Ad Infinitum

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Chapter 15: Abyssus Abyssum Invocat

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Sitting on a cot in the upstairs of the Painted Lady, Will could swear Jack was shaken, the way he leaned on the door he’d just burst through, taking long gulps out of the bottle he’d somehow acquired since Will’s departure.

With a long sigh, Jack lowered the bottle, and stayed put, staring into the distance, seemingly in deep thought.

“What are we going to do?” Will’s patience broke after a minute’s nervous silence.

“Huh?” Looked like Jack had forgotten his whereabouts, Will’s inquiry startling him so.

“I asked; what are we going to do?”

“Sleep,” Jack smiled, dropping himself on the other cot in the room, dangling his bottle over the edge, crossing his booted legs as he laid down, his hat falling over his eyes. “There isn’t much we can do without a vessel, now that we’ve drowned the Pearl,” he quipped pointedly.

“I mean after we get a boat? Where are we to head?” Will gathered himself cross-legged, leaning forth on his hands, obviously tired, and not only of games.

Jack tipped his hat off his eyes with the bottle, and squinted at Will, “Well, I figured the best place to start would be Port Royal. Pip knows his way around the cemetery, so he'll come in handy. Besides, I haven't had a chance to thank him yet.”

“Pip?” Will was dumfound.

“Percy,” Jack offered happily, continuing at Will’s expectant brow; “Or, Percival, if you like. My cousin. Teague's boy. His only boy. Good man, though a bit on the religious side. You two will get along fine, I’m sure.” Jack handed the bottle to Will’s direction, who took it eagerly, waiting for Jack to continue.

“He's got marvelous insight about burial rites and rituals of all sorts, so with any luck, we'll get this sorted at the first go. Helped me to get me mom buried properly too.”

Will’s already risen intrigue kicked up a notch. “What is he, another one of those Vodoun priests mumbling strange incantations? I think I’ve had enough of them.”

“You could say that.” Jack shrugged the question away. “You’ll see.”

“Of course.” Will thrust the rum back at Jack, his mood lowering, encrusted with annoyance toward the futility of every which one of their actions thus far. They were practically where they’d started, with Elizabeth still dead, her soul wandering God knows where, and here they lay, useless, drinking rum.

Noticing the change in Will’s appearance, Jack found it in himself to explain perhaps a little further. “He's the vicar of the old church of Port Royal, the same I'd imagine you went to. Perhaps you--” Jack started up, studying Will for a moment. “…No, you couldn't have met him. He only was appointed there some eight years ago.”

Even more deeply puzzled, if possible, Will straightened himself and tried to relax, mind still searching answers to his unuttered questions. “Your cousin, the only son of the Keeper of the Code, is the vicar of the old church?”

“Aye,” Jack grinned. “Funny ol' world, innit?”

****

Will must’ve had fallen asleep, exhausted that he was, emotionally as well as physically, since he was dreaming of not dreaming of what he was dreaming about.

His unconscious mind traveled to times that could have been, the blurry face of a boy, his son, alight with a beautiful smile as he watched on the shore his father’s approach on the Flying Dutchman.

The boy’s mother, so proud, her hand in their son’s, and Will could once again feel the hollow in his chest, weighing heavier than ever before, when the realization hit that he could not feel a thing… Nothing--

“Wake up, William!”

Will shot up in the bed, his head almost clashing with Jack’s, who’d leaned to check on the man sobbing in his dreamed agony.

The awkward feel of his heart thumping in his throat, Will greedily snatched the tankard of wine from Jack’s hands and drank deep, his only purpose in swallowing down the bile that had risen, the sense of helplessness that still lingered around him.

“You all right Will? How’s the thump-thump?”

“Oh, God…It‘s not there!” Disoriented, Will could only draw a line between his dream and the reality, utterly confusing Jack, who sat down beside Will, wrapping a supporting arm around his shoulders.

“Will, listen to me; Are you fine? You’re not going to die, are you?”

“No! No.” Pacified by the rum and the physicality of Jack, something real and tangible to experience, the understanding arose that Jack was referring to Will’s magical heartbeat and was worried.

“Your concern is heartwarming, Jack.”

With a chuckle, Jack clapped Will on the shoulder and stood up again. “For a moment there I thought I’d lost you, or at least you’d lost your mind. Glad to see that is not being the case.”

“It was just a dream, Jack, only a bad dream. I’m fine.” And yet, Will’s hands were still trembling so that the wine threatened to slosh on the floor.

“I had Giselle arrange us something to eat. You look like you could use some of this.” Jack reached to the table where a serving of bread and cheese and a pitcher of Pierre’s better wine waited to be consumed.

Getting up, Will floundered, unsteady on his feet despite his determination to forget, when the remnants of the dream played in the back of his head, turning the beautiful faces of his beloveds into that of a rotten corpse, the figure of the boy vanishing into thin air.

“You look like you could use some fresh air.”

Secretly, Will appreciated Jack’s tact; that instead of blurting out the inquisition he so obviously wanted to begin, he only steered Will towards the latch leading to the roof.

****

The two men sat directly under the stars of Tortuga, their feast in between them, albeit the air not being much to raise an appetite, the men ravenous nonetheless.

“Percival,” Will started between mouthfuls. “You’ve never mentioned him. Teague, then, is it?”

“No,” Jack tore another piece from the loaf, stuffing his face and mumbling, “Never been a reason to. Birfwoof. Name comes from his mother. Something about his old man being a pirate and a killer and a scoundrel and not at all suitable to be the sire of a reverend.”

“Birdwood!” Staring at Jack in astonishment, Will tried to quickly get the pieces together. “But Gibbs was-”

Jack raised a toast, excited, “And what a short notice it was too, never seen a man whip a horse into such a lather for another man’s immortal soul.”

“You mean to say this is the same man who was at the… hanging?”

“Well I couldn’t bloody well be there meself, now could I?”

Fed, calmed, cheeks rosy from the wine and bad dreams afar, Will laid on his side, preparing to listen the tale that was about to fill the proliferous air. “What, exactly, happened?”

“Well,” Jack mirrored Will, cradling his tankard. “Let me tell you. What came about was…”

And Will closed his eyes and smiled.

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