For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
Immortal
Chapter 4: And So We Cannot Die
Previously in Immortal: As a result of a fiasco in the cavern of Isla de Muerta, Will, Elizabeth and Jack became cursed. Moreover, Will's blood does not have enough Bill Turner in it to lift the curse. Now, flash-forward a couple centuries. Dr. Kravitz saw Elizabeth as her skeletal self. Such was his terror he fell from a window to his death. Elizabeth is wanted for his murder, thanks to the cleaning lady and security cameras. Simultaneously, Jack reappears with some startling news: a band of professors discovered the treasure of Isla de Muerta and put it on display at a museum. Now, while Will and Elizabeth plan to elude the police, Jack makes a little visit to the Boston Museum of Maritime History…
That sleepy Monday morning Agatha Macduff tried to appear pleasant for the museum patrons. However, it is difficult to be pleasant for the museum patrons if there are no patrons. So frustrating. After laboring long and hard to get the pirate exhibit into the museum, how was Agatha thanked? She shook her head, chastising herself. After all, it was only a sleepy Monday morning,
Agatha walked down the length of the room. The footsteps echoed on the stone floor and bounced off the glass cases. Swords and pistols, gold and silver, cloaks and hats, tucked safe and still behind glass. It was a marvelous collection. Agatha lovingly stopped before each case. One held a display of maps and letters. Some were signed by pirates like Thomas Tew or Henry Avery or the lesser known Jack Sparrow. She sighed. Fascinating pirates, all of them. It would have been amazing to be with Dr. Aversman when he discovered that pirate horde. But, with fifty-five years and graying hair, Agatha decided she was better off working the museum.
The curator continued admiring the artifacts. She paused before that Aztec chest. Inside, hundreds of those glinting, grinning coins glistened at her. Despite herself, Agatha hated that chest. She had never admitted it to anyone, but…but something was just, just…wrong with the chest. Agatha glowered back at those medallions. Then, with a snort, she turned away.
Agatha strode back to her podium and broke out her breakfast. Half-way through her Egg McMuffin, she realized there was a patron. God knows how he seemingly materialized in the room, but a patron was a patron. Agatha dabbed her mouth with a napkin and evaluated him. Odd person. She could have named him a 'bum.' Yet, that vintage coat did not belong on an ordinary bum. Well, as she always said, a patron was a patron. She watched him a few more heartbeats. Oh dear Lord. This man was drunk. The way he staggered about, nearly falling but catching himself…he was drunk. Annoyed, she approached him.
"May I help you, sir?" she demanded. The drunk swayed away from the artifacts to her.
"I didn't know I needed help," he responded coherently enough. He didn't appear that drunk. Agatha decided to make the best of the situation.
"What I mean is do you have any questions?" she continued.
"I do have one, actually. Who are you?" he demanded.
Agatha bit back a scalding replay, "I am Agatha Macduff, I own and operate this exhibit, so if you have any questions about any of the things you see here you can ask me."
"That's really wonderful I'm so glad you can do that, but really, I'm sure I can find me own way 'round this bloody little horde."
He stared down and flashed a feral smile. She glimpsed a few shiny gold teeth. There was something decidedly uncouth and fierce in his stance. Was this man threatening her?
"Very good," she refused to be intimidated, "I hope you enjoy it."
Agatha whirled away from the stranger, thinking hard. She snatched back up the Egg McMuffin and glowered between bites. The stranger simply poked around as though he owned the place. Sighing bitterly, Agatha decided that he needed his head examined.
Hours later, he was still there. Other people had poked in and left, but had he left? No.
" 'Ello, Agatha! Your name is Agatha, isn't it? Agatha, come 'ere for a moment will you!" he suddenly ordered. Agatha surprised herself by promptly rushing over. The outlandish stranger stood before the Aztec chest display. He pointed to a photo on a placard.
"Do you know the name of that man?" he demanded and kept pointing. Agatha looked. That photo depicted a scientist cleaning and cataloging the medallions. It was nothing to get excited about.
"Why, his name is in the caption," she sighed.
The stranger looked at her.
"What caption?" he asked innocently. Agatha gave him a look. She pointed to the sentences immediately below the photo.
"Ah, that caption," The stranger leaned over and peered at it, as though it were a fascinating insect.
Agatha tuned to leave but he pulled her back.
"Well, tell me what it says," he commanded.
Agatha pulled from his grip, "Can you not read it for yourself?"
"Ah yes, love, to be sure," he smirked, "yet it does take a might bit longer than I'd like. So, how's bought you be a good pirate expert and tell ol' Jack what it says."
Agatha resigned herself to this farce and explained, "That is a photo of Dr. Aversman, the man who discovered all these artifacts. Is that satisfactory, sir?"
The stranger smiled wolfishly.
"It is. For the moment, love."
Will drove the car down the Massachusetts turnpike south out of Boston. In the seat next to him, Elizabeth leaned against the window, gazing into the cold cloudy sky. In the strengthening wind, the trees swayed like a drunken mob. Rain loomed in the gloomy future. Elizabeth traced a finger along the windowpane. Unfeeling, numb, her finger pulled away.
"We need to go back to the apartment, in about a week's time," she said with little spirit, "and retrieve the refrigerator and other furniture."
Will glanced from the road to the woman. His soft brown eyes flooded with concern. She returned the gaze and flashed him a pathetic smile.
"Do you want to listen to some music, Elizabeth?" he asked, eager to please.
"That sounds lovely."
She watched Will punch the buttons on the radio.
An informative, prissy AM voice suddenly sprung up, "…are looking for a white female, early twenties, around five eight in height-"
Elizabeth smacked the radio off and sunk back into her seat.
She saw Will, from the corner of her eye, look horribly guilty as though the whole scenario was his fault.
"Well, I didn't expect that," he began consolingly. Elizabeth shook her head.
"I'm all right, Will. I truly am."
Will passed a slow-moving pick-up, steadily speeding up the car then gently slowing it down.
"You know that Dr. Kravitz, or whatever his blasted name was, you know that he probably deserved what happened to him. After all, he did try to…try to…he made an horrible advance on you. You have no cause to feel guilty at all."
He kept giving her quick glances. Elizabeth shook her head again.
"No, no. I mean yes that poor man probably did deserve it but…"
Slow soft drizzle pattered the windshield. Outside, a small bird searched for a place to rest. Elizabeth watched it.
"…but it was that look he gave me, right before he fell," Elizabeth whimpered, "such a look of loathing and terror and horror. It's a horrible way to die, to be so afraid. Afraid of that undead skeleton. Me."
Will stopped glancing over at her. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. Windshield wipers slid across wet glass; the only sound in the bitter silence. Elizabeth bit a nail, awash with guilt and anger. Guilt for being so selfish and hurting Will, and anger because she was cursed and undead, and there was little she could do to fix it.
The wipers squeaked and slid and the car rolled along and along. The silence grew soothingly.
Thus, Elizabeth jumped nearly four inches when Will's cell phone rang.
He snatched it up with one hand.
"Hello?"
There was a buzz on the other end.
Elizabeth mouthed, "Jack" to which Will gestured to the negative.
"This is he," Will answered, "may I ask whose calling?"
'Whose calling,' indeed Elizabeth reasoned. There were only three people she knew of who had Will's cell-phone number: herself, Jack, and Will's boss at Dunkin' Donuts. Since it apparently wasn't Jack or Elizabeth, and Will's manager rarely called, who had gotten a hold of Will's number?
"Yes, I did…no, no one…"
The voice at the other end talked on.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and Will appeared to grow more and more excited.
"…and your point is?"
pause
"WHAT?!" Will shouted and slammed on the breaks.
The car skid, throwing them forward into their seatbelts. The car whirled and whipped and fell onto the shoulder. Then, it stopped, perfectly safe, leaving Elizabeth gasping with surprise. She threw a look at Will. Rather agitated and excited, he kept speaking into the receiver.
"Oh, no. You just surprised me that was all…um, yes. I know where that is…hold on a moment," he leaned over and fished a pen and paper from the glove-compartment. Elizabeth watched as Will took down a name and address. He exchanged a few more comments with the person at the other end. With her eyebrows raised expectantly, Elizabeth waited for him to finish up.
"Ok, tomorrow at three would be fine. I will see you then."
He slowly, softly flipped the phone shut.
Morosely, he stared into space.
"May I ask who that was?" she asked.
Will glanced over at her, his expression mixed with shock and sadness. He hesitated.
"Will, what is it?" she repeated gently.
He laid his forehead in a hand, "He called to answer that add I had placed in a paper a year ago- the one that Jack mentioned last night. He said he knew of a man called Bill Turner, and how Bill Turner had once mentioned his old, odd nickname, 'Boot-strap.'"
Elizabeth livened up, "But Will this is fantastic! Who is this man who called, why didn't your father call himself?"
Will looked almost ready to cry, "Oh, Elizabeth. That man, a Mr. Aversman, he…also said that…that Bill Turner passed away five years ago."
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "Your father was-is-cursed. He can die no more than I can."
Will slowly brought the car back into the flow of traffic. The rain came down incessantly, pounding the windshield.
"That's what's confounding me. In any case, we're to meet with this Mr. Aversman tomorrow at three, and maybe then we can clear this up."