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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.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
[Chapter Sixteen: Poisoned Sleep]
Needless to
say, Jack found sleep slightly elusive that night. The searing image of Maren, bottle head between her lips and
Jack�s hand upon her thigh, was burned ferociously into his all ready quirky
mind. Grunting with frustration, Jack
rolled over in the bed and buried his face under the downy pillows as he
moaned. Every time the pirate managed
to relax in a comfortable position where restful slumber was but a teasing
breath away, more tortuously vivid memories of that saucy medium haunted him.
He fluffed
two pillows atop each other and thrust his arm under to lie on his left side,
sheets tangled between his bare legs.
Ah, now this was workable�[�Do ye want me Jack?� she murmured to him in
an opium daze. One small hand curled around the collar of Jack�s shirt and
pulled him down to her�]
Sighing,
Jack angrily kicked the sheets away, allowing the cool air to chill his naked
form, as he lay flat on his back. His
eyes were drowsy, staring at the boring ceiling and counting the cracks in the
molding and slowly the dark orbs surrendered to closing�[As graceful as his
swordplay had been, Jack pounced on Maren to force upon her their first kiss in
her bleak little Tortugan room. His
talented tongue ravaged her mouth like his presence ravaged her confidence,
caressing and stroking her own, till she responded meekly flicking at his
teeth�]
Again he
flopped about, landing on his stomach to allow the crisp night air to sooth his
sweaty back. Absently, he swatted the
other pillows off the bed, keeping the flattest one to rest his side-turned
face against. His skin prickled as the
chill combined with his perspiration lured him close to sleep�[Chuckling, deep
and smoky in his throat, Jack half talked, half moaned, �Aye, I be a filthy,
dirty scoundrel and ye love it, do�n ye?� lewdly Jack lapped his red tongue up
Maren�s quivering stomach, wetting the linen fabric of her shift. How was he supposed to know she was seeing a
putrefying skeleton crawling all over her?�]
Jack sat up
to stretch and only ended up dropping forward in exhaustion, so he surrendered
to lying upside down on the bed.
Surprisingly, he discovered that this position might have some snoozing
potential. Piling the sheets together
to improvise a pillow, Jack then used his actual pillow as a cushion between
his knees. Hadn�t he read somewhere
that this was good for the back? He
couldn�t recall at the moment. Anyway,
it was comfortable at least�[Her fingers warily touched the prominent bulge
hidden under his trousers and the gasp and groan that tore from his lips into
her still seeking mouth encouraged her to grow bolder in her ploy to seduce
him. This time she caressed with an
aggressive palm, impressed with what was evidently a generous size and shape�]
Jumping out
of bed, Jack dashed for his rum that stood on the dressing table. It was absolutely imperative that he drown
these steamy recollections before the memories drove him to desperation! After all, the fact that Maren only slept a
few rooms away did not escape his un-sated attention. It would be so [easy] to force his way into that room and into Maren�s
dreadfully lonely bed-whoa, better stop!
Quickly, he chugged down a quarter of the golden liquor and sighed when
the familiar comforting warm tingle spread from his empty stomach. The rum would cool down his
thoughts�[Maren�s hands were dominating and masterful upon him, �Mmmh, harder
luv�yes, ooh-FUCK, ye got IT!!� Abruptly,
Jack�s entire body collapsed, leaving him breathless with a thin sheen of sweat
on his brow. His back had never felt
better�]
Damn it, so the rum
failed. Carelessly, he let the bottle
slip to the floor, defeated. A window
was open to welcome the fresh air and the curtains danced about in the
breeze. Glimpses of bright moonlight
shone through and tinged Jack�s copper skin silver. He felt an uncharacteristic bout of melancholy spill over
him. So this was what it was like to
feel [lonely]. �Sort o� like landin�
flat on yer feet and pinchin� that nerve that shoots agony up and down yer
back,� Jack mused, �O� like chewin� bullets.��[Promptly, the barmaid took the
cork in her white teeth, tugged roughly, and with a satisfying pop, opened the
bottle. She spat the cork out several
feet before it fell to the floor. �Yer
rum, Cap�n Sparrow,� she spoke sweetly this time. Jack couldn�t help himself, he began to chuckle, �Oh I�m liking
this one, Mister Gibbs!�]�and suddenly, Jack didn�t feel quite so lonely anymore.
Reflecting over that
night in the Siren�s Drink, Jack laughed to himself, lost in his own private
joke. Gracefully, he scooped up the rum
again, ashamed to have doubted it, and grandly toasted the pale moon peaking
through the drapes. �To �the ones worth
liking�, Lady Diana, may yer tyrannical virginity not reign over Maren much
longer,� he saluted with a gulp.
He stood and
stretched, grunting at the satisfying pop in his back and grateful for Maren�s
talented massage. Shuffling back to the
bed, Jack retrieved the rejected pillows from the floor and straightened out
the blankets. Gingerly, he crawled back
in the downy softness and wrapped himself in the satin sheets like a Chinese
silk worm. Now this was snug�[�Jack!�
gleefully, she stretched her arms out to him, �Dance with me!� she juvenilely
whined.]�
Oddly enough, it was
this image that lulled Jack gently to sleep.
* * *
Maren, on the other
hand, was timidly attempting to fight slumber.
She knew it was futile and she knew she might as well get it over with
now, but just because she knew the nightmares were coming didn�t make them any
easier to bare or face. What happened
that day with Barbossa was a rarity; truly, Maren could count the number of times
that she had been completely possessed on one hand. Of course, usually these ghosts were of the two hundred to three
hundred year variety, however clearly Barbossa was an exception.
Still, Maren held no
fa�ade of hope that maybe the nightmares would not come. They always came, ferocious and volatile,
after a possession, though the attacking ghost was in no way present. It was as if Maren�s �sight� was cleansing
the remains of the intruder from her mind.
Unfortunately, like bleeding out an infection, the nightmares were
horrible and hurtful. These were the
sufferings and dreams of beings that for one reason or another never left this
world. They were the last regretful
testament to who the ghosts were in life.
Who was Barbossa? Whether Maren
wished an answer to this morbid question or not, she was going to receive one�
[She began her
journey towards the end, when Barbossa realized he was dead, or undead would
perhaps be the more correct term, during the last ten years of his �life�. It would surprise the innocent bystander
that the crew of the Black Pearl stayed completely ignorant of their cursed
affliction for an entire two weeks.
Indeed, a mysterious storm had stalked them since leaving the Isle
Muerta, preventing moonlight from exposing their skeletal forms. It is true that suddenly they were bombarded
by a ravenous hunger and unquenchable thirst that never seemed to ebb, even at
mealtimes. However, these annoyances,
for they started out bothersome but would soon become torturous, were also the
symptoms attributed to cabin fever.
Also, the growing
lust that was plaguing the crew only supported this misdiagnosis. They simply supposed that they had stayed
away from land and all its luxuries too long.
In fact, the desire for sex was becoming so strong that several crew
members were casting randy eyes upon Bootstrap Bill, who was the Black Pearl�s
most handsome resident pirate, save maybe for her former Captain now wasting
away on a desert isle. Fortunately,
their passions were never acted upon, for Bootstrap was a master swordsman and
any foolish man that dared poke his pecker at Bill would not have a pecker to
poke much longer.
But after two weeks,
when the Pearl made harbor, the devastating reality of what they�d become
became apparently clear�
It is that very
morning that Maren dreams of. She sees
and hears, even thinks and feels what Barbossa does, but unlike a true
possession, she can remain a spectator to the events that transpire, which is a
small blessing, at least.
She was sitting, or
rather the newly Captain-ed Barbossa was sitting at the large study table in
the captain�s quarters of the Black Pearl.
Before her, the glittering of ancient Aztec coins dazzled her eyes and
Barbossa was relishing the task of examining them thoroughly. Until there was a knock on the door to which
she heard Barbossa bark, �Enter.�
William Turner
entered. Maren immediately felt her
mind split in two different directions.
The first was the part of her that remained safely tucked away in a
satin-sheeted bed and this part was briefly confused as to why young Will was
there, because the resemblance between father and son was uncanny. They were the same height, though Bootstrap
Bill was broader then his heir and tanner.
He was, at this particular moment in time, older then Will by possibly
ten years. Pierced through his right
nostril was a silver stud that appeared very exotic to Maren, after the initial
shock that is. The ears were pierced in
a similar fashion and a tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve. The hair was much longer, thin and past his
shoulders, but still wavy and brown while his face sprouted a full, trimmed
beard. How in the world did this man
ever pass himself off as some mundane merchant to his son?
Conversely, there
were other thoughts and emotions that belonged to the other part of Maren that
was stuck sharing space with Barbossa.
This unfortunate part immediately recognized the intruder as Bootstrap
Bill, idealistic and troublesome. A
conniving, yet controlled, temper beat through her veins and she was appalled
to discover the overwhelming desire to [hurt] this man.
�{Captain},� and all
the resent and disgust swelled in that one word like puss in a boil,
�Barbossa.�
�{Bootstrap},� and
Barbossa mimicked that same loathing and umbrage in his gruff tones, �Bill.�
�I�ve come to inform
ye, I shall not be renewin� me contract o� oath with the others. I�m takin� me profits and leavin� the Pearl
as soon as shore leave is permitt�d, sir.�
�Aye, �tis yer right,
so sayeth the Code,� ignoring the glare that Bill shot him, Barbossa steepled
his fingers as his elbows rested on the tabletop, �Ca�n be sayin� I�m
surpris�d, but I am�disappoint�d, true �nough.
Yer blade will be miss�d.�
William Turner Senior
did not respond, because he could not trust himself to. What guarantee did he have that his control
would not slip and end up driving his sword through Barbossa�s black
heart? As tempting as that scenario
would be, Barbossa was, whether or not he liked it, the Black Pearl�s captain
and any attack on him by Bootstrap would be considered mutiny. And Bootstrap Bill was no mutineer! No, he would have to bide his time and wait
until he was free of his obligations to the Pearl. Only then could he avenge himself and Jack upon that treacherous
villain and keep his name and conscience clean.
Supposing that the
conversation was over, Barbossa waved Bill away, but stopped him as he reached
for the doorknob by heaving out one last taunt, �Ye tearin� yerself in two,
Turner. Ye can ne�er be a good man
[and] a pirate, �tis impossible.�
�Sparrow is,� he
said quietly over his shoulder, pausing only for a moment before slipping out
the door.
Bellowing, Barbossa
called out to his retreating figure, �{Was}, boy, Sparrow {was}.�] Next to him, the little shop money he had
obtained in Cuba was attempting to wear one of the former Captain�s socks over
his head. Barbossa spoke to it, �Who ye
think ye are, eh littl� monkey? Think
yer a person? Maybe ye think yer Jack,
eh?� he laughed at his own joke, �Hey, that�s not a bad name for ye.�
* * *
[All became blurred
to Maren�s vision and she sensed many hours pass until it was dusk. She found herself in a seedy brothel and the
panic was already beginning to seep in.
Downstairs the cursed pirates were expelled into terrible rages,
demanding more food and drink, {better} food and drink for their hunger and
thirst could not be satisfied. Plates
and tables were broken, knives were stabbing at bartenders and the occasional
pistol went off, yet the anxiety continued to mount. Desperate pirates were throwing themselves into beer vats and one
poor knave was eating raw flour from a sack to attempt to appease the ravenous
famine in his soul, but Barbossa had other worries to attend to.
Upstairs, he laid
stiffly upon a rickety cot as a mulatto whore of sixteen years was bent over
his hips, his stiff member sucked between her thin lips. Her head bobbed tiredly, exhausted from her
futile efforts to bring her costumer to climax. For forty-five minutes she had remained on her knees and gave the
most thorough and roughest head in her professional career. Most men would have exploded six times over
already, but not this one.
Maren immediately
concentrated all her will on distancing herself from Barbossa, averse to the
knowledge of how a headjob, even an ineffective one, felt from the wrong
end. Luckily, she found this an easy
task to perform, because Barbossa�s anger was rising to full-fledged fury and
the wrath made for a good distraction.
Searing and
impulsive, Maren sensed the consuming frustration as the maddening desire could
not be sated. Barbossa�s restraint
reached boiling and he wretched the poor girl away from him by her hair,
holding her at arms length to slap her viciously. �Ye cunny slut,� he struck her again, this time busting her lip,
�What am I payin� ye for, eh? Ye suck
cock like a baby sucks tit, ye dumb bitch!�
The girl was
accustomed to harsh treatment and simply held her bottom lip, preventing the
blood from staining her working dress.
Callously, she glared back at him, �No need ye getting� rough sir, most
blokes what happen me way would kill to have yer stamina. Do�n see what ye so pissy �bouts, anyway, I
aint never had a costumer that were�n satisfi�d, so have at me backside �til ye
spunk then and it wo�n cost ye none extra.�
Temporarily, Barbossa
was pacified. Perhaps his physical
delay was product of the stress of mutiny and captaining a ship for the first
time in his maritime life. If so, it
was nothing that the pretty young thing�s ample arse couldn�t solve. He nodded gruffly, stepping back out of her
way as she stooped down to remove her knickers.
When she was
arising, the prostitute swayed a bit, threatening to lose balance, but was able
to catch the windowsill to steady herself.
Her tiny hand gripped the dusty curtains and they shifted, permitting
moonlight to shine upon Barbossa�s continence for the first time in two weeks.
Fear in its purest
form erupted from her throat as she screamed and screamed. It was horrifically high pierced and curdled
the blood. Her tan eyes were wide,
sparkling as they brimmed in frightened tears.
The horrified screeches even succeeded in disturbing the mayhem
downstairs, which abruptly quieted down to listen curiously.
Believing the girl
mad, possibly a syphilis victim, Barbossa violently gripped her neck to silence
the noise and so he saw his own hand-
He gasped at first,
releasing the hysterical girl who�s battered throat could only manage scared
hiccupping sobs as she sunk to the floor.
His breathing was becoming rapid and he turned both hands round in the
moonlight, hoping still that it was some trick of the shadows. Panicked tremors began to course through his
body while his decaying hands started patting down his torso, his eyes
discovering the same putrefying scene.
The curse�The same
curse that he had personally mocked as native gibberish. The exact same curse that he and Sparrow had
joked about late at night over a bottle of scotch. The curse that had been as harmless as a child�s fairy tale in
his warped mind was now undeniably�{real}.
Barbossa stumbled
about with feet made heavy with dread.
He remembered, through the fog of numb denial, that a mirror hung on the
door, so he tripped his way to it. The
prostitute sat crumpled in upon herself, hiding her crying face and if she
noticed his movements made no acknowledgement.
Tearing the small mirror from its place, Barbossa gradually brought it
to his face. His reflection left little
doubt, for he was a corpse.]
* * *
[The dizziness swept
over Maren again and she saw months pass by like minutes. Her mind was imprinted with the frantic
search for the Aztec gold and for the first time in her life she realized how
quickly money traveled from hand to hand.
Indeed, the pirates had to hunt far and wide to break their curse, until
all the coins were reclaimed, but one.
Maren and Barbossa
were on a sandy beach. The strangest
feeling of gratification and smug self-satisfaction crept over her. Before her, pirates were digging in the sand
and the part of her sleeping in the Turner house wondered, naively, if they
were seeking buried treasure. On the
contrary, the part of her that stood in Barbossa�s black boots knew better,
knew it was something much more {sinister}.
One of the shovels
struck something solidly wooden and there was a great bustle to free the
mystery object. Heaving in unison, the
pirates lifted a pine coffin from the deep hole. Maren was confused. Why
dig up a dead body? Were they grave
robbing?
A nauseating answer
arose from Maren�s senses, �It�s Turner,� she thought.
No sooner was this
revelation cast upon her, than the coffin was unceremoniously dumped over,
spilling the limp body of Bootstrap Bill onto the beach. Barbossa toed him over so he was lying on
his back, facing up to the Captain, but Bootstrap was not looking at Barbossa. Gazing with sorrowful eyes, disbelieving his
sight, Bill stared at the blue sky and felt the cool breeze upon his face. Was this another hallucination? Could the heat caressing his skin be that of
the sun�s golden rays shining like a miracle in the sky? Or had he succumbed to madness again? At that moment, Barbossa graced to catch
Bill�s attention by spitting in his face and Bootstrap realized that this was
no dream.
With the last
restraint his spirit had to offer, Bootstrap Bill asked, voice parched,
�How-how long?�
�Thirty-one days,�
smiling down, Barbossa fluttered his fingers about, �give o� take a few hours.�
Any pretense of
fortitude or defiance that Bootstrap Bill had hoped he possessed was
dashed. A pathetic whining began meekly
in his throat as he trembled and it quickly progressed to an inhuman wailing
that was usually only associated with the grieving of banshees. Terrible sobs racked his body and he
attempted to cover his face and rollover to hug his knees, but Barbossa�s
booted heel dug into his shoulder.
A disgusting delight
seeped from the villain and Maren was repulsed by his perverse pleasure. The Captain kneeled down, forcing Bill�s
hands to uncover his face so he could properly enjoy the tears of his enemy. �Aye, I know, I know,� he crooned in a
sadistically soothing manner, stroking Bootstrap�s wavy hair, �Seems like much
longer, did�n it? Like ten eternities
in one day, eh? Bet ye went half-crazy
in the first five minutes.� In Bill�s
delirium, the poor man nodded between sobs and even leaned his face into
Barboss�s comforting strokes. �Now
�fresh me memory, lad,� leaning closer, he continued to whisper, �Last time we
talk�d, I want�d to know �bout that last coin o� yers, but ye said ye�d see me
in Hell �fore ye�d see the curse broken.�
Bill�s wails began anew and the trembling of his body became violent
tremors. �Then ye said somethin� silly,
now what did ye say �gain? Aye, that�s
right, ye said ye�d ne�er tell and that I could�n make ye tell, �cause there
were�n no way to torture a man already dead,� in mockery, Barbossa bent over to
kiss Bill tenderly on his forehead, �That was a silly thing to say, eh
Turner? �Cause if ever there were ways
to torture a man, I�d know them. Hell,
I�ve suffer�d most o� them already.�
�P-pl-please,� Bill
stuttered, somehow managing to mutter through his hysteria.
His eyebrows raised in
interest as the once so stoic Bootstrap Bill was reduced to a sniveling prat
though there really was no shame in it.
Burial alive, or undead in this case, will brake the bravest of men,
even Barbossa had succumbed to madness the first month of solitary confinement
in that Chinese prison. Barbossa
grinned again, Bootstrap had been broken quite thoroughly, �Where is it, Bill?�
�P-please,� he gurgled
to repeat.
�Where is it?�
Barbossa repeated, still patient.
�England,� hastily he
answered, �I sent it to England.�
Clenching his fist in
Bootstrap�s hair, Barbossa asked, �Where in England?�
Pitiful crying
overtook the man and for several moments he could not bring himself to speak,
only moaning �please� every so often.
�Please what, Bill?�
he tugged Bill�s scalp in warning.
�Please don�t hurt
them�c-Captain, please,� Bootstrap managed.
Well perhaps, this
{was} leading somewhere, �Hurt who William?� Barbossa spoke directly into the
shell of Bill�s ear.
��my wife�my child��
And there was
Barboss�a answer; he was so relieved that he pecked a quick kiss on Bootstrap�s
wet lips, never minding the mucus that was leaking from his noise.
Blessedly, Maren was
spared the finer details of Bootstrap Bill�s final moments above the
ocean. They had been in the middle of
the Atlantic when they chained William Turner seven times over, lest a part of
him should rot and free himself. Then
they tossed him into the depths where he remained in acute insanity, buried
alive for years on end, until the curse was finally broken by his only son.]
* * *
Maren felt a vague
sensation of vertigo as she sensed herself go back in time, further into
Barbossa�s leftover memories and to a familiar night that he deeply
relished.
The Black Pearl was
anchored at dusk next to a miniscule island as forgettable as it was
hidden. The setting sun cast a sickly
orange glow upon the black deck.
Barbossa stood proudly on the upper deck with his monkey upon his
shoulder, delight overflowing from his dark soul. It made Maren�s stomach sick to feel him so happy.
There was a grand
commotion coming up from below deck and angry, struggling voices wafted up as
well. A band of pirates was carrying a
flailing body over their heads and though the person was bound and gagged, he
still threatened to topple them over with violent kicks and frenzied
pulls. Haphazardly, the procession
finally arrived to the front of the other crewmembers and before Barbossa. Immediately, they threw their captive down
and Maren�s mind retched as her emotions were tugged in two viciously different
directions, desperate love and despicable hate, both equally passionate.
For there Jack
Sparrow had been thrown and by some amazing grace had remained standing in
front of his adversary. His appearance
was slightly altered from how she knew him.
He was, of course, ten years younger, but by no means a green pup, and
his hair, though still sporting some trinkets and charms, was brushed and tied
back. The beard was shorter as well,
without the charming beads that Maren adored.
However, no stretch of time could change the dark intensity of his eyes,
even with slightly less kohl surrounding them.
She yearned to throw her arms around him and give comfort, while the
part of her that was with Barbossa yearned to throw her hands around his neck
and give a strangle.
�Former-Captain
Sparrow,� Barbossa bellowed and the crew erupted in sadistic mirth, �Ye have
been found guilty of�well does it really matter?� and there was a great bout of
laughter from the pirates. �Henceforth
ye have been reliev�d o� yer duties, indefinitely in fact, and have been
sentenced to maroonin� upon the neighborin� desert isle. Have ye any last words, Jack?�
Jack motioned to the
gag securing his mouth with his brown eyes and blinked innocently up at
Barbossa. Grunting, the new Captain
waved a pirate over to remove it for the condemned man. Tentatively, Sparrow stretched and popped
his jaw before mouthing a thank you to the sailor that had freed his mouth from
that reeking rag. �Let�s see, last
words, huh? How very poetic of ye, very
romantic. Well, just a few then,�
suddenly, Jack exploded in a fit of screaming shouts and curses, �YE VILE
MOTHERFUCKERS, ROT IN HELL THE LOT O� YE-YE MUTINEERS! EVERY LAST ONE O� YE BASTARDS HAVE BROKEN
THE CODE, �TIS A CURSE ON YER BLOODY HEADS!!
MARK ME, YE DOGS!� Immediately,
a mass of furious pirates fell upon him, but Jack was not going easily. He was thrashing and pushing with the
strength that only comes with the righteously angry, �COCKSUCKERS, SONS O�
WHORES! DAMN YE, DAMN YE ALL! THIS IS ME SHIP, ME PEARL!� and the mourning
in his voice cracked his ranting for a brief second.
�Toss him over,�
Barbossa yelled, but was interrupted.
�Wait!� a voice from
the crew rose up, it was that conniving Bootstrap Bill, �His pistol, it is his
right, a pistol with one shot, so sayeth the Code!� Turner fought his way forward, a pistol in hand waving over the
crowd.
Quickly, Barbossa
came down the deck to halt him. They
set suspicious glares upon each other as Barbossa took the gun and inspected
it. Only one bullet rested in the
chamber with enough powder for one shot.
Begrudgingly, he returned the pistol to Bootstrap and nodded his permission.
Brows crossed in
distress, Bill approached Jack who by now was restrained by six men. He hadn�t the heart to look Sparrow in the
eye and instead, set about securing the gun in Jack�s holster.
�I should�ve
listen�d to ye.�
Jack had spoken so
quietly that for a moment Bill mistook it for his imagination, but when he
glanced up at the regret in Jack�s eyes, it hitched a lump in his throat. Truthfully, there was the tiniest, guiltiest
part of Bootstrap that felt slightly vindicated. After all, hadn�t he warned Jack? Hadn�t he been wary of that shrewd old man from the
beginning? Hadn�t he had to stand by
helplessly as that bastard Barbossa drove himself between the two friends,
effectively cutting Jack off from the others, including himself? Nothing had hurt Bill as much as when Jack
had promoted Barbossa to first mate, when the whole crew had thought surely the
position of first mate belonged to Bootstrap.
But he couldn�t blame Jack, no, it was Barbossa that had been
manipulating them both into feuding childishly with each other. This was all Barbossa�s doing, undertaking
the mutiny while Bootstrap slept, so when he rose, it was too late to prevent
the fatalistic wave of rebellion. At
that moment, he swore somehow to avenge Jack, to avenge them both.
�I�m sorry Captain,�
they exchanged old and sad smiles, �goodbye.�
�I be yer Capt�n
now, boy!� Barbossa shoved Bootstrap
back into the crowd and fixed a cold hateful glare upon Jack, �Throw him
overboard. Plank�s too good for him.�
�CURSE YE BARBOSSA,
YE TRAITOR!� his haggard voice screamed as Jack was carried to the railing, yet
he would not stay his ranting, �CURSE YE TO HELL! I BE YE CAPT�N, YE HEAR?
I BE YER CAPT�N STILL!! TELL
THAT TO LUCIFER WHEN HE ASKS YE! I AM
YER CAPTAIN-� and he was unpretentiously heaved over the railing.
On hearing the
inevitable splash, Barbossa smiled to himself and said, �I�ve only ever had one
Capt�n.�]
* * *
[A memory so cherished
it shone in Maren�s mind like the sun overtook her immediately and she fell
far, very far into Barbossa�s long life.
Her vision cleared as
she stared at someone�s foot in a black boot that Barbossa was polishing
diligently. She took in his small hands
and gangly appendages plus the pimply face and realized that Barbossa was only a
small boy of thirteen. By the rocking
of the ground she knew they were on a ship.
Young Barbossa hummed cheerfully as he worked and paused only to gaze
shyly up.
Perhaps it was the odd
angle and circumstance of seeing someone through the eyes of a child, but
before Barbossa was a massively tall man, broad and thick-boned. Eyes of sharp hazel studied a map before him
and a jaw that could crack coconuts was set to grinding his teeth in
concentration. He sported a full grey
beard, neatly trimmed and angled. A
uniform of undetermined patronage graced his person and Maren sensed the awe
that this man inspired in the young Barbossa merely by his sheer presence
alone.
Realizing he was being
stared at, the giant man peered at Barbossa out of the corner of his eye and
cracked a benevolent half-smile.
Abruptly, Barbossa, embarrassed that he had been caught staring,
returned to his polishing with renewed vigor.
Maren was filled with
wonderment that was of her own making.
Who was this man that Barbossa still held in such esteem? Who was this man that Barbossa worshipped
and adored like a father? Who was-
And the answer Maren
received, startled her from sleep�]
* * *
Panting
a gasp, Maren shot forward form the bed, sitting and shaking, as she spoke
aloud though no one, not even Kristy, was there to hear her, �Cap�n
Romulus.� She whispered, covering her
pale face in her trembling hands, �He was his cabin boy. Barbossa was the Alpha�s cabin boy.�
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The Haunting Place