So where were we? Ah yes, Jack storms off to his quarters in a huff after Will saves his life. Seems Captain Jack has a lot on his mind… Ah...Memories…
Jack slouches in his leather-studded easy chair nailed down to the boards of the Black Pearl. His mahogany study desk sits an arm's distance away on his right with his peacock quill and ink bottle laid out in readiment. His beloved scuffed pirate trunk, filled with the ill-gotten gains of over a decade, sits at the base of his unmade bed. A hammock swings gently in the corner, should he prefer it to his bed. Oilskin maps and ancient tribal masks dot the walls in a patchwork of browns, tans and blacks. Every spare inch of surface space is covered with collected trinkets; sea shells and stones, rusting compasses and sextants. What appears to be a very small, rusty and barnacle-crusted anchor sits in a darkened corner, keeping its secrets to itself.
His entire cabin is a museum, a display. Collections and memories of countries and people, past and present combined into one small room. Jack surveys his cabin, his domain, his territory. He pulls his silver-inlaid pistol out of his sash, and loads a single bullet into the chamber. His dark eyes contemplate the weapon, held out at arms length. Squinting his eyes in defiance, he sits the pistol on his knee and slouches even further into the padded chair; getting comfortable. Jack gazes out the opened window into the glittering night; the stars magnified and highlighted by the blackness of the sea underneath. "Come and get me." Jack growls to the empty night.
They come for him. In the blackness of the night, in the cover of darkness, under the guise of a dream, they seek him out. Jack rolls and thrashes, caught deep in the throes of the dream, that in fact, resonates with truth. As he tosses and turns, the pistol slides off his lap and clatters to the floor.
He stands ankle deep in the bilge water, surrounded by calico bags of flour, barrels of gunpowder and other supplies. Bodies litter the floor, their blood mingling with the dirtied water lapping over his boots. All around him is the smell of acrid smoke, the burning of discharged gunpowder and the metallic smell of blood. Hysterical shouts of the dying men above deck filter back to his ears, but he heeds them not. His eyes are on one thing only. In front of him is a small cell, the heavy iron door smashed open, hanging precariously and lopsidedly off its hinges. The ship gives a lurch and begins to angle to the port side. Water gushes around his calves, its force almost knocking him to his knees. But he cares not, he stares unwaveringly ahead, to the figure in the cell. There, hanging limply against the wall, chains ensnaring wrists and shackles wrapped around ankles, is a woman. He rushes blindly towards her, heart in his throat, tears in his eyes.
"Cassie! Cassandra!" He cries, reaching out to the lifeless form. She drops into his arms; deadweight. He sinks to his knees in the fetid water, smoothing the hair off his beloved's face. He kisses her throat, her cheeks, her lips; anything to give her life again. "Cassie," he murmurs against her neck. His body is racked by sobs, his trembling arms hold her close to his heart. If only his heart could warm her own. "Cassandra, it's okay; I'm here now."
"Cassie, wake up."
"Wake up, Cassie."
"Cassie, I came to save you. I found you Cassie."
"It'll be alright now, my love. We're together again."
"Cassie dear, come on. Wake up. Wake up."
"Please wake up. Please?"
"Cassie?"
"CASSIE!"
Her eyes remain closed, as if in peace, but he knows her last hours were pure agony; torture. And he didn't get there in time to prevent it. He was too late. Tears from his own eyes glide down his roughened cheek, dropping onto her pale, pale face. Water rushes over him still, engulfing him, lapping around him, pulling him down.
"No!" He cries, struggling up with his love in his arms. He staggers to his feet, but the force of the water drives him back to his knees. Water rushes over his head, but he still clings tight to his beloved. She will never leave his arms again. He refuses to give in, he refuses to leave his love. He won't leave her. He lost her once, he won't do it again. He was meant to protect her. He was meant to save her.
I failed, Jack whispers in his sleep, as the tremors that shook his lean frame subside. A solitary tear slides down his cheek. Forgive me.