What Is & What Will Never Be

Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not & cannot obtain ownership of POTC 1, 2, or 3...

I actually finished this chapt on Sunday, but didn't get a chance to update.

"Ah..." Katrina Boswell stood at the counter, thinking in a plaintive manner of her long-lost love...

"Oh, dear William", she muttered to herself.

She muttered to herself very often these days. Of often, Jasper or one of the other bartenders would walk in on the strumpet cursing to herself, or muttering indiscernible diabolical schemes under her breath.

Usually, as soon as someone spoke to her, she would snap out of her reverie, but of late, this didn't work...

As Jasper scathingly and frequently commented, Katrina's looks were withering as well. Her eyes, once brightly blue and seductive in her features, were nearly bloodshot and dull. Her hair grew to be long, but lank.

And she's the one complain' bout the low pay? Jasper would exclaim.

"Ye know, we might as well fire the wench."

"Fire 'er?"

"Don' look like tha' ye dolt! Do ye see many blokes come in 'ere asking fer 'Cute Kat" anymore? No! An' ye know why. She's not wha' we blokes wan'. Soon business'll be high again fer the traditional scarlets—Scarlet, Giselle, Jez..."

"Ah, come on, Jasper, she was good in 'er time..."

"Aye—but she ain't now, eh?"

The bartenders and fellows around would mutter these conversations every once and a while, never actually coming to a decision as to whether to get rid of Katrina or not.

Most everyone just let the poor lass to rot alone in her shabby room. No one asked for her or bothered her.

But tonight was different. After at least two weeks or more of Katrina staying in her room all day, either talking to herself, or writing furiously on an old piece of parchment, she had come downstairs...

Even Jasper was shocked at her. Not just at her appearance, but at her being up and around at all. She looked better than she had in days. Her eyes were vociferously seductive, smoked in black; her hair once again sleek, she was wearing a tight bodice, accentuating her curves, and rouge was brushed across her lips.

Even fellows were eyeing her tonight. Scarlet, with her hand upon her hip, and her teased red hair, and sea-blue dress, stood scowling on the other side of the tavern. Her glare averted from Katrina to Captain Jack Sparrow.

She was still furious at being snubbed by Jack. She should be used to it by now. Although, the last time he'd paid a visit—no—actually the time before, she was the one who had snubbed him. She smirked at the thought, but her attention was quickly diverted as a weather-beaten pirate came swaggering up to her with a smile, his breath full of whiskey. She contemplated his offer for no longer than a second—he was handsome enough, in a roguish way—and she could show that poor excuse for a strumpet!

She accepted the pirate, and smiled, letting him follow her to the stairs. She made a point of shuffling past the bar, flashing her eyes towards Katrina, who met them with aversion. Scarlet also made her way subtly around Jack's table.

She was furiously disappointed when Jack didn't even cast a glance at her. He seemed to be quite absorbed.

'That drunken fool' she cursed, but she had to put a halt to these thoughts as the weather-beaten pirate began prodding at her.

"Oh, he looks lonely and oddly...familiar", Katrina murmured, as she eyed the handsome fortune-hunter in the corner.

She smiled. He was sufficiently drunk. Lifting her pearl-gray skirts, she made her way over to him. Jack only lifted his eyes and nodded in greeting when she came to stand right in front of him. He was used to this—but he really desired not to have that sort of company tonight...

"Evenin'," Katrina addressed, and she took the liberty of sitting in the chair next to him.

"An' you", Jack replied, taking another sip of rum, as he finally got a good look at her. Was there something familiar about her? No...

He shook his head.

"Yer looking a bit lonesome", Katrina commented, leaning across the small table. "Thought ye could use some comp'ny."

"Tha' very fine o' ye, strumpet-lass, but I already got me comp'ny," He lifted his nearly-empty flask.

She gave a scoff.

"If yer tryin' to offend me, scoundrel, I'm 'fraid s'not workin'."

She came in front of him, pushing her hair back, and sat on his lap.

"If it's doin' anythin', 'tis turnin' me on."

"Look, lass—", Jack murmured, grabbing her wrists, and shoving her away quite forcefully. "If ye want pay, jus' ask fer it." He tossed several coins at her feet. "Bugger off then, savvy?"

Katrina gaped at the pirate. She remembered who he was! Damn him! It had to be him!

But, wait! She pushed aside her anger. He knew her dear William, right? Of course! She could get answers out of him! She smirked in spite of herself. She just had to get him into bed...

"Oh, I certainly can't accept this", Katrina clinked the coins on the table. "You'll definitely want a favor." She sidled up to him; right close to him. "Ye won't regret it."

Jack looked into her blue eyes. Those eyes...

Katrina's lips were nearly touching his own, as she whispered under her breath,

"These eyes—they cry for William each night."

"Bloody goddamn hell!" he exclaimed, staggering up from his chair, and in doing so, pushing Katrina onto the floor.

"Bloody Christ...!" Jack exclaimed, pacing, and continuing to swear for several moments.

When he had turned around again, the slut was turning to leave, her plan having most probably backfired, but Jack grabbed her arms, pulling her back.

"So you do want me!" she hissed. "Admit it!"

But Jack cared not about her words—all he cared about was that slip of parchment crumpled in her right hand; the piece of paper he'd been eyeing these past few minutes, and had only just realized its possible importance and what it might contain.

Grasping her wrist tightly, he attempted to pry it out of her hand, but she screamed,

"Let go o' me, you wretch! I've already given you all I 'ave! All my money, my clothes...Look a' these rags! They're the only thing I 'ave and ye rip 'em!"

She squirmed in his grip. "Get away! Ye brute!" Feigned tears streamed down her face.

"Mos' disgustin'ly o' ye—ye took me emotions! Me virginity!"

"Shut up, ye wench!" Jack hissed in her ear angrily. Her howling was already causing a scene.

She glared daggers at him. "Then ye both kill my goddamn cousin an' get Will to me, or I scream bloody murder."

"No way in goddamn hell!"

Katrina screeched in vehemence, and brought her hand up to slap him. This was a bad move on her part.

Releasing her for a second, Jack seized her wrist in death grip, causing her to wince in pain, and he was able to wretch the paper away.

Katrina was purely at a loss—she had forgotten that that note had been in her hand.

"Give that to me!" she shrieked, lunging at him. He veered away, but not in time enough to miss her nails, which left bloody scratches on his arm.

"Yer done! Yer finished!" Jack snarled, cursing at her.

Katrina stood back from him a bit, now looking helpless, but suddenly, she drew her hand into her skirts. With shaking hands, she drew a pistol, pointing it at Jack.

Jack looked at her for a split-second, and then began to laugh.

"A common-girl like you doesn't even know how to use one o' them."

Katrina didn't answer, but was breathing heavily, keeping the pistol pointed at Jack's heart.

Jack absently felt around his waist, as he usually did when challenged for a duel. Not that he was going to need it, but...Wait. Where the bloody hell is it?

Damn it! Jack cursed to himself. He had left his pistol on the ship. 'Why the bloody hell did I leave it! Jesus'

Now completely fed up with everything, Jack said viciously, "Put the bloody gun down, an' we'll depart peacefully, savvy?" He moved a tad. Katrina gasped, and moved with him, putting her finger at the trigger.

"What? Ye gonna shoot?" Jack looked up at the ceiling. "Who knows? Davy Jones' Locker could be better than 'ere."

Katrina's eyes were tearing, and she was breathing with more difficulty. Was she hyperventilating? Her hands shook as she held the gun.

Katrina's hands were enclosed over the cold metal of the pistol. Pistol. Kill. Bang. That simple.

"Who knows? Davy Jones' Locker could be better than 'ere...'

Jack's words echoed in her head. Kill. Bang. She had thought about it many times before. Could this be her chance? Just turn it the other way...the cold metal...and bang. Death.

A tearing sound caught her attention. She darted her eyes towards Jack.

He had—he'd ripped it! He'd just ripped the goddamn note she'd taken weeks to put together! The brilliant plan! The--!

Horrid language and cursings flew from her lips before she knew it. Jack was saying something, but she didn't hear him.

She was only aware when he was pretty close to her. He reached for the gun.

"NO!" she screamed.

"Ye can't shoot, ye lyin' pathetic, excuse fer a woman! Jus' let it go!" Now Jack as pointing the pistol at her.

With a quivering breath, and bloodshot eyes blurred with hazy tears, she grabbed the pistol away from Jack, and before the pirate had time to react...

BANG! Thud...

>>

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Jack stared at the heap of the woman on the floor—her face mangled and covered in blood; her hand enclosed limply over the gun...

Jack stayed this way for a few seconds longer, then without a word, quickly left the tavern, without another look back.

By then, a fourth of the tavern had grown silent; they had watched the scene. Within a few moments, there was mutterings, and the scene was forgotten.