Chapter Eight - It Can't Get Much Worse Than This

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney.

Light forced it's way into the abyss, awakening Jack from one of the most finest sleeps he'd ever experienced. Adjusting his dark eyes to the unwelcome light, he felt something unusual prodding at him. He was suddenly reminded of his predicament and the enormous headache to complement it.

Two middle-aged men hovered over him. The shorter of the two held a pool-cue in his hand. Jack eyed the stick cautiously, detecting the culprit of said prodding.

"Is it alive, Carl?" The question was inane. It was obvious that Jack was indeed alive.

"I 'unno," replied Carl, as he repeatedly poked at the Jack Sparrow wannabe stashed in their car trunk.

Jack could barely tolerate it any longer.

"Is that…" Jack motioned towards the pool-cue, "…absolutely necessary?" he frowned, effortlessly brushing the invasive stick away.

"Yeah, or else we wouldn't be doin' it," replied the taller man, evidently named Bobby.

The prodding eventually stopped as they stood in silence and stared at the pirate.

"He looks a lot like the real deal, ya know."

"Maybe it is…" considered Carl.

"Can't be." Bobby scratched his head in disbelief. He didn't want to admit it, but the pirate uncannily did look a lot like the original.

"Why not?" Carl questioned.

Bobby scoffed. "Jack Sparrow ain't real."

"Captain Jack Sparr--," Jack began, but was inconsiderately cut off.

"How do you know he ain't real?" Carl butted in. "What 'bout Santa or the Tooth Fairy?"

Carl was certainly one sandwich short of a picnic. His stupidity never failed to amaze Bobby and the gang.

Fed up, Bobby pointed at Jack, "This ain't the pirate…" he explained, "This is the actor - Get it?"

"What the hell would he be doing in our trunk…dressed like that?" Carl questioned.

"Don't ask me, dimwit!"

Jack rolled his eyes impatiently as the two men bickered. It seemed too familiar for his liking.

"If I may be so bold as to intrude on this dynamic conversation," interrupted Jack, "It would be greatly appreciated if ye could inform me of my whereabouts concerning my current location. Ye see... it appears I've yet again, regrettably and questionably, lost my orientational bearings of latitude, longitude and last but not least - shortitude," Jack rambled on, adding in words that don't exist.

"We coulda told ya that, you nut-job," snapped Bobby.

Jack frowned. Nut-job, eh? That's interesting. Where are those peanuts? Come to think of it, he was feeling rather hungry.

"Well, it has been a pleasure conversing with you two fine gentlemen, but I truly must be going. Things to do, people to see, bearings to locate - ye know how it goes, eh?" Jack said as he made to clamber his way out of the abyss he'd come accustomed to.

"Oh no you don't!"

Suddenly, Jack was pushed back as the lid of the trunk slammed down on him, intensifying the headache he already had. He'll have to try a different approach considering negotiation had failed him on this occasion. Ah well, back to square one, he thought as the darkness overcame him for the second time. Bugger.

TV blaring, Patrick leaned back against the paisley sofa and glanced over at Elizabeth who was sitting to his left. She rested in the armchair and flicked her way through a science magazine which she had helped herself to from the coffee table. At least this way he wouldn't have to deal with her aggravating voice, he thought. If only he didn't have to deal with the rest of her.

"--get the latest on Tom-Kat, Britney's bad behaviour, Orlando's accident and more in the new OK! Magazine. On sale now!--"

Elizabeth looked up from the magazine and saw the face of the man she loved on the screen, if only for a brief moment.

"Will," Elizabeth whispered, knowing what she must do. She must save him. With Jack's help, she was certain she could - that is if she knew where on earth he'd disappeared to.

Patrick mentally kicked himself. He should've told her to read elsewhere.

"What about him?" Patrick asked, yet not really caring to know.

"Where is he?" Elizabeth firmly questioned.

"I dunno," he said, annoyed at his brother's lack of communication. "Damn, did Vinnie not explain all this crapola to you?"

"Explain it," she threatened. Elizabeth wanted answers and she wanted them now.

Patrick ignored her and continued to watch TV. It wasn't his responsibility, he thought.

"--And we're back with Dr Phil! Julia says her son has been wreaking havoc on the family causing her to quit her job--"

Out of spite, Elizabeth stood in front of the television, blocking Patrick's view. She folded her arms and glared furiously at him.

Much to his surprise, Patrick shifted uncomfortably under Elizabeth's stare. He inwardly laughed at himself for doing so. She's completely harmless. Persistent though.

"Where is Will?" she pressed further, her voice louder than before.

"I said I don't know. Now move your ass out of the way," Patrick snapped.

"No! I'm not moving! Not until you tell me everything you know!"

"Frankly, I'm the wrong person to ask, sorry, babe," Patrick replied. "You should be asking Vinnie."

He was then reminded of his brother's call from earlier. Knowing Vincent, it must have been somewhat important or else he wouldn't have bothered calling. What was it he wanted? Damn, for the life of him, Patrick couldn't remember.

"Ahem," Elizabeth cleared her throat, making her presence be known. She refused to be ignored.

Patrick purposely snubbed her and reached for a random pamphlet from the coffee table. He scanned over the wooden surface, hopefully finding junk-mail that contained cars, hot girls, or food. Something was missing from the small table…

"Shit," he muttered.

The machine was gone.

Later that evening, on the other side of town, the two suspect men sat in their rusty, beat-up black '72 Holden Premier situated in an old warehouse parking lot. The sun was beginning to set as they discussed their plan of action, an oblivious Jack Sparrow still crammed in the car trunk, singing 'A Pirate's Life' at full volume.

"Bobby, I don't trust actors. I think we should get ridda' him," said Carl. The leather car seats squeaked as he shifted his weight.

"No way in Chicago, Carl. As soon as we let him go, you know what he's gonna do? Rat on us, that's what. We're in deep shit. We could be done big-time for this. You wanna be someone's bitch in prison?"

"No, not exactly. Well, why not let's dump him somewhere. He don't know us. Besides, I think he's on somethin', you know? You saw how he was…" Carl added, "Them pirate movies musta got to his head."

"Damn, he must be on some good stuff," Bobby mused.

"Yeah. Ya know, I ain't feel too good about hijacking Johnny Depp. Don't he got a family?"

"Think of the money, Carl. We could make a lotta dough. The big bucks. The Jackpot. Get my drift?"

Jack sang loudly from the trunk, "…And really bad eggs. Drink up me hearty's yo ho!! YO HO!! YO HO!!"

Carl nodded and took a long drag from his cigarette. Jack had been singing that maddening song for the past few hours. It was driving both Carl and Bobby insane. Why Jack was in such high spirits, they couldn't understand.

"I gotta better idea. Why don't we just…" Bobby's left hand then imitated a gun. "I'd really enjoy doin' that right now. I can't deal with this git."

Nervously, Carl sank into the seat. He wasn't too keen on murdering people. Personally, he was happy to leave the pirate in this deserted parking lot and get back to the regular breaking-and-entering routine.

"I think we should just leave him here... We don't gotta kill him..." Carl said quickly.

"--Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for MEEEEEE!!--" Jack's grand finale burned into their ears.

"Oh, yes we do. There's only one way to shut this idiot up."

Singing that damn song one more time was the last straw.

"--Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me--"

"Whaddaya know?" sighed Bobby, as Jack started up again.

Carl shrugged.

Bobby then nodded towards the back of the car, an evil smirk across his face.

"Depp is dead."