried blood.
"Last evening's watch informed me that you caused undue ruckus," Norrington explained, clasping his hands behind his back and standing even straighter.
"Apparently," Jack mumbled in sarcastic agreement, rubbing his fingertips together and watching as small flakes of dry blood dropped to the stone floor.
"Well, I do apologize for the unpleasantness, however, you have an appointment, Mr. Sparrow; one from which I will not keep you," Norrington said, his voice monotone and carefully emotionless. He glanced in turn over at the two soldiers standing to either side of him. "Take him up."
~*~
The redcoats roughly tugged on Jack's arms, forcing him up the stairs. He wasn't exactly fighting them, but he seemed to be having difficulty forcing his legs to be obedient. As if they were composed entirely of lead, they felt heavy and uncooperative, and he found himself stumbling along the steps.
He stared off, his eyes fixed on no point in particular, the last words of that malevolent voice reverberating through his brain.
'They've left you to die, Jack Sparrow.'
Despite the simplicity of the phrase, the pirate captain was having immense difficulty in deciphering its meaning. They couldn't leave him to die. They wouldn't.
'What's tha' supposed t' mean?' Jack silently questioned, half hoping that the voice would answer, but at the same time dreading that it would.
As it was, he didn't have to worry. Before the voice could have replied, they were out the door, and a blast of intense sunlight snapped the pirate back to reality.