The Haunting Place | By : Lktwoozee Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 11161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
See previous chapters for Disclaimers, Warnings, and Notes.
[Chapter Eleven: The Turners]
“[Aye, but wait ‘til
ye see the blacksmith!]”
“May I help you,
miss?” suddenly a clipped and soothing voice startled Maren into spinning
around…and her heart caught in her throat.
A beautiful, young man with brown wavy locks tied back with string,
tendrils whisking out and framing his angelic face, expressive eyes below a
handsome brow, and all together the most heavenly sight Maren had ever seen,
stepped forward, concerned and confused.
“Help me!” she finally
choked out, shaky from fatigue, she attempted to approach him and troubled she
might faint, he started forward as well, “I’ve been kidnapp’d! Please-!”
A terrible crack
sounded as Cupid exploded through the door, his fuming eyes only noticing Maren
and sweat pouring down his face, “Come here ye!” he reached for her with one
flexing arm, but was immediately stopped by a calloused hand gripping his wrist
tightly.
“The lady stays here,” quiet with subtle
intimidation, Maren’s strange new hero jerked Cupid’s arm away, “Understand,
friend?” There was something about the
way he said ‘friend’ that made it not at all friendly.
Cupid clenched his
jaw and ground his teeth, fingers cracking as he flexed them into a fist. “Stay out o’ this, friend,” he spat with
equally unsociable denotations, “This do’n concern ye.” With that, Cupid Thomas swung his right
fist, followed sequentially by a left-handed punch, hefting his weight behind
it like a spring.
William Turner II
barely batted an eyelid. He deftly
tilted his head away from the first assault and nimbly grasped the second fist,
twisting it painfully and using its own momentum to turn it about. The crack rang loudly, only covered by
Cupid’s hurting yelp and growl. But
luckily, Cupid’s pain didn’t last long, because Will’s concise and tuned punch
struck his chin, spinning him about like a twisted human top, before his body
fell stiffly to the floor.
Dispassionately, Will prodded the pirate in his side to roll him onto
his back and speak down to him, “Now it concerns me.”
“[Wow, one punch!]”
Kristy gasped, “[Marry him, Maren, soon as possible!]”
“Ye…ye sav’d me,”
stunned Maren beheld her knight in shining armor with stars in her eyes. All her girlish dreams, every romantic
fantasy that had ever jaded her to the cruel realities of the world, bloomed in
her memory, sweet and ripe. This
blacksmith was the material her dreams were made of, “Thank ye, thank ye so
much!”
“My pleasure miss,”
laying a kind hand upon her shoulder, Will peered gently at her face, “Are you
hurt? Did he…do anything?”
“Well he ripp’d me
dress,” Maren said lamely, turning about so Will could witness the crime
against fashion, her satin ruined and petticoats peeping out.
Inexplicably, Will’s
face darkened gravely and his fist clenched at his side, “He will pay for this,
I swear it.”
“For…me dress?”
Maren was confused now.
“For,” stuttering,
Will fluttered his hands about Maren suggestively, “for attempting to
compromise…er.”
“[Ye daft twat, he
thinks Cupid tried to tup ye.]”
Comprehension lit
her shining face, “Oh! Oh…no, no,
nothin’ like that.”
“Oh good,” Will
sighed a shaky relief, “Good, that’s good, I just deduced that a rogue in
pursuit of a pretty lass would-never mind.”
Charmingly shy, he changed the subject, “Why was he after you then?”
“I be escapin’ from
the ship, he came after me.”
“Ship?” furrowing
his brow, Will asked sharply, “Which ship?”
“A pirate ship,
sir!” Maren meekly tugged on his sleeve, gesturing through the wall to the bay,
“Hidden in a cave, the Black Pearl!”
“What?” stunned,
Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh no, is that man there,” he nodded his
head towards Cupid Thomas, “a member of her crew?”
“Aye sir,” mistaking
the grunt of frustration Will made as distress, Maren hastened to comfort, “But
they not be here to pick a fight. Ifen
we hurry and sound the alarm, they’ll be off, I’m certain.” Maren paused, staring at Will transfixed,
intently examining his fair features, handsome and trustworthy, “I be havin’
the most amazin’ feelin’, like I know ye.
Have we met before?”
“[Bah, bullshit,]”
exasperated, Kristy spat, the ghost spit evaporating before it hit the ground,
“[That line be older than me death! Ye
can manage better then that, Pet, try faintin’ in his arms!]”
“I do not think so,”
Will answered, distracted.
Persistently, Maren quipped, “Then if it be
not fate, may I inquire as to yer name, kind sir?”
“Will Turner,” he
said, rubbing the back of his damp neck, never taking his agitated gaze off the
unconscious pirate.
“Mister Turner,”
mulling over his name like it was spun gold, Maren gathered every ounce of
courage she’d ever possessed, “may I kiss ye?”
“Ay-what?!” his
attention spun back to Maren, who was blushing pleasantly and wringing her
small hands together, inching nearer to him.
“Please do’n be
thinkin’ me forward o’ indecent,” she pleaded, “But here be the part where the
damsel in distress grants her hero a favor.”
“Er, um…I-ye see-,”
faltering, Will paled.
“Can’t on account o’
his bonnie littl’ wife, ye tart,” Jack interrupted from the doorway, reclining
with arms and ankles crossed, hip and knee cocked.
“Oh, yer married,”
Maren grieved softly, watching sadly as Will shrugged producing his ringed
finger for her inspection. “I’m…so
sorry,” her shaking hand raised to her cheek, hoping to hide her mortification,
“No insult was intend’d-JACK?!” only now comprehending the smirking pirate
captain, Maren twirled to the door and gaped as he tipped his hat to her. “Son o’ a bitch!! How’d ye find me?!” she shouted.
Swaggering forward,
Jack clasped his palms together in an exaggerated prayer and lifted his arms
heavenward, “Providence is kind, luv,” batting his eyes innocently, “to bring
me here, thus in time.” He came upon
the limp body of Cupid and callously kicked his offending hand from his path,
“Yer work?” he asked Will.
“Aye,” defiantly,
Will laid his hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword.
The movement didn’t
escape Jack’s attention, “Might have to teach ye a lesson ‘bout interferin’
with others’ business,” Jack menacingly drew his own sword, “Especially, if it
be pirate business, whelp.”
“You have leave to
try, knave,” the swish of Will’s sword hissed like a snake as it slipped from
its sheath.
“No Mister Turner!”
desperately seizing Will’s forearm, Maren attempted to pull him away. Both men looked quite shocked as though they
had completely forgotten her presence, “He’s [the] Captain Jack Sparrow, please
do’n fight him! He’ll kill ye!”
Jack erupted in
giddy laughter, “Aye boy, best be listenin’ to the wench, she gives good
advice.” Still smiling insanely, Jack
tossed his hat aside and switched hold on his sword to remove his coat.
“I am not so easily
defeated, my lady,” Will compassionately, yet decisively, removed Maren’s hands
from his arm, “Please stand back.”
Entranced, Maren obliged him, shuffling back a few feet.
Jack and Will
studied each other tensely in silence, both unblinkingly, both menacing. Suddenly, Jack leapt at his opponent and the
duel exploded! Parries, blocks,
thrusts, dodges, flourishes, stabs, jabs, and struts spilled over one another,
choreographing an intimate dance of steel and sweat. Squealing, Maren clenched her hands over her appalled mouth,
stifling screams of excitement. They
were fighting for her! How
romantic! Well, she did reluctantly
concede that Will probably was dueling for honor’s sake and Jack for…well Jack,
because he was a horse’s arse. But a
woman could pretend couldn’t she?
Slipping, Will barely missed the assault Jack had aimed at his head and
Maren cried out, “Be careful Mister Turner!”
“Careful Mister
[Turner]?” Jack ground out quietly to Will as the young men trapped him against
a table, barely holding his blade at bay from his nose, “What happen’d to ‘be
careful, Jack’?” Mustering the strength
to expel the fiery youth, Jack eluded the next attack by sliding under the
table, back to gravely floor.
“Jealous?” gloating,
Will jumped atop his worktable crouching down to cross intricate blades with
the horizontal pirate. Agile and
clever, Jack kicked at Will’s foot and rolled away swiftly as he fell down, but
the whelp retained his control, springing into a graceful summersault and
hurdling to his feet. Likewise, Jack
bounded from lying to standing in one practiced move. “Did you really kidnap her?” Will panted, forcing the pirate
backwards as he pressed his offense.
“Do’n be fool’d boy,”
spinning dizzily around the donkey’s pulley, Jack almost caught Will in the back,
but the young man wisely retreated a few steps, “She lov’d every second of it!”
The orchestra of
clanks and clinks continued while Maren and Kristy took audience. “[He be amazin’!]” Kristy cheered, clapping
for more.
‘He be a god!’ biting
her knuckle, Maren communicated silently with the ghost.
“[Which one?]” pressed
Kristy.
Maren dismissed
vaguely, ‘Whichever.’
“[Know what ye mean,]”
sighing lustfully, Kristy watched, hypnotized as muscles flexed and legs bent,
as hair twirled and mouths gasped, as damp skin came so deliciously close to
touching the rival’s own wet flesh. She
shivered, permitting erotic scenarios to play in her mind, naughty pirate and
wanton blacksmith casting their weapons aside to duel with nimble tongues in
passionate kisses, expelling hot, chafing clothes, dominate wrestling topped
with demanding caresses as they fought for supremacy in love-making. “[Hee hee hee,]” Kristy giggled wickedly,
then consciously noticed Maren’s disapproving gaze staring through her,
“[What]?” she huffed defensively.
‘Ye pervert,’
snorting, Maren set her fists on her hips, ‘Do’n ‘what’ me, I know what ye were
thinkin’. Can tell by that randy gleam
in ye eye!’
“[What I was
‘thinkin’,]” Kristy cut deliberately, “[Was why, by the bishop’s white prick,
are ye not helpin’ Mister Turner, stead of standin’ there like an imbecile?”
Futilely, Maren opened
and closed her mouth, searching for a witty and viable retort, “I…well-mmm…was just gettin’ to that part,”
she finished weakly, before sprinting away, scattering about for a weapon.
“I should hope so!”
calling out at her, Kristy returned to her anxious scrutiny and shameless
fantasizing of the energetic couple, so masculine and mesmerizing in their
swordplay.
“Surrender, scum,”
Will lunged dangerously close to Jack’s sword, “And I might take pity on
you.” He grinned, smartly, all the
while.
“The only pity that be
afford’d today,” breaking contact, Jack returned to his fighter’s stance,
keeping the blacksmith at distance, “is to be given to yer wife, o’ should I
say ‘widow’!” Jack slashed his blade
upward, renewing his attack with viscous vigor, when Maren approached from
behind. He barely had a moment to
glance back at the sound of her scuffling footsteps, before a wooden plank was
walloped violently against his skull, his beads comically clanking together at
impact.
“Miss me Cap’n?” she
said with mock-politeness as he slipped, blinking and perplexed to the floor,
where his head thudded painfully loud upon the ground and his sword was swept
away from him with her foot.
“Ouch…” was all he
replied, lying spread-eagle and eyes crossing in a fruitless attempt to focus
his sights on Maren who loomed ominously over him, her plank lofted like a
Bible in her right hand. “Ouch,” he
mumbled again for good measure.
“I believe,” Will
interjected, the point of his sword resting at Jack’s throat, causing Maren to
stifle a distressed cry, “victory is mine.
Do you yield?”
Reluctantly, Jack
raised himself up on his elbows, groaning at the throbbing in his head. His eyes glared down at the weapon at his
neck, “Ye cheat’d,” he halfheartedly accused.
“I did not cheat,”
clarifying, Will indicated Maren, “The young lady did.” Proudly, Maren puffed out her chest, an
appreciable sight that both men fondly observed. Will repeated definitively, “Do you yield?”
Jack deliberately
calculated the tip of the blade, then Will, back to the blade, and finally
Maren who sniffed hotly, “Aye, ye win,” stubbornly, he relented and the sword
was abruptly withdrawn, “Where that put the score at, mate? Three to two, right?”
“Nay, my numerically
challenged friend,” Will extended a hand to aide Jack up, “It’s three to
three.”
“Like hell!” grunting,
Jack braced himself on Will’s arm as a lever to stand upon his two stiff feet,
“No way an amateur pup like ye is evens with Cap’n Jack Sparrow.” Sucking in a bitter breath, Jack tentatively
touched the back of his head and examined his fingers, checking for blood,
“Bugger, that smarts!”
“Ask Elizabeth, she is
keeping count,” Will toed Jack’s sword, punting it up in the air where he
skillfully caught it. Benevolently, he
procured it to Jack who snatched it back grumpily, “Three to three.”
Begrudgingly, Jack
conceded, “All right, three to three,” he sheathed his sword and added smugly,
“but do’n be makin’ yerself comfortable bein’ on the same par with me lad, next
match be mine, for sure.” They laughed
together and embraced in the odd male fashion, clasping each other’s right hand
to their chests and leaning their shoulders together before heartily patting
the other’s back, the masculine hug.
Kristy almost drooled in delight at the prospect of physical contact
between the two raging stallions.
“Pardon me,
gentlemen,” Maren boomed, sarcasm dripping, “But what, by Mother Mary’s sweet
virtue, is bleedin’ happenin’ here? Ye
[know] each other?!” her shouting increasing in volume and severity.
“Aye, old friends,
sav’d his life, sav’d his gel’s life, she burn’d me rum, long story,”
preoccupied, Jack was dressing in his jacket and hat, Will was scooting
furniture back into place after the foray.
“Out o’ curiosity, me dear,” Jack shrugged at Maren, “Where ye think I
be acquirin’ a few dozen swords from, the bakery perhaps?”
The obvious crashing
mercilessly upon her, Maren slapped her forehead and mumbled, “A blacksmith.”
“Aye, from the
blacksmith,” nodding, Jack’s lopsided grin taunted her stupidity.
“[Guess we should have
thought o’ that, huh?]” Kristy regretted.
“I don’t believe I
ever caught your name, miss?” cutting in, Will offered his hand politely.
She replied
suspiciously, “Maren Attle,” moodily shaking his hand, suppressing that shiver
of familiarity that the young man stirred in a memory not entirely hers.
“Well Miss Attle-,”
but Jack interrupted Will.
“Do’n be rubbin’
elbows with the likes o’ her, whelp,” annoyed, Jack stood barring the two and
cocking a thumb at her, “She’s in ‘nough trouble as it is. This be her second escape attempt and it’s
not even eight o’clock yet! She has,
and this is only this mornin’s transgressions mind, aimed a revolver at me
head, tried to kidnap me, wind’d me up and left me wantin’, if ye guess me
meaning,” Maren hid her face in her hands, the blush signifying her
embarrassment while Jack continued numbering the offenses off on his dirty
fingers, “Lord spare us for whatever she did to Anamaria, evidently she also
stolen one o’ me longboats ‘cause she aint wet, got Thomas there in a heap o’
mess, bonked me head somethin’ awful, cost me a duel and me leadin’ score, and
threw herself at a married bloke like some cheap strumpet.”
Will was taken aback
and Kristy screamed in outrage, “[Yer mumma was a donkey-cocksucking cunt o’ a
slut, may she burn in the bowels o’ Lucifer’s shit-hole, ye sister-lickin’
bastard he-whore!!]” she inhaled grotesquely for show, clearly breathing not
being a necessity. She thought a moment
and further conceited, “[That was one o’ me better ones, what ye think Pet?]”
Maren did not reply,
could not reply. Temper was tremoring
through her body like lava in a volcano ready for rupture. How dare he! Who did Sparrow think he was?
Strumpet?! How on God’s green
Earth did she ever even fathom falling in love with this man? This thoughtless, crass, and black-hearted
scoundrel. To presume to judge her,
when his own sexual exploits with harlots were as infamous as his notorious
adventures. The nerve of that filthy, flippant, and fornicating fiend. God, she hated him! That wicked, manipulative, and deceptive
devil…God, she loved him still! There
was no denying it, why not defy the blue sky or rising sun? And that was the final nail in the cross,
her own helplessness to ward him off.
She was a vulnerable kitten taunted by a sprightly sparrow, some wildcat
she turned out to be. All because of some sadistic affection that gripped her
pulsing heart in a vice! It was true
what the poets wrote, love was a curse.
“William Joseph
Turner!” a scathing holler trumpeted on the other side of the shop door. Immediately both men jumped sheepishly as a
beautiful young woman strode into the smithery. “You left without eating breakfast again, didn’t-why is there a
cataleptic gentleman on the floor?” she stopped short, indicating the
unconscious Cupid and then comprehension dawned, “Jack!” cheering, she answered
her own question.
An unbearable bout of
déjà vu clouded Maren’s senses. The
newcomer had dusty blonde hair, slightly darker then her own. She was a good deal taller and leaner with
angled and sculpted bone structure, clearly the result of centuries of good
breeding. Her eyes were perfectly
brown, her skin aristocratically pale, and so very familiar.
It was a compulsive
accident, actually. Just like any
innocent person would reflexively catch an object flying at their head, Maren
involuntarily called out to remember…and received an overpowering answer, she
closed her eyes.
[The cave…damp and
dark, glimmering with shining gold piled like sand. There was Jack, so much frustration, why couldn’t he just
die!? A twisted desire to murder
overwhelmed her, she loathed him, she hated him, she wanted to hurt him, hurt
him so badly. But she couldn’t, why
not? She clung desperately to that
confusion, somehow sensing that it might lead her away from this strange place,
but the hatred consumed her again, dragging her back down to the cave of
treasure, to Jack, to the boy…Will Turner…and to the girl…Elizabeth Swann…kill
her! Shoot her, kill her, make them
suffer! Aye, yes, now he’ll feel the
pain, her pain, his pain all for my pleasure…shoot her, kill her, end it! She aimed her pistol…]
“[Maren?]” Kristy’s
stomach knotted, “[Maren?!]”
“Me Elizabeth!” Jack
whined boyishly, arms spread wide and they threw welcoming hugs about each
other. Giggling with glee, Elizabeth
held tightly around Jack’s neck while he playfully picked her up to spin her
around, “Miss’d ye so much.” He pecked
a kiss atop her head, then on her forehead, next along her cheek, and attempted
a more intimate and less than prudent kiss upon her rose lips, but she craned
her head away and socked him warningly on the shoulder, “Sorry, sorry, couldn’t
help meself,” he shrugged with lip pouting to Will, “Ca’n blame a bloke for
tryin’.”
“Aye and can’t blame a
husband for running said bloke through,” muttered Will.
“Gentleman,”
pointedly, Elizabeth looked at Maren, eyes shut and standing immobile, “I
believe introductions are in order,” she coaxed further.
“Oh, of course,”
repairing his discourteous manners, Will took Elizabeth’s dainty hand and
escorted her towards the oddly statuesque Maren. “Elizabeth, this is Miss Maren Attle,” he gestured, but her
unresponsive demeanor was disconcerting.
Noticeably clearing his throat, he tried again, “And Miss Attle, this is
my wife Missus Turner.” Her smile
gleaming, Elizabeth proffered her lace-gloved hand.
Maren did not react.
An awkward silence
stretched until Jack blatantly bit out his arrogant opinion, “Do’n mind her,
sweetheart, she just be pissy on account o’ the serious amount o’ trouble she’s
in by me. I swears, ye be lucky if I
ever release ye from the brig!” he baited Maren, becoming increasingly
uncomfortable with her catatonic state.
This wasn’t like Maren to passively avoid a fight, in fact, only once in
the brief time that he’d known her, did she ever stay quiet this long…“Oh
bugger,” he whispered, dread sweeping into him and stepped forward.
Elizabeth cried out in
surprise when Maren’s hand struck her wrist, fingers tightening painfully in a
squeezing grasp. Maren’s eyes sprang
open like the gallows’ trapdoor, empty glass orbs subjecting Elizabeth to a
blind, blue stare, “How dare a snip o’ a bitch claim Parley.”
“What?” she begged
confused and unnaturally frightened, though she could not precisely name
why. After all, hadn’t she defended
herself against an entire crew of the undead?
Why should some madwoman with a strong hold and strange eyes scare her?
“Maren? Maren, answer me,” touching her face
tenderly, Jack attempted to force her gaze upon him, but the medium would not
budge. Will, alarmed to see the always
composed Jack Sparrow in distress, came to his wife’s side, laying an unsure
hand on the arm Maren clutched.
All this was
inconsequential to Maren, she was far away, “That be what he thought when he
first set eyes on ye, this snob cunny boardin’ his ship, demandin’ things! Ha!!
But he was bound to the code and he suspect’d he be needin’ yer blood to
top it off.”
“Maren, stop this
Maren,” Jack suppressed the anxiety in his smoky voice with a pseudo blasé
merriment. Tapping her cheek gently at
first, his hand began smacking firmer, clapping smartly as no acknowledgement
was offered, not a blink, not a grimace.
“Kristy?” Jack commanded to thin air, “Can ye help her?” He readdressed Maren, grinning urgently, “Ye
have to tell Jack what be happenin’ here, luv, I do’n understand. I do’n know how to help ye. How do I stop this? Just talk to me, what do I got to do? Can ye hear me, lass? Ye there, Maren…blink once for ‘aye’, twice
means ‘nay’.”
“Jack,” Will spoke
evenly, eyes shooting between Maren and the pirate, “If this is some sort of
joke-.”
The blacksmith’s mouth
clapped shut when Maren’s unwavering stare fell heavy upon him, “It was ye
blood all ‘long, he was extremely,” and her unemotional tone drew out this
word, extenuating a meaning tenfold more drastic, “upset to find the wench had
lied. And very disappoint’d that he was
forced to release her to negotiate yer surrender.” The medium’s head pivoted back to Elizabeth, “He was hopin’ to
observe his crew takin’ turns at ye, or should I say ‘in’ ye? Then delightin’ in servin’ himself a fine
piece o’ yer pie, slittin’ yer bitch throat at the precise moment he comes!”
Horrified, Elizabeth
gasped and Will yanked her away so roughly that Maren left red scratches in the
lady’s white arm.
She persisted,
oblivious to any change in the atmosphere and rotated on Will who gawked at
her, shoving his wife protectively behind him, “But nay, ye had to play the
hero and spoil it all! He had the same
tuppin’ plans for ye, ye know, but he did intend to keep ye ‘round for a bit
longer,” finally, Maren’s face twitched, but not in any movement Jack had been
hoping for, in a lewd wink that fired ice into Will’s blood, “What a
scrumptious littl’ tart Bootstrap’s boy turn’d out to be, delicious like his
pop. What fun he was goin’ to have with
ye whelp!”
Rapidly, Maren’s mood
began to shift, her eyes, though remaining blank, squinted in a glare and she
bared her teeth in a feral snarl, “But things did’n work out that way, did
they? Ye!” Maren shouted, beholding
Jack, a step away and face carefully guarded.
“Why could’n ye stay dead!? Ye
ruin’d everthin’! Ye ruin’d it! Damn ye Sparrow!” attacking her ears, Maren
clasped her hands to her head and mercilessly dug her nails into her scalp, a
sign she was fighting back, vainly attempting to drown out the presence in her
mind, “Ye ruin’d IT!! God DAMN YE
Sparrow! Ye ruin’d IT!! RUIN’D IT ALL!!”
Then suddenly, Maren’s
features cleared and she closed her eyes, silent.
“I,” Jack warily edged
closer to her, “I think it’s over.”
Maren’s eyes flew
open, no longer dark blue, the color of Jack’s beloved ocean, but sharp blue
ice on jaundiced yellow. Volatile, [he]
smiled at Jack, “Nice bit o’ skirt ye gots here Jack,” and the voice wasn’t her
lovely crystal ring, it cracked crisply in menace, deep and gritty, [his] voice
as clear as day…and then was gone as Maren eyes snapped shut again.
Elizabeth covered her
mouth, stifling piercing scream and Will, so shocked, unsheathed his sword,
inching them both away. Jack stood his
ground, cocking his head curiously, beads clicking. Some annoyingly sensible part of him, probably good buddies with
his obnoxious conscious, reminded him he should be frightened too, after all,
his arch-nemesis from beyond the grave was commentating upon his latest
romantic interest through said romantic interest. Yet, their was also the brutal side to his personality that stole
center stage often, the side that enjoys poking at dead bodies with sticks,
that breeds the urge to trip playing children running by, that laughs at
violent slap-stick comedy. This
particular trait was incurably fascinated.
Deep blue eyes,
blinking away the haze, peered out tired, but victorious. “Pecker,” the actual Maren murmured, “I
needs rest now,” voice one hundred percent her own and fainted out cold.
* * *
[Meanwhile, on another
plane of existence, Kristy and Barbossa stood feet apart, or miles apart, there
was really no space to measure here. A
soundless wind, casting light and shadow, whisked their clothing and danced
strands of Kristy’s hair about, but was unfelt by the spirits. Barbossa frowned, tipping his hat, and
Kristy nodded ever so slightly.
“Yer talent’d
bastard,” Kristy spoke, “I’ll be givin’ ye that, but make no mistake, Maren’s a
lot more powerful then the likes o’ any ghost.”
“Seems to me,”
sneering, Barbossa flashed his rotten teeth, “there be plenty o’ this Maren to
go ‘round. What ye say, luv? Let ole Barbossa in.”
“Never.”
“We can share her.”
“Share yer mother,”
cocky, Kristy waved disgusted at Barbossa.
“Ye reek o’ fresh meat, ye do, two years dead, fresh off the slab! Sod sharin’. Take a gander at yerself lately?” she pointed at the gunshot
wound stained with blood upon his chest, “Ye can’t even hide yer death yet. That be graveyard stunts, pussy stuff.”
“Hide me death?”
Barbossa repeated skeptical.
“Aye, ye think I
look’d like this when ole Grim came for me?” and to Barbossa it seemed his
perception of Kristy was melting. Her
skin dried and chafed purple and blue.
Blood filled the globes of her eyes until they protruded horrible and
lifeless. Fingers and arms tensed into
rigor mortis, while flakes of her flesh began blowing away. A long grey tongue protruded grotesquely and
stiffly out of her mouth, bitten repeatedly, until her bottom teeth now poked
out from the swollen muscle. Her nails
grew and her brown hair was falling out.
Around her neck, buried with hunching shoulders, was a mass of black
bruises, appearing like a glamorous, deadly choker.
“It all comes down to
perception, me dear,” the corpse creature said, “Like I said, yer talent’d and maybe a wee bit lucky, but yer
nothin’ compar’d to a forty year spook such as meself. Hell we once held off a two hundred year
haunt and the gel was only nine, barely a slip o’ a thing then. She’s older now and be believin’ me, a damn
well stronger in her gifts then she cares to admit to herself. Maren knows who ye be now, she knows yer
essence and yer potential, ye’ll never be able to possess her ‘gain. Hope ye made it count, ‘twas the last time,
I guarantee ye that. Ye fight her, ye
fail, plain and simple, so bugger off!”
“Then why warn me?”
flaring his nostrils, Kristy caught a quick glimpse at insanity like a gapping
hole in his head.
“Enjoy gloatin’,” the
death appeared to slip off of her presence and Kristy once again appeared as
she did in life, before vanishing, abandoning the mutineer to fall
uncontrollably back to his haunting place.]
* * *
“Jack,” Will sheathed
his sword, praying the strange episode was finished, “What in the world was
that?” Worried Elizabeth stepped out
from behind her husband.
“Séance o’ sorts,”
distracted, Jack had caught Maren when she collapsed, sparing her a definite
bump on the head and cradled her protectively in his lap on the floor. Fondly he traced the contours of her face,
arched eyebrows, the curve of her nose, the fall from cheeks to chin, and the
part of her lips. Too awed to be
properly concerned, Jack smiled madly up at them, “Splendid.”
“I’ll say,” Elizabeth
lowered herself behind Jack, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “What
exactly happened?”
“She be a medium,”
defensive to their incredulous expressions Jack sarcastically furthered with,
“Look, either ye believe yer own eyes and ears o’ ye can believe she be
Barbossa’s long lost bastard daughter what has return’d to write her pa’s
biography, but takin’ a brief hiatus from her novel ambitions,” pausing, Jack
waited for the pun to stir some pity laughter, but none came, “ to get her
kicks from performin’ impeccable impersonations of her late father, including
an implausible feat of not only changin’ her voice, but also the very color of
her eyes. Oh, and let’s not be
forgettin’ the verity that this gel is exceptionally well-inform’d as to the
happenings in Barbossa’s sick mind.
Let’s have a vote, shall we? All
in favor o’ this lass bein’ Barbossa’s thespian, literary daughter, raise yer
hand,” silence as both Will and Elizabeth glared at him, “Right-o, now all
those for a medium?” Jack flourished
one hand, “There ‘tis, the wench be a medium.
Nice and democratic-like, only no persons were brib’d, murder’d, o’
vot’d twice, but it still be a damn fine system o’ government in theory.”
“So,” ignoring the
plethora of gibberish that usually entailed Jack’s sentences, Will inquired,
“She, honest to God, communicates with the dead?”
“Aye,” Jack was fiddling
pensively with Maren’s earlobe.
“How often?” producing her handkerchief,
Elizabeth fanned Maren’s slack face.
Jack mulled over his
answer for a moment, “Well, she gabs to this whore ghost, name o’ Kristy, all
the time.” On retrospect, Jack added
quickly, “If yer here Miss Kristy, I be meanin’ whore in the nicest way
possible, promise” he spoke to the ceiling while Will and Elizabeth peeked
nervously about. “But a spell like what
just occurr’d here, only been a spectator to somehtin’ like that once ‘fore,
few days ago, in Tortuga.”
“Who was she…talkin’
to then?” finally, Will joined them in kneeling by Maren.
Another silent instant
before he answered, “Barbossa, only ‘twas different that time.” The Turner couple quirked eyebrows at each
other when Jack pressed his lips to Maren’s, gentle and firm, they were almost
embarrassed to observe Jack in such an uncharacteristically caring action, “My
God the things I can do with her.”
“Jack!” slapping the
captain’s hand away from Maren’s cheek, Elizabeth scolded, eyes slit and
dangerous, “That best not mean what I imagine it means.”
Innocent jeweled
fingers splayed against his chest, “Thought never cross’d me mind, madam, I
swears it. Evidently, ye be the one
with ye head in the gutter,” Jack tsk-ed, “My implication was more ‘long the
line of financial potential, rather than physical, savvy?” Jack hushed his voice and the Turners leaned
their heads closer conspiratorially,
“Consider the possibilities, me mates, blackmail, thievery,
espionage. Ye heard the sayin’, ‘takin’
a secret to the grave,’? Well not
anymore. Daresay, that even if Rommie’s
fortune be two coppers and old underwear, this adventure will still be highly
lucrative for yers truly. This medium
might be the greatest treasure I ever acquir’d!” Then Jack grinned like the madman he kept proving himself to be.
Will exchanged a
glance at Elizabeth, then determinedly stated, “Except, of course, that she is
not a treasure, but a free-thinking, breathing human being.”
Jack shrugged, dismissing
such technicalities. Maren was [his]
now, obvious and perfectly natural. She
was one of a kind, the ultimate rarity and that made her exceptionally
valuable. And Jack was bound to the
code of piracy to horde such a priceless commodity for himself, how could he
call himself a pirate if he didn’t keep her?
No doubt about it, Jack [wanted] Maren, all that was left was to
convince Maren that she did indeed belong to him now.
“Will take
that bastard ye conked out back to me Pearl,” Jack gingerly, lifted Maren up as
he stood, “Elizabeth, might I burden yer household with ‘nother guest?”
Thanks a Lot,
Citadel
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