First there was Hector's voice.
Jackie...Somethin's out there...in the harbor...pirates...
And then there was the Spaniard's
Jus' make sure 'e rememb'rs th' name who ruin'd the remainder 'f his ruddy life...Capt'n Donovan Lee.
But we must go back...
They're gone, Jackie...they're not comin' back. They're dead.
Dead? What does dead mean?
Well...it's...it's sorta like goin' t' sleep...cept...y'don't wake up. Never.
He could see the flaming houses of Cardiff...
Jackie...we hafta go...
Don't call me that.
What? Why shouldn' I call ya by your name??
I'm not...Jackie anymore. They called me that and I don't want it anymore.
Well, what d'ya want me t'call you?
Just Jack, please.
He took one more step past the palm tree and stopped. His feet were still on sand but it felt different. Jack shuffled his feet, the sand whipping out of the way to make a small groove into the ground. It was still hard beneath his feet. He knelt down and began wiping the sand away. Dark brown wood revealed itself beneath his fingers as the sand became scarce in the area.
It wasn't long before Jack had uncovered a large three by four foot wooden plank. It was wedged into the rest of the sand, the only apparent mark on it being an oblong hole near one of the edges. He rapped a fist on the wood to hear a hollow sound.
"Now wha' kinda joke'sis?" Jack asked himself aloud. He crawled around to the side of the plank that had the hole. He looked it over for a moment before he placed his fingers in the hole and pulled. It didn't take much strength for the wooden board to lift out of the sand, the wood groaning from being awakened from its slumber. Sand rushed off of the surface, filling the huge hole that Jack had just uncovered. He pulled, pulled, and finally pushed the board back until it slapped onto the soft sand behind the hole. All was silent once again.
He tilted his head slightly to the right, watching the dust settle into the blackness of the hole. It was some kind of trap door that held some kind of chamber secret. With nothing more productive to do, he stuck out a tentative foot into the blackness. It hit something hard and stable. He stuck the other one in after it and stood. It looked like he was floating. A picture of the Pearl's brig flashed through his mind. The darkness, the confinement, the utter feeling of being alone felt all the same. He would give anything to be back in that room.
He descended the steps in a matter of seconds, any thoughts of caution gone. After the last step, his bare feet touched softer, cooler sand. He sat down on the bottom step, trying to squint farther into the darkness.
"'Ello?" His voice thudded to the floor. Apparently, the chamber wasn't large enough to welcome an echo. He grimaced as the mustiness swept under his nostrils.
"What died in 'ere?" he asked himself aloud.
The curiosity got the better of him, so he stuck out his hand to feel for something. A familiar sound hit his ears and he froze, pulling his hand back to his body. His heart pounded in his ears as he stretched his fingers out again. They hit a smooth surface, the familiar sound erupting once again. That clink, that smooth glass; it could only be one thing. He clutched his hand around the smooth neck of the object and brought it up into the fading light of sunset. Light brown liquid shone through the bottle as he wiped the dust away.
"Ahhh," Jack grinned. "So I've hit th' cache, have I?" He shook the bottle a little, watching the liquid swirl around in its graceful dance. Without a second thought, he popped the cork from the bottle and took a swig. It was pure euphoria, the epitome of his own self. He licked his lips, a soft hum of pleasure purring into the cave.
Ten minutes later, the stranded pirate had pulled about half a dozen bottles of alcohol onto the sandy beach and closed the secret hatch, covering it once more with a pile of sand. He was almost giddy as he made his way back to his unofficial camp and sat down. His caressed his fingers over each bottle leaving trails in the dust from his touch. Choosing two long necked bottles, he crawled closer to the tide and stuck the bottom ends into the sand. Once the wave returned, it washed away the dust in a clean sweep, leaving behind two shiny glass bottles that proudly displayed their contents. Jack scurried back to his seat and uncorked one of them.
His second drink of the day told him that he was indeed stranded on this island and it was only a matter of days before he would die and his bones would bleach in the rays of the sun.
The last drink of the bottle washed over his memories, destroyed any negative thoughts that grew from his childhood trauma, the betrayal of his best friend, and his almost certain death.
His fourth and fifth drinks of his new bottle made the waves look fuzzy and solid, the sand now becoming the great mass of water that swallowed him up.
He stumbled a little as he washed a few more rum bottles in the fuzzy waves. He laughed as the sea licked his toes and sang to him funny songs. He sat back down and took another drink. His third bottle made the liquid sand warp up into the sky, melting into the air and invisible stars, making odd shapes he had never seen before.
Finally, his fifth bottle made everything funny, everything happy, everything fake. Who gave a damn about being stranded? Who cared that he no longer was captain of the fastest ship in the Caribbean? Who really even thought that this would be the end of Captain Jack Sparrow?
He squinted into the horizon as two bulky shapes sifted towards him, riding the fuzzy waves in a frenzy.
"Now ye can' jus' come whenever ye like, ye know," Jack said aloud, directing his words towards the growing shapes. "This a private show an' ye need tickets, hm? Whassat? Mmm, sorry can' help ye find yer way back..." It certainly didn't take long for the silhouettes to reach the beach. They were sea turtles with large black eyes and heavy shells.
"Oh!" Jack exclaimed. "You all live on my wall!" The turtles nodded. "Then is best that I get ready to leave. I' won' take long, I promise you. Jus' wait right there, right there, DON'T MOVE!" he shouted. The turtles didn't look frightened. They just stared at him blankly. Jack waved at them with one hand, the other clutching his fifth small bottle. He leaned back far, pouring the rum into his open mouth. The empty bottle then dropped to the sand and he laughed. "I'M STILL AWAKE!" he yelled in triumph. Then he slumped back into the sand and said no more.
Note from the author: The italicized quotes at the beginning of this chapter were collaborated by myself and Queen of Hellions so please give her credit! They are excerpts from an RP called Golden Sand, a story she and I wrote about what Jack and Barbossa's past might've been like if they had met as children. If you have any questions about what happened, do not hesitate to ask – I will answer what I see fit to in my biography. Thank you!