Disclaimer: Stop depressing me. I do NOT own Pirates of the Caribbean; it belongs to Disney. I do NOT own Johnny Depp, though I wish I did…he belongs to himself. The only things I own related to this fic are the plot, my character Tristan Jones, Port York, and any other OC which pops up in here, which I shall inform you of immediately in future disclaimers…oh ya, and I own the postman. No touchy. The only things I own otherwise are my POTC DVD, my dog, computer, my imagination, and a few bucks in my pocket. So no sueing, savvy?
Summary: Sequel to Tell No Lies. On The Black Pearl, things seem pretty peaceful…but peace never lasts, at least in the life of Captain Jack Sparrow. Will he be able to survive when his enemy is…himself?
Remember Me
Chapter 4
Déjà vu
Captain Jones was at the finely crafted helm of his freshly commandeered ship The Starcraft, guiding it peacefully with one thought in his mind- to find Jack Sparrow.
Wait, scratch that, and place the 'Captain' title in Jones' name over to Jack's. Jones didn't have a crew yet to speak of, so he couldn't quite be considered a captain. He sailed his fine ship all by his onesies, which was actually a bit difficult, seeing that it was a mighty large ship.
Still, he was starting to grow fond of the vessel. It wasn't quite like The Majestic, which he had foolishly blown up a time ago, but it had it's own unique rhythm to it, which the pirate was becoming rather attached to.
Darkness was beginning to set in, but Jones was barely paying attention. When he wrote that letter to Will Turner, he meant it- he was determined to find Jack. He had made far too many mistakes before, and he felt he needed to redeem himself somehow. This would at least start his list of 'good things' to do.
The past nine months for Jones had mostly been spent drinking as many jugs of rum in Tortuga he could get his hands on to drown out his miseries, and looking for a new ship. When he got word of Jack's disappearance, he stopped being picky, hastily filched The Starcraft, and made his way to sea, having found something meaningful to do with his life.
Jones thought back more and wished he hadn't, cursing his wandering mind; how foolish he had acted, how evil he had been. The pirate had never really thought himself 'evil' before, but that was the only word to describe it. He remembered all of the pain he had caused the now missing pirate captain, mentally and physically. And all for a lie- ironic since he hated being lied to. If he were another person, the pirate would have hated himself. But even though he wasn't, that didn't stop him from doing so.
The pirate closed his green eyes, blocking the visions of the past as much as he could. Jones had to focus on the present, which was to find his childhood friend and bring him back to his worried crew.
That was when Jones heard it-- thunder. His attention snapped back to reality, then to the sky. Then sun was still up, but it was being blocked by a horde of maliciously black clouds, caging him in from all sides. His heart started to run a mile a minute, recalling the stories of how Jack was lost to sea in the first place. Seeing a sudden flash of lightning, the pirate swirled his head from side to side. Maybe if I can find land, I'll be alright. A gust of cold salty wind told him that the incoming storm was starting to gain strength, and that he would have to adjust the sails, lest The Starcraft become The Sunkencraft.
The pirate dashed for the rigging and did his best to adjust the sails that a single man could. Then the rain fell. Tristan was immediately drenched, his mop of hair weighing at least ten pounds; still he persisted to pull at the rigging, determined to stay on course.
It was very difficult, considering he was doing it all by himself, and the stormy weather wasn't helping much. The pirate had to use all of his strength just to keep a hold on the rope. Until, that is when a strong gust of wind burst from behind, toppling over Jones. He released the rope and the sail went loose, barely hanging there, but far from being useful now.
Now the pirate started to panic, if he hadn't been before, but on the outside all he did was spit out a string of curses, in English, French, and Spanish, but mostly his native language French.
There was no way he could handle setting back the rigging alone, not in this treacherous weather, which made itself known once more by a strike of lightning and followed by a clap of thunder.
Jones was definitely wishing he were back in Tortuga with his jug of rum now.
The pirate leaped back to the helm, a last ditch effort to try to steer The Starcraft on course. Please, I need an island-- a hunk of rock-- anything! Why must I be punished this way? he thought despairingly as he hastily tied himself to the helm as a precaution.
He ground his teeth and struggled to maintain control of his ship, which was going berserk beneath the pirate's fingertips.
Then, Jones saw it-- a miserable piece of land in the not too far distance.
The pirate was most definitely not a religious man, but he was willing to reconsider it at this point.
Knuckles white, Jones steered towards the island with all his might. But the storm had to have its say, winds blowing at him and thunder rumbling angrily at him. It didn't want him to escape. The pirate grinned wildly; he had other plans.
Within a tense few minutes, he was in reach of the island. Adrenaline running through his veins, he was beginning to feel remotely safe, now that he was docked on land.
But the storm wasn't finished with the pirate yet. It blew it strongest wind yet, knocking Jones over and sending him sliding across the slippery deck. Since he was tied down, though, he wasn't too worried about falling overboard. But then again, you can't worry too much about anything your head collides with the hard wood underneath you. Which is exactly what happened to Tristan, darkness sweeping over him like a wave from the storm that still gurgled around him viciously.
2 weeks earlier…
Whatever drew him to the large area on the island where it looked as if where palm trees once lived were all sliced down and the few remains painted black, the lost man did not know.
However, it did not bother him much, since being stuck on a deserted island didn't have its fair share of entertainment. He had always kept away from this part of the island since he woke up here, seeing how the pure ebony shade disturbed him a bit; but it was about time he investigated.
He stumbled dangerously as he made his way through the wreckage, the black ashes crumbling beneath his sensitive bare feet. Mesmerized by the graveyard of palm trees, his steps slowed, now inside the ring of the rumble. He stared blankly ahead as he came to a stop. This place, situation was all so familiar…
Without realizing it, he started walking again, this time in deep, exaggerated strides, his feet developing their own will. After a few gargantuan steps, he stopped and started hopping on spot; it was hollow.
Surprised by his accidental discovery, he collapsed to his knees and felt around; the ground here was wood, he had no doubt. He started banging on the fragile ground, hope leaping into his throat, and even stood up again and started to jump heavily on top of it. Suddenly the sensitive spot caved in and he fell through unceremoniously.
Stunned momentarily, he glanced around. He was stuck in a hole, thankfully not a very deep one so he could climb out easily. Other than some shelves, it was bare; whoever was here before him had cleaned out whatever was once in here. Half pitying the poor soul, half cursing his luck, he climbed out and sat down cross-legged at the edge of the hole, defeated. Staring at the black space, he felt himself wishing that he hadn't even come here, his miniscule supply of hope draining from him.
Don't give up so easily, mate, and try looking around to your left.
Doubt had returned. Frowning, but otherwise unfazed, now used to Doubt's sudden coming and going, the lost man inquired "An' why should I listen to ye? 'Thought ye were 'posed to discourage me, not help,"
I'm feeling rather generous, since I'm a part of you and even I can only stand so much misery coming from you.
"Well, that's news to me, Mr. I'm-not-tellin'-ye-anythin'-'cause-I'm-a-jackass." He paused for a minute. "'Sides, why should I trust ye?" He could only remember too clearly the last time he listened to Doubt, which was 3 weeks ago, and the result was very pretty. He had earned a purple shiner on his left eye because of it.
Well, what have you got to lose? (My eye, the lost man thought bitterly) A bit of your unlimited time stuck on this island? I'm sure you'll like what you find…
Slightly unnerved by it's comments and how tempting they sounded, he answered back hastily, "An' how would ye know I'll like it?"
We've been here before, remember?
"Gee, isn't that the reason I'm stuck here, I don't?" he snarled irritably.
It seems I've hit a soft spot; my apologies. But I assure you, we've been here before, twice in fact. And if you dig around in the sand a bit to the left, you'll have a pleasant surprise waiting just for you.
Sighing in defeat, he walked to his left, and feeling like an idiot for listening to Doubt once again, fell to his knees. He began groping around in the sand like a blind man, digging his grubby hands underneath and around.
Suddenly he felt a warm metal loop. Startled, he grasped firmly onto it and pulled upwards, his body knowing exactly what to do without notifying his brain.
The wooden door lifted up, revealing another hole in the ground, hot sand spilling everywhere; the lost man had to squint his eyes to make sure he didn't get any specks of it in his eyes.
He peered down into the hole, shelves and barrels all around able to be detected, but this time they were completely filled. He unceremoniously jumped down and picked up the nearest bottle on a shelf; they were completely filled with bottle after endless bottle. After further inspection, he saw they were filled with a deep brown liquid, the sun highlighting it beautifully. On the corked jug one dusty word was written across it.
"R-r-uuu…mmm. Rum?" the word was very familiar to him, as it's meaning suddenly clicked.
Always have a backup handy, mate, especially when dealing with rum caches.
To Be Continued…
A/N: puts on army helmet I know, I know, another cliffhanger? But I thought I should at least get this chapter out since school for me is starting in two days and I have no idea how much time I will have to write more. But I will finish this! (Eventually.) I shouldAs always, much appreciation towards October Sky, Lunatic, Taurus-Sparrow-0506, and jackfan2 for the kind reviews. :D