Chapter Two - Transport Successful

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney.

Two weeks had passed. Vincent spent most of his time in the basement working on his new invention, fine-tuning the last minute details. He was so close to completion and eager to trial out this extraordinary thing, that he hadn't slept in two days. Finally, he tightened the last small screw with his electric drill. The task was now complete.

Vincent inspected it closely. It resembled a portable DVD player with flashing lights that beeped every now and then. He was pleased with the result - but the question still stands. Does it work?

Vincent strolled off into the living room with the 'appliance' in his arms and placed it on the coffee table. After ensuring it was safe, he headed towards the DVD tower lined with dozens of movies. He ran his finger over the titles and felt his hand being forced to a particular movie. He pulled it out of the rack.

"Pirates of the Caribbean? Okay, well, this'll be interesting," said Vincent aloud, looking at the cover then turning over to read the back.

The armchair surrounded him as he sank into it, DVD in hand. He leaned over the coffee table and gently inched the machine closer to him. Vincent flicked the power switch and waited patiently for the words 'Insert DVD' to come across the screen. So far so good, he thought. His programming skills were paying off.

"Now for the moment of truth," he said hopefully as he hesitantly inserted the DVD.

The DVD was swallowed by the machine; beeping, flashing, and before he knew it, Pirates of the Caribbean began playing. Vincent sighed.

"I've created a DVD player? Oh well, I may as well watch this. Elizabeth Swann is a bit of alright," he muttered, slightly disappointed.

The curtains were drawn and the lights were dim. The machine created magnificent shadows against the ceiling, swirling with colour as if it were a firework display. Green, yellow and blue flashes lined the walls. Vincent stared about the room in awe, sinking further into the armchair, and clutched nervously at the armrest.

All of a sudden the machine came to a stop.

Vincent blinked with disbelief as the words came across the screen, 'Transport Successful'. He looked around but didn't see any evidence of this so-called success.

"I knew it was too good to be true," was his conclusion.

Exhausted, Vincent made his way into the kitchen. As soon as he entered, he noticed the kitchen was colder than the rest of the house due to the heating malfunctioning recently. He had been planning on fixing that for a week - yet he had other things to worry about.

Vincent considered filling Patrick in on the latest lack of good news even though his pride didn't really want to. He sat at the dining table turning the cordless phone over in his hands, seemingly forgetting about the movie still playing in the living room.

"Pat," Vincent said quickly before Patrick could greet him with his lovely hotline.

"What are you doing calling me at this time of night, Vinnie?"

"Oh, I didn't realise what time it is," Vincent answered truthfully. He glanced at his watch. It was 4am.

"Is this an emergency?" Patrick said, mid-yawn.

"No-no, just thought I'd let you know that the experiment didn't--"

CRASH! The sound of broken glass could be heard from what Vincent believed to be the living room.

"Uh, I gotta go, Pat!" Vincent promptly hung up the phone.

Elizabeth Swann found herself in an unfamiliar place that was overbearingly white. Am I dead? She looked around with wide eyes and slowly walked towards the mantelpiece. There were various objects placed upon it, but one thing in particular intrigued her. What a beautiful vase, she thought to herself as she carefully picked it up. It was adorned with hand-painted roses and tiny bluebirds in a pink sky.

The vase mesmerised Elizabeth and reminded her of her home in Port Royal. She felt so far from home, yet she couldn't figure out why. Where am I? Where is Will? The vase then slipped out of her grasp and shattered into hundreds of pieces onto the tiles below. Elizabeth could barely hold in the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Vincent raced towards the living room and came to an abrupt stop. Through the limited light, he saw what appeared to be a young woman in a Victorian gown, kneeling over a scattered mess of broken glass.

Suddenly it dawned on him. "Holy shit," he whispered.

A wave of nausea swept over him as he thought of his next approach. Elizabeth Swann, a fictitious character as far as he was concerned, happened to be living and breathing in his very own living room.

Elizabeth heard footsteps behind her and quickly stood up. She found herself face to face with a man. He was tall with dark hair and pale blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. Elizabeth's heart was pounding so fast, she was certain the man could hear it.

"Where am I?" Elizabeth asked, her voice soft with a perfect English accent.

"Well, you're in my house. New York as a matter of fact," Vincent replied, casually approaching her.

Elizabeth backed herself into a corner.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, Elizabeth," said Vincent.

Elizabeth frowned, "How do you know who I am?"

"Well… you're a movie character… you know…?"

"A moving character? I don't understand. Who are you?"

"Yeah, that figures. I'm Vince. You don't know me," Vincent answered.

"What have you done with Will?"

As frightened as she was, Elizabeth tried her best to be strong for Will. Who knew what this crazy man had done to him? She couldn't remember what happened before she found herself in these surroundings but she knew for a fact that Will would have been with her.

"Uh, what?"

"I swear if any harm comes to him--"

Elizabeth's sentence was cut off.

"I don't have Orlando. I mean… I don't have your man," Vincent corrected himself. This was getting too much for him.

"Then where is he?"

"I dunno. Probably on TV looking for you…"

Vincent couldn't help staring at her puzzled expression. She was beautiful with deep brown eyes and hair piled into a bun, a few golden brown curls falling free. She had an innocence about her that could only have existed in the eighteenth century. This Will Turner was certainly a lucky guy.

"Anyhow, it's way too late to explain all this hoo-ha…" Vincent held out his hand encouragingly for Elizabeth, then added, "I'll get you set up in the spare room, okay?"

Out of politeness, Elizabeth reluctantly took his hand and followed his lead. She couldn't help but notice that his manner of dress was strange. Certainly not what she was used to.

Vincent led her down a hallway with large abstract paintings on the walls. Elizabeth found the artwork quite disturbing as she couldn't quite decipher what it was. The lingering paint fumes invaded her nose and she began feeling a little light-headed.

"I need to sit down," Elizabeth uttered breathlessly.

"We're almost there, just a few more steps," Vincent encouraged.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth couldn't make a few more steps. She felt the room spinning rapidly as she gave in to the blackness that overcame her.