Chapter: Abduction
-
She couldn't breathe; the blackness was choking her. Her hair grew longer by the minute, trailing behind her like a dark cape and tripping her as she ran. The shadows, her demons, were chasing her, their long, searching fingers reaching out to stroke her shoulders, back, breasts, thighs, hair. She could feel their clammy caresses, and fought to cry out. One of the shadows unsheathed a sword, burying it deep into her side, and she fell, gasping for breath as they sifted their bony fingers through her hair, slicing off the curls one by one. She couldn't move. . .
-
Sophia Cuthburt jerked herself from her nightmare-riddled slumber with a harsh intake of breath. Tears were streaming down her pale face unchecked, sweat glistening like diamonds on her brow. She tried to take several deep breaths, closing her eyes and trying to slow her racing pulse. "It's not real." Sophia whispered to the darkness.
She tried to sit up, but winced as the whalebone structure of her corset gouged into her side. Grumbling faintly about wearing "bloody torture devices" to bed, she lowered herself back to the slightly damp folds of her blankets.
Her mother had insisted that she wear corsets to sleep when she became of marriageable age. "God knows what her figure will look like in twenty years. We've wasted enough time already!" Lady Cuthburt would whisper to the maids as they laced her up, every night tighter than the last, for Commodore Norrington's attentions lately had encouraged her mother even more so.
Sophia shuddered at the memory of the stiff commodore. His advances disgusted her. He was surely more than twice her age and as rigid and unforgiving in the rules of society. She would rather have an adventure or go sailing off to the Mediterranean than be married any day.
She often considered her mother's persistence a waste of time as she gazed at her reflection on the slightly hazy surface of her mirror. Sophia's face was heart shaped, her skin the color of the cream she sometimes helped the cook skim from fresh cow's milk. Her cheeks always contained a faint cherry hue, and several freckles dotted across her nose and cheekbones, but Sophia would look at the glowing golden complexions of some of the girls her age with envy.
Her eyes were gray. Not a normal gray blue or green, but completely colorless, the exact shade of the sky on an overcast day, and many people grew uncomfortable after holding her gaze for more than several seconds. Except when she smiled, for when Sophia smiled her eyes sparkled and shone.
Her hair. . . Sophia never talked about nor showed her hair, and barely remembered what it looked like loose and shining in the sun. She had worn it in a tight bun and under a concealing bonnet since her fifteenth year. Every time she was alone let it rove loose across her shoulders and down her back, for it reached nearly down to the top of her buttocks, she could feel phantom fingers across her scalp and pulling at the curling locks.
Overall, she thought her reflection plain and odd-looking in compared to the shining, blushing, golden appearances of the other girls. Apparently the Commodore didn't think so, according to the giddy gossip of her few friends. "I think he wants to marry you!" They would whisper daringly.
Sophia was wrenched from her musings when a resounding shout of "SPARROW!" echoed through the empty streets of Port Royal. She stood up, padding towards the window and checking to make sure no stray hairs had escaped from her cap. She grimaced when the window squeaked as it was being opened; she didn't want to wake her mother.
The sight that met her eyes was an odd one by Port Royal's standards. Ten or so officials in their characteristic red uniforms along with Commodore Norrington stood around an extravagantly gesturing man clearly conversing with the commodore. Sophia could faintly hear something about oak coffins.
Grasping her robe from its folded position on her bed stand, she hastily threw it around her shoulders and swept down the staircase, her slippers muting her footsteps, the silk fabrics billowing out behind her. I'll be damned if I'm going to miss the one moderately exciting event in Port Royal this year! She thought bitterly as she threw open the door. The gesturing man was now being shackled, and Sophia eyed him warily as she made her way towards the scene, wondering if it had been a good idea to leave the warm sanctuary of her sheets. Norrington was overseeing the shackling of the man, and failed to notice her approach.
Abruptly the captured man swiveled his head to face her, and Sophia had to stifle a gasp at his appearance. He was undoubtedly the most radically strange man she had ever set eyes on. His hair was styled in what could only be described as dreadlocks and reached well past his shoulders, with various beads, coins, and other trinkets braided in. He wore a rather grubby tri-cornered hat, underneath which a fading red sash was tied around his forehead, the ends of the fabric falling to brush his shoulders and back. His face was deeply tanned and angular, with defined cheekbones and a straight, well-shaped nose. He sported a rakish mustache and a strange sort of goatee, the ends braided into two plaits secured with a bead on their ends. He was dressed in a very worn and filthy white shirt and dark bluish, loose fitting trousers that were tucked into knee-high brown boots. Over all this he wore a long gray coat. He still wore his cutlass and pistol, which Sophia thought rather strange since he was obviously being arrested. And his eyes. . . his eyes were black in the darkness of the night and rimmed with a thick layering of kohl, and his gaze bored into her very essence. His lips formed a most likely unconscious half-grin as she approached, transforming his face into a picture of roguish mischief.
Sophia felt a flush beginning to rise to her cheeks hurried to distract herself by turning to address Commodore Norrington, but just as she was beginning to ask what the trouble was, he noticed her and came marching over. She noticed the look of bafflement on his face at her arrival and the pink tinge on his cheeks, and was somewhat pleased that she had disrupted the commodore's routine. This brief joy was transferred quickly to repulsion as he smiled and his eyes glanced appraisingly over her features
"Miss Cuthburt, you really shouldn't be present at this time. I shall escort you back to your house." Norrington grasped her elbow gently to steer her away from the sight of the. . . dare I say it? Criminal. He treats me like a bloody cow, thought Sophia.
"Don't be ridiculous, James. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. Now, will one of you please tell me what's going on?" She replied coolly, jerking her elbow from his grip. Her venomous look startled him so that he took several steps back.
All at once, a flurry of movement caught her eye. The shackled man had sprung into action, slamming his elbow into the closest guard's nose and sprinting around behind her. Before she had time to react, he had the chain of his irons wrapped forebodingly around her delicate nape and her back was pressed firmly to the unforgiving expanse of his chest. Sophia yelped in a quite unladylike fashion and her frightened eyes shifted from one guard to another. She felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against her temple and heard the devil of a man behind her cock it in preparation to shoot. Oh god. He's going to kill you, a surprisingly calm voice in her head said.
Jack couldn't have been happier at the moment, and the look on Norrington's face was enough to keep him laughing for weeks to come. He threw a self-satisfied grin in the guard's direction. "Remember this little trick, Norrington? I though' you woulda figured me out, by now. Quite th' pretty little thing, eh?" Jack motioned with his pistol towards the poor girl currently trembling against his chest, and leaned over her shoulder to catch a glimpse down her conveniently open nightgown, much to Norrington's dismay.
Sophia was becoming very aware of her senses. She could feel herself shaking and the slight breeze that brushed its jealous fingers against her skin. She could hear the man behind her breathing, a rough, feral sound. The smell of rum, which she barely recognized, and seawater assaulted her nose. She could also feel the anger rising in her chest as the man holding her captive took advantage of his view, and Sophia suddenly stomped down hard on his foot, although her slipper clad heel did little damage to his toes. In result the barrel of his pistol was pushed harder into her temple.
Jack smirked, bending down to whisper quietly in her ear, raising his hand not occupied with the pistol to brush his fingers across the curve of her neck. Sophia stiffened. "You're feisty, love, an' I like me woman t' have a little fire. If you do somethin' like tha' again, Miss Cuthburt, I'll consider it an invitation, aye?"
Sophia's eyes widened and a strange glazed quality overtook their usual clarity as his words sunk in. She stopped shivering, willing herself not to faint, as the blasted corset was restricting the breath she very much needed as of now.
Norrington, having been too stunned to speak, finally snapped from his shocked state. His face turned an alarming shade of red as he took a step towards Jack. "Sparrow! Unhand her this moment, unless you wish to be shot numerous times through the chest!" The commodore glared in Mullroy's direction. "You didn't take his belongings?" He spat disapprovingly, and the poor guard all but quivered at Norrington's scowl.
"Gentlemen! I think there's a more pressin' matter at hand, aye?" Jack reminded them loudly. "Now, I shall be returnin' to me ship withou' trouble as long as you fine men don' cause any trouble, savvy?" Jack slowly began to back towards the direction of the Pearl, dragging his captive along with him. By now, his crew had gathered around the edge of the ship and was ready and waiting to pull him up.
Norrington was at a loss. Was he to let Sparrow escape and face more humiliation at the hands of the townspeople, or order his men to capture him but risk Sophia being shot?
"Come, come, Commodore. I really don' have all day. Shall I release this fine lady 'ere, or jus' do away with 'er?" At the commodore's reluctance, Jack sighed and tightened the chain around Sophia's neck. "I'm beginnin' t' doubt your affections for 'er, mate. Honestly, I woulda expected more from you."
Sophia was glaring at the commodore, the intensity of her hatred for him only increasing. Was he honestly going to place the capture of a normal, everyday criminal over her well-being? Although, the name Sparrow was faintly familiar. . .
Finally, Norrington spoke, his voice cold and full of loathing. "If you release her, Sparrow, you will be shot. The gallows is to pleasant a death for you."
Jack shrugged, replacing his pistol on his belt. "Alrigh', Commodore. Until next time, then." He replied cheerily, before whirling swiftly and taking off at high speed down the docks, dragging his hostage with him.
Sophia was having trouble keeping up with Jack, for she had long skirts to worry about and the corset didn't help at all. She heard gunshots behind them, and managed to let out a little whimper between great heaving breaths. After what seemed like an eternity, the pair reached a hulking ship, and Sophia felt a faint flutter of fear as she gazed up at its huge black hull and sails. Hands reached down and lifted them up onto the Black Pearl's deck. Sophia's legs gave out from under her the moment her feet touched solid ground, and she was left gasping on the cold, slightly slimy deck. Trying to calm herself, she concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths, but soon found that impossible due to the corset's restriction on her ribs.
Jack ignored the girl on the deck and stood at the bow of the ship as it pulled away, grasping onto the riggings for support. Waving his pistol around dramatically, he yelled back at the dumbstruck guards. "Gents! You will always remember this as th' day you almos' caught. . . Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack raised his pistol, aimed carefully, and fired. The bullet shot straight through the gaping Norrington's hat and it flew right off his head.
Sophia was dazed. Captain Jack Sparrow? The pirate? The same Captain Jack Sparrow who had escaped from Port Royal not one, but, taking into account the recent events, eight times? She sat on the deck, pondering this and staring straight ahead, strangely disconnected from the movement of the crew around her.
Jack turned around to face the expanse of the ship, muttering. "Bloody Norrington. I was willin' t' make negotiations! An' now I 'ave a spittin' wench aboard. BLOODY HELL!" Venting his frustrations, Jack rammed his foot against the mast of the ship. He hated taking captives. They were more trouble than they were worth, always making a fuss and causing trouble aboard the ship.
Sophia jumped at the captain's outburst, her eyes fearful. After what seemed like several minutes of Jack simply staring out into the ocean, he finally took notice of the alien presence on his ship and strode promptly towards her, grasping her arm and lugging her from the ground. His eyes were surprisingly kind, and Sophia found this comforting compared to the display of vehemence he had previously shown. She suddenly became aware that, for the second time that night, tears were creeping steadily down her cheeks, and dropped her gaze to the ground, ashamed.
Jack found himself pitying the girl. It really wasn't her fault she'd been thrown into this mess, and he'd used her shamelessly to his advantage. Sighing, he dug for several moments through his pockets, producing a grubby handkerchief and placing it carefully in her small hand. "I'm sorry abou' that, love. Couldn't be 'elped. Take what ye can, aye?" He smiled faintly at her, abruptly noticing the strange gray hue of her eyes.
The familiar anger was welling in Sophia's chest once more. He expects to apologize and be forgiven that easily? She thought resentfully. Before she could realize what she was doing, her hand was flying in a rapid arc towards his cheek. The resulting noise resonated throughout the ship, but the crew didn't even pause in their work.
"Mr. Sparrow! I cannot believe you expect to be forgiven for that act of extreme impertinence you just committed!" She stood there fuming, positively glowering in her lightheadedness. In fact, she was becoming quite dizzy. . .
Before Jack held up his index finger, intending to correct her incorrect use of his name, but before he could utter his famous "Captain Sparrow, if you please." Sophia fell in a dead faint to the deck.
-
A/N: Sorry, guys. I had to have a faint in there at some point! Next Chapter: Waking up in Jack's bed, more backstory, and MAJOR corset troubles!
