Chapter Twenty-Nine

And This World was Hers

Barbossa opened his eyes to see a long, carpeted hallway with doors on either side. The walls were of richly polished walnut, and brass sconces dotted the walls between the doors. Behind him was black nothingness. Barbossa took an involuntary step away from where he'd come and looked back to hall spread before him. At the end stood a narrow door with an iron bar secured across it.

Barbossa approached the closest door and tested the gleaming brass handle. It turned easily, silently. The door swung open without pressure, as if it wanted to reveal its interior. He stepped through.

Moonlight struck a silvery glow on the dock as two young men and a young woman sat in a circle laughing, their faces all pointed at a conspicuously empty space between the girl and the skinnier boy.

"There's a ship, they say," the other boy said in a hushed whisper after the laughing subsided, "faster than any vessel in the Queen's navy. Her sails are riddled with holes, her hull is so pocked with scars from battles-"

The scene around him dissolved into velvety darkness and Barbossa glanced back through the door at the hallway, but the doorway had begun to melt with the surroundings. In another moment it was gone altogether.

He was now in a dining room. The waning sunlight poured through the windows and lit the table set for four warmly. A middle-aged couple sat on either end, and a young man sat on one side. A half-eaten plate sat lonely at the fourth setting.

"-so nice to have you back, dear," the woman was saying to the boy. The boy nodded, chewing for a moment and then swallowing before speaking. "I'm only here for a few days. Monroe's filling in for me as a favor for now, but I hate to keep him away from his new wife."

There was silence at the table. Barbossa looked at the man at the end. It took him a moment to recognize him as the old colonel, for he sat several years younger before him. His face looked thoughtful, and then he spoke.

"I quite agree, it's just not the same without you, son." His wife murmured in agreement, and then looked to the man. "If it's alright with your father."

After another moment of silence the colonel nodded. The boy set his napkin on his plate and stood, glancing at his father, and then left.

Bewildered at this exchange, Barbossa's eyes landed on the fourth plate. It was now empty.

The scene faded to blackness around him, and then The Pearl was before him. He recognized his own men scurrying about, and looked behind him to see a slightly younger version of himself by the portside railing. He watched himself grasping his hands in the air, and could hear his own words waft across the deck, and suddenly he understood.

"-Farthin', I won' be needin' any of yer pity."

Barbossa was moving within her memories, but she wasn't there. He resisted the urge to slam his fist into the nearest wall or shipmate. All this time he'd been searching for her, trying to remember. Finding her had been almost a punishment. Now she had slipped away again.

Tia's words echoed in his head. Miranda had lost her mind. He had to find it. If her form was missing in these memories, perhaps it was somewhere else. Without thinking, Barbossa seized the handle of the door leading into the captain's cabin, hoping to work it out in the safety of somewhere he knew. He thrust the door open and found himself looking back into the carpeted hallway.

Barbossa glanced back, still disconcerted at seeing a duplicate of himself.

"-knew my plans for ye once the curse is lifted, ye'd not be so eager to help," his own voice reached him. Leaving the door ajar, Barbossa made his way over to his double, seemingly holding something in his curled fingers. Barbossa reached out to where Miranda's form had once been, but felt only air.

Back in the hallway, Barbossa contemplated the closed doors on either side of him. Each one looked no different than the one beside it, except the one on the end. Barbossa passed each door until he reached it, and hefted the bar aside. There was a ringing in his ears as he pushed the door open. A cold breeze lifted his hair as he gazed into the darkness before him. The coldness from within crept under his skin and deep into his very bones with slow deliberation. He slammed the door, rubbing his hands together, but he didn't replace the bar.

The harmless-looking door beside it opened into a starlit world. Barbossa stepped in and realized he stood above the water of her memory. Before him was a small boat, almost lost in the dark water spattered so brightly with starlight it was difficult to find where the water ended and the heavens began on the horizon.

The water began near the boat began to churn, sending the reflected stars into a dizzying dance as Tia's head rose from its depths. She spoke so low that Barbossa missed her words and stepped warily closer.

"-bear and extra sou'el. So now you must choose. Him sou'el or your ow'en mind."

One by one the stars began bursting all around Barbossa, expelling brilliant white light over the scene. The boat and Tia disappeared into the brightness until Barbossa stood alone in a void of white.

Slowly, as if a blindfold had been lifted and his eyes grew accustomed the the bright daylight, shapes began to form in the white. Colors slowly stained the void and Barbossa felt gently-rocking wood beneath his feet.

He was alone on The Pearl. Sunlight streamed down to the clear blue Caribbean water and warmed the air. The ship seemed to be sailing of its own accord towards a dark tower of stone erupting from the calm water. Barbossa had never seen anything like it in all his travels and wondered where Miranda had been to remember this foreboding edifice.

The ship drew close enough for Barbossa to see a dark doorless entry just above the crashing waves. Although Barbossa couldn't explain it, there was something very wrong about the entire tower, from its sloping sides to its irregular-shaped stones, to its gaping sunless maw. A shiver crept through his skin, and he felt his muscles tense in apprehension.

Despite his revulsion to the tower, something within him was pulling him inexorably towards it. Before he could quite grasp his own options, he found he'd shed his jacket and boots and the waves were rising up to greet him.

The water was warm, inviting. He swam towards the entrance and heaved himself onto the stone ledge. A cold gust sighed from the dark entrance and Barbossa hesitated. It was black as pitch before him. Slow step by slow, cautious step, he allowed himself to become incased in the darkness.

/\

Rich colors filled his eyes as he looked up at a burnished gold sunset, pink splashes dancing across the deep blue basin of the sky. The grass beneath his feet was a green more dazzling than emeralds, and the ocean beyond sparkled like diamonds set in turquoise enamel.

A small house stood a ways from the sea cliff's sharp edge, and behind the house linens hung from a line billowed in the cool, tangy breeze. Barbossa could see the silhouette of a woman standing behind one of the tablecloths, her outline perfect in the setting sun behind her. In one flourish she'd removed the pins and shook the linen from the line.

Her face held exquisite peacefulness and joy. Her mouth was set in a natural smile, and her stray locks of hair curled around her temples and neck in the wind. Her dress was hemmed at the knees like a peasant's, but the fabric was a clean, rich blue. Barbossa's eyes strayed to her bare legs and saw they were an unblemished, perfect cream with no sign that there had ever been scars snaking up to her thighs.

Their eyes met, and her set smile broadened. She folded the cloth hastily against her hip and dropped it into the waiting basket before running to him. Automatically, Barbossa spread his arms to infold her, and she embraced him.

"I missed you so much, darling," she laughed, looking up at him. Up close, her eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the sun-speckled waves below. Everything about her, from her small, delicate feet to her wind-tousled hair was a masterpiece of human design. She was perfect.

She drew back, smiling, and beckoned him towards the house. "Dinner's just about ready."

As Barbossa watched her laughing, gesturing figure, he noticed the large diamond set with sapphires catching the light of the setting sun as it glittered on the third finger of her left hand.

The inside of the house was dim in the waning light. Barbossa stood perfectly erect in the parlor, looking at the single painting hanging from the wall.

It was of her and himself, both dressed richly and staring solemnly at the opposite wall. The painter had magnificently captured the dancing light in her eyes. Her hand was ringed in the painting, and so was, to Barbossa's surprise, the painted version of him. A gold ring joined the collection with the other rings he customarily wore.

"I could just look at that painting all day," she said, startling him. Her shoulder was leaned against the doorway and her head tilted to the side. She was smiling. "Come to dinner, Hector."

Hector.

She had never called him that before. In itself it was harmless, but hearing it as he looked at the painting inserted slivers of suspicion in his mind. Something was not right. He sat down at the table heavy with food, and looked at her. She was still smiling as she said, "Let's pray."

Not a religious man, this set off more bells in his head and made him even more uncomfortable as she took his hand and spoke. "Lord, thank you for this meal and for bringing my husband safely back to me. Protect us and keep us. Amen.

"How was your trip?" She continued, spooning vegetables onto his plate. Her eyes never left his face.

The words in her prayer had rendered him entirely speechless. The longer he stared into those sparkling gray eyes the more they reminded him of the bright glittering he'd seen so many times in the eyes of men mere hours before dying of fever. He fought to control his expression as he tried to think of the relevance of the similarity. The men had been sick, their skin near boiling, and near the brink of . . .

Barbossa pushed himself away from the table so hard wine sloshed from both glasses. She made a small noise of alarm as he stormed out of the house and made his way to the edge of the sea cliff. He looked around at the deepening sky, the undulating sea. The breeze slipped around his clothes and whispered in his ear. A gull cried somewhere above him.

And this world was her madness.

He thought of the dull, vacant eyes he'd beheld in the prison cell. Her entire world was now within her own mind, and she'd built it to be a paradise.

"Hector, are you alright?" she called from the doorway. Barbossa turned to look at her. This woman was not the real Miranda Farthing, he thought, looking with new eyes at the perfection before him. She was without flaw. He realized now that her face was not the same as he remembered, nor her hair. She was taller in her own mind. A seizing need to leave this brilliant world was upon him, and he pushed past her through the doorway, searching for a closed door that would lead him back to the hallway.

He wrenched open door after door only to see a sitting room, a bedroom, and a set of stairs leading down.

He was trapped.

The woman who was not Miranda grasped at his sleeve, worry etching her perfect face. "Darling, what's wrong?"He shrugged her off to reemerge in the waning sunlight. He took deep breaths, trying to make sense of this madness.

He had to find her. But if she wasn't within this world of her own creation, where then? His eyes searched the vastness of the twinkling sea before him. At one point the sea cliff sloped gently to the water's edge, and from there a small jetty protruded into the water. A small rowboat covered in heavy canvas bobbed on the waves.

"Was it something I said?" She was right behind him, and he went rigid at the sound of her voice. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think you've said a single thing all evening. What's wrong, Hector?"

He jerked his shoulder away from her touch and snarled at her. "Stop it." She looked taken aback and hurt. She opened her mouth but he cut her off. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"M'randa Farthin'."

Her eyes searched his. "I was Miranda Farthing, but I took your name when we married. Darling, don't you remember who I am?"

"I've never met you b'fore," Barbossa spat. "Where is she? I won't be askin' again."

"I don't know," she pleaded, but her eyes flicked behind him and betrayed her. He seized her by the shoulders and pushed her to the edge of the cliff.

"What d'you know?" He demanded softly, snaking one hand to her long, pale throat and tightening his grip. She gasped, her eyes wet with tears.

"She's gone," she cried, reaching her hands to his to release his hold on her neck.

"That be a lie, ya cursed fury," Barbossa snapped.

"Isn't this better?" she begged, trying to turn her head to look at him as she gasped for breath. "Both of us here? Nothing can hurt us here; we're the only ones. This is our world, Hector. Ours."

Barbossa turned slightly and pulled her to face him, both hands curled around her slim wrists. "What've ya done with her?"

A tear slid down her cheek as her eyes looked down. He followed her gaze to the docked boat, and released his grip. She crumpled to the ground, sobbing.

The slope was steeper than he'd realized and it took some time making his way down, but it allowed him time to think. She'd hidden Miranda somewhere reachable by boat. His eyes traced the flat horizon hopelessly as he searched for some sign of another island.

Nothing.

He kept telling himself there was no hurry to find her, but as he drew nearer to the shore the ocean itself seemed to expand. He looked back up to where he'd left the woman and wondered if she was broadening the world to make his task more difficult. He swore darkly under his breath.

He slid the last few feet on the loose sand and stepped onto jetty. If there weren't oars in that damned boat he'd march back up the slope and demand the woman come up with something he could use.

He untied the lacings of the canvas, yanked it free, and froze.

She lied on her side at the bottom of the boat, curled into a tight ball. Her hair was matted and obscured her face, her ripped, dirty dress barely covered her scarred legs. Her breathing was long and deep.

Barbossa realized he recognized the boat. It was the one she had been in under the magnificently starry sky. The boat where she'd lost her mind. She'd never truly left it.

Barbossa slowly extended a shaking hand towards her thin frame and brushed the hair from her face.

The moment his skin touched hers, the sun-which had spent hours setting into the ocean- suddenly extinguished, pitching the world into the darkness. A deep humming filled Barbossa's ears and as it grew in intensity, the ocean began to froth and boil. He scooped up the slight frame and ran back to the shore. Starlight illuminated his path as he struggled back up the slope.

He heard a shriek from the woman somewhere in front of him. She was suddenly at his side, pulling his arm desperately.

"Please forget her, I'll do whatever you say. Let me keep my world," she begged. He shook her off, and she expelled a scream of anger.

Barbossa didn't know what he was doing. He hurled himself towards the front door of the house-it seemed like the only option. As he kicked the door open, the darkness of the interior was so complete he paused for a moment before plunging through the doorway.

Blackness flooded his eyes and ears, the sounds of the woman screaming and sobbing has vanished entirely. He was falling. He curled his own body protectively around the slight one he held.

The soft ground met him with painful force. He opened his eyes to see a ceiling of moulded walnut. Gently rolling the form off his chest, he sat up. He was back in the hallway, facing the open door at the end. He twisted to see the opposing end of the hallway. Where there had been only a black void was now a brilliant rectangle of white.

He gathered the body up into his arms again and pushed his way through the doorway of light.