Witch

Witch, by Hellborne
Pirates of the Caribbean – Slash: Jack/Others, Jack/Will. NC-17.

Copyright. Characters, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.

Typing convention: / is used for thoughts.

Archive: adult-fanfiction.org. If you want to put it elsewhere, no prob, just tell me the URL.

Beta: Now beta’d by my most perfect and wonderful Pendragginink and her magnificent Jackal! Hail to thee, oh modest and humble BetaGoddess!

Summary: What did Jack do to be tortured so? He would love to know. Torture, Rape, Lemon, Slash.

NOTE: I live for reviews. No reviews, no more writing. Can’t figure out if anyone likes it if they don’t review. So REVIEW! PLEEEEEEZE???

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Chapter 2 – News

Time went by. Days, weeks, months. It felt like years to Jack, though it could have been only a few days. To his mind, the torture went on forever, with short breaks between, all melding into one another. Finally, he could stand it no more. During one particularly gruesome session, he couldn’t help it. “Please!” was all he said. But it was enough. His tormentor took him down from the hook holding his manacles, threw him onto a table, and held him by the jaw.

“You will not speak, witch!” He took a pair of pliers, opened Jack’s mouth, and yanked out one of his gold teeth. Jack screamed as the golden anchors were ripped from his gums. The man looked in his mouth and saw more gold. He took the pliers and yanked them out, one at a time, and put all of them into a pouch at his belt. He picked Jack up by the manacles again, and fixed them back into the hook. “Next time it’ll go worse for you!” He let fly another ten lashes, hitting Jack around the back, stomach, and even his manhood and testicles. His cries resounded through the building and even beyond, and were cut short as blessed darkness took him.

* - * - *

Will Turner had protested his Captain and friend’s arrest at once, and tried to follow the men who took him, but was stopped at the door of the tavern by four very burly looking guardsmen who informed him that if he didn’t go back to his table he would be arrested as well. Knowing that he needed to remain free if he were to rescue Jack, Will complied.

That was six weeks ago.

He knew where Jack had to be. The cathedral of Saint Augustine was home to the only “army” that Will had been able to find in the town and surrounding area. But he couldn’t get any information from the people that would speak to him at all. When he asked about Jack Sparrow, they gave him blank looks. When he described him, they crossed themselves and ignored him till he went away.

He started hanging around the taverns around the cathedral, hoping to get news. Finally, tonight, he heard a man say to another, “if he hasn’t confessed by now, I don’t think he COULD be a witch.”

He followed the man who had been talking out of the tavern and jammed him up against a wall in an alley with his sword to the man’s throat. “WHO HASN’T CONFESSED?!”

The man looked at him. The look in Will’s eyes spoke of murder. The man’s eyes widened, and he said, “The man the Cardinal has in the dungeons.“

“WHO IS HE?! WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE?!”

The man tried to cross himself, but felt a knife at his gut. “The Cardinal calls him Devil Spawn. He has dark skin and black hair.”

Will hissed out a curse. “His teeth. Tell me about his teeth.”

The man looked into Will’s eyes. “There were gold teeth…seven of them. One of the keepers stole them.” He dropped his gaze. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Will put his knife away and brought the sword down. “Help me and I will make you rich.”

“The Cardinal thinks he is a witch, so he has him tortured daily till he confesses, but he has not. I tend his wounds that he may live to go through more torture. I did think he was a witch, but anyone who can go through so much for so long without confessing must be innocent.”

“Where is he?”

“He is in the lowest level of the dungeons. It is in the heart of the cathedral. I can draw you a map.”

“No. I need you to bring him out to me.”

The man cringed. “No sir. I cannot go against the Cardinal. My immortal soul would be forfeit to Hell if I were to do so!”

Will brought his sword to bear at the man’s chest. “In truth, can a man who orders the torture of an obviously innocent man be working for God?”

“He is the Cardinal. Chosen by the Pope! He cannot be wrong. He is God’s servant.”

“No, he is a man. And the man he is torturing is no witch.”

“He wear’s Satan’s mark on his hand.”

Will showed him his own hand. “This? This is a scar from breaking an evil curse, not a mark of the Devil.” He got an idea. “We broke a curse of the Devil, and for that we wear that mark. It shows us to be working AGAINST Satan, not for him.”

The man’s eyes widened again. “Then you must tell the Cardinal! He will free the man if that is true. But what proof do you have that it is the truth?”

“The ship that was cursed is now free. If you know any of the tales of the Black Pearl, then you know the ship of which I speak. Jack, the man whom your Cardinal is torturing, was given the ship as reward for breaking the curse. He is now the captain, and the man who cursed the ship is now dead.”

The man crossed himself. “It is not that I do not believe you, but I have seen the Black Pearl, and it is truly cursed beyond redemption. Show me the ship uncursed and I will believe you.”

Will shrugged and agreed. They walked through the town to the wharf, and Will pointed to the Pearl. She stood in the water, majestically, her beautiful black sails furled, her wood polished to a magnificent shine in the moonlight. All in all, she looked blessed, not cursed, despite her colour. “Would you like to come aboard and see first hand?”

“No, I have seen enough. She is no more cursed than the Pope himself.”

“Then you’ll help free him?”

The man’s head bowed. “Yes. I will help you. I am a healer, not a deliverer of pain. I do not feel good about healing a man in order that others can reopen his wounds. Perhaps this will help me to sleep better at night. Especially if you give me the money you promised.”

“I will. Upon delivery of Jack Sparrow to this ship.”

“I cannot bring him so far without being caught. The tavern you found me at. The Holy Tankard. They have rooms upstairs. I will bring him there.”

“Tonight.”

“I will try.” The man hurried away, afraid of being late for his work.

* - * - *

Two men held him in the chair, his arms tied behind him; the head torturer brought a mug to him. “Drink this.” Having had nothing to drink or eat for three days, and not really able to concentrate on anything out of weakness and pain, he swallowed as the man lifted the mug to his lips. Then the man smeared something on his chest and neck, then down the rest of his torso, back and front. Within minutes, his eyes dimmed and his muscles started to twitch of their own accord. His head lolled to the side, unable to right itself. Satisfied, the man signaled to the men holding him to bring him to the center of the room. Jack felt as if his body were floating on the air, as he knew that his mangled foot wouldn’t hold him. He felt a giant lift him by the wrists until he was above the ground. The pain was unbearable, and made worse by his arms twitching uncontrollably. He felt the giant grab is feet and try to stretch him; the pain in his shoulders and elbows enough to make him scream. He felt the giant drop him, pulling him down by his feet and then jerk him still, as if on a string. He felt his shoulders and elbows burn with the pain, as the bones dislocated themselves. Still his body twitched, and he felt the giant lift him again. But now it was a demon, and it breathed fire on his arms and legs as it lifted him high off the floor. Jack mumbled something unintelligible and the demon paused, though the fire still raged on in his limbs.

“Do you confess that you are a witch, and do you repent for your wickedness?!”

/Why would a demon want repentance for wickedness?/ Jack mumbled again and was dropped by the demon just as the giant did, jerking to a stop as if on a string. His arms and legs burned in pain. He shrieked and screamed and sobbed as he was lifted yet again. He felt more pressure on his legs, and the burning increased. “PLEASE!”

“Confess, witch, and you will be freed from pain!”

Jack couldn’t think. His mind felt full of wool. Somehow he thought that was funny and laughed, the laugh turning into a shriek as he was again dropped, dislocating his legs and furthering the burning in his arms and elbows. He lifted his head and tried to look around, but all he could see were black shapes in a darkening grey background. As he was again lifted, he allowed the blackness to take him completely.

* - * - *

Jack awoke in a red-tinged fog. His mind was still cloudy, though not quite with wool…more of a cotton, or perhaps gruel. Yes, that was it. Gruel. He was hungry, so he tried to suck his brain dry. No good; he was still hungry, and his brain was still mush. He giggled loudly at the picture in his mind.

“You’re awake.”

The laugh died on his lips. He knew that voice, but just couldn’t place it. It wasn’t one of the torturers. Oh yes. The demon. The demon who wanted him to claim he was something he was not. He tried to concentrate on something…anything…and felt the fire in his arms and legs still there and going strong. He tried to move, shrieking as his dislocated limbs twitched and clenched against his will, though his arms were now untied.

“Do not try to move. It will only hurt worse, as you may have noticed.” The voice sounded almost happy.

He lay as still as he could. “No’ witch,” was all he could say; anything else needing too much brain power.

“Of course you are. And I shall prove it with your own confession.” The voice came closer.

Jack could feel a body on top of his. He tried to look around, but found that he couldn’t even make out his own shoulders in the darkness. The body pressed in, and Jack noticed that it was naked. He felt it move hands up and down his naked and broken form. It reached his buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing his entrance.

“This I do in the name of God.” He held his breath as the demon took him with no preparation.

Jack screamed as he was taken. The demon lifted his dislocated arms to his back and held them there, driving hard into him. He could feel the demon ripping him wide open, and the lubrication of his own blood coating the demon’s member. Unable to get the mental picture out of his head, he threw up. The demon spilled into him, knocking a foot into his broken one and making him scream until the demon got off of him.

“Do you repent, witch?”

“Go ba’ t’ hell.”

For that, he was flipped over, screaming, and beaten in the face three times with a small chain. “You shall be punished.” The demon left.

Jack pondered what further kind of punishment he could get when he heard the door open. He sobbed into the cot, wishing for a swift death.

* - * - *

TBC

A/N: Description of torture is given from the viewpoint of the victim and as such is necessarily incomplete, vague and one sided. Further information on the practices of the Inquisition, the methods used to obtain confessions of “witches” and an explanation of the drugs fed to and smeared on Jack can be found at:

http://www.houseofdesade.org/torture/torture3.htm

“A person under the influence of Atropine, according to Schenk, "may easily be subordinated to another's will, for he is completely open to influence and will do whatever he is told. If he has swallowed a great deal of the poison, this state of confusion and sensory derangement leads to a temporary, but acute, mental disorder exactly resembling a symptomatic psychosis. Sudden outbursts of delirium and increasingly intense periods of mania create a terrifying and uncanny clinical picture, which finally ends in convulsions similar to those of epilepsy." Similarly, hyoscyamine, when given even in moderate doses causes, among other symptoms, delirium, near blindness, and unbearable pain. Mixtures containing both these drugs, as well as those containing extracts of mandrake and datura, which would have had similar effects, were administered to suspected witches prior to torture.

“Such drugs, used to induce debility, would, by disrupting the perceptual and conceptual processes, confuse and weaken the victim. The result of such psychochemical torture would be a mixture of fantasy, delusional and hallucinatory memories, interspersed with random real ones, precisely the kinds of confession magistrates and torture technicians sought and obtained.”

Here is the write-up on the torture used on Jack after the drugs were administered (from http://www.houseofdesade.org/torture/torture.htm):

“The strappado, also known as the pendulum, was one of the easiest and, therefore, one of the most common torture techniques. All one needed to set up a strappado was a sturdy rafter and a rope. The victim's wrists were bound behind her/his back, and the rope would be tossed over the beam. Then, the victim was repeatedly dropped from a height, so that her/his arms and shoulders would dislocate.

“Squassation was a form of torture used in conjunction with the strappado. It was the process of hanging weights from the victim as they were being tortured with the strappado. Weights ranged from fifty to five hundred pounds. The greater the weight, the more bones would be dislocated.

"Four applications of squassation were regarded as equivalent to a sentence of death".

A/N: It would be great to get paid for this, it's a true labor of love...and it gives a writer enough warm fuzzies to go on when someone tells them their work is worthy of comment. When someone appreciates (or hates) their work enough to comment, it feeds the plot bunnies. If you don’t say what you like or don’t like, *whine*, my writing will never *sob* get any better...ever. And the plot *whimper* bunnies will *gasp* die. I am grateful that you read this, and don’t worry about me or the bunnies, I...I know I’m not worthy. I'llt sit sit here...by the empty review page....alone, in the dark, knee deep in dead bunnies...waiting...*sigh* Farewell, dear reader, I*cough* wrote this for you. You deserve it. You are worth it. (and not for that meanie who never, ever leaves reviews - who wouldn’t clap hands, either--AND TINKERBELL DIED!)...Now please feed the plot bunnies by hitting the "REVIEW" button!!!