'How can this be? That can't be him.'
Watching Jack load the frightening and pathetic being onto the dingy, Will felt suddenly as though he were someone else. It was as though he and Jack and the creature were characters in some play, and he was a detached member of the audience. Yes, his life had taken many turns that seemed impossible even to himself, never mind that he had lived through them. But nothing this bizarre, nothing this horrifying, could happen. Not in his life; not even in his darkest nightmares...until today.
The clouds had passed back over the moon, and the thing no longer wore the face that stared back at Will every time he looked in a mirror. Strange how the creature's transformation from man to monster was actually a blessing for the younger Turner. It had wounded Jack fairly severely, and between that and it's perpetual struggling, it took longer than Will or Jack would have liked to get it down to the dingy, a difficult situation made worse by the fact that Will still could not bring himself to look at the creature, much less touch it. The men who were already waiting for their captain's return were understandably unprepared to meet their new passenger, and their reactions ranged from abject terror to simple anger.
Gibbs was the loudest of the lot, his face red and sweating, hands gesturing wildly. "We can't bring that with us, Cap'n," he was saying, as the skeletal creature continued to rage against its bonds. "Surely this thing is what killed those poor souls on the deck, and who knows if the brig can hold such a devilish creature." The rest of the crew nodded agreement, bolstering Gibbs' courage. "Even if steel bars can hold that beast, it would be terrible bad luck to have it on board. We should send it down to Davey Jones' locker."
Jack had been standing silently at the head of the dingy, standing between Bootstrap and the rest of the raiding party in what Will imagined was an almost protective fashion. To all appearances, the captain was emotionless as Gibbs spoke, but upon hearing that last sentence, his movement was swift. His sword flashed in the moonlight, gleaming at Gibbs' throat, pressed against the tender flesh hard enough that Will could have sworn he saw a drop or two of blood. "Listen to me, you dogs," Jack ground out, his voice lower and more menacing than Will would have supposed it could have become. "I say he comes back to our ship with us. There will be no more talk of tossing him to the sea. Anyone who so much as looks at him threateningly will find himself intimately acquainted with my sword. Am I understood?"
For a moment, it seemed as though Gibbs might argue. But pressed against the tip of Jack's sword found the persuasion of self-preservation won out over bravery. "Aye, Cap'n," he said finally. The crew all mumbled their unhappy agreement.
The crew was so subdued; it might have been a quiet ride back to the ship, if not for the creature's hideous wailing. The sounds that came from the thing's throat as they led it to the brig gave Will gooseflesh. He could not get away from it quickly enough and ignored Jack's pointed looks when they re-boarded. Clearly, the pirate again wanted Will's help, but Will was having none of that. He could not escape the thing quickly enough, and he fled for the sleeping quarters without meeting Jack's eyes, leaving the captain to get the monster down to the brig on his own.
'Jack wanted it here. Jack can take care of it. I'll have no part of it. None.'
It wasn't until Will had tossed himself onto his bunk that he realized he was crying. Jack insisted on calling it "he", had protected it when Gibbs and the others wanted to be rid of it, and would no doubt visit a horrible vengeance on anyone who tried to dispose of the beast against Jack's orders.
'That thing...it can't be. It couldn't be...'
But the resemblance was undeniable. And if it was anyone else, why would Jack insist on protecting it, risking yet another mutiny, not to mention bodily injury, in doing so?
William had long dreamed of finding his long lost father. He had been too young when William Senior left, and had no memories of his own to cling to. But his mother had remembered her dearly missed husband, had whispered stories about William Turner's bravery to their son as she put him to sleep. She told him that Father had left only because he was trying to improve their lot in life, and that it was the hardest and most selfless thing Father had ever done. She assured him that they were both in Father's thoughts every waking moment, and so Will must not feel abandoned. Unlike many of the children in the streets of London, Will never doubted that his absent father's leaving was an act of love.
After Mother died, Will had no one left to cling to but a memory made completely by his imagination. He would find his father, and his father would take care of him and he would no longer be alone in the world. That changed with the attack on his vessel and his years of servitude in Port Royal. How many times, while weathering his blacksmith Master's temper, had he fantasized that his father would come. William would march into the filthy shop, outraged that anyone dared treat his beloved child so horribly. Master Brown would cower and plead for forgiveness, but would not escape justice as William Turner's hands. Then they would leave that place, never to return.
'Such childish fantasies. So foolish.'
Once Will had entered into adulthood, he gave up hopes of ever finding his missing father, figuring that his father was most likely dead. Even if he weren't, it was an enormous world and the elder William would have difficulty finding his son even if he were trying, which the younger Turner was beginning to doubt. After all, so far as William knew, his wife and son remained in London. Why would he come to the Caribbean to find them?
The walls of the brig did little to shield the creature's screams. The brig was directly below the sleeping quarters, and Will imagined the thing's screams to be the shrieking of demons and the damned rising up from the bowels of Hell. They pierced Will to the bone like a cold wind. He covered his head with his lumpy pillow, but that did little to drown out that terrible noise.
'My father is not dead.'
Never would Will have imagined that such a thought would bring him such horror.
'My father is...alive?'
The pain and confusion swarmed Will in a never-ending cycle. It would most assuredly be a sleepless night. If this was reality, Will did not want to know what his new nightmares held.
::Response to comments::
bittersweet46: Thanks! And thanks for keeping on reading.
emeraldwolf: You've always been patient, but I know that when I'm reading a fanfic and the author takes forever to update, I can't stand the wait. I know, I'm such a hypocrite! Thanks again for all of your support.
Watching Jack load the frightening and pathetic being onto the dingy, Will felt suddenly as though he were someone else. It was as though he and Jack and the creature were characters in some play, and he was a detached member of the audience. Yes, his life had taken many turns that seemed impossible even to himself, never mind that he had lived through them. But nothing this bizarre, nothing this horrifying, could happen. Not in his life; not even in his darkest nightmares...until today.
The clouds had passed back over the moon, and the thing no longer wore the face that stared back at Will every time he looked in a mirror. Strange how the creature's transformation from man to monster was actually a blessing for the younger Turner. It had wounded Jack fairly severely, and between that and it's perpetual struggling, it took longer than Will or Jack would have liked to get it down to the dingy, a difficult situation made worse by the fact that Will still could not bring himself to look at the creature, much less touch it. The men who were already waiting for their captain's return were understandably unprepared to meet their new passenger, and their reactions ranged from abject terror to simple anger.
Gibbs was the loudest of the lot, his face red and sweating, hands gesturing wildly. "We can't bring that with us, Cap'n," he was saying, as the skeletal creature continued to rage against its bonds. "Surely this thing is what killed those poor souls on the deck, and who knows if the brig can hold such a devilish creature." The rest of the crew nodded agreement, bolstering Gibbs' courage. "Even if steel bars can hold that beast, it would be terrible bad luck to have it on board. We should send it down to Davey Jones' locker."
Jack had been standing silently at the head of the dingy, standing between Bootstrap and the rest of the raiding party in what Will imagined was an almost protective fashion. To all appearances, the captain was emotionless as Gibbs spoke, but upon hearing that last sentence, his movement was swift. His sword flashed in the moonlight, gleaming at Gibbs' throat, pressed against the tender flesh hard enough that Will could have sworn he saw a drop or two of blood. "Listen to me, you dogs," Jack ground out, his voice lower and more menacing than Will would have supposed it could have become. "I say he comes back to our ship with us. There will be no more talk of tossing him to the sea. Anyone who so much as looks at him threateningly will find himself intimately acquainted with my sword. Am I understood?"
For a moment, it seemed as though Gibbs might argue. But pressed against the tip of Jack's sword found the persuasion of self-preservation won out over bravery. "Aye, Cap'n," he said finally. The crew all mumbled their unhappy agreement.
The crew was so subdued; it might have been a quiet ride back to the ship, if not for the creature's hideous wailing. The sounds that came from the thing's throat as they led it to the brig gave Will gooseflesh. He could not get away from it quickly enough and ignored Jack's pointed looks when they re-boarded. Clearly, the pirate again wanted Will's help, but Will was having none of that. He could not escape the thing quickly enough, and he fled for the sleeping quarters without meeting Jack's eyes, leaving the captain to get the monster down to the brig on his own.
'Jack wanted it here. Jack can take care of it. I'll have no part of it. None.'
It wasn't until Will had tossed himself onto his bunk that he realized he was crying. Jack insisted on calling it "he", had protected it when Gibbs and the others wanted to be rid of it, and would no doubt visit a horrible vengeance on anyone who tried to dispose of the beast against Jack's orders.
'That thing...it can't be. It couldn't be...'
But the resemblance was undeniable. And if it was anyone else, why would Jack insist on protecting it, risking yet another mutiny, not to mention bodily injury, in doing so?
William had long dreamed of finding his long lost father. He had been too young when William Senior left, and had no memories of his own to cling to. But his mother had remembered her dearly missed husband, had whispered stories about William Turner's bravery to their son as she put him to sleep. She told him that Father had left only because he was trying to improve their lot in life, and that it was the hardest and most selfless thing Father had ever done. She assured him that they were both in Father's thoughts every waking moment, and so Will must not feel abandoned. Unlike many of the children in the streets of London, Will never doubted that his absent father's leaving was an act of love.
After Mother died, Will had no one left to cling to but a memory made completely by his imagination. He would find his father, and his father would take care of him and he would no longer be alone in the world. That changed with the attack on his vessel and his years of servitude in Port Royal. How many times, while weathering his blacksmith Master's temper, had he fantasized that his father would come. William would march into the filthy shop, outraged that anyone dared treat his beloved child so horribly. Master Brown would cower and plead for forgiveness, but would not escape justice as William Turner's hands. Then they would leave that place, never to return.
'Such childish fantasies. So foolish.'
Once Will had entered into adulthood, he gave up hopes of ever finding his missing father, figuring that his father was most likely dead. Even if he weren't, it was an enormous world and the elder William would have difficulty finding his son even if he were trying, which the younger Turner was beginning to doubt. After all, so far as William knew, his wife and son remained in London. Why would he come to the Caribbean to find them?
The walls of the brig did little to shield the creature's screams. The brig was directly below the sleeping quarters, and Will imagined the thing's screams to be the shrieking of demons and the damned rising up from the bowels of Hell. They pierced Will to the bone like a cold wind. He covered his head with his lumpy pillow, but that did little to drown out that terrible noise.
'My father is not dead.'
Never would Will have imagined that such a thought would bring him such horror.
'My father is...alive?'
The pain and confusion swarmed Will in a never-ending cycle. It would most assuredly be a sleepless night. If this was reality, Will did not want to know what his new nightmares held.
::Response to comments::
bittersweet46: Thanks! And thanks for keeping on reading.
emeraldwolf: You've always been patient, but I know that when I'm reading a fanfic and the author takes forever to update, I can't stand the wait. I know, I'm such a hypocrite! Thanks again for all of your support.