Chapter 2
Days passed, blending into a never-ending cycle of life. Every hour was drawing a little closer to the end, a monotonous part of the great whole. There was no sign of Will. Jack never returned to Port Royal to update Elizabeth, who waited just as anxiously as if Will was her own husband, gone on a great voyage across the sea. Still, the years passed, and she found her mourning mixed with reality. She consented, a year after Jack's arrival, to wed Norrington, for even though she accepted long before, she never had the heart to go through with it. It was, to her, the final severing from all ties of her former life. They had a child, a little girl, and slowly, the long hours spent at the docks awaiting any sign of Jack Sparrow faded. The girl consumed her life, and for once, there was a semblance of a smile on her face.
The child, now four, named Anne, brought joy back into Elizabeth's life. She took it out with her sometimes to admire the cerulean waters beyond or wait for her husband's return. It was a good life for her, and she had finally let go of Will and hopes of his return.
"Momma," Anne cried as she darted out of Elizabeth's grasp and ran down the dock. Elizabeth picked up her skirt and followed slowly behind her.
"Don't get too close to the water," she called out. Anne put her hands on her hips, even at four taking perfectly after her mother.
"Momma, look," she said, pointing with her small hand to the water. Elizabeth took the other hand to keep her from falling in and peered into the clear depths. Her daughter tugged on the hem of her dress. "A scarf," she stated in her little voice, "I want it!" Elizabeth tucked some of her hair behind her eyes, disbelief spreading through her. She looked around before crouching down.
"You should stay away from the water just a little." Anne pouted but obediently stepped away as Elizabeth reached down for the scarf. Her fingers brushed the material, sending shivers of memory up her arm. She picked up the wet piece of cloth and stood. It dripped water everywhere, but she could not relinquish her grip on it. Anne tugged at her dress again.
"Let me see it," she commanded. Elizabeth shakily put a hand on her daughter's shoulder and gave her a little shove. The textured material felt cold in her hands, even with the warmth in the water. She shivered.
It was in too good of shape. It was all coincidence that it looked just like the cloth he wore. Elizabeth rolled the peach colored cloth over in her hands. Tears sprung to her eyes as she held it to her face.
Still, there was no wear on it, as if it was fresh and new still, not corroded by the salt water as it should be after floating for four years.
Will's scarf should not be floating errantly in the waters as it was.
***
Jack swayed along the road to the Black Pearl, a bottle of rum in one hand, a whore in the other. Actually, it was not his choice the whore followed him here.
"Ye haven't paid me!" she shrieked, pulling on his arm. Jack moaned and flicked her off. She let out another shriek and grabbed at him again. "Get 'ack here!" Jack whirled on her as best he could, overreacting and moving a little to fast.
"List'n lass," he slurred, "ye wern't yer fees." She stood, agape, and slapped him suddenly. He rubbed his burning cheek as she glared up at him.
"Ye'll pay me i' ye lik' i' or not," she threatened. "Now." Jack turned away from her, starting down the street at a run that appeared very sober. Even in his state, he knew what he was doing was going to put his life in danger. The whores of Tortuga never forgot debts, and if not paid in a timely manner, the cost grew great.
"Come back..."
"Alri'," he shouted back at her, reaching into his pocket and finding some gold. He threw it at her, and she frantically scrambled to collect it off the ground. "You hav' yer pay." He turned from her then and swaggered away, taking another sip of the rum as he made his way to the Pearl.
Of course, just a few feet from the ship, the world spun around Jack, and he fell to the ground, unconscious from the alcohol. His crew stumbled upon him on their own return, and they hauled the captain up onto the ship and into his room to sleep out the night.
***
Anamaria huffed around in quite a bad room. The sun was rising above the clouds, but the captain hadn't woken yet! Even after his night she guessed he had, he was usually awake by sunrise. She grumbled and trudged onto deck, quite restless herself.
She guessed it was from her own night last night, spent in the crew's favorite tavern.
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Anamaria took a swig of her drink, laughing at some soon forgotten tale spun by Gibbs. She leaned back and looked around, quite content where she sat in this stuffy tavern. Men called out to each other, some jeering and fighting, others were calling to each other. A small number of whores (as in most taverns in Tortuga) wandered around, their high-pitched squeals evident over the base rumble of the men's voices, but they were scant in this tavern.
"Why'd we always come 'ere," grumbled a crewmember under his breath, glancing hopefully at one of the whores. The table went silent, and he looked up to see all eyes on him, one pair of dark brown eyes glaring quite hard at him. He smiled weakly and took a sip of his drink, resigning to the shame of silence. Anamaria jutted out her jaw just a little before turning from him. She did not like it when the crew got so rowdy around the whores. It was the only time she ever felt out of place with the crew, and it made her remember all too clearly her feminine side.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the room, the only sound that of the creaking of floorboards as someone (or a group of people) entered the tavern. Anamaria looked over her shoulder to see who caused such a stir. Entering the room were seven men, sailors by the look of them, all waving and laughing to the silent crowd.
"Don't worry," one said, chuckling. Slowly, the noise level grew to what it was long ago.
"Who's that?" she wondered, inclining her head toward them. She looked expectantly to Gibbs, who shrugged, staring intently at them.
Someone, though, passing by, heard Anamaria's question.
"Wonderin' who that is?" he asked, crouching down by the table. Anamaria measured him with a sideways stare, but he held up his hands. "Mean ye no harm. Just heard an innocent question." She let out a sigh and nodded.
"Aye." The man looked around hesitantly before turning back to Anamaria. His hands fell on the mug in her hands, still filled with whatever drink this happened to be, and he made a gesture towards it.
"It'll be a price," he said. Anamaria glared at him over the rim and handed him drink. He finished it in one gulp. Obviously, this man had probably already spent his money for the night on his share of drink and company, but any drop was satisfying for him. He wiped his dirty face on an equally dirty hand and began.
"Well, they're part of a ship, see, The Fleetin' Dream's 'er name. They sail these wa'ers, without no destination or course. No one knows where they'll pop up next." He put his hands in the air. "Really are a'fleetin' dream!" He laughed. "Big'r numbers every time they come back, really." He looked over to the gleeful men, now settling down together to a drink. One of them looked over at that table, but his attention was quickly turned back to his friends. "Don' get associatin' with 'em. Good men, but som'in's wrong with 'em." He shivered and stood up, arching his back very old-like. Anamaria nodded her head to him in thanks, and he waved it off, leaving them alone to muse over the story.
The talk ventured down that road a while, the crew discussing this tale and wondering what the ship could be like. Anamaria looked back at the crew again and found herself wondering why a group of men would just sail the seas with no apparent destination. Really, she didn't think she could stand that for too long. The sea was wonderful, but sometimes, it got to you.
Well, maybe that's how it got to those men.
The talk slowly died down as many of the men found themselves too drunk to speak clearly. Around them, the peak of nightlife began, but Anamaria felt she needed to leave. She bid her intoxicated crewmates farewell, trying to get their attention while shouting at the top of her lungs. They all noticed her then, but even that was somewhat dulled when usually Anamaria shouting was a formidable sight. She strode out, needing the somewhat fresher air of the streets outside.
On the way to the door, Anamaria passed by the table with the Fleeting Dream's crew. None of them looked up at her, except for one, sitting in the back. He was a little slighter than the rest of the strong men, but he had the look of keeping his own if needed. His swished a strand of brown hair from his eyes, staring intently at Anamaria. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Anamaria paused for just the fraction of a second, a little warning flickering in her mind, but she let him go, closing the door with a bang.
Once in the street, she had a new plan in mind. She needed news on that ship, the Fleeting Dream, and she needed it now.
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Anamaria listened to the increased movement below deck and sighed again, scuffing her boot on the timbers. No one had any real information about that ship other than the stories of its strange behaviors. No one knew where it went. Most people said it didn't make berth anywhere in particular, being that the sailors rarely ever stayed in a town more than a night. They didn't even know who the captain was!
Still, Anamaria was certain of one fact for sure. They took men from each town they went to and often collected stranded sailors. They, if a little odd, were respected quietly for this. That flicker burned in Anamaria's mind, and she saw that man's face once more.
There was a creaking behind her, and Anamaria looked up to see the captain, sauntering out from his cabin. He grinned at her, giving a lopsided wave, but that proved not good on his part. His head spun again and he shook it frantically.
"Didn't even have that much," he grumbled.
"Cap'n," she acknowledged him, her stomach churning a little as she prepared to break the news to him of her discoveries. She had to, here, now, just in case Jack wanted to investigate. He might get a little emotional away from the city. She cleared her throat as he made to turn, and he looked back over his shoulder.
"E'er heard much of the Fleeting Dream?" she asked him tentatively. Jack gave her a sideways looks, sensing her nervousness. He knew this all too well; Anamaria was only like this when on one topic. His heart skipped a beat, and he took a quick step forward.
"Oh, a few stories here and there," he said offhandedly. "Why'd you ask?" She paused, looking behind her at the brighter city of Tortuga.
"Saw the crew last night." Jack sensed where this would go, and he nearly pounced on her as he jumped.
"What did you see?" he asked frantically, grabbing her collar. She shook free, putting up her hands to calm Jack, but her eyes were quite frightened. "What does this have to do with Will?"
"That's what I'm figurin' out!" she wailed. "Cap'n, 'e's there." Jack stopped his arms in mid-air, frozen in anguish. Anamaria steeled herself in hopes to keep calm now. One of the few things that made her jumpy was the captain behaving like this.
"Will is where?" he gasped. His face paled. "Tell me where you saw him!" He sunk to the ground, his legs not able to support his shaking frame. Anamaria stepped pointed towards Tortuga.
"In the tavern, 'e looked at me th' same way he did." Jack turned his wide eyes towards the city, and before Anamaria could stop him, he bolted away from the ship towards the now resting city.
***
Despair gripped at Jack hard as he walked from the tavern. The barkeep said that the Fleeting Dream's crew never stays more than a night in any port and they already left most likely. He looked up to the sky, the harsh sun beating down on him. Now, that sun felt like a punishment, not a blessing. He had been away from his Will for five years, and even though Will faded from most every memory, he never fully gave up his search to look for him. Most of the crew felt this, and sometimes, they even assisted him in his inquiries. They had diminished in numbers greatly since that first year, but he couldn't let Will go, not just yet. The lad had to be alive.
Jack kicked at the nearest barrel, sending it flying to the ground with a thud and a flurry of feathers as it stirred up some loose chickens. He couldn't believe that Will might have been here, right under his very nose. Anamaria said the man looked different, but there was something familiar about him. Jack took this as enough of a lead after five years of nothing.
He made his way through the streets and back to the Black Pearl dragging his feet slowly. The crew was mulling about, waiting for his return.
"Cap'n?" Gibbs inquired as Jack reached the deck. Jack turned a frighteningly blank face on him.
"We will follow the Fleeting Dream, wherever it goes. I think we might have our lad." Gibbs gulped.
"Cap'n, we can't chase Will 'round everywhere. I know, but there be little chance 'e's still alive." Jack whirled on Gibbs, his nostrils flaring.
"Who's the captain here?" he roared. "I will make decisions on whether or not I want to find the whelp! He means more to me than..." Jack stopped very anti-climatically, realizing that Will did mean more to him then piracy, then freedom, then the Black Pearl even. Will was his final treasure, the one treasure he would risk everything for just to see that perfect face one last time.
Still, as he turned to the crew, he also noted their hard faces, what they did in their life. He doubted they would endure this chase if they had to suffer through their lives without any compensation for the lost time. They did not live through all the disease, battles, and disgust of a ship just to look for a lost crewmember.
"Listen," Jack said reluctantly, "I understand." There was a little lessening of tension. "But remember, the Fleeting Dream's our ultimate goal now. Do everything you can to find its whereabouts. I don't want him to slip away from me forever."
***
Fog swirled everywhere, masking any objects around a person if they were not only a few feet away. The water did not move but was like glass, smooth, hard, and clear. This is what Jack found himself standing on, circling around in hopes to discern some object in the fog. There was nothing, not even a faint stir of the wind. Everything was perfectly still.
Taking this opportunity, Jack began to walk. He was not sure to what he walked, if anything, but it was better than staying in one place. Usually, something happened when you walked.
It did not. The fog and ocean stretched on interminably. All the movement was Jack swaggering walk as he cut through the fog.
Well, he thought to himself, if nothing were going to move, I would have to make it move.
"Hello?" he called. His voice echoed around quite loud, though he did not shout out. A ring filled his ears and escalated to such an unbearable pitch that he clapped his hands over them to stop it. The noise died down, and he made a note to himself never to call out again.
Still, maybe his noise had brought around other, more positive effects, for underneath him, he thought he felt the water ripple as if a ship passed by. He stood his ground, hoping that he would in fact see a ship. He did not have to wait long, for around him, the fog cleared to reveal a mighty ship. The ship was so beautiful and immaculately clean, he noted. It even had a sense of shining with some ethereal light to separate it from this world.
There was one lone figure upon the ship: a woman, dressed all in white. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her head was bowed. Golden hair hid her face from view as it cascaded down her white dress. He waved his arms now, still frightful to bring that ring upon him again, but she did not turn. She kept her head bowed, even as the ship passed him by until it began to disappear into the darkness. He waved his hands more, but it didn't stop and wait for him.
Suddenly, another figure appeared, looking over the side of the ship. He peered into the fog as if he could somehow find a way through it, as if he wanted to find a way through, needed to find a way through. Jack waved to him and he looked down at Jack. Their eyes met, and his face suddenly became frantic as he tried to climb over the side. Jack was powerless though as he scrambled over the side. None of his limbs would respond to his commands.
Suddenly, the figure lost his footing on the side. His arms flailed as he fell, and when he hit the water, he parted for him. He screamed again, and Jack saw his face.
***
Jack woke with a start, panting from this dream. This one was quite different then many he had. Still, the message was the same.
They were running out of time.
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*cheers* People actually read this story! I was worried they wouldn't. YAY!
Please review, for when I am happy, my stories are happy.
Jack: I'm not happy.
Me: Stories, not characters, and plus, I can't write a totally happy story. It is impossible. But maybe I might be able to pull off a happy ending. ^_^ Maybe...