Disclaimer: Disney owns everyone and everything except for my original characters. They even own Jack Sparrow. Yes, I know. How depressing.
A/N: Okay, so all of you are confused (again). One of my reviewers actually came quite close to guessing how Anamaria was in two places at once…but, of course, I'm not going to tell you who. I know most of my reviewers enjoy Jack's POV, so I have decided to utilize his sexy mind in this chapter. Of course, not all of it is from his perspective, but as much as possible is. Please enjoy…and review if you're so inclined!
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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's EyeInner Demons and Sunlight
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Dread encompassed his heart as he leaned against the cell bars, staring off into the distance at an unknown object, barely hearing the stunned silence, hardly daring to look at Bootstrap, not caring that Gibbs was trying to talk to him. An isolated ringing, faint but clear, filled his ears as he slackened his face ever so slightly. What the hell was wrong with him?
It's your inner demons, mate. They're coming back.
His inner demons…
Jack flinched ever so slightly. What he had dreaded for so long was now coming back to haunt him. That empty feeling he had banished from himself when he had reached Port Royal those many years ago was now returning twice as strong and three times as adamant to control him. The utter hopelessness he had felt as he watched The Black Pearl sail away the first time he was left on that godforsaken island had collapsed his mind and eaten away at his sprit. He had been without a crew, without his beloved ship, marooned, thirsty, and alone.
Then came the rum.
Rum dulled the pain like nothing else. It gave him an excuse to act flippant, almost uncaring to the point of nirvana. Not having to care about anything – or anyone – had given Jack the chance to regain his emotional stability, take back his ship, form a new crew, and go gallivanting about the Caribbean seas once more.
But now…now the pain was back. With pain brought demons. The inner demons he couldn't stand. Those questioning, threatening, taunting little devils that penetrated the depths of his mind with an acuteness that drove him mad. They accompanied the pain and brought about even more agonizing thoughts that made you question your very existence, search your very soul for an answer that you knew you could never, and would never, attain.
And the demons were back.
Because Will was dead.
Jack silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. He had promised himself, during that long, hapless day on that island, that he would not let himself get attached to anyone ever again. Compassion was what brought a man down. Drunkenness, on the other hand, was what made a man forget. It made a man feel important, on top of the world, by helping him to forget all of the misery that surrounded him every day. That's what the rum had done for Jack. It had been his life support for ten years. He depended on it as much as his lungs depended on air to fill them. The rum had become his only trusted companion, and he had planned to keep it that way.
But then Will Turner had walked into his life, the son of a man he had cared for a great deal. Will had struck a discordant note within him. The boy had somehow shown Jack that perhaps there was more to life than rum, piracy, and plunder. Will had replaced the rum as his only trusted companion.
But now, Will was dead.
Another companion who had let him down.
The only friend left, of course, was rum. But Jack was smart enough to know that nothing could save him now. Nothing, not even the strongest Caribbean rum, could save him from himself.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was alone in this world, void of all friendships and caring, that made him clench his jaw. Or maybe it was the knowledge that the boy who he had sworn to protect was now dead. It could have even been his own physical pain, still recovering from Ratherford's vicious beating. Whatever it was, it scared Jack to death.
I'm still here, Jack. You can't get rid of me.
That voice was not of the inner demons. That voice was of the curse. It was back…and talking to him.
The curse wasn't broken…
Then why am I bleeding? Jack thought vehemently, all too aware of the blood that had poured from his body due to the likes of Ratherford.
Maybe us gods are able to manipulate the curse. What do you think, Jack Sparrow?I think you're full of bloody rubbish.
Do you?
Jack winced ever so slightly, but tried to clear his mind, to push all thoughts of doubt from his brain…
But the curse laughed. I'm inside your head, Jack. You can't be rid of me now.
Jack knew that if the curse couldn't kill him, it would drive him insane of his own accord. Before, he had been able to block out the snide voice, but now that he was suffering once more, it was hopeless. He simply had not the strength of body or mind to repel the pointed remarks and the cutting taunts.
He wanted to. He would have given all of the gold in the world to be strong again, to have faith, to be the witty, comical Captain Jack Sparrow. But, deep down in the recesses of his mind, he knew he couldn't. At least, not yet.
"She ain't doin' as nicely as I would've hoped fer," he heard Ingrid whisper as if she were sitting next to him.
He turned to see Ingrid patting Anamaria's face with a damp cloth, meticulously checking her breathing and her skin texture, mumbling to herself and shaking her head slightly. Jack's heart dropped even lower as he glanced at Anamaria's face. Her skin was extremely pale and fragile looking, her breathing shallow and forced. She looked like a corpse, and Jack clenched his jaw even tighter to prevent himself from crying out in rage.
Jack swore inwardly. Another person whom he cared about was going to leave him. Another companion to let him down, leaving him marooned in the own loneliness of his mind. A woman who he cared about – probably more than he would ever let on – was on her way to share the same fate as Will.Everyone was dying around him. And he sat there, in that cold dank cell, absolutely helpless.
It was like watching The Pearl sail away from him once more. It was like hearing the fate of Bootstrap all over again. It was like being mutinied against. It was that undeniable pressure that crept up his stomach and into his chest. His resolve to control his own destiny, to take matters into his own hands, was slowly slipping away from his grasp like low tide on a windless day.
Suddenly weary, Jack closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Whatever would happen would happen. If Anamaria died, so be it. If he died, so be it. If they all died, so be it. At least he would be free of this anguish that was unbearable to live through.
If life be this painful, Jack silently pleaded, then let me leave it behind.
~*~
"So…that's your plan?"
"Aye."
Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at her cousin questioningly. His face suddenly became exasperated and he threw up his hands in the air. "Lis, what do you want me to do, eh? A jailbreak is a perfectly good idea, mind you."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. It's worked before with my men…there's no reason to assume that it wouldn't work now."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. They're trustworthy men, Lis. I would trust each of them with my life."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "They're pirates, William, and you trust them?"
Kidd stared hard at her a minute before answering slowly. "From what I hear, it was a pirate who saved your life from Barbossa. And, dear cousin, you also happened to be married to one. It seems to me that you trust pirates with more than you let on about."
Elizabeth bit her lower lip, and had to admit to herself that he had a point. She didn't know why she was being so skeptical of his crew, or why she was so hesitant to break the crew of the Victoria Anne free. She had a slight suspicion that it was because she dreaded to see what Will would look like after a possible interrogation from Ratherford.
She finally nodded. "Fine. It's as good a plan as any."
Kidd smiled. "I knew you'd be in for an adventure, Lis."
She shook her head, a smirk growing on her delicate face. "William, I've had enough adventures to last me a lifetime."
___
"She's a looker, ain't she, Smithe?"
Smithe nodded as he looked at the captain's cousin, a dainty-looking woman who seemed to be the type of lass who had the capability of beating the bloody hell out of an unsuspecting suitor. Her eyes were set upon Kidd who looked to be in high spirits after all. They had all been called back by Kidd and were now sitting in the mess hall of the Adventure Galley, waiting to hear what orders he had for all of them. Smithe smirked as the lass's eyes met his for a moment. Then, regaining his composure and feeling the odd necessity to be cordial, he nodded his head ever so slightly. To his surprise, she offered him a thin smile and returned the nod.
"Alright men," Kidd began, and all of the conversation between the crew had stopped. "You will be delighted to hear, I'm sure, that we will be participating in a jailbreak."
Laughter and cheers resounded in the mess room, and fellow crewmembers slapped each other on the backs and grinned. Captain William Kidd's crew never missed an opportunity to cause a problem with the local authority. Smithe even found himself smiling, anxious to be in on the mischief and eager to prove himself to his fellow crew.
"Who is we breakin' free, cap'n?" came a voice from the back of the room.
"We are freeing Elizabeth's husband, if you must know."
"He be a pirate?" came a deep, gruff inquiry to the left.
"Aye, he be a pirate."
Incredulous whispers struck up all around Smithe.
"Her, married to a pirate?"
"The lass is married to one 'o us?"
He studied Elizabeth who glanced uneasily around, but, nevertheless, held her head high.
"That be it, then, cap'n?" Smithe called out, trying to regain the attention of the lass. "Jus' one unlucky swabber from 'er this time?"
All eyes turned to Kidd who smiled gently, but shook his head. "No…there will be many. Among them will be Jack Sparrow."
Conversation immediately sprung up again. Everyone knew about Sparrow and The Black Pearl – it was sure to go down in legend as one of the most infamous pirate tales of the day and age. He was revered by many and hated by others. Most, however, felt a combination of both towards the well-known captain of the Dark Ship.
"Yes, yes, quiet down, quiet down," Kidd spoke over the din. Smithe turned his eyes back to Elizabeth, who now was studying the floor. "As you know, Port Royal's holding cells are heavily guarded. So, we will need some of you to create a minor…distraction."
Several of the men snickered. Kidd noticed.
"And no, I don't mean the kind of distraction you caused at Tortuga, O'Reilly," he said wryly, and the whole crew burst out laughing. Smithe knew Kidd wouldn't explain – it was too graphic for the likes of the young lass to his right. He could have sworn, however, that he saw a small smile forming on her dainty lips.
"This distraction will be a set brawl between you. But, if you end up getting killed because you are being too rough, then that's your bad luck, and may Jesus have mercy on your damned soul." The crew laughed, and Kidd continued. "The only requirement is to meet us back here by first light…which should be in about an hour and a half from now. Any questions?"
"Aye," Smithe said, and all eyes turned to him, even Elizabeth's. "Who will be watching after the young lass, then, cap'n?"
Kidd considered this for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Why, Smithe, perhaps we shall leave you aboard to tend to the needs of Miss Elizabeth."
~*~
"A brawl?" Ratherford barked at his first lieutenant, a short, porky boy who looked as though he were to cry any moment. "You awoke me at this time of night to report a brawl?"
"Y-yes, sir. It's rather bad, sir, and-"
"Unbelievable. With all of the soldiers in Port Royal, you were unable to secure a brawl of drunken sailors?"
"Well, sir, see-"
"You're being court marshaled, Jacoby. You will report to me at noon tomorrow to receive your punishments, is that understood?"
The boy bowed his head, but nodded slowly.
"I didn't hear you address me, Jacoby."
"Yes, sir."
Ratherford nodded. "Good. Now get out of my sight."
The fat boy retreated from Ratherford's office, and the commodore gave a sniff of disgust. He dressed himself quickly, put on his hat, adjusted his sword at his side, stuck a pistol in its holder at his other side, and strode out of his office, his cold stare fixated on the southernmost part of town.
The three soldiers accompanying him were alert – if not a little jumpy – as they headed toward the more seedy part of Port Royal. Ratherford kept his head high as prostitutes whistled to him from the gutters of the streets. He refused to look as uneasy as he felt, and he unconsciously placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
The further they traipsed toward the upheaval, the more uncomfortable Ratherford became. This part of town he had never been to before, and, to his dismay, it reminded him of Tortuga. It reminded him of the days he had been abandoned by his whore of a mother, set out on his own at a young age, forced to steal his way through life. His nostrils flared as his hatred for such immoral people rose up in his stomach like a flame. He was revolted by the mere thought of his former life.
"To the left, sir. It's over that way," said one of the guards flanking him. He nodded curtly and turned left. The shouts, swears, and scuffle of a brawl in place resonated in the narrow alleyway. In the darkness of the night he couldn't see properly, but he could tell from the loudness of the sounds that they were approaching fast. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the blackness, Ratherford saw, a few yards ahead of him, perhaps fifteen men, all bloody, beaten, dirty, and screaming in rage. The sight of it nearly made him vomit.
Just like Tortuga…Ratherford instructed the guards to raise their rifles in the air and fire. As soon as the ear-deafening crack of three rifles ripped through the air, the brawl began to die down.
The commodore needed no preamble. "As commodore of the town of Port Royal, I command you all to disperse and go your separate ways." His voice was clear and crisp, his hawkish stare unwavering.
"An' wha' if we don' like to disperse," came a mocking voice.
Ratherford wished he knew who said that. "Then I will instruct my men to throw you all in the jail, to be hung for the endangerment of civilian lives first thing in the morning."
A few snickers ran through the crowd, followed by acute laughter. Ratherford felt his insides begin to boil. "If you don't believe me, then why don't you test my patience?"
There was an uneasy silence among the men. Ratherford noticed them sharing steely looks at one another out of the corners of their eyes. The commodore narrowed his eyes: these men seemed to know each other. He remained silent, however, and so did the crowd. In the deafening noiselessness, a group of thirty soldiers appeared on the other end of the group of men, their rifles drawn, ready to fire.
Good man, thought Ratherford, referring to the colonel who he had put in charge. Good job, Stanley.
"You men have a choice," Ratherford began again, his growing distaste for the men appearing on his sharp features. "You can go to jail, or you can disperse. You have less than ten seconds to decide your course of action."
Silence again. Ratherford held his patience in check as the light of the new day began to show itself in the east. He saw a few men look up at the sky, and then turn their gaze back upon him, grinning.
"Aye, sir," came a calm voice. "We'll disperse to your pleasure."
___
That was all too easy, Ratherford thought on his walk back to his quarters. He had suspected the need for his soldiers to fire into the crowd at least once, expecting this brawl to turn into a riot, especially in that part of town. He frowned lightly, wondering if he was just being too suspicious for his own good.
Stifling a yawn, he stepped into his office and sat down behind his desk. Tiredness nipped at his drooping eyes, but he refused to sleep. Dawn had arrived, and he refused to let himself succumb to the inviting idea of sleep. Instead, Ratherford looked forward to interrogating Jack Sparrow today, the same way he had interrogated Will Turner.
Except he would have more fun with Sparrow than he did with Turner.
Sparrow represented everything Ratherford hated. It would be symbolic to beat down the very type of vermin that had caused him so much anguish as a young boy. It would improve his reputation for handling the likes of a pirate, and he looked forward to being one of the most feared commodores in all of the Caribbean. He would not tolerate his reputation to be tarnished. No…not after he had come so far.
A knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts as his newly appointed Colonel Stanley stepped in to his office. One look at his wide eyes, sweaty face, and ragged breathing, and Ratherford knew something was wrong. He slowly rose from his chair and stared hard into the colonel's eyes. "What's wrong, Colonel Stanley?"
"Sir," the man panted, trying to regain his composure. "Sir…Sparrow and crew are gone."
~*~
"Bloody hell, will you move?" the man commented exasperatedly, urging him on with a shove. "We don't have all the time in the world, you know?"
The captain turned to look at the well-featured man who had broken them out of jail, and said exasperatedly, "If you would like to carry her, be my guest. But until that time in our lives has arrived, leave the pace I carry to me, savvy?"
The man nodded, smiling. "Agreed."
"Glad you do." He adjusted Anamaria in his arms as they hurried down the back corridor towards the ship. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, and Jack knew that the civilians of Port Royal would soon be out and about. But running with a woman in your grasp wasn't as easy as it seemed.
Jack turned left to head toward the docks, but the man grabbed him by the arm. "No…this way," he muttered and dragged him right.
"What in bloody hell are you doing?" he commented, looking around. "The docks are left."
"Aye. But we're not going to the docks."
"Not going to the docks?" Jack asked, struggling to keep up with the man's pace. "Are we going to swim away from here, then?"
The man laughed good-naturedly. "I would've thought you figured this one out, Captain Sparrow. Do you really expect me to anchor my ship at the docks, when that very ship is being used as an escape route for condemned pirates? A little obvious, I would've thought."
Jack nodded approvingly, but said nothing. He was impressed that this man knew what he was doing, and he scolded himself for not realizing it first. But he was even more impressed that the man had just called him Captain Sparrow.
He decided he liked him.
Following the group in front of him and being urged on by the man, they turned another corner and out of the immediate city. They were now running through thick tropical underbrush that lay a few yards from the beach. Jack's arms began to ache and his breathing became ragged, but his heart lifted when he heard Anamaria groan when he adjusted her in his arms. Coherency was a good thing.
"Come on, come on!" the man urged, and he was shoved out of the underbrush onto the hot sand of the beach. The sunlight stung his eyes and he blindly ran forward toward the open sea, ignoring the ever-growing pain. He had not fully recuperated from Ratherford's punishments, and carrying Anamaria had not helped his situation.
But he wouldn't let anyone else carry her.
A cool, soothing feeling swept over his booted feet, and, as he looked down, he realized they had come to the water's edge. He waded in deeper, ignoring the searing pain from his still open cuts, but nevertheless still holding Anamaria, blinded by the light of the sun.
"I can't carry her by me onsie…" Jack grunted to the man next to him.
At that moment, he felt hands reach down at take Anamaria from him. An unexplainable panic rose in his chest until he forced his eyes open and noticed that rowboats had come out to meet them; one of the men on the boats had taken Anamaria and placed her gently in the boat. In the distance, he spotted a beautifully made ship and nodded.
The man in the rowboat smiled and reached his hand down. "Alright, Sparrow, your turn."
He hoisted himself up and was flung on his back in the boat. Jack winced as sharp pain from his whipping overcame him, but he clenched his jaw and ignored it, instead looking into the face of a man next to him.
"You knew my name…have I threatened you before?"
"Nay, but I know you."
"Apparently," Jack commented, rubbing his eyes. There were wounds of his that hadn't properly closed yet, and the invasion of the salt water had left him wincing in pain. But, of course, he would never let on to his discomfort.
"May I inquire as to where we are headed?" Jack asked to the boatsman.
"To wherever our cap'n says, mate."
"And who is your captain?"
The boatsman pointed to where the good-natured man who had been urging him on sat, being rowed toward the ship. "That be our cap'n…Cap'n William Kidd."
Jack coughed to prevent himself from yelling. That was William Kidd? Jack frowned. Kidd's reputation preceded him, that was for certain. He would've thought such a ruthless pirate would look more…ruthless. And tan. And drunk.
"And what be the ship's name?"
The boatsman smiled. "That be the Adventure Galley."
~*~
It looked almost as if she had expected it.
Jack sat opposite Elizabeth and Kidd, his face sympathetic. The jovial sunlight that poured through the mess hall infuriated Jack to the point where he had to turn his back on the sun completely, adamantly avoiding Elizabeth's solemn gaze. She had been looking at him for a while now, and Jack felt himself shift uncomfortably ever minute or two. Still sopping wet, he shivered, clutching the blanket provided by Kidd tighter around him.
He couldn't bring himself to comfort her. In fact, he barely heard the soothing words Kidd was whispering to her. He saw her nod every once in a while, but other than that, she remained unresponsive, gazing intently at Jack as if he had an answer that no one else did.
"He could be lying," Jack heard her mutter. She kept her stare on him, and Jack felt himself nod slowly.
"Lis…"
"He could be lying," she said, adamantly this time. "Ratherford would be the type of man to do such a thing."
He heard Kidd sigh. Jack looked up and found himself locked in Elizabeth's gaze, her eyes filling with unshed tears for the husband who had left her with child and mourning. His heart grieved for her, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. For some reason unknown to him, he felt as if he owed her, as if he were in mortal debt to her. He felt obligated to see her through this, to take care of her, to comfort her and be with her until she could carry on.
But this didn't fit Jack Sparrow's persona. And it left him vulnerable.
He had just sunk into the pit of gloom upon Will's death, and was now close to opening his heart to another. But what would become of her? She could die in childbirth. She could die of despair. She could abandon him as his former crew of The Pearl had, leaving him on an emotional spit of land with only a bottle of rum as his comfort.
She'll abandon you, Jack. She'll leave you like everyone else has.
He tore his eyes away from her, instead focusing them on his lap. His mind raced, and he suddenly felt a nauseating sense of insecurity. He stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket around his wet body tighter. His entire being ached; his skin, his muscles, his sinews down to the very bone. He was exhausted and frail, and yearned for a drunken sleep: a sleep without knowing or dreaming. A sleep that would rid himself of the pain.
You deserve the pain, Jack. You let yourself get vulnerable to Will.
Clenching his jaw he walked over to where a bottle of rum stood, glistening soothingly in the sunlight. He reached for it and for three of the six glasses sitting next to it. Ignoring the hot stare of both Elizabeth and Kidd, he poured rum into the glasses and handed one to Kidd, and the other to Elizabeth. He sat down, this time fully prepared to look at Elizabeth fully in the eye.
Holding up his glass, he muttered, "To Will Turner."
Kidd followed suit and, a few moments later, so did Elizabeth, her voice unsteady and her eyes delivering those pent-up tears. They all drank, and Jack felt the liquid burn his throat, the familiar taste calming his distress. They sat in silence for a few moments before Jack realized he needed another drink. Getting up and reaching for the bottle, he gently turned it over in his hands, studying the golden-like liquid that called to him and promised him nirvana. The smooth glass glided over his calloused hands, and he caressed the bottle as if it were a newborn babe.
Then, suddenly, he grasped the bottle and hurled it at the wall of the mess room, howling in anger and anguish. He saw the glass shatter, the elixir of bliss seep onto the unswept floors of the Adventure Galley.
He didn't know what made him do it. But all he knew was that with the shattering of the glass, his soul suddenly felt free. He no longer felt hopeless, but he knew his destiny lay in his own grasp. He could've drank that whole bottle of rum…but he hadn't. He had chosen to experience all of the pain that he had struggled to dull for so long.
At that moment, he knew that breaking that bottle of rum was the best decision he had ever made in his life.
Watching the liquid slowly seep into the wood and disappear, he was startled to feel a soft hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Elizabeth, fully swept with tears, her face flushed and her eyes red. She looked up at him with such a tender look that he knew he would see her through this. He owed it that much to her.
She reached out and enveloped him, and he felt her rugged gasps, her soft body collapsing in agonizing sobs. He closed his eyes and held her, forgetting his façade of flippancy, forgetting he was making himself vulnerable, regretting that he had not forced himself to feel the pain that had been hindering him for his entire life.
He didn't know how long he held her, but he knew that when she withdrew from him they had both been healed somehow. She wiped her eyes furiously. He gazed at her, silently admiring her strength and resolve. She looked up at him and said, "Thank you, Jack."
He tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. "For what?"
"Just…thank you," she said. She offered him a weak, unpromising smile and turned from him towards Kidd, who nodded curtly at Jack and ushered her out of the mess hall, rubbing her back and whispering to her soothingly.
Unsure of what to do with himself, Jack glanced at the shards of glass that lay shining on the floor. He suddenly felt guilty for losing his usually well-kept temper and knelt down to pick them up. One by one he gently placed the shattered fragments of the rum bottle in his hand, collecting them as if they were precious jewels.
So, you think that by breaking a bottle of rum, you've saved yourself?Jack paused, then thought, Yes.
The voice laughed at him mockingly. You're daft if you think that, Jack Sparrow.
"Aye, daft," he said aloud, smirking slightly.
As he continued to pick up the pieces, a sharp pain crossed the palm of his right hand, and Jack glanced down to see he had cut himself full-across his hand, the wound beginning to bleed rather heavily. Bits of blood dropped onto the mess hall floor and onto some of the uncollected pieces of glass. He stared down at his hand silently for a few moments, wondering how he had managed to do that. He looked from his ruby-filled hand to his left hand, full of pure, shining glass.
Standing up slowly, his eyes still on his left hand full of the fragments, looked around to make sure no one else had entered the mess room. He then, in one slow, flowing movement, dropped all of the glass back onto the floor, where the pieces softly broke apart once more. He stared down at the mess for a few more minutes before smirking and shaking his head.
Only I would bother so much over a bloody bottle of rum, he thought. Perhaps I shall have a funeral for it.
The sunlight now shone brighter through the windows, the heat of midday approaching. Grabbing a chair, Jack positioned himself so he directly faced the sunlight, the heavenly beams soothing his tired face and exhausted body. He closed his eyes, letting the sunrays tickle his bare skin, and knew that he could never turn his back on the sun again.
Sunlight be a pirate's mate, while darkness be a pirate's hate. The child-like rhyme he had heard over his years of piracy came back to him with a jolt. He had quite forgotten about it, having learned it when he was a mere lad. Yet the truth to it was inescapable, and suddenly Jack realized he had to enjoy as much of the sun as he possibly could before the inevitable darkness would overtake him.
And there was no better place in the world to bask in the joys of the sun than in the Caribbean.
~*~
Please review? Not too fond of this chapter…please let me know what you think. I could just be too hard on myself. Honest criticism is appreciated. Thanks!