AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry!! For many reasons: 1) This update was long overdue. 2) This chapter is far to short for my liking. And 3) I promised I'd finally get on with the torture, but I put it off again.
The reason for all of this is that I have suffered the worse case of writer's block I have ever had. In one week, I wrote one sentence. Then I scribbled it out. So yesterday, I forsook my Lit class and used the hour to write this chapter.
Let me warn you: Nothing happens. Thus, the chapter title. I was going to make it longer and include the torture, but I knew I'd end up getting stuck again and figured I might as well get SOMETHING new posted in the mean time. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me!!
CHAPTER 9 – BANTER
"Undead pirates…HA!" Lange shut the door behind him. "Kid's got some imagination. I could almost respect that. Too bad it'll get 'im killed." He walked a short ways down the hall and pushed open another steel door.
This room was a bit larger than Will's cell, but there were no windows. Instead the room was lit by bright torches, hung on the wall every few feet. In one corner, there stood a glowing furnace. There was a long, skinny wooden table in the center. On it laid Jack.
His feet were spread to the width of his shoulders and his arms were stretched over his head. His ankles and wrists were lashed down with old, splintery rope that dug into his flesh. The white shirt he had been wearing had been sliced down the middle and now lay crumpled in the corner. A thin coat of perspiration covering his naked torso glinted in the firelight. His toned chest trembled with every ragged breath as he struggled with the broken rib. He was very vulnerable, and vulnerable was not something Jack Sparrow liked to be.
"How are ya, lad?"
Jack was sick of this game. He grinned up at Lange but didn't speak. If he did, he was afraid his voice would betray his weakness. Better to stay silent and save face while he still could.
"Tsk, tsk, Jack. It's rude not to answer your host."
"No more rude that tying your guest to a table." His voice was strained, but still under his control.
"You may have a point there, Sparrow. Tell ya what, you tell me what you did with my diamond, I'll untie you, and we can both take etiquette lessons from Mr. Turner."
"Well, mate, I don't think there's anything you can do to me that could be more painful that etiquette lessons from the whelp."
"Is that a challenge? I do love a good challenge." He turned to face his men. "Mr. Sparrow here doesn't believe we can be worse than his little friend. Shall we prove him wrong?"
Jack twisted his neck as much as he could, trying to see what was going on behind him, but to no avail. He strained to hear any sounds that might give it away but couldn't make anything out.
"What's wrong, Jack? Nervous?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I'm bloody nervous! Unless I'm sorely mistaken, you are about to torture me, are you not? I think most people would be a little nervous in my situation."
"Just don't wet yourself, Jackie. Wouldn't wanna ruin my table. Are we ready, Peters?" He addressed Jack's old friend with the scarred face.
"Ready an' willin', Cap'n"
"One last chance, Sparrow."
"To do what? Appease you with stories only to go through this charade again when you find out I lied? Sorry, Lange, but I'm not really feeling creative enough to make anything up just now."
Lange sighed. "Suit yourself, boy, but don't say I didn't give you every opportunity to talk."
"I would never dream of slandering your good name."
"Sarcastic to the end. I'll be sure to mention that at your funeral."
"Oh, you're gonna give me one! How lovely! And here I figured you'd just drop me in the sea without a word."
"Oh, no, Sparrow, I've got it all written. 'He was a stubborn man; a stupid man. He was a thief and a liar. Now he's shark fodder.' How was that?"
"Beautiful! Couldn't have said it better meself. Of course I might've added, 'He was a handsome man with exquisite taste, the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and hundreds of beautiful women falling at his feet.' But yours was good, too."
"Glad you liked it. But now I think Peters is getting impatient, so I'll just step aside."
"Shame to die so young and pretty. And just think of all the women you'll be depriving."
"Who said anything about dying pretty? And as for all the women…don't worry, I'll take care of that. Get on with it, Peters!"
Jack kept his expression calm as Peters loomed over him, but his mind was racing, desperately trying to predict what was about to happen to him. His mind froze, along with his blood, when he saw what Peters was holding: a metal rod, about two feet long, with the last few inches heated to a bright red.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Since the torture is bound to be in the next chapter, I think I'll have to raise the rating to R.