Jack Sparrow opened his eyes slowly. Images swam in front of his eyes. Sunlight through bars, still in the cell then, honey-blonde hair, brown eyes. He tried to focus.
"Elizabeth?"
"You said that before."
"Who then?"
"Anne."
"Anne?"
"Anne Turner."
"Little Annie..." The world went black once more.
The guards told her he'd been brought in by bounty hunters. Commodore Gillette had been more than happy to pay them, despite the naval policy on receiving tortured prisoners. He had been tried immediately while he was still able to stand but after that he had been left to rot in his cell until the day of his hanging. Now he had a fever, his whole body shivered as his clothes soaked themselves in sweat. He faded in and out of consciousness and was only vaguely coherent. The whole cell stank and was covered in filth. He didn't eat anymore, if he was awake when they brought his food he shrank away from them and cowered in the corner like an animal.
"It's sad," said one of them, a thick set guard with dark hair and large eyes, "my dad met 'im once. Always said he was a one. Talkative and full of trickery. Wanted to meet 'im again but I wouldn't let 'im, thought it might upset 'im. Always speaks very fondly of Captain Sparrow does my dad."
It took Anne three days to get his fever down. She got him moved to a new, specially cleaned, cell with fresh straw on the floor and even a mattress. She cleaned him up, sluicing the hot, soapy water over his tanned body. He twitched painfully when she washed his back, there were long gashes in his flesh there, as though he had been flogged and strips of his shirt were stuck there with blood and sweat.
The ugly knot of blood and bruising on his forehead was swollen and in danger of going septic and she did her best, cleaning it out and tying a fresh linen bandage around his head. She borrowed some of her uncle's old clothes to dress him in and even found a piece of red cloth to make a new bandana. Eventually his unconsciousness turned to the sleep of the exhausted invalid and he didn't toss so much, he stopped mumbling. Anne sat with him long into the night and returned early each morning. On the morning of the fifth day she arrived to find him awake and sitting up, propped in the corner, the mattress folded up around his back to protect it from the rough wall.
"Good morning," she said, smiling broadly as she unlocked the door and slipped into the little room that had been the focal point of her life for the past few days.
"So you're my angel of mercy are you?" he replied, scrutinizing her closely.
"Yes," she paused and her smile left her, "my name is Anne Turner."
"I know. You couldn't be anyone else." A gold capped grin spread across his face. "I knew your mother. I swear you look just like her. At least you don't look like that father of yours, how is the whelp by the way?"
She stared at him in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand you Mr Sparrow."
"Captain love, it's Captain Sparrow or Jack."
"And which do you prefer?"
"Depends," he shifted a little uncomfortably, "seems I recall you used to call me uncle Jack when you was a nipper, but of course you had an uncle James as well an' you used to get us mixed up 'cause you was too small to know. Used to get right up ol' Norrington's nose that did, course I wasn't best pleased about it either but then... I don't suppose you remember any of that."
"Are you trying to tell me that we know each other Captain?" Anne's head was reeling but there was something oddly familiar in his voice, his light tone, his warm brown eyes.
"No, we don't know each other, not anymore." The grin fled from his face as he spoke then returned just as quickly. "I don't suppose you have anything for me to eat?"
Jack ate like a ravenous horse, wolfing down the fruit and bread she had brought, just in case. He also drank a whole pitcher of water, which was understandable considering the amount he had sweated in the last few days. When he was finished he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at her thoughtfully. Anne had kept silent while he ate but now she could contain herself no longer.
"My uncle told me you were a pirate."
"Best damn pirate on the Spanish Maine love."
"Then it's true?"
"Of course it's true. Now don't tell me you've never heard the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow and the Black Pearl?" She shook her head in wonder.
"What's the Black Pearl?"
"She was the best ship ever to grace the water. Fast as the wind and strong as an ox, and her crew were the best I ever sailed with. The second lot that is, Gibbs, Anna-Maria, Cotton and his bloody parrot and all the other seadogs."
"Where are they now?" she asked excitedly, her face flushed with the image of a majestic black ship and her rag-tag crew.
"You really are like your mother you know, she was fascinated with pirates just like you are." Anne's face hardened at his mention of her mother.
"I am not fascinated, I merely asked a question." She instantly regretted her sharp tone but Jack flashed her a smile.
"Sorry love, I shall endeavour only to comment on those things asked of me."
"So what happened to them?" she asked in a kinder tone. The elderly pirate's face turned suddenly serious and the years seemed to pile upon him.
"All gone," he said sadly, staring forlornly up at the golden square of light that was the window. "All gone now."
"Dead?"
"Mostly. Some of the crew moved on, things got too hot for 'em. Gibbs got old, too old, died in his sleep one night. Then I lost the Pearl."
"How?" Anne was breathless with anticipation of the tale but her heart went out to him at the same time, there was such emotion, such loss in his voice.
"We'd just raided a Spanish merchant ship, good haul. We had a big celebration, rum all 'round. We were all asleep when the storm struck, when it was done we were listing, near to scuppers when they attacked us. Pirates of one form or another, right black-heated sods they were. Poor old Cotton got a sword in his gut, near 'nough sliced 'im in two. They even wrung the neck of his parrot. The Pearl went down, I would have gone with her save that damn girl Anna knocked me out and dragged me to one of the boats and away. I never really forgave her for that. Maybe I should have, she swung for thieving the year after, I didn't find out 'till it was too late. Someone told me the priest asked her for her last words and she said, "Long live Jack Sparrow, even the devil wouldn't take him in!" Sounds like her anyway," he stopped and glanced up at Anne and smiled weakly, "and now I'm a poor old man waiting to die in another man's clothes, and the only person who might care doesn't know who I am. Shame ain't it."
Anne coloured at his words and felt suddenly ashamed of herself.
"I do care," she murmured, "but I just don't remember you." There was a long silence. "If you knew me when I was little," she began.
"How come your parents never mentioned me?"
"Yes." Jack looked away.
"Your dad an' me had a bit of a falling out when you was about five. Nothing I could do about it, nothing anyone could do about it, not even old Norrington or your granddad. Turners always were stubborn an' your old man was even worse than his before 'im. So he packed up his family and shipped back to England where, I hear he has done quite nicely for himself."
"Yes, although he has never been quite the same since mother died..." Now it was her turn to look away. Jack's voice, when he spoke was soft and kind.
"I heard about that. I wanted to go to the funeral but... I didn't think it would be quite right. I'm not a religious man Miss Turner but I swear to you that I offered up a prayer to whatever God might have been listening that she got as good a lot in death as she did in life. She was a good woman, kind hearted and beautiful." He patted her shoulder gently. "Let's talk about something else."
And so they did, or rather Jack talked and Anne listened. He was a wonderful story teller, his voice rose and fell in a mesmerising rhythm and he waved his hands in the air to illustrate his speech. He was often interrupted by fits of coughing that wracked his body for a few moments, but they soon passed and he insisted that he was alright so she let him continue.
Late in the afternoon he fell asleep and she left him, climbing the small flight of stairs into the fresh air.
"How is he miss?" asked the guard at the entrance.
"Much better today Mr Mullroy."
"Good, my dad will be ever so pleased when I tell him."
