Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Title chapter is the best title ever, by Edgar Allen Poe. It's too bad the story's not as good.
Chapter 31: A Descent into the Maelstrom
Meanwhile, Camille was just on deck swabbing with Priscilla and Gretchen. They could actually hear the fight from where they stood working, and a few moments later Jack could be heard dashing out of his cabin.
Camille wasted no time as the Thatchers took their positions throughout the ship. They had timed it so that Gabriel had the helm and could look in and tell Camille if Jack was coming. Priscilla was a little ways off, near the stairs. Gretchen was just below deck so that she could call up to Priscilla if Jack were to suddenly appear from the galley.
She was in the cabin, and first looked in every secret place that she knew of. The fake drawer, the tiny trapdoors under the rug, behind the broken clock…she found nothing that she had not already been aware of. She impatiently tapped her foot on the floor, looking around.
Her eyes rested on Jack's bookshelf. Of course! There were hundreds of things you could hide, or even write in a book! First she checked around the shelf. On top, behind, every crevice above of between any of the books; now it was time to check the actual books. That was fairly easy, since she had read more than half of them by now. She decided quickly that he would choose on of the books she had already read to hide them in, since he didn't have to worry about her borrowing it again and stumbling over something odd.
She took out the first few books, flipped through them, shook them. Nothing. Then she carefully put them back in order. This was going to be a thorough process, and was going to take much more time than this. She looked on his desk. There were maps spread everywhere, as usual. And a few empty bottles. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it looked like there was something underneath it.
Moving the maps carefully after remembering exactly where they were laying, she saw something amazing. There was a great Mark carved in the top of the desk. It was the skull and the snake, just like on her arm. She ran her finger over it. It had been carved so deep. Examining her finger, she saw traces of blood on her fingertips. The Mark was laced with blood? It was brown. "My God," she mumbled. Jack was going insane. Something about this Mark was making him crazy.
A knocking on the window suddenly caught her attention. Gabriel was outside, and she could tell he was warning her of Jack's return. How long had she been there?
She quickly put the maps back where they belonged, and rushed towards the door. But it was too late, she could see the edge of Jack's hat coming around the corner. She ran into the bedroom, knowing that there were other ways out of his cabin. There were a couple of doors rarely used at the other end of his bedroom. She quickly slid underneath the bed where the hanging sheets would hide her. It would be difficult to get to those doors with Jack's bedroom door wide open. But she could do it.
Jack came in to his cabin and slammed the door. "Bloody women," he muttered. "Bloody Norrington, bloody hell!" he cursed, kicking at the bookshelf. Several books fell out, and he stood there looking down at them. Why was he looking at them for so long?
Then she realized that he was looking at the rug. He knelt down slowly and felt it. Her jaw dropped open. The bottoms of her boots had been wet! And he knew by feeling the carpeting where she had stepped? She silently cursed herself, while at the same time being in awe of Jack's acute attention to detail. She was terrified, and memories of their last escalating fight flooded into her mind now.
The look of him made her heart begin pounding faster. She could feel herself starting to perspire as he slowly got up and looked around the room. He knew that someone had been in there. He turned around and narrowed his eyes, looking through onto the deck. He crossed the room and looked out the other end. A feeling of panic began rising through her. He was looking for her!
Jack scared her now. Now that he'd broken her heart for the umpteenth time, she was quite used to their arguments and fights. But this last one had really scared her, this physical and emotional change that was slowly taking him over. Why was it affecting him, and exactly what was it, anyway? Whatever it was, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. And she could feel her Mark beginning to burn slightly.
He was coming nearer, searching carefully with his eyes now. He waited for any noise, any sign of movement. She prayed that one of them would think to distract him again. Unfortunately, no knock sounded at the door this time. Jack was standing in the doorway of his bedroom now. She could see his boots, and he was tapping something on the ground. It was Long John's crutch.
"Don't think ye be hidin' from me, little lady. I know yer still in here," he said loudly. His accent, it sounded different. He began walking around, and every time his foot hit the deck she shuddered.
She could feel sweat forming over her temples, and tried to quiet her breathing. It was almost like he could sense her in the room by her rapid hearbeat. She could see nothing now, and screamed as he lunged towards her and yanked her out from beneath the bed. His hands were immediately enclosed around her throat.
"What are you doing here?" Jack demanded.
"J-ja…" she tried to say his name, but he was squeezing her throat so tightly it was already hard to breathe. His hands felt like stone around her as she tried her best to loosen them a little. She struggled for air, kicking her feet violently. But all she managed to do was kick the crutch. It fell, several feet away.
Suddenly, Jack let go of her. He sat back, looking stunned. But all Camille could do was wheeze and cough.
"Get out of my cabin!" he demanded. Then he clenched his teeth. "NOW!" he bellowed.
She ran out the door, not bothering to shut it behind her. She ran through the ship until she was safe in her room. Her heart was still beating as fast as ever, even more now because of all the adrenaline from running away. But the incident had been terrifying. How was no one else noticing? His eyes had been sunken into his face, and his skin looked like tanned hide simply stretched over a skeleton. Yet, in spite of his frail appearance the ship seemed to shake under his footsteps. She continued to cough until she could catch her breath, gently feeling around her throat. It almost felt as if his fingerprints had burned themselves into her skin.