Eighth Chapter – Killing Shadows

I'm so sorry! This took ages to write and I've started a new school and moved interstate, so it's been really hectic. It's a pretty crappy chapter, 'cause I don't think I could live up to the last one, which everyone seemed to like… But I hope you're still around and haven't deserted me. Er…Happy Reading and don't forget to review.

Love Jay

xx

Beckett paced around his cabin, watching the sun sink below the darkening horizon. The girl was still unconscious, having survived a night and a day in captivity. The replacement physicians, though rather incompetent, assured the impatient lord that her survival so far was a good sign.

"…only get better before it gets worse," finished the young sailor, oblivious to the fact that Beckett had barely heard a word he'd said. Beckett waved a dismissive hand and pulled the curtains across the windows. A twitchy man rushed to light the swaying lanterns, so that milord would never be inconvenienced by the darkness.

"Fetch me James Norrington," Beckett sighed, "and shut the door after you leave." The man scurried off, eager to please his demanding master.

Mercer set a glass goblet on the table beside Beckett's right elbow. At Beckett's nod the man filled the goblet with ruby coloured liquid and then withdrew into the shadows as a knock sounded throughout the cabin.

"Enter,"

Norrington stepped hesitantly through the doorway, enjoying the feel of the heavy rug underneath his worn boots. The cabin and its furnishings positively oozed wealth and money: Red velvet curtains dripping with gold brocade, a gleaming polished wood table groaning with heaps of papers and costly ornaments, a metal brazier filled to the brim with hot coals, lending heat and flickering light to the room, great portraits, presumably Beckett's ancestors, glaring down at him…

A faint cough brought James' attention back to the man at the table. Beckett raised an ornate goblet to his lips, a goblet that didn't quite disguise the smug smile that played across his face. James cursed himself for his obvious envy of Beckett's cabin and felt heat suffuse his cheeks.

Beckett pulled his mind back to the problems at hand and slammed the goblet down so hard that spirits slopped over onto the table. Norrington watched the twitchy man dart out of the shadows and wipe the table clean with his handkerchief.

"I need the information that the girl has," Beckett stood restlessly and commenced pacing.

"What information?" James inquired, his voice and face impassive.

Beckett stopped and turned to him, his cold hard eyes boring into James' own.

"Elizabeth Swann," He started, his eyes gleaming dangerously at mention of her name, "has been in the company of pirates who have been evading justice for nigh on ten years. She would know where the ships generally make berth, how much cargo they carry, whether they carry cargo of much value and most importantly whether or not the pirates would unite in the event of an attack by the gathered forces of the East India Trading Company." He didn't lift his gaze from James' equally hard green eyes. "Information that you seemed to have conveniently forgotten."

James' mouth tightened briefly.

"The information is not urgently needed and Miss Swann is hardly fit for interrogation at this moment in time."

"When I want information, Mr Norrington, that information is urgently needed." There was a pause as Beckett gathered his temper and his thoughts. "Tonight we will risk moving her to the brig, where the interrogation will commence," He sat down heavily, all might and power draining out of him like water trickling through cupped hands.

James turned to go, certain he'd already been dismissed. Beckett's soft words caught him off guard,

"I have been informed that there is a chance that the girl may not survive the night. Should you become too emotionally attached, Mr Norrington, you may find yourself cooling your heels in the brig. Don't be so foolhardy as to get between me and the information that the girl contains." The threat hung heavily in the air between them and James stepped out hurriedly, not pausing to give Beckett the respectful bow he demanded.

x

The faint light barely illuminated the deathly still figure on the bed. James traced the light down the curve of her cheek, ignoring the dark circles under her eyes and the open gash that was barely visible through the thin curtain of hair falling over her face. He followed the light over the shoulder that peeked out of her dishevelled nightgown and tore his gaze away where it disappeared in the rise and fall of her chest.

Elizabeth Swann had been a lively child and then a sharp, bright young woman all the time he'd known her. It was unnerving to see her so lifeless and still.

It didn't seem like long before the men came back and lifted her easily from the bed ignoring the way her legs were tangling with the sheets. James caught the sheet, feeling a shiver of hot unsuppressed desire as his fingers brushed against the warm skin of her calf.

They left her in the brig, the only thing protecting her from cold and chill the flimsy nightgown half falling from her slender frame. James sighed and lent his tired face to the cold metal bars, trying very hard not to lose hope at the sight of her blank face. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was a while before he gathered the strength to climb back up the stairs.

Her eyes snapped open. Her heart thudded painfully in her bruised chest. Then the horrible noise came again, somebody groaning in absolute agony. Elizabeth sat up, ignoring her swimming head and glancing around for the noise. Across in a far corner of the cell, blood was pooling, tricking through the cracks in the floor. The girl moaned again and began whispering through broken lips, words that Elizabeth didn't recognise.

The blood was coming from the gaping slash across her head, matting her black curls and seeping across the filthy floor. Her breath coming in short panicked gasps; Elizabeth crawled across to the girl, ignoring her own aching limbs. She searched feverishly through her clothes, for a handkerchief or anything really, just to clean up all that blood.

All that blood. The girl gasped and moaned as Elizabeth drew closer, pained tears trickling down fevered cheeks as her eyelids fluttered quickly. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of deep dark brown eyes and felt a strange unstoppable shudder tear through her body. The girl was cradling one arm to her chest and kept tossing her head around in obvious agony.

Elizabeth reached out a tentative hand towards the girl, eager to soothe the distress on the beautiful face. For a single moment she felt the smooth black curls under her finger, felt the blood slippery on her fingers and then she was falling, her hand smacking down onto the floor of the brig and the girl was gone.

She staggered backwards in terror and shock. As soon as she stood, the world tipped away from her feet and the floor knocked the breath from her lungs. Blood trickled down her face, still gaping in shock. The memory of the girl was fading, like Elizabeth's vision, which was receding as her eyes lost focus and her mind wandered from her battered body.

xx

"Did you see the chest?" A smooth familiar voice wrenched Will quickly from his nightmares and had him standing to attention before he'd barely gotten sleep from his mind.

"The chest…?" Will found himself asking stupidly, as he attempted to clear his mind. The figure that had spoken was standing just beyond the circle of light, which gave Will the strange feeling that he was talking to nobody.

"You saw the chest." Davy Jones answered for him, still not stepping forward. There was an irritated puff and a little cloud of pipe smoke floated out into the light. Will shivered involuntarily, pulling his wet coat tighter around his shaking shoulders.

"Did you see what was inside?"

Now Will knew what the Captain was talking about. Images from that day at the island came flooding back. Elizabeth's face lighting up with joy as she saw him for the first time since Beckett had sent him on a wild goose chase, leaving his marriage in tatters. The chest under his hands, the key at the lock, so close to having what he'd wanted.

"No." He replied, closing his tired brown eyes.

Another irritated puff of smoke tickled at Will's nose.

"Sparrow is truly dead."

A question. "Aye." Will agreed, almost feeling a tiny bit of pity for his friend. Which was good of him considering that Jack had sold him to Davy Jones in the first place and while he was serving on the Dutchman seduced his fiancée away from him…

Elizabeth…

She might be dead by now, well and truly gone from his reach forever…

"Come, boy," growled a gruff, but not unkind voice. The cell was unlocked and a barnacled hand pulled him out into the darkness and then back into the light. Will glanced up and saw the moon, reflected on the calm water and peering through the Dutchman's ragged sails. Despite the roaring crowd of bloodthirsty cutthroats in front of him, Will felt a tiny bit better. Perhaps Elizabeth was gazing up at this very same moon, thinking of him. He doubted it. But it was a nice thought nonetheless.

Davy Jones appeared, he looked tired and old and had an unfamiliar slow drag to his normally wobbly gait.

"Do what you will with him," The weathered Captain said, "He is of no use to us."

The crowd howled their approval. Will shut his eyes in simple tiredness and let the moonlight burn down on his face. Rough hands pulled jostled him into place. They tore his shirt, the flimsy wet cotton ripping easily. The old silver-pink raised scars from last time gleamed in the moonlight for a moment before new blood red lines joined them across his back.

Will tried to not to give them the pleasure of hearing his voice raised in agony. In the Bosun's hands, that terrible thing ripped through, air, flesh and blood even easier than before. If he opened his eyes he couldn't see the moon, all he could see was the limpet-covered timber of the mast in front of him. Somehow that made the pain harder to bear.

"Will!" Someone yelled. Will turned his head and caught a quick glimpse of his father, before a heavy fist caught the side of his face. He bit his lip until blood ran down his chin, alike to the hot blood that was running down his back.

He woke in the cell again, surrounded by the all-consuming blackness. He turned his head a little, ignoring the white-hot agony that came with the movement. Pale straying beams of light ran across the floor. He followed them up the side of the other wall until he could see his father's tired, worried face. Opening his mouth to reassure the tired man that he would be perfectly fine in a moment, Will was surprised to find the only thing that came out of his mouth was a gasping, pain-filled breath.

xx

Warmth trickled through the air, flushing Elizabeth's blank face and warming her cold limbs. She woke for the second time that night, but feeling considerably more comfortable. As she moved instinctively closer to the warmth, she noticed a faint shadowy person standing just beyond her cell.

Beckett idly shifted the poker though the hot coals, watching the stirring girl out of the corner of his eye. She looked far better than she had, with the colour in her cheeks. Brushing the hair away from her face, she was inspecting the stitched up gash in her head. Stitched up by a man who'd never done the like before.

"What are you doing?" The question caught him off guard. He hadn't noticed her standing. She was leaning against the bars, drawing closer to the heat without coming too close to him. He smiled at her. He raised the poker and she saw the familiar 'P', gleaming white-hot.

He watched the colour drain away from her face with interest. She moved away from the bars, only a little unsteady on her feet. An image of that girl, dying in this very cell, cradling her arm to her chest flashed suddenly over her eyes. Then she knew… Cerys… Feeling sick, she looked back up at Beckett's cold grey-green eyes.

"I just want to ask you a couple of questions, Miss Swann."

"What do you want to know?" she asked faintly.

"That's the spirit." Beckett smiled down at her.

Norrington had decided. Feverishly, he shoved the provisions into the small leather bag. A compass went next and then after a sigh, the tempting bottles of rum that he'd been sitting on for a while. The two pistols he'd taken from the armoury were shoved into the waistband of his pants.

Tucking a knife into his coat-sleeve, just in case, he was ready. Nothing would stop him now, but he would have to hurry before Beckett got to her.

"I shan't tell you anything." She said firmly, her eyes flashing at him defiantly across the cell. Beckett was struggling to keep a hold on his temper.

The brand hadn't frightened her enough to give and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Miss Swann, you aren't really in a position to argue." He took a deep breath and suddenly smiled as a thought came to him. "It would be really sad if Master Swann were to suffer an accident."

Elizabeth tore across the cell in a second. She leant up against the bars, reaching her hands through to grab him and hurt him. "What have you done?" She hissed, as Beckett stepped back in almost fright. She'd almost looked scary enough to frighten him, then, with her eyes alight and her hair flying around her head like a strange halo. But Elizabeth Swann was anything but an angel.

"Nothing," he replied, surprised and annoyed to hear a small tremor in his voice. "But if you weren't to answer me… then I'm sure something could be arranged."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, her lips trembling with anger and fear, but before she could answer, somebody clattered down the stairs.

"James!" A beautiful smile burst across her face at the sight of him. Beckett scowled at Norrington. He opened his mouth to call for aid, but before he'd even taken a breath Norrington knocked him over the head with a pistol.

Elizabeth gave James a trembling grin as she watched Beckett crumple onto the floor.

"We thought you'd died." She whispered as he unlocked the cell with the keys from Beckett's belt. James avoided her hug by thrusting the clothes at her. Somehow he didn't quite trust himself enough for that.

"Put these on," He said, turning away. "And hurry."

It wasn't long before they were on deck. Elizabeth smiled up at the moon, but then a thought struck her. The smile faded.

"Where's father?" She asked, as he began lowering the boat down to the water. "…Beckett mentioned." She stopped.

James glanced nervously at the circle of light where the lookout was sitting. "Keep it down, please." Then he paused.

"Beckett had him killed." His voice quivered. Elizabeth staggered, her knees giving out from under her.

"What?" She whispered. He picked her up easily and lifted her into the boat.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she didn't answer. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered the provisions in the leather bag. He picked up the water skins and the pistols, turning around to put them in the boat. He gasped.

The boat was empty and the knife that had been lying at her feet was gone.

"Elizabeth!" He whispered, feeling suddenly panicky.

She pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. Anger was breaking over her like waves on a beach. The cabin was empty; no one sat at the desk. Elizabeth gave a little growl of frustration and swung her gaze around the luxurious cabin, ignoring the tears that blurred her vision. How could Beckett have done that? Her father had never deserved to die…

A shadow moved. Elizabeth squeaked in fright and raised the knife clenched in her fist instinctively. The shadow groaned as the knife slid between his ribs. Elizabeth dropped the knife as the blood gushed over her hands. The shadow sagged and hit the floor with a thud. She waited a second for the guilt and anger at herself to come, but it never did.

"Elizabeth?" James stepped into the cabin and almost tripped over the dark figure on the floor. Blood was soaking the carpet, squelching under his feet. "Mercer." He whispered half to himself as he identified the cooling body.

"What?" Elizabeth barely looked up from where she was going through Beckett's drawers. The colour was back in her gaunt cheeks and her eyes were burning with that familiar defiance.

"Nothing," he hissed quietly, "We need to go, now!"

"Just wait," she muttered absentmindedly, her hand stilling in one of the drawers. "What's this?" she pulled out a small brown bag and peered inside. "Oh."

Looking nauseated, she leant heavily on the desk. "How did he get that?" she asked, her bright brown eyes piercing. James blushed.

"Come on," he said, looking nervously over his shoulder, "lets just go." As she staggered, he picked her up again and carried her to the boat. He set her down and lowered the boat into the water. Looking over as he began to row away from the Enterprise, he noticed tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." He said awkwardly.

Again she didn't answer.

xx

So there we go then, I hope it was good enough, do review and tell me…