Feeling quite satisfied with herself, and with Elizabeth Turner, Alice Witter lay on the chaise in the captain's quarters, her grey gaze switching over the interior of the cozy space. Jack had most certainly seen to every detail—right down to the lovely family portrait that was now fastened to the wall—and she was particularly glad now for his insistence long ago to place a very plush, very posh chaise near the bookshelves. It was a very, very nice spot where to laze.

The only thing that would make her happier at that moment was the company of her two dear felines. She hoped for Captain Jack Sparrow's sake that he was seeing to their care, but moreso she hoped that he'd learned by now to pay them as much attention as was possible. Spoil them she had and spoiled so they were; and she couldn't help but worry a bit about what they might do if they were left to their devices for too long a time.

Not that it wouldn't be very much amusing to note his discovery of such a situation, Alice had to admit.

Far from them, and unable to keep either they or Jack out of trouble, she smiled and stretched on the velvet cushions. As it turned out, the ship Jack had seen built for the Turners had not only been well dressed, but also well built. It slipped smoothly through the waves, tilting only slightly with each. It was a steady ship, the Swan, and Alice wondered at it, thinking much of that which Jack had told her of Will Turner's father. Supposedly he'd been a steady man... save for his belief in the lost island and the lost sword and the gods with the ridiculous names.

As her gaze fell upon the parchment that was written in the man's hand, she rolled her eyes. Her gaze then fell upon the windows. Out them she looked—to the still and evermore darkening night around them—and sighed, aggrieved for having to put up with Jack's unending quest to make things right with a man who had left him behind.

Still she could not blame him. Afterall, the first thing she'd thought when hearing Neris out had been that it was Bootstrap Bill's essence guiding Jack to where might lie the lost island. It seemed a silly story to be sure, but stranger things had happened to the pirate she was secretly so fond of and she couldn't help but hope that if any of what seemed to be happening really was, it was as good as Jack claimed the lost man to be.

Without warning, a low chuckle sounded in her ears. Alice shivered. She shook her head to clear it, but the laughter was insistent and, frighteningly, not very amicable at all. It rose in volume. Reverberating in the very air around her, it seemed to fill the room but as she leapt to her feet and whirled 'round, she saw that Neris, sleeping peacefully upon several oversized cushions, had not stirred. The priestess that heard all was definitely not hearing what she was hearing. The realization put a chill in Alice Witter's bones and she shuddered, clutching her sides stupidly as if she might be able to fight the shiver that worked its way slowly up her spine to brush at the base of her neck.

A cold new horror washed over her then as she realized... it was as if fingers were playing in her hair.

Eyes wide, she whirled again, fully expecting to see the source of the sound. Instead she saw only the empty room lit by the singular lantern she'd deemed safe enough to keep aglow. To her horror the cackle increased in volume. It shook the air and flickered the flame and Alice gasped as she felt the shiver return to tease her hair. Instinct lifted her hands to the spot to swat, but she cursed it the moment she heard the laughter go quiet and felt the cold chill of death grip her wrists.

"Seems silly, miss?" The words, though a bit raspy, slithered as a snake too close to her ear. The same low chuckle she'd first heard sounded there as she struggled against its cold hold on her. "Can't say I don't agree with ye, Miss Witter. A shame i'tis Jack Sparrow hasn't your sense in his head, but then that's always worked to my advantage so I can't very well lament it much as you must."

"Barbossa!" Alice seethed with the fire of fury though tremble she did with frigid fear as trapped in the grip of Jack's mutinous first mate she was. Gulping back the lump in her throat, she grit her teeth and spat what she knew would knock him from his pedestal. "Or do you prefer Hector these days?"

The growl that rumbled in her ear she hadn't been prepared for, nor for the violent shove. It sent her out the balcony doors. Against the railing she fell, hitting her ribs hard. The impact knocked the breath from her, but it was not what made her eyes go wide. It was the sound of the locks turning in their tumblers, the sound that meant she was trapped with a ghost of a terrible man she did not trust.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

While Jack waited in his rather dark captain's quarters for Will to prepare himself for their swim, he sported with Cinder. With fluttering fingers he baited the cat into action. When the feline leapt for his dancing digits, he snatched them high where they could not be reached and grinned wickedly as the cat fell back to the floor and lashed its tail in wait. Ash watched with a certain detachment, and Jack couldn't help but think that the resemblance between the cat and the woman who'd spoiled her was uncanny.

For whatever reason, as Alice Witter's name crossed his mind, dread washed over him. Certainly such was nothing new, but that there was no reason for the heaviness that so suddenly befell him was quite perturbing in and of itself. Still gazing at Cinder he was but he'd felt himself sober. He knew he was frowning, he knew he was biting the inside of his lip, and he knew well that he'd paused in his playing as his fingers so high in the air had gone still and his arm stiff. Heavy it was with the weight of cold dread pressing down on him and so he lowered it, narrowing his eyes curiously all the while.

With a glance at the equally confused Cinder, he stood and lifted the lantern. Glancing about, he determined that nothing seemed any different than it had moments before. Upon the tray of trinkets his gaze lit. Slowly, cautiously, he crossed the cabin to it, set the lantern beside it, and glared down at all its sparkling contents. Therein were many dazzling bits of value, but he dug through them as if they mattered none, searching for one in particular for no particular reason he could discern. When he'd made a mess of the jewels enough that he was satisfied that the thing was not there, he glared once more at all the finery and turned, frowning down at his ringless fingers and in particular the one where the ring he had been looking for should have been.

Reaching behind him, he looted through the loot he'd only just made a mess of. The emerald he was so fond of he found without looking and brought it around to admire in the light of the lantern. On his index finger he slipped it, all the while glaring at the ring finger of the other hand. "But where did you go?"

"To gather my wits," Will's voice interrupted from somewhere above. Probably, Jack guessed, from the top of the stairs. "Have you yet managed to find yours?"

While usually such a question from the whelp earned a gripe or a grumble, or in some cases a grin, Jack's only response as he frowned down at the place where the ring with the smoky gem should have been was to consider what Will had asked. A stab of what was most likely irrational fear stuck him sharp and for just a moment he heard a hint of a hiss of the woman's name that bade his blood run cold—a chilling feeling that quite made him want to tell Will that they were definitely turning right back around and not bothering with any of this Antolune business—but then he caught the bright glow of the beacon out of the corner of his eye and he remembered William Turner. Warmth spread through him at the memory, the very thought of the friendly essence easing his mind. With a shake of his head, and an exasperated sigh, he lifted the lantern and ambled up the steps. At the top he cocked a brow at Will.

"Wasn't aware I was supposed to be looking for them."

Will folded his arms and tilted a glare at Jack. "That's comforting."

"What'll I be needing me wits for, again?" Jack wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and drew him close as he led them through his captain's quarters. "I've a compass. A swordsman—have you the blade?"

"Yes."

"And..." Throwing open the doors, he led Will amidst the whispers and mutters—and one particularly loud snarl from the woman who Jack had accidentally manhandled under the cloak of dark—toward the rail to motion with a sweeping gesture at the glowing orb of green. "A guiding light." After admiring its glow, he winked at Will. "Hardly think me wits'll be necessary in this case."

Will gave him a dubious look. His narrow eyes turned to the glowing orb hovering above the water it lit. The sword resting heavily in its protective sheath he patted at his side and turned to follow Captain Jack Sparrow's leading lantern across the Pearl. Startled he was when the pirate foisted the lantern at him but watched with amusement as Jack fumbled in the darkness for his first mate.

"Gibbs?" Jack stopped abruptly, having stridden straight into something solid. It had knocked him back a few paces, and he was fumbling for balance. Despite the utter darkness he leaned in close to whomever he was accosting and squinted to see them in vain. "That you, Mister Gibbs?"

A sharp caw of protest rang out. "Jack's rum'll do! Jack's rum'll do!"

"Apparently not," Jack said, falling back at the shrill voice of the parrot. He winced. "My apologies, Mister Cotton." Patting the man's other shoulder, he turned round, having heard footsteps behind him. "Gibbs!"

Rolling his eyes, Will lifted the lantern toward the crewman Jack was now reaching for. He arched a brow as three men came into view. Toddul and Lemmy stood back as the captain's hand stilled in the air, close to a shakier Shakes. The trembling pirate offered his irritated captain a trying smile but didn't much succeed as his face seemed to shiver it away. He took that very moment to sneeze, spraying Jack Sparrow's hand with a spattering of wet sheen. To his credit he managed to stay still long enough to mutter a shaky apology.

"Must be allergic to ye, Cap'n Sparrow," Toddul said.

Lemmy clucked his tongue. "Surely a shame, aye?"

Will held his laughter as Jack turned an aggrieved look at the tall man, but couldn't help chuckling a bit as the captain swiped his slimy hand on the hip of his pants. When Jack turned around, however, the chuckle died in his throat. His eyes narrowed angrily as the dissatisfied pirate rubbed dry his offended hand with Will's own shirtsleeve.

"Thanks," Jack told him, patting his wrist with the once-again dry hand as he turned back around to address the three pirates who'd by then scurried off to avoid his anger. Throwing his other hand angrily in the air, he spun around and cupped the other 'round his mouth. "Gibbs! Get yer bloody bum behind—"

"Right here, Cap'n."

Jack frowned.

With a shrug, Will lifted the lantern to illuminate the sailor standing stout to port. Gibbs' bushy brows rose at the scrutiny of both the men facing him. Blue eyes flit between them and a meaty hand grasped nervously for the flask looped around his thick neck. A sturdy drink he took from it, only to have it snatched by the captain and eyed up. Jack sniffed it, and his eyes narrowed. Corking it, he pointed it at the sailor and turned his narrow eyes on him.

"Seems we've a discussion to have on the matter of embezzlement, but I think you'd agree it can wait." Arching a brow at the sailor's sheepish shrug, he did not press the issue but rushed on to say what needed said. "Just as you and the crew'll wait for Mister Turner and I to return from our little dip in the dark."

"Well I hate to be the one to ask this, Cap'n," said Gibbs, "but what if ye don't return?"

Jack took the lantern from Will and handed it off to the sailor. Onto the rail he leapt, Will following after, and turned to Gibbs. A grin he flashed at him. "We will." With that, he dove into the darkness and disappeared from view. A splash later and Will shrugged at Gibbs. With a bit of a salute, he dove off the ship. Thrilling it was not to see where it was he was going and so he gave a cry of excitement. The sharp sting of a chilly sea cut him off. Kick up to the surface he did and followed blindly the slight shuddering sound that he knew was Jack treading the cold water.

"It's not very warm," Jack said, most likely with wide, sad eyes.

Will rolled his and reached for the pirate to tug him toward their intended goal—or what he assumed it was, anyway. "It'll be warmer," he promised even as he didn't know it to be true. Indeed, though, the water under the beacon looked much warmer than did their current surroundings. "Come on!"

"Yes—fine, alright," Jack grumbled, snatching his wrist away to follow after. "But for the record, Will, it's me who's in charge here, savvy?"

Will ignored him and swam on toward the beacon. The closer he got, the warmer the water was but it did not worry him. It seemed most comforting, in fact. When he was a few strokes away, he stopped and treaded water, waiting for Jack who was only a breath behind. The pirate paused as well, glancing first aside at him and then up at the beacon. Will arched a brow at him. "Well if you're in charge, Jack... tell me, what do we do now?"

As if in answer, the beacon beamed brilliant in the night, its brightness flaring as if a great green torch. As the both of them thought the same, glancing at each other, flames flickered to life around it and swished together in a swirl of light that brightened at its center. The yellow whirlwind of light sucked downward, whistling into a white whirlpool that shot down into the water like needled thread punched through a weaver's loom.

Jack frowned. "Perhaps I'm not in charge, afterall."

Will watched warily as Jack reached out to flick one of the threads with a fingertip. Caution rang its bell inside him and he batted the pirate's hand away. When Jack turned narrow eyes upon him, he rolled his and shook his head.

"I don't trust it."

Shocked cold he was when another thread spun out from the thing, and colder still when it whipped to whap him across the back of his head. Whirling, he smacked it away. Much offended was his neck, the spot where he'd been smacked chill gooseflesh, and he reached to comfort it. Simmering in anger, he glared at the thread that was being spun back up into the flaming green torch.

Jack's eyes, however, glimmered with amusement as he let loose a long- suffering sigh. "Aye," he told the green, "he has a problem thinking before speaking, he does. But then, he is your son."

Without warning, the thread shot back down and slapped Jack across the face. Will couldn't help but smirk as the pirate floundered, reeling in the water. "You deserved that."

Jack righted himself and glared at him. "That's debatable," he said, making certain to toss as dark a look at the beacon as well. "And that," he said, nodding at the thread which upon closer look seemed made of the light of moonbeams, "is tangible."

Will raised his brows.

"Means we can touch it," Jack explained, reaching out then and flicking one thread with a fingertip. It shivered as a string of a violin. "Taut, too." He tested it again and was pleased by its sturdy shudder. "Tied tight to something."

Will's brows knit. "Antolune?"

Jack glanced between the thread and Will and with a smile he wove fingers around it and was promptly swallowed by the water. Startled, Will looked down through that which was illuminated and noted wearily that the threads went beyond that which he could see—which did not include one hint of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Will turned his narrow gaze upon the thread of light that the pirate had grasped. "I still don't trust you," he told it, reaching behind his head for the other that was strung there. Just as a loose thread swung at his cheek, he took a deep breath, grabbed the taut line, and was drenched in darkness before the slap could find him.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

A murmur swept the deck of the Black Pearl. Jack's disappearance was one thing—aye, Gibbs thought, most of the crew knew Captain Jack Sparrow well enough to know he would resurface at some point—but Will Turner's following after? By all accounts, Bootstrap's boy had an odd knack for blindsightedness and Gibbs couldn't help but think that in the treacherous dark it seemed a particularly dangerous knack to have. It put the weight of dread in Gibbs' boots, it did.

"Alright, ye scobs," he growled at the crew, "stand ready at the wait—"

"Look! The light!"

Gibbs, slightly irritated he'd been interrupted, turned to gander out at the thing he'd only just looked away from. His blue eyes widened. They lit with the yellow fire that burst from it as it started sinking.

"Heaven's gates," he breathed. With a wince he turned toward Anamaria's snort. "S'bad luck to lose a guide's light."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Alice stared at the man who was supposed to be dead—and by the looks of him, the faint flickering of his very visage, he probably was—with what she was sure looked like hate but felt more like cold fear. The only thing she knew for certain was that it did not bode well to be locked away with Barbossa in any form and so she ran for the door, taking its latch in hand. Laugh he did as she tried in vain to turn it, to escape him, and then he grabbed her by the arms and turned her around to face him.

"Always been my preference to be referred to as... 'Captain'," he told her with a chuckle.

Alice had only laid eyes upon the man once in her life, and she had enjoyed it about as much then as she did now. As much being not much at all. Though he was certainly of stately stature befitting a captain, he had the eyes what matched his voice. They were the eyes of a snake, no less yellow than they had been when last she'd been forced to look up into them, and so fitting they were as that was indeed what she saw him to be.

As ready to strike he'd seemed only a moment earlier, his mask of fury faded to one of amusement. Chuckle again he did, and smiled smugly at her. "Consider me flattered, miss. Though I wouldn't expect a pretty little dove like ye to rightly admire the stealth with which the snake stalks his prey."

Seeing his golden eyes light on spot behind her, Alice turned and saw to her horror that a brown, black-eyed sparrow had perched upon the railing. It twittered oblivious, hopping this way and that on the rail. Too concerned with fluffing its feathers, it failed to notice the gnarled hand that swiped for it. Barbossa snatched it up and squeezed it in his hand, a chuckle more vicious than before rasping from his throat as the sparrow fought to free itself. Hissing, he squeezed it till a sickening squanch squashed it. The bird struggled no more. With a laugh he tossed it to the sea and turned on Alice, gaze afire with the promise of malice.

"I've been stalking mine, Miss Witter," he said; smile still upon his lips though his voice held no trace of it. "I've been stalking mine and though it puts a smile on my face to watch him squirm, I must admit I think it's at long last time to strike him down to hell where he belongs."

"It's you who belongs in hell," she hissed, taking a step back so as not to let him capture her as he had the bird, "you treacherous snake! Slither back!"

Barbossa chuckled and grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward him. Danger flashed in his eyes as well as his rankling, rotten grin. "Aye," he laughed, his cold grip on her tightening painfully as his calculating gaze bore through her, "I mean to, Alice Witter, but not before Jack Sparrow be damned to the hot fury of hell's cage!"

"Never to happen! He would fight it!"

"Oh, aye," said Barbossa with a smile, "that he will. That he will, Miss Witter, indeed he will struggle, and fight, and try to take flight—but try as he might, fight though he may, he'll struggle, well, for the rest of his endless days in eternity!" Too close for comfort, he waggled his brows. "I can't wait." His countenance changed to gauge her snarl of a reaction, and he cocked his head, eyes narrowing upon her. "Might I inquire, missy, just what the devil it is ye see in the fool to begin with?"

"You're the fool for asking," she grit through gnashed teeth. "You know well what it is—but I suppose I can not blame you for your curiosity as I'm sure it's something you never had!"

The ghastly ghost of a pirate grew furious in front of her eyes, his widening as his nostrils flared. He glowered at her, his grip squeezing hard her wrist and sending a shudder through her to her very core. "Curb yer tongue!"

Alice gasped, his grip surely tight enough to creak her bones, but she sneered through the pain as she knew she'd cut him. "You're wasting your breath," she told him, "if you think I'll take orders from a phantom who is not my captain." Emboldened by her words, she stood on tiptoe to glare at him, to bare her teeth. "I'll not."

Frustrated, Barbossa tossed her aside and flung a hand in the air. "Fine. Tisn't as though I need your respect to do what it is I intend to." He turned then and swept off his wide-brimmed hat, the half plume of feather fluttering in the air as he pressed the thing to his chest. "Tell me, are ye a faithful woman, missy?"

She righted herself, clutched her smarting wrist, and glared at him. "Perhaps."

"Then I might suggest that perhaps ye start praying."

Alice's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

Barbossa chuckled and his eyes glinted as a smug smile lifted his lips. "Forgiveness."

With that, Alice felt herself being smothered by the snake's sickening kiss of death. Giving a cry of protest, she tried desperately to pull away but could not. The last thing she heard was that terrifying cackle she knew meant trouble and she hoped that Jack Sparrow was keeping well out of it. It was then that she was swallowed whole and the world went utterly black.