Well… I feel the need to say that I've been a bit discouraged lately. This story has gotten very few reviews… so, if you've been reading this, and haven't reviewed it yet… please do! You don't have to review every chapter that's up… but try to make an effort to do the new ones, ok?
Three more things before we get to it. One, there is lots of angst and torture in this chapter (okay, maybe not lots, but some), so please observe the rating. Two, I put up another fic, a Jack/Anamaria fic called "Wanted". The summary's really bad, but if you like that sort of thing, check it out! (It's rated M though, so be warned.) Thirdly, if I ever go a really long time without updating or something, you can check out my profile. I usually try to say why on there. It'll be in bold, too, so you don't have to read through the whole thing if you don't want to.
Okay, okay… you can read the story now!
The pain had mostly faded to an agonizing ache by now. Jack was glad. It was a substantial improvement.
The crew- Barbossa's man every one, they always had been, how could he have been so blind?- had tortured him for hours.
Jack had been beat before. He had gained many minor wounds in battle and even a few serious ones. Growing up, he had had the crap beaten out of him by his father on a regular basis.
But none of it had been able to hold a candle to this.
First they surrounded him and beat him, hitting and kicking in any place they could reach. Jack bore it alright until Bo'sun, the huge black man who was known by no other name, kicked him in the crotch, causing him to cry out in spite of himself. They laughed at him then, but he ignored them.
But that was only the beginning. They tied him to the mast in a position where he couldn't see behind him. So, he was unprepared when the whip hit him.
Jack stood it for as long as he could, but he had never been lashed before, and the pain was so great… finally, as the whip bit into his already bloody and torn open skin, he screamed. But they didn't stop. They had broken him. Now their fun could begin.
Finally, Jack just hung there. His only reaction to the whip was a twitch and a wince. Involuntary tears streamed down his face. The inclusive pain was so great that the individual strikes of the lash didn't hurt anymore. He had already emptied the contents of both his stomach and his bladder onto the deck, to the delight of the crew.
Shortly after he reached that state, they cut him down, and he fell to the deck at once, his legs too tired to support him. Someone grabbed him, but he was too tired to lift his head and find out who.
He was unconscious before they got him to the brig.
He woke up sometime later, and managed to get up into a sitting position. The cold metal of the cell bars felt good against his burning back. He registered that his hat was gone, though he had no recollection of losing it.
He hadn't been awake for long when he heard the trapdoor that led down to the brig creak open and someone's voice calling his name.
"Bugger off," he replied, alarmed at how hoarse his voice sounded. He scarcely recognized it!
Bill (for of course it was he) was alarmed too. He hadn't been able to get away from the sounds of the crew torturing Jack last night, not matter how hard he tried. He had felt his heart break for his friend a million times- now; as he descended the stairs to the belly of the ship bearing bandages and water to wash Jack's wounds, it broke again.
"Jack?" he said, moving toward the cells. "It's me."
"I know." Jack replied. "Bugger off."
"Jack- just let me help."
" 'Ow are you goin' to help me?"
"I just want to-" he stopped abruptly. The brig was very dark, and, even though he had come there from below decks, Bill's eyes still needed to adjust.
What made Bill stop talking was that his eyes had adjusted almost fully by then, and he had seen Jack. Or rather Jack's back. Bill knew he must be hurt bad, but this? The mass of still-bleeding welts was worse than he had expected.
"Barbossa know you're here, mate?" Jack asked.
"Yeah." Bill replied. He opened the door to Jack's cell and stepped in. "Turn around," he said.
Jack complied, and winced when the wet rag touched his skin.
"Sorry." Bill said. "You needed to be cleaned up, is all."
"What's the point?" Jack asked. "He's gonna kill me in the end, right?"
Bill hesitated, unwilling to tell Jack the truth but utterly unable to lie.
"Tell me.'' Jack said calmly.
"Yeah." Bill said again. "Yeah, he is."
"How?"
"Dunno."
"Liar."
Bill was silent for a long moment, then he said- "I think he was plannin' to maroon you." he said softly.
Cars were, of course,
invented a while after this, but if they had been around then
Bill
surely would have described the look on Jack's face as a 'deer in
headlights' sort of expression. Then Jack composed himself and the
normal (or at least, normal for him) look resumed its position on his
face.
"I see," was all Jack said.
They were silent as Bill washed and bandaged Jack's wounds. When Bill was done, he stood and gathered up his supplies. He made to leave, but Jack stopped him.
"William," he said.
"Aye?"
"It's all right." Jack said. "Don't keep blamin' yourself. I know ye had to do it. I don't blame ye."
"Jack-" Bill said, uncomprehending. "I betrayed you! I-"
"You went along with a mutiny you were powerless to stop. You were thinkin' of yer family first, that's how it should be." Jack said firmly.
"But if I had helped you, if I had been on your side-"
"If you had you'd be in the cell next to me." Jack interrupted. "There's nothin' to forgive, but you seem to think there is, so- I forgive you."
Bill shook his head. "No. I don't deserve it."
He left before Jack could stop him.
-
The entire crew turned out at high noon to see Jack marooned. The hot Caribbean sun flashed down on them, its happy rays a cruel mockery of the drama that played out below.
Bo'sun brought the former captain up from the brig himself. Jack stood tall and proud as he was led up on deck. He wouldn't let them see him break. Not again.
The crew had lined up single file. The line went from the trapdoor leading below to the plank Barbossa had set up. The man himself stood at the end, facing Jack. Jack resisted the urge to laugh when he saw the plank. It seemed rather stereotypical to him.
Now, why did he want to laugh? Why the hell? He had lost his ship, and would shortly loose his life. The only explanation was that he must be going crazy. Yes, I'm going crazy, he thought obscurely. Good. That's okay then.
Halfway down the line, Jack stopped. He stood in front of Bill.
"William-" he began, but Bill shook his head.
"Here," he said, stepping forward. In his hand, he held out Jack's hat.
Jack smiled ruefully, looking down at his bound hands.
Bill hesitated for a moment; then placed the hat on Jack's head himself.
"Thanks, mate," Jack said softly.
Bill shook his head. "Thank you."
For what? Jack wondered, but then he knew- for his forgiveness.
"Don't mention it," he said.
"You'll be alright." Bill said.
Jack shook his head. "Nah, I won't," he said regretfully.
"Yeah you will." Bill said confidently.
" 'Ow come?"
"Because. You're Captain Jack Sparrow."
Bo'sun had had enough. "Alright, Sparrow, let's go. Bootstrap, get back in line!"
Bill stepped back into place.
When Jack reached the end of the line, Barbossa held out a pistol. (In accordance with the ship's articles, a marooned member of the crew must be given a pistol with one shot and a flask of water.) Jack took it and tucked it into his belt, as best he could with his hands tied.
"What about the water?" he asked.
"What water?" Barbossa asked innocently.
Cold fear seeped into Jack's stomach. "You know very well what I mean."
"The arrangement of a flask of water was in your articles. Mine are a bit different." Barbossa informed him.
"You cheating-"
"I did nothing of the sort. Articles vary from captain to captain, you know that as well as I do."
Jack was silent, because this was true.
Barbossa cleared his throat. "Well then, if we have nothing more to say to one another…" he gestured toward the plank, his meaning clear.
Jack didn't respond for a moment, wondering what would happen if he just shot Barbossa where he stood. He could certainly kill him at this range, and he did have surprise on his side…but the crew was loyal to Barbossa, not him, so the outcome would be the same- death, possibly a worse fate than the one that faced him now.
But- to be marooned? To die from lack of food and water? Jack was sure there were worse deaths, but this one was definitely in the top twenty.
"What are you thinking about, Sparrow?" Barbossa asked quietly. "Thinking about being all alone on that island? Thinking about being left alone with… temptation?" he punctuated the last word with a glance at the gun.
Temptation. Jack knew what he meant by that. The gun gave those marooned means to end their lives with minimal suffering, but everyone knew that suicide damned you to hell.
"I'm thinkin' you wouldn't be quite so ugly if you didn't smirk so much, mate." Jack replied. "Didn't your mother ever tell you your face would get stuck like that?"
"If it does, you won't be around to see it, will you?" his former first mate said. "I grow tired of dealing with your impertinence, Sparrow. Get off my ship."
Jack's eyes glinted dangerously. "She's not your ship. She'll never be your ship."
He stepped onto the plank and walked to the end of it. He had never fainted in his life but right now felt as if he might.
He turned around. The crew had congregated around the side of the ship, watching him. He scanned them until he found Bill standing against the railing.
Jack lifted his bound hands and touched his forehead in a salute. Bill returned the gesture. I'm sorry, he mouthed, but Jack shook his head. The time for apologies had passed long ago.
Jack turned to face the island once again. He took a deep breath and stared into the clear cerulean water. He hesitated for a fraction of a second-
-then plunged into the water.
Jack swam to shore and found a sharp shell, which he used to cut his bonds. He barely registered his surroundings. He turned to look out at the ocean.
The Pearl, his Pearl was sailing away. She had betrayed and abandoned him as thoroughly as Barbossa had, and he felt a stab of pain. He'd scarcely had her two weeks, but he had grown to love her.
Jack had never loved a woman. He had once told Bill, smiling mischievously, that he had little use for women outside of the bedroom, and it was true. Women were pretty, sure, and great to have in bed with you, but he didn't understand all that stuff and nonsense about falling in love.
But with the Pearl, he could get a taste of that. When he held the wheel in his hands, when she rocked gently against the waves-
-and now she was gone. Gone, and he was going to die, here, alone.
The horrible finality of the situation then hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.
It was over. He had lost. Lost the chance to be great- lost it, along with the chance to live.
A memory tugged at him, and he remembered his father's years to him four years ago: In this family, things happen…this family is cursed, Jack. And then hadn't his father foreseen something like this? You still could fail…anything could happen! The ship could sink, or your crew could turn on you…
He had failed. He had been warned but for better or for worse his damn pride wouldn't let him listen. But could you really count that as a warning? His father had just been raving about a curse that may or may not exist!
But it didn't. It didn't exist.
"If it doesn't exist," Jack murmured, "Then I won't die here."
Any other person might have taken that as evidence that the curse was real, given the odds of survival, but not Jack Sparrow.
"Well," he said out loud. "That's alright then."
He set off to explore the island.
There wasn't much to look at. Grass, trees, and sand were about it. He had been hoping to find some wildlife he could eat, but there was nothing.
Jack sighed and sat down, leaning against a palm tree. He would think of something, he was sure of it. He just needed time, and fortunately that was the one thing that he had in abundance. He leaned his head against the tree, too.
Thunk.
He frowned. Was that normal? He repeated the action.
Thunk.
Realization dawned for Jack. He rapped on the trunk of the tree. It was clearly hollow.
He stood up and studied it thoroughly. There were five tally marks cut into the trunk, along with an arrow pointing-
Where? Jack looked, but there was nothing in that direction, just more trees.
Five. What did that mean? Five trees that way? Five feet? Five steps?
The last theory was testable, he decided. He took five large steps in the direction the arrow pointed, and looked around. Now what?
Creak.
Wait a minute, he thought. Is the ground supposed to do that? He jumped a little. More creaks. The ground gave slightly beneath him. Interesting.
Smiling slightly, Jack began to dig.
-Two months later-
It was a rainy, dreary day and the streets of Tortuga were under crowded as a result. Most of the town was huddled around their respective fires, complaining about the weather.
The rain didn't stop Jack from his business, however. He walked through it, uncaring. He didn't hurry or duck under overhangs and awnings. He walked as he would ordinarily. He seemed not to notice he was being rained on.
The lot was deserted, its occupants gone elsewhere to escape the rain. Jack found his father sitting under the overhang of the next building down, watching the rain. He didn't acknowledge Jack when he sat down next to him. He was watching a bucket that was precariously balanced half-on, half-off a roof across the street. Jack watched it too.
After a few seconds, the bucket fell off the roof, spilling a large quantity of water with it.
Tom turned to Jack. "So they mutinied." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah." Jack said quietly.
"I heard you'd been marooned."
"I was."
Tom's eyes bulged out. "An' you survived?"
Jack grinned. "I was fine."
"How…?"
Jack opened his mouth to say something, thought better and shut it, opened it again and said, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, repeating what William had said. "Ain't that enough?"
His father grunted. "I wouldn't joke if I were you. Do ye believe you're cursed now?"
Jack hesitated. "I'm not saying it exists an' I'm not sayin' it don't."
"Good enough, I guess."
"Why-" Jack begun to speak, but stopped.
"Why what?"
"Why does crap happen?"
His father was silent for a moment. "Sometimes life is like that bucket, Jack," he said finally. "It teeters on the brink of the edge for a while, and sometimes it gets so full of water it falls off."
"An' you're saying that things are never gonna get better?"
"That seems to be the way of the curse." Tom replied.
Jack stood. "Then I can't believe in it. I can't believe that we're doomed and there's nothing we can do about it."
"You gotta do what yeh think is right."
"I'll see you later." Jack said.
His father nodded.
Jack stepped back into the rain and walked away in it.
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