I'm the shadow behind you
that you can't see
but you know it's there
The day is rising
and I'm fading away
Daytime has made you free
but only for today
Dusk is falling
and once again
I'm in your head
I'm your nightmare,
fantasy and insanity
Only thing you see…
So walk a little closer
and give your life to me...
Norther, "Midnight Walker"
Chapter 4
James was having that nightmare again.
The same one that he always had, or had been having, ever since the day that he had relinquished Elizabeth to Will Turner.
Only this time, it was different.
"James, James is that you?"
He could tell that something was wrong by the way she looked at him. Elizabeth's mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. "James!" She cried once more, running towards him, her white dressing billowing out behind her.
She fell into his arms, a fragile work of art, and James caught her with strong, confident arms. He looked into her blessed face, confused and bothered by her distress.
"James," she cried pitifully, her fingers in a death grip against his collar.
He was wearing his Commodore's uniform.
"Oh, James." He watched as she back away from him slowly, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
"Elizabeth." The loss of her warmth in his arms felt as if a part of him had been torn away. "Elizabeth what—". But James's throat went dry. Elizabeth's white dress was now stained red, covered in blood. "Oh God Elizabeth—"
James went still. Something was warm on his chest, something sticky. Something like…
Blood. His blood. Elizabeth's dress was covered in his blood. He looked down. The entire front of his uniform was soaked through. With a cry of surprise, he tore his vest and shirt straight down the middle, only to find a bullet hole clean through the left side of his chest, gushing blood.
Strange, though. He didn't feel any pain.
"How do I make it stop?" Elizabeth's voice was barely a whisper.
"I—." He paused, looking up at her. "I don't think you can." More blood. Blood everywhere.
They were in a ballroom, the ballroom at the governor's mansion. Somewhere in the background, a string quartet was playing a soft melody.
"Elizabeth," James said softly. "Will you dance with me?"
The tears were still in her eyes, but she nodded, coming into his arms easily. They danced beautifully together, two aristocrats who had been raised in society all of their lives, trained in the social skills that would have made their marriage such an incredibly opportune match.
With every step they took, James bled. Elizabeth's dress grew redder.
"I wish I could make the blood stop." Elizabeth whispered in his ear.
"You can," came a voice from behind, and all of a sudden Elizabeth froze in James's arms. Both looked down; someone had thrust a blade straight through Elizabeth's back and clean through her stomach.
With a gasp she fell to her knees and James with her, cradling her bleeding body in his arms.
As Elizabeth's blood spilled, James's began to disappear.
"Elizabeth, no!" He cried, but the wedding dress that she wore only took on more blood, this time her own.
Above them both, Evelyn Beckett stood, a bloody saber in her right hand.
James sat bolt upright in bed, his hair plastered to his face and neck with sweat.
He looked down at his chest, as he always did after that dream, his hands grabbing frantically at the slick skin, just to check that his heart was still beating, whole and where it should be. He took a deep breath, and then another, and another still, until he could hear the thunder of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.
The dream had never ended like that before.
Usually he and Elizabeth just danced as he bled, and the dream seemed to go on forever, beautiful and terrible all at the same time.
But this time, Evelyn Beckett had invaded it with a sword.
James was on his feet in an instant, terrified that the image of Beckett holding that sword over Elizabeth would make him ill. With a violent shake he threw open the French doors to his balcony, falling onto the balustrade and taking in gulp after gulp of the sweet night air.
He could hear the insects in the bushes all over the island, could feel the warm breeze as it combed through his sticky, sweat soaked hair. Against the black ocean, a silver moon cast an eerie glow.
"Elizabeth," he whispered to the sea.
But the sea did not answer.
"My Lady really, you look beautiful."
"I look like a bloody potato."
Evelyn crossed her arms and pouted, her gaze caught in the mirror that held her reflection. On the other side of the bedroom door, the maid that had been assigned to her, Marie, kept begging entry.
"Madame please, I need to dress you for the day."
Evelyn shook her head. "If you think that I'm walking outside once more, then you are sadly mistaken." From behind the door, she heard the maid sigh in frustration. Well what did the girl want form her, honestly? For an entire week Evelyn had been in Port Royale, taking tea with the local women in town, walking along the docks with the other women her age (all of whom were married) and at all times doing her best to avoid James Norrington. The women of Port Royale all knew that she was his fiancée, but they received her more as Lord Cutler Beckett's sister.
No one seemed to want to talk about her fiancé.
Which, for Evelyn, was perfectly fine.
But if she had to go out again, Evelyn feared that she might begin to look like a wild woman. Her skin, which the grey skies of London had kept a perfectly pale shade of crème for twenty four years, was suddenly golden, bronzed in a most uncivilized way by the Caribbean sun. The small hats that were now in fashion could in no way shield the entire face, and Evelyn had always been of the persuasion that parasols looked absolutely ridiculous. They were nothing but glorified umbrellas, and umbrellas looked idiotic when it wasn't raining. Her hair had also been violated by the sun, the dark ebony color having been bleached by the harsh rays. Now in the light, hints of red and cooper would glow against the dark backdrop of curls.
And God almighty would this heat never quit! Paradise? What fool had called this paradise! The Caribbean was much too hot to be paradise. Clearly, they were all in hell. Heat produced sweat and Evelyn had never been partial to sweat. It usually did no one justice.
Beyond the door, she heard some muffled voices. Marie's, and then a man's. She held her breath for a moment, and then breathed a sigh of relief, when she realized that it wasn't Norrington.
Only to have her brother storm into her bedroom.
"Cutler!" She cried, grabbing the dressing gown closed across her body.
Lord Cutler Beckett stood, dressed perfectly in all black from his boots to his hat, a slight smile at the edge of his lips. Evelyn stood stock still, taking in the man before her. She had not seen him in more than a year, when he had left for the Caribbean at the behest of the East India Trading Company. He looked the same as he always had; handsome in his own way, brilliant, cunning—but now there was something else in his deep blue eyes, something much more terrifying.
Power.
She tried to take a breath, but Evelyn found that her chest was paralyzed, her body frozen, every nerve ending waiting for what her brother would say and do, this man who had had complete control over her every day since their father had died.
Lord Beckett shut the bedroom door and locked it.
"Is Norrington in the house?" He asked suddenly.
Evelyn shook her head, no.
"Where is he?"
"The docks. He has an office." The short staccato of her sentences betrayed her frazzled nerves. Cutler smiled at her distress. Good, he thought. Women who were too sure of themselves has no practical purpose, as far as he was concerned.
He flashed a tooth filled grin, taking Evelyn's hand and raising it to his lips. "How is my darling baby sister?"
"I thought you were supposed to be at sea?"
He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Is that anyway to greet your brother?"
Evelyn nodded an apology. "Yes, I mean no, forgive me. I'm very fine Cutler, thank you."
He watched as she walked toward a settee by the window, arranging herself delicately upon it, trying to make herself look as decent as possible.
"Very fine, is it? You don't sound fine, my dearest."
"I assure you Cutler, I'm quite well."
"I trust that your voyage from London was also well?"
"Yes, quite."
"And your fiancé, is he well?"
His question was met with silence.
"Ah yes, so I figured," Cutler whispered, sitting down beside her.
Evelyn turned toward him, her eyes wide. "You knew? You knew that he was such a man?" She gave a huff of disgust. "You have betrothed me to a ghost, a man who is haunted by his past and so haunts others. It's as if he survives on people hating him."
"He hates himself Evie," Cutler sighed, unconcerned. "Don't take it personally."
"How comforting."
"Any man in his position would. It wasn't so long ago that James Norrington was barely a notch above a pirate."
Evelyn froze, shock, anger, and indignation burning in her eyes. "This is the man you would marry me to? You tell me this now, a week before my wedding?" The truth of her brother's words outweighed any fear that she might have had. "How dare you.! To what end, Cutler? To what profit of your own have you contracted this marriage to such a man? This is low, brother, even for you."
"Check yourself Evelyn, or do I have to remind you that not so long ago you were barely a notch above a whore."
Oh, he said those words so delicately, as if he were complimenting her on her beauty. Cutler's words were brutal, a knife to her gut, just as their father's had been. All that Evelyn could do was clamp her lips shut, allowing the thousand things that she wanted to say die upon her tongue. When she had first arrived in Port Royale, the mention of her brother's absence had been a huge weight off her shoulders. Cutler was—a hard man—to be in the presence of. It was why she had at first held out a glimmer of hope for her engagement to Norrington. Evelyn had seen the possibility of freedom…
A possibility that James Norrington had instantly dashed to pieces with his harsh cruelty and even harsher ambivalence.
Oh God in Heaven, why was she crying?
She felt her brother's arm creep around her shoulder, and Evelyn did what she always did: allowed him to comfort her, even when she suspected the comfort to be insincere. Beggars could not be choosers.
"There, my dearest, fear not. Shhh, Evie. I wouldn't let you marry a pirate." There was laughter in Cutler's eyes, and Evelyn could not be sure whether it was for her benefit or his own. "In fact," he continued, "I'm going to see to it that you are an admiral's wife."
"Admiral's wife?" Evelyn sniffled. "But—"
"Admiral James Norrington."
Evelyn sat straight up, breaking her brother's hold, accusation burning in her eyes.
"Why are you back in Port Royale?"
Cutler laughed, standing and going over to the windows that looked out onto the bay. "My expedition was only a short one Evelyn, to search for certain—fugitives, of the law that might present a problem for my future endeavors. Fortunately, at the current time, I can't see anyway that any of them are alive."
"You mean Elizabeth Swann."
Cutler didn't answer that.
"I came back Evelyn, because I have a greater journey to go on. There's a ship that I need to find." He stared out at the water, images of The Flying Dutchman clouding his mind like a drug. Once he had Davy Jones, he would have…
…everything.
"And I need Norrington."
"I thought that Norrington was already in your debt. After all," she murmured under her breath, "he's marrying me."
"I need Norrington's skills as a commander. On those I can rely. It's the issue of the Swann girl that may present a problem."
Christ, if Evelyn heard the name Elizabeth Swann one more time…
"Cutler," she said exhausted, "Just tell me what you want."
"You see Evie," he cried with a smile. "This is why I love you. You know exactly when and why you are useful." He rounded on her. "I want his every move. I will make Norrington an admiral, and you will make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid or noble or what-have-you with his power."
"Like searching for Swann," she said miserably. Miserably? Why was she miserable over that?
Cutler nodded. "I'm going to need him with me. I am taking an entire fleet towards the Orient."
"Why Cutler?"
He smirked. "As I said my dear, there's a ship that I need to find, I have every intention of believing that I will find it there. I have something of the Captain's that he will certainly wish for me to keep in good condition."
"Stop speaking in riddles. It's giving me a headache"
"You keep to Norrington. His every move, you report to me. His every word, every bloody look in his eye, I want to know about." He paused, seeing the distress on his sister's face. "Your loyalty—"
"Is yours Cutler," she whispered quietly.
It had never been anybody else's.
Admiral Norrington. Bloody hell, Cutler was going to make James Norrington an admiral; she, Evelyn Beckett, once the subject of London society's most scandalous gossip, was going to be an admiral's wife. Cutler just wanted to know what Norrington was up to. And what was the harm in that? After all, the Swann girl was probably dead, and Norrington would probably be too busy with ships and men and all other form of boring military regalia…
Her loyalty was to her brother. Cutler was all she had left in the world, even if he wasn't exactly…ideal. Evelyn Beckett had tasted loneliness and had decided long ago that even the devil was a better companion than the crushing pain of solitude.
Right?
The minute he left the room, Evelyn ran out onto the balcony, doubling over as she retched, choking on the acrid taste of fear and uncertainty.
