(no subject)
Title: Lost in Translation (pt. 7)
Prompt: Guilt and/or translation
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Barbossa, Jack/OCs, Will, Elizabeth, Tia Dalma, Norrington
Warning: Rape, violence, hair cutting, rats, language
A/N: WIP
****
With intense curiosity, Will stared at the woman who was standing waist deep in the ocean. She had waded into the water ten minutes prior, and no one had any idea why. Her hips swayed every now and then, rippling the sea around her. The immense interest finally made the young man tread away from the rest of the crew and make his way to stand beside her. Tia Dalma gave him an acknowledging nod and a broad grin.
“What are you doing?” he inquired softly.
“’Dere is life on ‘dese waters. ‘De sea is kind to us and will bring ‘dem here.” She closed her eyes, rested her palms on the surface, and uttered a series of words to herself.
Will studied her as he turned the words over in his mind. After a moment, he said, “You mean crews of ships. The sea will bring one here to rescue us.”
“Aye,” she replied contently.
“How?”
“She has to be called at just ‘de right moment. Calm and beautiful.”
He did not understand the mystic’s statements and was about to return to the beach, but something caught his eye. In the great distance, sails of a ship appeared. He gazed at it in awe.
“Come, William Turner,” she beckoned and began her way to the shore.
Will followed after her, smiling at the excited reactions from the crew.
All that was left to do was wait.
****
Jack groaned from the vicious thrusts in and out of his body. He accidentally bit down on the erected member in his mouth when the male behind him gave an extremely powerful shove, causing the man in front to strike the side of his skull with great force. Everything was misty for a moment as he recovered from the impact. Regardless of the aching throb of his head, he continued on with his ministrations, sucking with precision, while the other male’s propulsions became faster.
Semen flooded his mouth, followed by the ejaculation within his body from the man behind him. They pulled themselves out of his orifices, buttoned their clothing, and returned to the deck. Jack quickly spewed out the creamy liquid, and worked up his own spit in hopes of getting rid of the sickening taste. His injured shoulder abruptly reminded him of its pain, and he emitted a small whimper. Barbossa had been generous enough to tend to it; a long cloth began atop his left shoulder, went across his back, under his arm and over the right shoulder, made another path across his back, and wrapped around his left shoulder. A complicated “figure eight” is what the captain had called it. It would ensure that the break would heal properly.
He was about to get to his feet, but another man came down the stairs. He sighed dejectedly and prepared himself for the next round of assault.
****
It was an odd thing; Jack did not understand it. As the days progressed, the men had taken a serious fancy to his thick, black mane. His beads and trinkets were played with; some even tried to yank them from his hair. They stroked and combed their fingers through the loose strands and dreadlocks before and during their exploitation of his body. For reasons unknown to him, the molesting of his hair became a harsher punishment. It made him feel even more degraded than when the men climaxed within him and groped him.
As he sat at the table watching Barbossa eat one evening, he absentmindedly began winding a strand of the beloved hair around his finger. The older man took notice and laughed. The sound unsettled Jack immensely. He gazed suspiciously at the captain, growing incredibly apprehensive when Barbossa stood and strolled to him. A hand gently swiped the locks resting on his shoulders back; the action made him tremble. The grimy fingers began to pet the mane tenderly, fondling a dangling charm every now and then.
“I must admit somethin’, Jack,” Barbossa stated, amused. “This be the finest head of hair I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ me eyes on.”
Jack remained silent, though flinched in revulsion.
“Soft and coarse all at once. All the way down to here.” He trailed down Sparrow’s back until he reached the ends of the hair. “Beautiful, like a woman’s. This was, and still is, the best of your attributes, Jack. It be too precious to be harmed in any way.” He picked up the long braid draping over the bandana’s knot and caressed it as if it were a new born babe. “Ye remember when ya always asked me to do this?”
Jack’s breathing accelerated ever so slightly and his eyes blazed wildly.
“I fucked ya so hard and rough that it would always come undone. And you would always ask me to re-do it. Ah, if ye only knew how much pleasure it gave me - touchin’ it and workin’ it under me fingers.”
“Stop it,” Jack stated quietly. His tone was utterly agitated.
“Don’t like rememberin’, do ya? Don’t like thinkin’ of yourself lyin’ willingly under me, do ya?”
Jack clenched his teeth and did not answer. Barbossa chuckled and made his way toward the bedroom.
“Ya best be in here soon or I’ll turn ya over to be whipped senseless,” he said over his shoulder.
The younger man exhaled a shaky breath and took a strand of hair to hold with his fingers. He stared at it with tremendous sadness in his eyes. Tears formed as he settled on a decision.
Among the pleasant recollections, there were simply too many memories he wished to forget. Barbossa had done a good job of making his mind reminisce over them after having forgotten them years ago. He hated the fact that the cruel man was so fond of it. He despised the foul men becoming just as enchanted with it as their captain and handling it carelessly.
He was determined to execute his plan the next morning.
****
The sun had just begun peeking through the gray clouds of the fading night. It did not provide much light to illuminate the room, but with the dwindling candle flames, it would suffice.
Jack crept with all caution from his corner to Barbossa’s hanging coat at the other side of the area. His heart thumped achingly in his chest, and his pulse sped with anxiety. A noise from the sleeping captain made him turn around to observe, eyes dilated with panic. Barbossa shifted onto his side, putting his back to the pirate. Jack swallowed a knot in his throat and tried to steady his fast breathing. Silently, he turned around to the coat, reached into a pocket, and fished around. Nothing. He exhaled a frustrated breath and put his hand in the other. Yes, it was there! He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, merely settling on a sigh of gratefulness.
The mirror was close by, and he ventured to it gradually with the knife handle between his teeth. He sat cross-legged in front of it and gazed at himself. The image was nothing like he remembered; there was no resemblance to the blithe man he had been. The rich eyes were overcast with extreme weariness and unbelievable sorrow. The happiness and vivacity had been snuffed. His beaten face was gaunt and dull; no longer did he feel that he possessed any attractiveness. Too many discolored bruises painted the skin among the cuts and dried blood. He was on the verge of tears from scrutinizing his marred self up close for the first time, but hurriedly shoved the urge away.
Nimble fingers untied his bandana and laid it out on the floor. Their next task was to unravel the thick braid; as the hair loosened, his mind wandered to a time when Barbossa had sat behind him, brushing and tending to his mane gingerly while carrying on a casual conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed obscenities to himself for thinking on it.
The freed, dark locks cascaded onto his back. He parted the tousled hair and draped the halves over his shoulders. With utter tenderness, he obtained a small amount and stroked it lovingly. He brought the strand to his lips, kissed it, and whispered, “Goodbye, beautiful.” It was enough to release the tears he had been withholding.
His left hand grasped the end firmly and held the strand out in front of his countenance. The dagger was in the other; leisurely, it was lifted for the edge of the blade to rest underneath the black lock. A period of hesitation overcame him, though he fought it off quickly.
The knife tore into the hair madly as he sawed away. When the freshly cut strand landed before him, he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out somberly. Another lock was retrieved, and he speedily sliced a long portion of it off. He soon began to take handfuls of his treasured mane to hack away at in order to get the heartbreaking procedure over with as quick as possible. In silence he wept mournfully; the ground became blanketed with the sleek hair. His fingers were shaking incessantly as he fulfilled his task, and his lips quivered as tears forged their way down his sullied cheeks.
At last he was entirely finished. He put the weapon on the floor and stared at his reflection. The ends were jagged and varied slightly in length, but overall, the mane that had once reached almost to his waist was now barely brushing the tops of his shoulders. He left the two strands of beads and the one that lay on his forehead alone. His fingers ghosted over the raven hair for a minute, but instantly stopped when he heard movement behind him.
There was no chance of making it to his corner; Barbossa sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes landed on the younger man. Jack started to quake from the expression of extreme rage and mercilessness that swept over Barbossa’s visage. The captain got up and moved to stand in front of Sparrow, who kept his eyes downcast to the floor.
“What the fuck did ya do to yourself?” he asked venomously.
Jack was trembling uncontrollably, making him unable to answer. It did not matter anyway. Barbossa struck him hard; he fell to the side with a pitiful whine. The older man knelt beside him, hoisted him by the front of his shirt, and punched him again. Blood spurted from Jack’s mouth. Barbossa proceeded to hit Sparrow’s face relentlessly and with tremendous force. Jack could not move, could not think. His head felt as if it were being stomped on unremittingly by the heaviest boot imaginable. His nose bled; his lips bled. Red liquid leaked from his mouth. There was nothing he could do other than groan from the pain.
He was abruptly flung against the floor, allowing him a chance to catch his breath. The break did not last long. Barbossa was once again beating his thin frame, yet it was not with his fists. Jack emitted a strangled whimper as his body succumbed to the blows from the captain’s pistol. He was certain the result of the cruelty would make his skin horribly bruised beyond belief.
There was no use begging for mercy; it would simply cause Barbossa entertainment.
After ten minutes had passed, Sparrow lay on the floor in a bloodied heap, breathing raggedly. An indistinct, tremulous moan came from him as he weaved in and out of consciousness. The agony was indescribable. It was beyond anything he had endured previous. His face had been severely bashed to the extent of hardly being recognizable. The tears that dripped from his barely opened eyes were now the color of red.
“That hair was mine to do whatever with,” Barbossa growled in a feral tone. “It did not belong to you. It belonged to me just as you do. Ye did not have the liberty to do such a thing without permission. What have ya accomplished by doin’ it?” He spat on Sparrow’s countenance before stating harshly, “Nothin’ besides being punished for it.”
The voice was distant and was not easily comprehended by Jack from the pulsating anguish his skull was putting him through. He did not even realize that Barbossa was dragging him away until the sun warmed him. More voices pervaded through his ears before he was pulled up to stand. His wrists were shackled and then tied to a ratline. Incoherent mumbling constantly filtered out of his mouth; he had no idea what was happening around him.
The sudden sensation of the lash made him scream as it tore open the flesh of his back. His throat constricted, making him unable to breathe at times. The cat scratched persistently at his body, creating a number of new wounds and splitting open the older ones that had not healed completely. Though he tried to contain it, he vomited wretchedly from the excruciating torture.
The intense flogging continued even after Sparrow finally passed out.
****
Everyone was astonished to discover James Norrington aboard their rescuing vessel. He seemed to be quite amazed at them in return. The Commodore, or rather former Commodore, was dressed in the same garb Elizabeth remembered seeing him wear in Tortuga. He explained his situation to her as the ship made for the expansive ocean. Serving under Cutler Beckett for a time was not as glorious as he had imagined it to be. The taste of freedom and lack of strict rules he experienced while in Tortuga and aboard the Pearl with Jack called to him. He did not, however, tell Elizabeth that his second resignation was in part due to her as well. She no longer was the proper Governor’s daughter she had once been; he knew that his only chance of being around her was to take up the adventure of the sea as she had done.
“James, I must ask a favor of you,” she said after they had discussed his new-found captainship of the vessel they were on.
“What is it?” he questioned, concerned from the intense desolation in her eyes.
“We must find the Black Pearl. None of us has a ship, and it would be unlikely that any crew would want to spend time searching for just the one.”
“Why must we find her?”
“Jack is being held captive by Captain Barbossa, and we must try to rescue him before he’s killed.”
“Killed? That seems a bit drastic. Surely he can get himself out of the situation; he’s done so many times before.”
“This is different. Please, James.”
“What does the rest of the crew think about this endeavor?”
“They are up to it. Most, anyway,” she added softly, thinking of Will. “Please, I beg of you.”
James smiled and took her hands in his. “I would do anything for you, Elizabeth. Do you have any idea at all as to where the Pearl may be headed?”
****
Will avoided Elizabeth as best as he could while ambling around the deck. If she was on one side, he was on the opposite. He could not bring himself to talk to her at all. It saddened her, and it made his guilt flourish. Nevertheless, he did not feel like taking the risk of having his emotions smashed again. Besides, she seemed quite content in James’ company.
He went to reside beside Tia Dalma, who had secluded herself from everyone else by standing at the bow. Her enchanting eyes were fraught with grief, nothing like Will had ever witnessed before.
“What is it?” he inquired quietly.
She did not answer right away. Instead, she sighed dejectedly and stepped away from him as she gazed at the sea. “He grows weaker each day. I fear we will not make it in time.”
“Can you see what’s happening to him?”
“No, but I can feel ‘de torment he has. His spark dwindles.”
Not until he heard Tia Dalma speak of the rogue did he worry for Jack. The thought of the eccentric pirate suffering in ways unimaginable to him finally trickled into his mind.
“Do you believe we’ll find him?” he asked, hoping to be assured.
She shook her head solemnly and said gently, “It is up to ‘de sea to decide whether we find him or not.”
****
The instant he gained consciousness he immediately wished he had not. He felt as if his skull would burst; his whole being throbbed as if someone was constantly squeezing him aggressively. Soft murmurs escaped him, and he hoped that by voicing his discomfort, it would make him feel better.
He could scarcely open his eyes; but even with his eyelids opened just to slits, he was able to see darkness. Stifling blackness. He touched his finger to his eyelid and winced as he pulled it down a little. No, he was not dreaming.
“Hello?” he asked in an intensely faint, hoarse voice. “Barbossa? Anyone?”
Nothing. He was wholly alone. It was at that moment he became aware of the fact that he was lying in a small amount of water.
Something suddenly darted across his legs, making him yelp in surprise. Tiny squeaks came from every which way. Another creature scampered up his torso, and he almost shrieked from the feel of the animal’s petite feet on his face. The rat began to nibble on his cheek, making him frantically grab hold of it by its tail and throw it to the side. He sat up and wailed from the wave of anguish that engulfed him. His back was burning; the bilge water that had soaked the lacerations certainly made it worse.
He brought his knees to his chest as he started to sob uncontrollably. The shackles were still encompassing his wrists; immense frustration plagued him as he tried to break free of them.
Two rats made to climb his arms. The moment he felt them, he thrashed about and tried to seize them by their necks. A scream ripped itself from his throat when they finally flew off him. The endless chatter of the beasts threatened to drive him insane.
It did not matter that he was enormously worn out. He could not sleep knowing the creatures were everywhere.
He vowed to remain alert.
Prompt: Guilt and/or translation
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Barbossa, Jack/OCs, Will, Elizabeth, Tia Dalma, Norrington
Warning: Rape, violence, hair cutting, rats, language
A/N: WIP
****
With intense curiosity, Will stared at the woman who was standing waist deep in the ocean. She had waded into the water ten minutes prior, and no one had any idea why. Her hips swayed every now and then, rippling the sea around her. The immense interest finally made the young man tread away from the rest of the crew and make his way to stand beside her. Tia Dalma gave him an acknowledging nod and a broad grin.
“What are you doing?” he inquired softly.
“’Dere is life on ‘dese waters. ‘De sea is kind to us and will bring ‘dem here.” She closed her eyes, rested her palms on the surface, and uttered a series of words to herself.
Will studied her as he turned the words over in his mind. After a moment, he said, “You mean crews of ships. The sea will bring one here to rescue us.”
“Aye,” she replied contently.
“How?”
“She has to be called at just ‘de right moment. Calm and beautiful.”
He did not understand the mystic’s statements and was about to return to the beach, but something caught his eye. In the great distance, sails of a ship appeared. He gazed at it in awe.
“Come, William Turner,” she beckoned and began her way to the shore.
Will followed after her, smiling at the excited reactions from the crew.
All that was left to do was wait.
****
Jack groaned from the vicious thrusts in and out of his body. He accidentally bit down on the erected member in his mouth when the male behind him gave an extremely powerful shove, causing the man in front to strike the side of his skull with great force. Everything was misty for a moment as he recovered from the impact. Regardless of the aching throb of his head, he continued on with his ministrations, sucking with precision, while the other male’s propulsions became faster.
Semen flooded his mouth, followed by the ejaculation within his body from the man behind him. They pulled themselves out of his orifices, buttoned their clothing, and returned to the deck. Jack quickly spewed out the creamy liquid, and worked up his own spit in hopes of getting rid of the sickening taste. His injured shoulder abruptly reminded him of its pain, and he emitted a small whimper. Barbossa had been generous enough to tend to it; a long cloth began atop his left shoulder, went across his back, under his arm and over the right shoulder, made another path across his back, and wrapped around his left shoulder. A complicated “figure eight” is what the captain had called it. It would ensure that the break would heal properly.
He was about to get to his feet, but another man came down the stairs. He sighed dejectedly and prepared himself for the next round of assault.
****
It was an odd thing; Jack did not understand it. As the days progressed, the men had taken a serious fancy to his thick, black mane. His beads and trinkets were played with; some even tried to yank them from his hair. They stroked and combed their fingers through the loose strands and dreadlocks before and during their exploitation of his body. For reasons unknown to him, the molesting of his hair became a harsher punishment. It made him feel even more degraded than when the men climaxed within him and groped him.
As he sat at the table watching Barbossa eat one evening, he absentmindedly began winding a strand of the beloved hair around his finger. The older man took notice and laughed. The sound unsettled Jack immensely. He gazed suspiciously at the captain, growing incredibly apprehensive when Barbossa stood and strolled to him. A hand gently swiped the locks resting on his shoulders back; the action made him tremble. The grimy fingers began to pet the mane tenderly, fondling a dangling charm every now and then.
“I must admit somethin’, Jack,” Barbossa stated, amused. “This be the finest head of hair I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ me eyes on.”
Jack remained silent, though flinched in revulsion.
“Soft and coarse all at once. All the way down to here.” He trailed down Sparrow’s back until he reached the ends of the hair. “Beautiful, like a woman’s. This was, and still is, the best of your attributes, Jack. It be too precious to be harmed in any way.” He picked up the long braid draping over the bandana’s knot and caressed it as if it were a new born babe. “Ye remember when ya always asked me to do this?”
Jack’s breathing accelerated ever so slightly and his eyes blazed wildly.
“I fucked ya so hard and rough that it would always come undone. And you would always ask me to re-do it. Ah, if ye only knew how much pleasure it gave me - touchin’ it and workin’ it under me fingers.”
“Stop it,” Jack stated quietly. His tone was utterly agitated.
“Don’t like rememberin’, do ya? Don’t like thinkin’ of yourself lyin’ willingly under me, do ya?”
Jack clenched his teeth and did not answer. Barbossa chuckled and made his way toward the bedroom.
“Ya best be in here soon or I’ll turn ya over to be whipped senseless,” he said over his shoulder.
The younger man exhaled a shaky breath and took a strand of hair to hold with his fingers. He stared at it with tremendous sadness in his eyes. Tears formed as he settled on a decision.
Among the pleasant recollections, there were simply too many memories he wished to forget. Barbossa had done a good job of making his mind reminisce over them after having forgotten them years ago. He hated the fact that the cruel man was so fond of it. He despised the foul men becoming just as enchanted with it as their captain and handling it carelessly.
He was determined to execute his plan the next morning.
****
The sun had just begun peeking through the gray clouds of the fading night. It did not provide much light to illuminate the room, but with the dwindling candle flames, it would suffice.
Jack crept with all caution from his corner to Barbossa’s hanging coat at the other side of the area. His heart thumped achingly in his chest, and his pulse sped with anxiety. A noise from the sleeping captain made him turn around to observe, eyes dilated with panic. Barbossa shifted onto his side, putting his back to the pirate. Jack swallowed a knot in his throat and tried to steady his fast breathing. Silently, he turned around to the coat, reached into a pocket, and fished around. Nothing. He exhaled a frustrated breath and put his hand in the other. Yes, it was there! He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, merely settling on a sigh of gratefulness.
The mirror was close by, and he ventured to it gradually with the knife handle between his teeth. He sat cross-legged in front of it and gazed at himself. The image was nothing like he remembered; there was no resemblance to the blithe man he had been. The rich eyes were overcast with extreme weariness and unbelievable sorrow. The happiness and vivacity had been snuffed. His beaten face was gaunt and dull; no longer did he feel that he possessed any attractiveness. Too many discolored bruises painted the skin among the cuts and dried blood. He was on the verge of tears from scrutinizing his marred self up close for the first time, but hurriedly shoved the urge away.
Nimble fingers untied his bandana and laid it out on the floor. Their next task was to unravel the thick braid; as the hair loosened, his mind wandered to a time when Barbossa had sat behind him, brushing and tending to his mane gingerly while carrying on a casual conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed obscenities to himself for thinking on it.
The freed, dark locks cascaded onto his back. He parted the tousled hair and draped the halves over his shoulders. With utter tenderness, he obtained a small amount and stroked it lovingly. He brought the strand to his lips, kissed it, and whispered, “Goodbye, beautiful.” It was enough to release the tears he had been withholding.
His left hand grasped the end firmly and held the strand out in front of his countenance. The dagger was in the other; leisurely, it was lifted for the edge of the blade to rest underneath the black lock. A period of hesitation overcame him, though he fought it off quickly.
The knife tore into the hair madly as he sawed away. When the freshly cut strand landed before him, he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out somberly. Another lock was retrieved, and he speedily sliced a long portion of it off. He soon began to take handfuls of his treasured mane to hack away at in order to get the heartbreaking procedure over with as quick as possible. In silence he wept mournfully; the ground became blanketed with the sleek hair. His fingers were shaking incessantly as he fulfilled his task, and his lips quivered as tears forged their way down his sullied cheeks.
At last he was entirely finished. He put the weapon on the floor and stared at his reflection. The ends were jagged and varied slightly in length, but overall, the mane that had once reached almost to his waist was now barely brushing the tops of his shoulders. He left the two strands of beads and the one that lay on his forehead alone. His fingers ghosted over the raven hair for a minute, but instantly stopped when he heard movement behind him.
There was no chance of making it to his corner; Barbossa sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes landed on the younger man. Jack started to quake from the expression of extreme rage and mercilessness that swept over Barbossa’s visage. The captain got up and moved to stand in front of Sparrow, who kept his eyes downcast to the floor.
“What the fuck did ya do to yourself?” he asked venomously.
Jack was trembling uncontrollably, making him unable to answer. It did not matter anyway. Barbossa struck him hard; he fell to the side with a pitiful whine. The older man knelt beside him, hoisted him by the front of his shirt, and punched him again. Blood spurted from Jack’s mouth. Barbossa proceeded to hit Sparrow’s face relentlessly and with tremendous force. Jack could not move, could not think. His head felt as if it were being stomped on unremittingly by the heaviest boot imaginable. His nose bled; his lips bled. Red liquid leaked from his mouth. There was nothing he could do other than groan from the pain.
He was abruptly flung against the floor, allowing him a chance to catch his breath. The break did not last long. Barbossa was once again beating his thin frame, yet it was not with his fists. Jack emitted a strangled whimper as his body succumbed to the blows from the captain’s pistol. He was certain the result of the cruelty would make his skin horribly bruised beyond belief.
There was no use begging for mercy; it would simply cause Barbossa entertainment.
After ten minutes had passed, Sparrow lay on the floor in a bloodied heap, breathing raggedly. An indistinct, tremulous moan came from him as he weaved in and out of consciousness. The agony was indescribable. It was beyond anything he had endured previous. His face had been severely bashed to the extent of hardly being recognizable. The tears that dripped from his barely opened eyes were now the color of red.
“That hair was mine to do whatever with,” Barbossa growled in a feral tone. “It did not belong to you. It belonged to me just as you do. Ye did not have the liberty to do such a thing without permission. What have ya accomplished by doin’ it?” He spat on Sparrow’s countenance before stating harshly, “Nothin’ besides being punished for it.”
The voice was distant and was not easily comprehended by Jack from the pulsating anguish his skull was putting him through. He did not even realize that Barbossa was dragging him away until the sun warmed him. More voices pervaded through his ears before he was pulled up to stand. His wrists were shackled and then tied to a ratline. Incoherent mumbling constantly filtered out of his mouth; he had no idea what was happening around him.
The sudden sensation of the lash made him scream as it tore open the flesh of his back. His throat constricted, making him unable to breathe at times. The cat scratched persistently at his body, creating a number of new wounds and splitting open the older ones that had not healed completely. Though he tried to contain it, he vomited wretchedly from the excruciating torture.
The intense flogging continued even after Sparrow finally passed out.
****
Everyone was astonished to discover James Norrington aboard their rescuing vessel. He seemed to be quite amazed at them in return. The Commodore, or rather former Commodore, was dressed in the same garb Elizabeth remembered seeing him wear in Tortuga. He explained his situation to her as the ship made for the expansive ocean. Serving under Cutler Beckett for a time was not as glorious as he had imagined it to be. The taste of freedom and lack of strict rules he experienced while in Tortuga and aboard the Pearl with Jack called to him. He did not, however, tell Elizabeth that his second resignation was in part due to her as well. She no longer was the proper Governor’s daughter she had once been; he knew that his only chance of being around her was to take up the adventure of the sea as she had done.
“James, I must ask a favor of you,” she said after they had discussed his new-found captainship of the vessel they were on.
“What is it?” he questioned, concerned from the intense desolation in her eyes.
“We must find the Black Pearl. None of us has a ship, and it would be unlikely that any crew would want to spend time searching for just the one.”
“Why must we find her?”
“Jack is being held captive by Captain Barbossa, and we must try to rescue him before he’s killed.”
“Killed? That seems a bit drastic. Surely he can get himself out of the situation; he’s done so many times before.”
“This is different. Please, James.”
“What does the rest of the crew think about this endeavor?”
“They are up to it. Most, anyway,” she added softly, thinking of Will. “Please, I beg of you.”
James smiled and took her hands in his. “I would do anything for you, Elizabeth. Do you have any idea at all as to where the Pearl may be headed?”
****
Will avoided Elizabeth as best as he could while ambling around the deck. If she was on one side, he was on the opposite. He could not bring himself to talk to her at all. It saddened her, and it made his guilt flourish. Nevertheless, he did not feel like taking the risk of having his emotions smashed again. Besides, she seemed quite content in James’ company.
He went to reside beside Tia Dalma, who had secluded herself from everyone else by standing at the bow. Her enchanting eyes were fraught with grief, nothing like Will had ever witnessed before.
“What is it?” he inquired quietly.
She did not answer right away. Instead, she sighed dejectedly and stepped away from him as she gazed at the sea. “He grows weaker each day. I fear we will not make it in time.”
“Can you see what’s happening to him?”
“No, but I can feel ‘de torment he has. His spark dwindles.”
Not until he heard Tia Dalma speak of the rogue did he worry for Jack. The thought of the eccentric pirate suffering in ways unimaginable to him finally trickled into his mind.
“Do you believe we’ll find him?” he asked, hoping to be assured.
She shook her head solemnly and said gently, “It is up to ‘de sea to decide whether we find him or not.”
****
The instant he gained consciousness he immediately wished he had not. He felt as if his skull would burst; his whole being throbbed as if someone was constantly squeezing him aggressively. Soft murmurs escaped him, and he hoped that by voicing his discomfort, it would make him feel better.
He could scarcely open his eyes; but even with his eyelids opened just to slits, he was able to see darkness. Stifling blackness. He touched his finger to his eyelid and winced as he pulled it down a little. No, he was not dreaming.
“Hello?” he asked in an intensely faint, hoarse voice. “Barbossa? Anyone?”
Nothing. He was wholly alone. It was at that moment he became aware of the fact that he was lying in a small amount of water.
Something suddenly darted across his legs, making him yelp in surprise. Tiny squeaks came from every which way. Another creature scampered up his torso, and he almost shrieked from the feel of the animal’s petite feet on his face. The rat began to nibble on his cheek, making him frantically grab hold of it by its tail and throw it to the side. He sat up and wailed from the wave of anguish that engulfed him. His back was burning; the bilge water that had soaked the lacerations certainly made it worse.
He brought his knees to his chest as he started to sob uncontrollably. The shackles were still encompassing his wrists; immense frustration plagued him as he tried to break free of them.
Two rats made to climb his arms. The moment he felt them, he thrashed about and tried to seize them by their necks. A scream ripped itself from his throat when they finally flew off him. The endless chatter of the beasts threatened to drive him insane.
It did not matter that he was enormously worn out. He could not sleep knowing the creatures were everywhere.
He vowed to remain alert.