I'm sorry this update took so long. I really did try to post this chapter sooner but I've been really busy and I left the paper version of most of this at my parent's house (where I don't live) by mistake.
Thanks for the reviews Hawk's Soul, goodnightmysweetprince, CaptainJackSparrow16, Roy-Fan-33 and A Sparrow's Soul.
There are three options for how I'm going to continue this story- and I'd like to know which people would prefer. I could end this fic here and write a sequel. I could write one more chapter and then possibly a sequel. I could just carry it on under the same title.
Another warning: there's a lot of violence in this chapter, I'd say it's the second worst in the fic but some people might feel this is the worst.
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3 months.
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Chains around his wrists. Chains cutting into flesh. Chains holding him up, so his could almost touch the floor. They clanked when the men came, when he tried to flinch away. From the fists and the whips and the knives... And then there was blood. Dripping... Dripping down to the filthy salt water that flooded the cell. Staining it a darker brown. Each heave of the ship sent it rushing past heavy iron bars.
'If I was water, I could flow through the bars.'
Cold water, swirling in the dark. It was better when it was dark. Fire burns. Intense agony. Struggling to pull away. Screaming. Then sticking, pulling, tearing. Then just a sting, throbbing, burning again if you move. And the chains move and clank. And breathing's shallow and rapid. Catching. Footsteps. No. No. No...
'Don't come today. Go away, go away. Don't come today.'
Footsteps.
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The navy captain gave a snort of distaste as the dirty seawater sloshed over the top of his boots. "Open it up," he commanded.
With the turn of a key the cell door swung wide.
The captain entered, followed a few seconds latter by two sailors.
"Pirate."
A moment passed before Jack raised his head, effort clear even in that small movement. Chocolate brown eyes stared outwards, drifting in and out of focus.
"We have reached our port pirate. You are to be hanged." Then to the sailors, "take him down." Looking with mild revulsion at the numerous gashes, bruises and burns he added, "and put a shirt on him."
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The lock on the shackles was rusted and only came open with difficulty. When finally it gave Jack fell forward into the dirty water. It rushed into his mouth and nose and he wondered if he would drown. Then he felt something, just beneath his right hand. A sharp piece of metal. Someone grabbed his hair and started to pull him from the water. Quickly he closed his fingers around the fragment of metal.
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The two soldiers who stood to either side of Jack, leading him to the gallows, were more to keep upright than to keep him from escaping. The noose was tightened around his neck. He stood, swaying slightly, as the charges were read. The sun was shining on the waves. His hands were chained in front of him. He still gripped the piece of metal tightly.
"...on this day..."
"...hung by the neck until dead..."
"...may God have mercy..."
The ground fell out from under him. The rope pulled taunt. But his neck didn't break. He hadn't weighed enough. But now he was slowly strangling. He brought his arms up, fumbled at the rope and managed to grab it. The executioner was moving below the gallows to pull on his feet, as was his duty when the neck didn't snap. Jack started to cut through the rope. The executioner grabbed him and began tugging. The noose was tightening. He tried to cut faster. The edges of the world were turning black. Cutting. Pulling. The rope broke. He fell on top of the executioner, knocking them both to the ground.
Soldier were running forwards, muskets raised. Jack pulled the dazed executioner's knife from his belt and held it to his troath. The soldiers stopped, hesitated. He struggled to get to his feet, keeping a tight grip on the knife. "I..." It was hard to speak with the constriction around his neck. He took a breath, tried again. "I... want me gun."
The soldiers conferred for several moments. Finally, the highest ranking of the group, told Jack - very slowly and with forced calm - that they were getting it. A minute passed. A young soldier came running with the pistol. He stopped several meters from the pirate. "Put it... in... the band of... me trousers." Nervously the soldier moved closer and tucked the gun into the waistband of his ragged trousers. Jack fought the urge to flinch. "Now go... back." He did as he was told.
They were near the sea, near the docks. Careful not to turn his back to the soldiers or move the blade from the executioner's throat, he stumbled backwards towards the water.
There was a small sailboat, maybe eight feet long, tied to a buoy. It was a fair distance out. He moved closer to the edge of the dock. When he no longer felt rough wooden boards beneath his heels - but instead empty space - Jack stopped.
"He's nowhere to go," one soldier called out.
He took a deep breath. Then, pushing his hostage away, he fell backwards into the blue water.
A sudden shock of cold. Sinking down. Like falling asleep.
It's not time to sleep yet.
He kicked towards the surface. Bright sun. He struggled to breath. Suddenly shots fired into the water. He dived under again and started to swim towards the boat. He couldn't breath, had to come up again. Another shot. It caught him on the shoulder. When he dived down trails of red spread out in the water. It was so hard to swim. Everything hurt. But he could see the shadow of the boat. He couldn't breath. A few more feet. He surfaced, grabbed hold of the thin wooded hull. There were more gunshots but over this range the soldier's ability to aim accurately would be virtually non-existent. He struggled for a moment or two before pulling himself into the boat. Then Jack untied the line tethering the small vessel to the buoy, tightened the sail and took hold of the tiller.
They wouldn't catch him. The only ship nearby, the only he had been brought in on, would take too long to get ready to make way. He sat back, drawing shallow breaths through the noose, and stared upwards at the blue Caribbean sky.
