A/N:I was going to give you a really small bit to split up the scenes and stop me from giving you too much but it looked too measly and I wrote another chapter this morning anyway. I'll just put a line break where the scene changes, so idk, if you felt like pacing yourself you can read up to the line and pretend it's another chapter after. Enjoy, (runs away to finally get some work done).


Meanwhile, the three on the path had sat in disconcerted silence. Jack was having little luck in trying to extricate himself from the liquorice cord. He had thought about using his powers of persuasion upon either of his guards to set him loose. The young boy certainly seemed impressionable, but – as for Mr Rainey – there was something about a man who looked as though he'd been dragged sidelong through every hedge in a global radius that fuelled Jack's doubt.

He glanced over at Edward who was shearing patterns in the grass with his hands.

"I don't suppose you've ever considered a career on the open seas?"

Edward paused in snipping to give him a wistful look.

"See, it occurs to me," Jack continued, "that with your particular attributes you'd make a fine nautical man."

"Do you mean a pirate?" Edward asked.

Captain Sparrow feigned innocence.

"Pirate's such a broad term. What is a pirate but a man who asks for freedom and the right to live by 'is own rules, eh? All he needs is a boat under 'is feet and the clothes on 'is back."

"And everything else he poaches off other people," said Mort.

Jack scowled, but only for a moment.

"Jus' think about it Eddie, with 'ands like yours, no one would ever think of messin' with you. You could 'ave anything you ever dreamed of. O' course you'd need someone to steer the ship, but I'd bet those things could cut through rope like grapefruit."

"And the first storm you hit, the kid will rust."

Jack's fingers twitched, straining for the hilt of his cutlass. Mr Rainey moved with surprising speed. As though he had read the pirate's mind, he dashed up and shoved him backwards, pressing a tattered slipper firmly into Jack's chest.

Mort reached down, unbuckled Jack's weapons and slung them over his own shoulder. Captain Sparrow gritted his teeth as the crushing weight made the cord bite his wrists.

"Mr Rainey," he said in a venomously saccharine tone. "I'd advise you not to proceed in your current course of action… and get your bloody mitts off me effects!"

Morton fixed him with a cold stare.

"I'd advise you, Mr Sparrow, to watch your temper. I don't like it when my own fabrications threaten me."

Jack quieted, a chill running the length of his spine. He watched as the man pinning him flexed his jaw in a disturbing manner before lifting his foot. As Mort began to wander some distance away, Jack pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Does it not strike you as odd that these figments of yours act on their own whims?" he called. "Why did your foot not pass through me, hmm? How come we bleed?"

Mr Rainey turned, seeking explanation. Jack nodded towards the boy.

Edward lay trembling on his back, the blades of his hands rattling in midair. As Mort had made his rush at Jack, he had been knocked aside. A thin stream of red crossed his cheek.

"It doesn't prove you exist," said Morton, frostily.

"Aye, but I would have thought you'd be willing to accept. Or are you so determined to prove that you're insane?"

Mort ripped Jack's pistol from its holster and aimed it dead centre at the red bandanna. Edward stirred, getting to his feet. Jack shook his head.

"Stay where you are, boy," he said. "Not worth gettin' killed over."

But Edward's expression was firm. He took a step towards Mort. The pistol swung around to face him.


Ichabod was once again patting his brow with a handkerchief, his face almost as pale as the chocolatier's.

"I don't quite know what to say."

"You have to do something," said Mr Wonka. "You're the detective guy."

The constable grimaced.

"But the spade-."

"Yeah."

"And the thing with the -?"

"Screwdriver."

William gave a smile that was half wince.

"Surely he'll not harm any of us?" said Crane, anxiously. "We've done nothing to remind him of past grief or circumstance. Perhaps it would be best to let him believe what he wants to and in the meantime repair your machine?"

"That could work," Mr Wonka agreed. "So long as we don't leave him alone with anyone that's likely to hassle him."

It took half a second for them to meet each other's gaze. The chocolatier and the constable bolted back across the grass in time to see Mort aiming a pistol at Edward. Ichabod pulled out his own firearm, much to William's alarm.

"Lay down your weapon, Mr Rainey. I assure you I'm a faultless shot."

Mr Wonka hissed urgently, "What happened to the 'letting him believe what he wants to' strategy?"

A fit of panic had taken over Mort. He could scarcely believe he was in this strange place let alone pointing a gun at anyone. He shook his head as though fighting an inner voice, giving Edward time to edge nearer to Jack. Mort clutched his head suddenly, letting his gun hand drop. When his moment of pain ceased, he turned to observe Ichabod.

"Who d'you think you're pointin' at, Mr Crane?"

The others shivered. Mort's voice had slipped into a harsh Texan drawl. William whimpered and crouched low, pulling his hat over his eyes.

"Mr Rainey?" Ichabod asked, uncertainly.

"I ain't the one to go by that name, detective. Mr Rainey don't got the guts to cope with this kinda situation."

Constable Crane remained calm.

"Then let me guess. You would be Mr John Shooter?" he said.

Edward frowned at Jack, wondering if he was the only one who didn't understand.

"Don't look at me, mate. I think the stress 'as gotten to young Bodders too."

"It seems Mr Rainey here," Ichabod resumed, "has the unfortunate curse of a schism in his mind. It is through sheer misery that he unwittingly manufactured a second personality, one stronger and more ruthless than the other. One that goes by the name of Shooter, is that not right?"

"I'm more real than you'll ever be, Mr Crane," said Mort. "But you're right. I am stronger than Mr Rainey, a darn sight more 'telligent too. More so than you I'd wager."

Crane still did not move, ever watchful of Mort's gun.

"If that indeed were true, I think you would have dropped arms for fear of startling someone of less wit into shooting at you."

Mr Rainey gave a crooked smile.

"You can't shoot me."

"I will not if you cease this madness," said Ichabod.

Mort began to walk towards the constable, inch by inch.

"I didn't say you won't shoot me, Mr Crane. I said you can't. For starters, you ain't real, and second, if you do, can you guarantee that you won't blast a hole in the fabric of existence?"

Ichabod twitched.

"Is there anyone in this place who hasn't studied philosophy?" he hissed in the general direction of Mr Wonka.

Jack raised a hand.

"You're supposed to be tied up," Crane said irritably, keeping his pistol on target.

The pirate pointed to Edward who was shredding the rope of liquorice into tiny pieces.

"An' you're supposed to be watching the loony with my pistol," he replied.

Mort was now only a few feet away from the barrel of Ichabod's gun.

"Stop there!" Crane snapped. "I'm warning you."

"Then go ahead and shoot, Mr Constable," Mort goaded. "If you're willing to risk the futures of everyone in this room and anyone they're likely to meet."

"If you believed that you wouldn't be threatening people with Mr Sparrow's weapon. Now put the gun down."

Mr Rainey's arm raised just as Jack bolted forwards to intercept him. He struck the pistol from the constable's hand, catching Ichabod off balance. Mort fired.

William had covered his eyes. He crouched next to Edward who was staring ahead in horror. The chocolatier parted his gloves to see the constable's limp form roll before them. He gasped. With one hand still clutched tightly to his cane he reached out and tapped Crane's body.

"He, he's-."

Ichabod groaned, his eyelids flickering.

"He's okay!"

But Edward was elbowing Mr Wonka, the tips of his scissor hands in line with the man standing ahead. Mort stood with a grim expression, the pistol in his hand smoking.

At his feet lay the pirate.

Mr Rainey stepped over the body and advanced on the three companions. Both William and Edward rose, cane and scissors trembling, each trying to protect the other like brothers in arms.

"You killed him," Edward lamented.

Mort aimed the gun just below Mr Wonka's hat.

"What have you done?" the chocolatier yelped.

Mort pulled the trigger. The faint 'click' was the most deafening sound in the entire Chocolate Room.

"I'll tell you what 'e's done," came a voice from behind him. "Used my last ruddy bullet."

Jack stood, healthy as ever, his arms folded across his chest.

"So, seeing as that's useless," he nodded at the weapon. "I'll be 'aving it back."

Mr Wonka cheered.

"You should be dead," Mort growled.

"It's a fair point to be sure, but what can I say? Hell's too cold for the likes of meself. Savvy?"

Mr Rainey's eyes searched the ground until they came across Ichabod's pistol, an inch from Jack's boots. Jack followed his gaze and grinned cheerily. He picked the gun up between finger and thumb and let it dangle in front of him.

"I'm awfully sorry, mate. Were you looking for this?"

Jack gave the pistol a fleeting glance before hurling it across the sugar-grass hill behind him. As soon as Mort made to go after it, the pirate tackled him. The others watched dazedly as the pair, locked in a hair-pulling battle, tumbled off down the path.

Ichabod sat up, hand to his aching temple.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Mr Morton and the pirate seem to be heading for my chocolate river," said William. "And you sure scared the bejesus out of us."

The constable sighed.

"I do wish you'd speak English, man."

He got to his feet and peered after the rolling brawl. Looking back to the rest of the spectators, he pointed to Mr Wonka's cane.

"I don't suppose I could borrow that a moment?"