Dusk

Reviewers - thanks, I appreciate your words. I don't like this chapter so much but it should get better I hope.
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Elizabeth had not had such an awful night in years.

Impassioned and terrifying dreams were rousing her from sleep every few minutes. Most she could not remember, but those she could were as clear in her memory as when she had dreamt them, tormenting her soul and making her sweat in panic. The woman writhed beneath her sheets as nightmares took hold and would not release her from their self-inflicted grip. Was she ill? Never had terrible visions such as these come over her, not even at the most frightening points of her life.

Elizabeth moaned and sat herself on her pillow, rubbing her eyes in tiredness and disbelief. She felt like a child. Even the dawning sense of reality could not shift the feeling of dread and fear - she was scared, but why? And why was she revelling in being scared for the first time since ...?

A ghost ship. Tall and dark as it was, it held a dismal sadness as it moved languidly before the rising moon. The wood was decidedly translucent, and particles of shadow seemed to flow from the body of the vessel, leaving a trail of black fog across the water. Small flames burned within the braziers, but sometimes they shifted from their positions to float across the deck as if they were living beings. Wraithlike black sails only confirmed the ships identity.

The Black Pearl. She was deader than she had been when cursed. Elizabeth remembered leaving the cold waves to board the ghost ship. She was naught but a spirit herself as she traversed across the deck with the haunted flames and shadows. Men watched her. They were stuck still in time, jealous and confused at her free state. Though their faces were calm, Elizabeth could hear echoes of screams all around and the terrible crackling of fierce flames, but still she was cold and calm.

Perhaps she had thought wrong? Perhaps she was upon the Flying Dutchman as it crossed the world of the dead? No ... she could distinctly remember the face of the captain. Barbossa. His brow had furrowed in confusion as she approached the helm, his blue eyes the only pleasant colour upon this deathly boat. Why was he here? Why were his hands locked like vices on the wheel? Why was his skin grey and his eyes losing that heavenly hue? And - was that ... blood?

A roar. Elizabeth thought she was going to die as the boat suddenly erupted into flames. She screamed and threw herself to the deck as the fire blinded her and scorched her flesh. All around, shards of metal and debris slammed into the wood as explosions rocked the entire vessel. The screaming was not an echo anymore. The woman rolled to her side to see men being killed by fire and shrapnel, whilst others cowered by their cannons, smothered in blood. She cried out to Barbossa to do something, to help them, but he seemed oblivious to his surroundings, his eyes still locked upon hers with a pained longing. She had to help him - he was trapped here -

The Flying Dutchman. It was there, the feared ship of the dead, watching. Elizabeth pressed herself to the side of the Pearl and reached for her husband's ship desperately. Will would help, he would take this souls to the eternal peace of the sea - but as she reached for him, the distant figure at the helm shook his head, and the boat passed on with no apparent second thoughts to the burning wreck behind it.

Somebody grabbed her. Barbossa. He span the shrieking woman around to face his tormented eyes and gripped her arms with a comforting hold. As fire raged around him, blood gathered at his mouth, his chest - but still he smiled. A small, relieved smile for her alone.

And then he was gone. The ship and the fires were gone, and silence was more deafening than the screams that had pervaded her before. Only darkness.

Lightning flashed, and Elizabeth was suddenly in her bed once again, her sheets crumpled about her frame. At the end of the bed was a shadowed figure. She squinted through the sweat.

"Calypso?" she breathed as the woman tilted her head and smiled. Another flash - the dark eyes and dreadlocks were gone, replaced by another woman entirely. One she had never seen.

Elizabeth roared in outrage sparked by her nightmares and grabbed the nearest heavy object - a cheap vase emptied of flowers. She held it threateningly towards the stranger and dared her to come closer, hissing through her teeth. She felt fierce, the memory of the burning Black Pearl and Barbossa's last smile fresh in her mind. It blinded her to reason.

"Elizabeth Turner?" the woman said calmly. The voice was accented and slightly exotic. Elizabeth's vision was becoming clear enough to see her rival was not in a pose to harm her, but still she did not loosen her hold on the vase.

"Get out of my house," she said, wishing she had a sword to fight with. The woman just grinned slightly and gestured at the vase.

"Aye, no wonder you were a king of pirates once."

"Get out! Who do you think you are, coming in here? I have a young child!"

"He's crying. You should see to him. Then we talk. I'm not here to hurt or steal from you."

"Then for what purpose have you broken into my house?"

"Oh ..." The stranger idly brushed dirt off of her waistcoat. "I'm repaying a favour, I suppose. Listen, I'll tell you everything, just stop that bloody screaming before I throttle the lad."

Elizabeth cautiously dropped the vase back onto her bedside table. Had the stranger not looked like a pirate, she would have hit her by now, which was a rather strange concept. But the plumed hat and pistol told her nothing else.
She darted out to the dark hallway and spotted her son, William wondering blindly by the small staircase crying from fear. He dived into her arms and pressed his head into her thighs, sobbing incoherently. Clearly the storm had frightened him, or he had seen the pirate creeping about the house. It was what to be expected of a young lad going on five years old. She was terrified herself.

"William, what's all the noise? You should have come to me," she said gently, crouching down and messing her son's tawny hair. The lad wiped his nose on her nightdress.

"Storm is loud," he grumbled. Sighing, Elizabeth hoisted him to her chest and took him back to his room. It was small and modest like hers, but enough for them to get by for the time being. It was all she could afford presently. She tucked her son tightly into his sheets and sat with him for a moment, stroking his head as calmly as she could. Everything was happening so fast. First the awful dreams, then the pirate who had first looked like Tia Dalma ... She wished somebody would tuck herself up into bed sometimes, but there was nobody. Not since Will.

"Sleep," she whispered quietly, kissing William on the forehead. He nodded, and she quickly left the room to enter her own reluctantly.

The stranger was, for some reason, rooting through Elizabeth's wardrobe unashamedly.

"You got a coat in here?" the pirate asked brusquely. "You're gonna need it. Ah." She pulled a hooded long coat out and tossed it onto the bed, where it joined a shirt, a pair of breeches and boots.

"What on earth are you doing?" Elizabeth said, grabbing at the clothes in surprise. "Tell me why you're here or leave before I force you to!"

"Barbossa."

"What? Did he send you?"

"No. He needs your help, ma'am. Get your clothes on." The pirate pressed herself into the wall, her arms covering her face. "I'm not lookin'. Go on, get dressed! Before morning at least."

What on ...? Barbossa? Was he here? Why would he send for her help at this hour? How did he even know where she lived? Her dream was creeping slowly back into her memory. His half-dead eyes, sallow skin and small smile. Something in her gut was telling her to be weary of this thought. Perhaps Calypso had been trying to tell her something. She had shown herself briefly, after all.

No. Preposterous. It had been a silly dream, brought on by the boredom of living in this port town for years. Barbossa was not here, he was out looking for the Fountain of Youth. It was likely he had already found it. Calypso had been a hallucination brought on by her fear.

Elizabeth pulled on her clothes regardless, keeping a firm eye on the pirate.

"You're lying. Barbossa wouldn't come to me even if he needed help," she said matter-of-factly, pulling her hood over her head.

"Maybe so, but he had no choice in the matter," the pirate retorted, turning back. "Miss, my captain near killed him, thinking Jack Sparrow would be captaining the Pearl by now. We had no intention of killing Barbossa, 'specially after what you and him did for pirate-kind." The woman saluted Elizabeth briefly. "We boarded the Pearl after destroying it and found no Jack Sparrow, only your Barbossa with a useless chart. Me captain would've taken him aboard for his skills were it not for the leg. We didn't leave him, though. If we don't get to Sparrow then he will."

Elizabeth just stood with her mouth open. The Black Pearl was destroyed? The ship that had been her home upon the seas for many months was now a wreckage somewhere at the bottom of the ocean? Her dream ... no, it couldn't be. The Pearl was indestructible and fearsome. The very name struck fear into the hearts of the toughest pirates. And now she was gone, for what? An error by this woman's captain? How had Barbossa lost?

The two women left the house and entered the storm. The port town of Dover was frequently rocked by ferocious storms, and Elizabeth always knew her part in releasing Calypso had something to do with it. They quickly ran through the darkness, shielding their faces from the needle-like rain and blinding flashes of lightning, one distant and mysterious and the other confused as to the situation. So they had destroyed the Pearl, nearly killed Barbossa, and then what? Where was this pirate taking her?

They had jogged through the rain for fifteen minutes before the pirate woman stopped to catch her breath.

"We helped him out a bit, you see," she shouted through the gale, turning to face Elizabeth. Her face still was not clear in the harsh shadows of the tight street. "We ain't holding on to him, though. So I told the captain to take him to England where the pirate king is living. We might have caught Sparrow along the way. I had to ask around at some dodgy pubs to find out where you were. Here we go."

They were outside one of said pubs. The Dover Smugglers. It never closed, but only rundown sailors and overweight, bearded men ever seemed to go inside. Even now at this god-forsaken hour, the dirty windows were glowing with orange candlelight, a welcome sight indeed in this black, stormy town. The pirate pushed open the sodden wooden door and unleashed a pleasant warmth onto Elizabeth.

If this had been Tortuga, the pub would be exploding with noise and havoc, wenches giggling and pirates tipping over tables. The old sailors in here however were semi-conscious. The bar had several groggy men leaning against it as they attempted to stand on shaking legs, and the floor was littered with bodies who had not dealt with the alcohol so well. Clearly this was a regular occurrence as the barkeeper was stood wiping a beer tankard with a bored expression on his grizzled face. At the sight of the woman pirate, he grunted, pushing a drunkard off his bar and onto the floor.

"That were quick. I ain't a bloody doctor, miss. You get 'im off me 'ands by the morrow or I'm tossin' 'im into the sea."

Oh, God. Barbossa was here after all. Elizabeth could barely believe it. She had been devoid of pirates and their actions for nigh on five years, now this? Why was it she got involved in every event that affected pirates in some way?

"This way," the woman muttered, pulling Elizabeth out of the bar onto a staircase which led to the barkeep's quarters. This was even more rundown than the pub itself, and lacked the bright, warm glow from the lights. Elizabeth just wanted to get back to her safe house, and she wasn't quite sure what had made her follow this woman in the first place. Fear and trepidation kept her on her toes.

They entered a dark, dank corridor. The pirate knocked on the closest door and opened it, displaying more candlelight and a disturbing smell of rum, blood and sweat. Barbossa ...?

Elizabeth quickly pushed past the pirate into the room.

"Captain?" she bleated automatically, utterly shocked by what she was seeing.

He was sprawled on his back across a single bed, gripping a bottle of rum as if his life depended on it. His right shin was no more. Instead, a grotty looking peg-leg had taken its place. The very sight of it made her feel nauseous as reality crashed about her person. It was her old friend, Hector Barbossa, and he had been hurt.

The man raised his head at her utterance. Long, thin scratches adorned his neck and shoulders, which were bare, and angry looking burns stretched across his arms and chest. There was no greater wound than the dent in his ego, however. He had been savagely beaten by somebody, and had lost his ship to an undoubtably lesser captain. Elizabeth never thought she would see him this way. She hadn't even expected to ever see him again.

"'Zabeth?" he muttered, his speech slurred. The woman slowly approached him, still not quite believing what she was seeing. It was too surreal, yet powerfully disturbing.

The pirate woman quickly lit more candles from the few that had already been burning. She closed the curtains and shielded the storm from view.

"He's alright, ma'am. But he needs help and no one here can give it but you. The hospital would only make off with him for that large sum of gold attached to his name. Can you give him a bed until he's up on his feet? So to speak ..."

Elizabeth pulled down her hood and shot a pained smile to the dreary pirate on the bed. She ran a hand through her hair. She had planned a life with no pirates. It would just be her and her boy, and occasionally Will once he had his once-a-decade break from escorting souls to the afterlife. But this man had been her guide for months. Once he had terrified her half to death, but was her friend soon after. Perhaps she had admired him. She had never felt safer on a ship than when Barbossa was in charge, his great, indomitable figure looming at the helm.

He had helped her when she had needed it, when she had to lead the pirates to fight the EITC. He had wed her and Will whilst fighting piles of men and steering the Pearl through a maelstrom. Now she could show her gratitude in this way, by helping him get through this mess.

"Barbossa," Elizabeth said, confirming her presence. She stood before him and gently pried the bottle of rum from his hands. "You've got a way of evading death, haven't you? Perhaps being fearless is the only way to live forever."

Barbossa's lips curled into what might have been a smile. His eyes surveyed her, and the rather contented expression they gave was alarmingly similar to the one he had given her in her dream.

"'Zabeth," he said again, attempting to lean up. The two women helped him. "En't seen you in ... in ... Needed yeh on the ship ... the Pearl. It's gone, lass, it's gone ... Blackbeard ..."

"I know," she said softly, shooting the pirate woman a dark look. All this was partly her fault. "What's your name?"

"Angelica Teach," the woman mumbled, fetching Barbossa's shirt, coat and hat. Together they dressed him appropriately, careful to avoid his recently stitched wounds.

"Well, Angelica. I'm grateful for what you've done for him. But if he were in his right state of mind, he would be trying to kill you for what your crew did, and I understand that. You'll help me get him back to my house and then you will leave Dover. Am I clear?"

Angelica's dark eyes looked vaguely amused. She flicked a portion of her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and saluted again.

"Aye, ma'am."