A Spill of Rum

"Oh how ladies despair at the mess, and men moan at the loss, over such a small spill of rum." An observation about rum (by one who obstain's from drinking).

Jack was drunk, as drunk as he had ever gotten. He was a pirate after all, if he wasn't on the seas he was playing cards, flirting or drinking, drowning his sorrows as they say. It had been almost two weeks by his reckoning since he'd been to see Will and Elizabeth, two weeks of not spotting anything unusual at all but still having that feeling of something creeping behind him. All seeing Will and Elizabeth did was stir his suspicions about what was out there.

The crew had almost spent all of the tiny fortune they had retrieved from the Isle, they now had become tired of the constant wandering they had been doing to avoid whoever Jack owed this time. There uneasiness was also spreading about this new man, Buhkett, who Jack didn't even have to inquire about. He was the talk of every port they had landed in, and was soon becoming the hidden fear and outward ridicule of all pirates. Jacks crew was not accepted from this, especially the fear. Jack didn't think they would mutiny, but then again he didn't think his last crew would either and look where that had ended up, on a forsaken island, albeit the second time they did it he did have a girl that just couldn't stay away from him, ah sweet heart, if only it was meant to be. So he had declared to his crew that they would actually stay the night in the near by port, one of those Caribbean islands that the English navy overpasses, sad for them as it was actually quite a rich little town, that was because of the trade it did with pirates of course like Jack and his motley crew, so it was actually quite fortunate the navy never passed by for a cup of tea.

Jack was seeing double of everything, the streets, the pubs, which was annoying when he wanted to enter one, the dog. Flaming mongrels, couldn't even keep out of his way, kept on tripping him up. Finally he swore at it in the foulest language he knew, and it scampered between his legs, whimpering as if it had never expected to be ill treated by someone. After a few paces it looked back with sorrowful eyes, whining and shaking as if it had been frightened out of its wits.

"Pirate," Jack reminded, the blooming dog, it looked like he expected an apology from him, hah, from Captain Jack Sparrow.

He stumbled off, finally after he hit another brick wall while attempting to enter a pub he decided it was time to call it quits and return to his home. Ah the dear Pearl looked so beautiful under the moonlight, just glowing; when he finally reached the docks he stopped to admire it. Come to think of it so did the other three ships right next to it which Jack could see, he shook his head, his vision went down to two again, two he could deal with, it only took a bit of guessing and a die. Even if he did row to the wrong one, his crew would surely see and pick him up, after all a captain rowing in the middle of an empty piece of ocean and calling up for a rope to what appeared to be sky, was a bit odd. He rolled his lucky die, if it landed on seven he'd head for the right hand one, any other number was the left. He rolled the die, it landed on seven, he picked it up and it flipped over to the other side in his hand, that side was also seven. He sighed; he'd forgotten it wasn't his lucky die for nothing. He quickly rummaged through his pocket and grabbed a coin buried deep down; at least one hadn't been used for drink. He flicked it in the air, it landed on heads, which one was which again?

He sighed deeply, "Blast it," he snapped, he just stepped into his small boat, which was quite difficult if he actually thought about it, and started to row towards the right hand ship. After the ship kept on moving and becoming blurry he headed for the other one, he finally got it right, and some of his crew managed to haul him up, although they were a bit over the cliff themselves. He traipsed his way to his cabin, where more rum lay. He managed to drown two bottles before he keeled over; he hit the boards of his cabin.

"Ow," he muttered, he had been aiming for his bed, but it had been a tad further then he thought it was (It was on the other side of the room.). He poured a trickle from the bottle onto the boards. "Go ahead and have some love," he murmured, giving a laugh. He sighed and rolled over, toasting "To Freedom," he roared, and drowned the rest of it down, the ship gave a small lurch, almost as if it was drunk itself, Jack slipped on the boards and his head hit the bedpost hard. "You've been having a few too many love," he mumbled, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

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Jack woke up with a start, his mind snapped to his cabin. Everything looked in order, except for that prickling feeling he had on the back of his neck. He quickly grabbed one of the new pistols he had taken from some upstart British colonel a while after he had left Port Royal. The man had doubted his piratical vigor, and the second time Jack had been marooned he realized the advantage two pistols had over one, especially shiny ones like these. Jack jumped up, his other hand on his cutlass; he looked around, his eyes darting from corner to corner. He got up slowly, and then took a step. Quickly swiveling around he shouted, to 'surprise any surprise attacks' as he said. Nothing was there. Jack moved slowly around, and at a movement at the corner of his eye, turned to face what was there. It was just the old wrought mirror which was slightly grimy and need of repair, not that Jack minded much, you couldn't really see your reflection clearly anyway when you were drunk. Jack's head was throbbing; he rubbed his temple and sighed. Looking up at himself again, he gave a grin, moving towards the mirror.

"Arrghh," he said, giving his best piratical pose as well, brandishing his cutlass while sticking out his chest. He moved closer, making a face, was that spinach in his teeth, he bared them trying to see clearly. "Do I even eat spinach?" he mumbled wonderingly, his diet was usually liquid, consisting of rum, of course that also meant he didn't remember what he did in between drinking large quantities of it, and waking up the next day with a splitting head.

He suddenly turned around, his cutlass whipped out, pointed at the neck…

"Well I wasn't expecting that," he said, swaying a bit partly out of surprise, and partly because he wasn't very good at keeping his balance. He was too used to being drunk to be bothered, besides ships moved a lot, not much time for balance.

The man just glared at him, he wasn't much of a man really, come to think of it.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" he inquired, "Or are you a bit confused mate, it happens to the best of us." He sheathed his cutlass, but he ensured his hand was close to it. By the looks of him, his strappy mate was incapable of causing him harm.

"Sallying as always Jack," the man said gravely, shaking his head.

"Would it kill you to joke a bit mate," Jack said, "Oh," he remembered what had brought this man to his death in the first place, "In your case… well that trick on Barbossa wasn't exactly a bag of laughs was it, not really inspirational. I quite appreciated it though, don't get me wrong, irony of the best kind for me."

"Aye, it boded well for you Jack," the man's voice was strained, his figure quiet transparent, he barely seemed to be hanging on. "But what is coming is not going to bow to your old tricks."

Jack looked at him, cocking his head and frowning, he didn't show any surprise, he didn't even ask how an old friend had ended up as a ghost in his cabin, Jack was used to surprises, especially from himself. His wits were also drowned in rum, which added to the lack of comprehension, and the ghost didn't seem to be able to string out anything but a few words together anyway. "So me old mate came back from the dead to warn me," he said, "Evil lurking on every corner, beware… not another curse mate is it?... It's getting a bit old, couldn't you have thought of something a bit more original, I mean couldn't you have come back to reveal to me how to reach eternal life or even better show me the way to an endless store of rum or something?" Jack moved towards his heavy desk which was bolted to the floor, he opened the top draw, taking out a few bottles, then chucking them away, all empty, he went to the next draw, and the next, moving systematically.

"Your old tricks won't work this time Jack," he intoned again, "And I'm not the rum talking."

"Mmm," Jack mumbled not really listening to him, the crashing of the bottles was really quite loud, if he could just find that rum and slip into sweet oblivion maybe he would go away, him and his bleeding warnings. Jack hadn't really ever had delusions before, but there was always a first for everything.

"Old debts are catching up to you won't be able to run far enough," Jack rolled his eyes, gosh he wouldn't shut up.

"Finally," Jack exclaimed jumping up, there was a half filled bottle and a quarter filled one in the bottom draw. "Here mate," he said chucking the quarter filled one to his old ghost of a mate. The ghost held out his hand to catch it, it fell right through his transparent hand and broke on the boards below.

"You're lucky there was only a little rum left," Jack said, popping his bottle open and drinking, falling back on his chair, he put his feet up.

"This isn't the time to be drinking rum," his old friend said, slightly exasperated, "He's coming after you, and the situation is bad Jack. I can only tell you so much, you must listen to me, I can only hold on for a little longer"

"Aye," Jack said, placing the bottle firmly on the desk. " That's what they all say when they don't want to talk to me, it's either that or their chasing me and blowing cannons in my face, why am I cursed with such pathetic liars." He inspected the rum on the desk as it sloshed in the bottle with the movement of the boat "Look, mate," he finally said, looking up, "I don't know if you've forgotten this or not, I'll give you some lee way since you've been dead and all, but Captain Jack Sparrow can get out of any situation, it just takes a bit of charm, lots of luck and more talking then absolutely necessary, you're almost as bad as your son, both such stiff collars." Seeing the man's startled look he quickly tried to reassure him, "He's not that bad a bloke once you get to know him. I loosened him up of course, a lot of hard work I can tell you. And the morals, who taught him those… but he's got a pretty girl now and I've cleared it up, he's not a eunuch, there was some doubt for a little while… but pretty girl remember."

The ghost's expressions had ranged from surprise to doubt and finally rested on alarm and a little bit of anger, under it all was that look of loss, Jack rolled his eyes, all anyone did was think of what they didn't have. The dead had it made, it's not like they got woken up to be given some cryptic message, they actually got to know what the message was. And he doubted they got horrible headaches, then again they couldn't drink in the first place. Jack preferred his life when he thought about it, there was some advantages to being solid when it came to a fight, fists, ability to pick up shiny swords and guns.

"You can't talk yourself out of this one Jack," he said gravely.

Jack sighed, "Okay I'm sorry bout your boy…."

"What's coming towards you Jack? He's coming for you, and he wants his debt repaid."

"Wait, are we talking about Will here?" Jack asked, slightly confused, not that he wasn't always.

His friend leaned towards him, it was as if the desk wasn't there, just those ghostly eyes filled Jack's vision. "Davy Jones… Jack… Davy Jones," his friend said, a look of fear in his eyes. Jack rose in surprise, moving away from his friend his expression unreadable, the chair pushed away from the desk. Maybe this wasn't a delusion after all, those eyes were telling him different and that sudden chilling coldness which was creeping into his very bones.

"The debt," he murmured, looking down at the rum bottle which was rocking slightly with the ship. "Davy Jones' debt." He had no times for questions of how this could happen, no time for anything really and his head was aching making it hard to think clearly.

"That's right Jack," his old friend said, a look of pity on his face. "He wants to collect on it."

Jack grabbed the rum bottle, making a face as if he was a man about to be hanged, or worse who had been forced to eat a bad cook's meal. "I need a drink," he said, about to tip it down, then he suddenly dropped it, it crashed on the boards of the Pearl, Jack barely noticed. His hand, the one with the old scar on it, was changing; something was spreading slowly on it, Jack quickly closed it as almost as if he was trying to hide it, he looked up at his old friend. "That's not supposed to happen I don't think," he said.

"You're a marked man Jack," his friend said, "You can't talk yourself out of this one," his voice was weak and barely audible, and then he was gone. There was silence…

"Right tell me about something dire and then leave," Jack growled, he quickly headed for the old doors of his cabin, he needed some fresh air, he stepped on the remnants of the rum bottle and looked down. The rum from Bill's bottle, which was on the other side of his desk, had completely disappeared, almost as if it had never been, there was only a light stain. The rum he had just dropped was slowly dripping away, the red liquid slipping between the boards. It ran together in one particular blot, leaving a large red stain on the black boards formed in a circular shape, the death mark one pirate sent to another to warn them they were coming. Jack knelt down, reached out to touch it, then quickly jerked his hand away, he was quiet sure that fresh air wouldn't make this go away and the he had definitely not yet experienced his first delusion, but had experienced a very bad encounter. The evidence of the reality of the matter was all there, right on his hand.

"This is definitely not good," Jack exclaimed, echoing words he had uttered in what seemed to be a happier time. He quickly ran up to the deck. They had a long way to sail, him and the Black Pearl, and so little time to do it in. He needed to think of a plan before Davy Jones made him eat his words, and actually collected on Jacks debt, whatever it was. At the moment Jack couldn't quite recall it, all that rum was making his head slightly cloudy, but he knew it couldn't be anything good. He quickly shoved his hand in his pocket, even looking at it made him slightly queasy, oh how Jack wished he had some rum left to drown his sorrows.

Hey, this was going to originally be a one shot, but people seemed to like it and you know what they say, give the people what they want. (lol). Anyway hope you like and appreciate your input, I don't know if I should continue or not, I think Boot Strap Bill's character was slightly shallow so sorry. Input would be appreciated and any ideas. How did you think the beginning was? Till the next update (if you wish for one lol). Please review and I shall not despair (lol)

Sairra : p