Caribbean Wind

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, they really make my day so if you think this story is any good, leave a few words for me ;)

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything below.

Beta: howlong! (Big hugs for you)

Chapter 3

Death Is Not The End

When you're sad and when you're lonely and you haven't got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that you've held sacred, falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end, not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end

When you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend
Just remember that death is not the end, not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end

When the storm clouds gather 'round you, and heavy rains descend
Just remember that death is not the end
And there's no one there to comfort you, with a helpin' hand to lend
Just remember that death is not the end, not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end

Oh, the tree of life is growing
Where the spirit never dies
And the bright light of salvation shines
In dark and empty skies

“Death is not the end”, Bob Dylan

xxx

The door opened soundlessly and Jack slipped into his old room, somehow afraid to make a louder noise. He looked around and noticed that everything was just like he remembered it, every picture, every piece of furniture was in its old place. Jack realized that the bloody place seemed almost a sanctuary, a tomb more like, and a cold chill went down his spine. He had the sudden impression he had been gone not twenty years but twenty days at most; that he was again sixteen, the world wide open before him, ready to be conquered. But that was the past and it had been long gone for him, he now had left only his present and future, and had to make the most of them, make sure he would not miss a day.

He wandered around the room, lost in memories of the time when he had been careless and free, and couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t even dust anywhere, as it should. He started wondering why his father had not thrown away his belongings the minute Jack had left the Cove after their infamous quarrel, and the only answer which came to his mind was almost too peculiar to acknowledge it. Maybe, despite everything he had done to earn his father’s hatred, he was not such an unwelcome guest after all. He was not sure how he felt about this sudden realization.
And so finally Jack’s eyes rested on his old, four-poster bed standing in he far corner of the room, where he had placed it himself even though Teague kept moving it almost every night, saying it was not save for him to sleep so close to the window, when so many people desired to kill or kidnap his son, but it looked that Teague did not move the bed after Jack had left either, maybe realizing there was no point anymore.
He remembered how it had felt to wake up in this place, the sun warming his face, fresh air clearing his mind, but then he saw the figure outlined under the thin sheets and all the good thoughts were instantly erased from his mind. It was Elizabeth, lying with her back turned to him; she had not even stirred when he had entered and seemed to ignore or be not aware of his presence at all. He could not be sure whether she was asleep or not but decided to act as if he was just visiting an old friend he had not seen for a while, hoping that maybe he would once again irritate her enough to force the life back into her. It had worked before.

“Well, well, well, bugger me if it isn’t Lizzie Swann sleeping here in my bed! My father was right when he said I was a bloody bastard who was born under a lucky star, a silver spoon in my mouth an all that” he started loudly, searching for some reaction, but to no avail. “ I thought I would request an audience from my King, as it were, so here I am, at your service and command. Time to wake up, darling!” a smile on his lips was not reaching his eyes and the feigned cheerfulness in his voice was making him sick.

But through Jack’s entire speech Elizabeth did not move, and he sighed, sitting on the bed. He placed one hand on her arm and leaned forwards to look at her face. She was staring at something beyond the window, maybe placed somewhere even beyond this world. Her eyes were open but unseeing and glassy; they did not hold the spark he remembered from their last encounters.

“You can’t be doing this to yourself, I won’t just sit and watch how you kill yourself,” he said, his voice harder, a hidden threat between the words, but she neither seemed to hear nor care. Finally he lowered his lips to her ear and with one hand brushed her hair away, the intoxicating scent of wild flowers was still there, although somewhat fainter than before.

“Lizzie, please,” he begged at last softly, but she remained distant as she had been since he had first appeared in the bedroom, and for the first time he started doubting he would ever hear her laugh again.

xxx

The next few days passed in the same steady rhythm. Jack did not leave Elizabeth’s bedside for more than a few moments, agreeing to go out only when some woman came to change Lizzie’s clothes or clean her. Of course, at first he tried to object: he could do this all by himself, it’s not like he had never seen a woman without her undergarments; unfortunately his father’s old friend had an entirely different opinion in that matter and he would be a fool if he tried fighting an angry woman. But although after their disagreement she kept throwing him funny looks, probably expecting him to take advantage of the unconscious girl the moment she would leave the room, Marta, for that was her name, must have seen something in his eyes which stopped her from later comments and in the end the only looks he received from her were the ones of pity.
But he ignored it all, taking care of Elizabeth the best way he could, forcing little portions of food and drink into the resisting mouth and just keeping her company, filling the spaces between the meals with all the stories and jokes he could think of.

At first he told her the tales his mother had told him when he was a little boy, but they soon run out, as he could not recall many of them. So then he had to move to his own adventures, yet for the first time in his life offering Elizabeth the whole truth. He told her of his life- how he had left the Cove when was barely 17, how he had tried to find his mother and somewhere along the way became an honest merchant working for the EITC. He had tried to cut off from everything that had reminded him of his father and his life, subconsciously knowing that it would hurt Teague most. He told her how he had met a young man who had become his friend, but who had later betrayed him and branded him a pirate, and how he could smell his own flesh burning under the hellishly hot metal that would leave a scar not only on his arm, but also on his soul, marking it forever. His voice was close to whisper, when he reached the part of the tale in which he had to tell about how it had hurt even more when he had been forced to observe his beloved ship vanishing in the merciless depths. “Friends and trust…,” the words rolled of his tongue, filled with venom running through his veins. “Never again did I make the same mistake… well almost never,” his voice faltered a tiniest bit when for a second he got lost in his own ponderings.

Finally, he told her how sometimes during the sleepless nights he could still hear the cries of the men, women and children who had been aboard when the Wench had been going down. He said it had been the only moment in his life when he had really prayed for death, but his thoughts had brought only Davy Jones, who was maybe worse even that the Devil himself. The cruel Captain had offered a deal which Jack had accepted; “My soul for my crew and the slaves; ninety nine people, and I even managed to throw my ship into the bargain,” he said proudly. “Although,” Jack added after a few seconds, “I’ll be damned if my soul would be worth more than two now.”

And so Jack told Elizabeth everything that came to his mind, but she was still oblivious to his presence and dark thoughts began creeping into the corners of his mind. He decided it was the time to get some fresh air and maybe think of new ways of helping the girl, for the hope hadn’t abandoned him just yet.

xxx

His legs carried him through the entire city, and once again he felt as if he had gone back in time. Nothing had changed here during the last twenty years; except there were maybe more inhabitants now, for constantly more and more outlaws kept settling down with their families, finding peace and shelter under the safe wings of the Shipwreck Island.

The war had been over even before it had really begun, but in the air Jack could feel that the pirates knew their time had come and only in a place like the Cove could they be protected. Living under the blade of inescapable destiny, they tried to find joy in everyday life, knowing that soon they would become nothing more than a story, a myth really. Jack understood this better with every year- hence his thirst for Aqua de Vida.

Those who lived here, however, did not seek the Fountain of Youth; in the world that too often offered only misery and pain for people who rebelled against succumbing to the power of others and who agreed only to obey and respect their Captain, the pirates decided to pass their legacy to the next generation, that would never forget or doubt their existence. Jack realized it when it occurred to him how many children were running around, sometimes throwing incredulous looks in his direction, probably recognizing the famous Captain Jack Sparrow from their bedtime stories. In those children people of the Cove found their immortality, dealing with the inevitable passing on.

Jack did not even realize when he had left the city, directing his steps towards the hills, until, walking down a steep cliff, he reached one of the most beautiful bays of the Shipwreck Island. Suddenly, he found himself facing the ocean, standing on the verge of a breathtaking beach crammed with children. Unconsciously, his feet had brought him to the place in which he had used to spend hours, just playing with other lads. Obviously parents still let their children spend time in this place. Because the shallows were extensive, there was no risk of drowning, and the older kids looked out for the youngest, a truly idyllic picture.

As he was admiring the view, he felt something tugging at his breeches so he looked down, only to meet a pair of the bluest sea colored eyes attached to a nine or ten year old girl. She was staring at him in such way he shifted uncomfortably. “Can I help you, young lass?” he asked, taking in her fair as the Caribbean sand hair when she continued to glare at him.
Then she stretched her arms up and he understood the mute command. He did what she told, not really knowing why, but before he could ponder on that thought more, she was already in his arms, and for a second he lost his breath when a sudden wave of emotions overcame him completely. He started wondering what it would be like to lead a normal life, have a daughter who would hug him so trustingly and innocently as this little girl. Surprised by his own reaction he cast away the uninvited thoughts, noting in mind to deal with it later (if ever), focusing his attention on the little creature pressed against his chest.

“Let’s go to the stone,” she ordered, and his feet obeyed instantly. He knew exactly which stone she was talking about; there was this rock on the edge of the beach, which had often been used as a fortress in a game called Defending the Cove when he was about her age. He imagined it probably hadn’t changed, especially when the threat of an attack was much more serious these days; even those children must have felt how unstable their fate was.

When he reached the rock, firstly he placed the girl on the top, making sure she was sitting safely, and then climbed up himself. He looked at the girl questioningly, waiting for her to tell him what it was that she wanted from him. But again she only stared, and it struck him that her eyes were much too old for her age, bearing a wisdom that no ten year old girl could possibly posses. But the moment that thought formed in his mind she spoke.

“Don’t be sad,” she said, and then, to his complete and utter surprise, she started singing.

In the tune he recognized a particular song he had used to like when he was a boy, his mother had taught him the words, and he had sometimes chanted with her, but he had never sung it again after she had left, afraid that hearing it again would only bring back painful memories.
However, the girl’s soft and high voice enchanted him, bringing the peace and tranquility he yearned to find all along, although he had not known it until then.

The years had passed but the tale of uncharted lands and distant shores still moved some strings of his worn-out soul, revealing this inexperienced, much too trusting lad he had used to be decades ago. Yet it wasn’t until then when he realized that he had always misinterpreted the lyrics, for this song told not really about adventures, but of unwanted love, cross-stared lovers parted by fate, but who were reunited in the end, only to meet death together, drowning in the sea.

When the song ceased, Jack felt a lump in his throat and cursed himself for being emotional. Why did people think such stories were romantic anyway? The boy and the girl acted like fools, if anyone asked him, only an insane person would drown willingly. Jack shook his head, fighting to clear his mind, but then suddenly felt his young companion moving, and before he could react she was on his lap, her head near his ear. “Sing to her,” she said.

His mind was still trying to comprehend what was happening, when she was already jumping from the rock. He almost shut his eyes closed, expecting to hear her cries, but no such thing happened, and soon he could see her running across the beach, the sun glimmering in her hair, her joyful laugh reaching his ears. Jack slid down the rock, and started going after the girl, hoping she would explain what exactly she had meant, but when he looked around he could no longer see her. His eyes searched the group of children, but she was not among them, then he looked towards the bay, but the turquoise waters were undisturbed - the only living creature there was a lonesome seagull, circling low over the sparkling sea.
Jack once again looked around him, and then turned to go back to the Cove. As he was walking towards the city, he could swear he heard the girl’s laugh echoing among the rocks.

xxx

“I met a girl today,” he said. “Don’t worry, she’s no more than nine, definitely and ultimately not a threat to you,” he laughed. “She reminded me of you though. Kill me again, but I can’t find the reason why…” Jack thought for a second. “She did not look like you for sure, her hair was much fairer, and while your eyes have the rich color of the best rum, hers were blue as the sky that day when bloody Barbossa marooned us on that island,” a shadow of a smile appeared on Jack’s lips. “But she had your fire, love, and she’ll most probably be the death of the idiot who dares to lose his heart for her,” he chuckled, not really expecting a reaction from the woman lying on the bed next to him. “But she was a marvelous little creature, who decided to lift my spirits with a song. I would prefer rum, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they, love? However, I think it helped in a way, and… I believe that, as strange as it may sound, she wished you to hear it… My mum used to sing it to me when I was a boy, but forgive me m’lady for what you’re about to hear, I may be a man of many talents but singing is not really one of them.”

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to recall the long forgotten lyrics, and then begun singing softly, yet as the verses went by, the timeless song was becoming more than just the words or the tune; Jack’s voice held the promises of adventures, but also the threat of the never-ending longing for freedom, the tragedy of his fate that kept pulling him in so many different directions. He sung of the unharnessed current that was often too strong to let him stay in one place, and of his soul’s imprisonment, a result of his own doings. It wasn’t a song anymore, for it became more of a confession, when he put into his voice all that he could not, would not express with words.

When the final tunes died out, Jack felt her fingers move faintly in his palm and his heart skipped a beat, eyes flew wide open. “Lizzie,” he said, but she didn’t stir again. He almost convinced himself it had just been his mind playing tricks on him and was about to take his hand from hers, when she enclosed her fingers around his wrist, not letting him go. For a moment he did not dare to move, his breath caught up in his throat, but when she did not let go of him, he found the courage to take her into his arms and place her on his lap. He felt a few lonesome tears running down his cheeks, and it scared him how much he really cared, how terrified he was that she would never return to the world of living. “Come back to me,” he whispered into her ear. And then he felt moisture on his chest, where her face was pressed against him; she was crying, silent sobs shaking her body. He ran his fingers through her hair, knowing it was good that she cried, knowing it would finally console her mind.

“You came back,” her voice was so weak, he hardly heard her, and he wondered whether she was with him, or if she was just seeing another scene from another time. He wondered if it was him she saw at all. But then her arms were encircling his waist and he understood that it was not important, for there was still hope, even if her embrace was in truth reserved for another. “Shh, Lizzie, it will be alright,” he shifted to place her back on her bed, but when he begun to pull back, she caught his hand again. “Don’t leave, Jack” she whispered hoarsely and he obeyed, because how could he not, hearing his own bloody name coming from her dried lips, knowing it was him she wanted to find comfort in.

He kicked off his boots and placed himself behind her, pulling her close into his embrace, trying to offer her his warmth and all the life he had left in him. They fell asleep together, and the distant seagulls’ cry was their lullaby.

xxx

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