Interlude

Note: Hal is visited by his daughter Pearl who offers to get him out of the cell. Hal refuses. Pearl picks the cell's lock and tells him she'll leave it up to him. She leaves the cell door open.

I hear Norrington's steps on the ground long before the man himself appears, in shirtsleeves, and the hurry he always puts himself into when he comes walking by the cell. Are you running away from me?

When he sees the unlocked door that has opened for a few inches, he stops dead in the corridor.

"What!"

He looks at the door, looks at me, still sitting in the corner, legs crossed, looks back at the door. I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at my hands.

"Had to get some fresh air," I say. I meant it to be a joke but my voice comes out completely devoid of any emotion.

"Who opened the door?" he asks while he closes it, picks up the lock and attaches it again. He's giving me strange looks while he does it.

"I had a talented visitor."

He looks around, then shudders a bit. Begins to rub his right upper arm with his left hand, as if hugging himself, as if feeling the person's spirit still in the room.

"Pearl."

I nod. "Pearl."

"How did she … who allowed her … how could she?"

I brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "Many questions, Commodore, and all of them unimportant. Your guards could have kept her out. They didn't. She was such a pretty wench, and so sad. She could have left the door locked. She didn't. She wanted to be close to her father for one last time. I could have fled. I didn't. Because I chose to be here. Have you noticed? You're not keeping me here, nor are these bars, the walls, the soldiers, the fort. It is me who's keeping me here."

He is standing very close at the bars, listening, trying to understand – me, Pearl – whoever, really. And he clearly isn't prepared for what comes next.

I was sitting in the corner, calm and still, but in the next second I stand before him, hands shooting through the bars, and I grab his collar, pull him towards me sharply until our noses touch. Hear his body bump into iron. Feel his heart skip a beat. He looks at me, eyes wide with fear. My fingers tighten around his throat, making his breathing difficult. And I laugh.

"I could kill you now, Commodore. Kill you now with one simple movement. And what is really scary is that I always could."

Little droplets of my spit hit his face.

"I could have fought. I could have killed Jack. I could have run. I could have saved myself."

His face is turning red now. Sweat runs down his forehead. He's holding onto the bars to support himself.

"I could have taken all your possessions. I could have killed your son. I could have left your wife to die alone." I inhale sharply. He doesn't, because he can't. "And I didn't. Didn't do anything of it. Because I chose. I didn't want to."

With that I let go of his throat, watch him go down to his knees, coughing, gagging, spitting. I keep standing where I am, calm, and still again. He looks up at me out of bloodshot eyes. Can't speak, but his gaze is full of questions.

/Why? Why did you do that/

"Why? Because I could. Now that was a surprise, wasn't it? You wouldn't have expected this good man to attack you. Because I surrendered. Because I was calm, and polite, and overall, not looking dangerous. But you have seen it, have seen it happening. Have seen me turn from saint to scoundrel in the break of a second. You have seen blood on my blade. On my bare hands. You have seen me in battle. You know what I can do. But you trusted that I wouldn't do it. Because we are … friends. Whatever that means. And then … I did what always was possible for me to do. And you couldn't scream for help. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't escape. You were … at my mercy. And I could have killed you. But I didn't. Because … I didn't want to."

He's breathing hard. And he's trapped in my gaze. He can't look away. Can't speak because his mouth is dry. And so I go on.

"I have one simple question for you."

My voice is clear. And I'm standing my ground easily.

"What do you want? You – not the Commodore, not the Military man, not the father, not the victim's husband. You. Edward. What do you want?"

I go down on my knees before him, until our faces are at the same level. Then, I slowly put my hand through the bars again, to lay a cool palm softly onto his cheek. My thumb wipes away sweat from under his eye. And I ask. The one thing I want to ask him since I came here.

"Do you want me to die?"

He stares, eyes wide, unable to blink. Holds his breath. Finally, he breaks the lock of my gaze. Stumbles to his feet and runs.

Runs away.