AN: Okay here is the next part. It gets darker as the work becomes both mine and Norah’s, hopefully we did a good job melding our writing styles. This part is longer than my last! And here tries me and HTML. Hopefully it works. German translations at the bottom.

Replies to Reviews:

Banshee: Thank you for your review earlier where you pointed out my German mistake, you were very nice and I appreciated it! You’ll prolly get more in this part. And YES! You get the cookie, it was from the Shining.

Indigo Ziona: All of your reviews make me happy! I’m glad that you are liking it!

Softbrush: The emotions are what I am playing for. I’m am happy that you like it so far, Norrington is hard to write for emotions, I only hope I do him justice.

Kelsey: Jack saw them approach on the dock when they were mooring. It was kinda confusing so sorry about that! But yeah the whispers aren’t a fun thing to have, I know I wouldn’t want them.

BM: YAY! I am glad that you think I am doing this right! I was so worried about my Ocs and you think that they are working, thank you! Thanks for saying all those nice things too about the story, I am a puddle in happiness.

Bethe: I hardly ever read POTC fics here, but I feel honored that you read mine and think that it has quality. I used you advice on HTML and hopefully it works. And Bootstrap Bill will come into play, but I can’t reveal more than that. :P But like BM’s review, yours reduced me to puddle of joy.

Shimmergloom: That would be Merry Christmas for me. Hehe. Thank you, and I hope this chapter keeps the haunting feeling going.

Part 7: Don’t Close Your Eyes

--

Vices upon vices; tightening of the chest that almost cut off his breaths. Standing there on that dock, in the presence of a pirate, Norrington suddenly felt as if he was underwater. Every move he made was slow and sludgy, the vices around his chest were pressing down on him like tons of water weighing down on a drowning man.

Jack Sparrow was right in front of him.

Here was the answers to all of their questions, the cause of all their pain, the bane of his very existence; he was standing right in front of him.

And he was smiling.

Colors swam in front of his eyes as he tried to make sense of everything, but it was as if he really were drowning. Breaths began to come in hitches and he felt the irrational need to try to find the surface, which was absurd because he wasn’t in the water.

“James?” came the alarmed cry of Elizabeth. “What’s a matter?”

But couldn’t formulate an answer. Something was blocking him. He began to panic, air wasn’t reaching his lungs. He twisted on his feet in an attempt to flee, but the jarring of his twisted ankle caused him to pitch forward.

Everyone seem to move faster than Norrington could imagine, but it was Sparrow himself, who caught him as he fell.

“What is wrong with ya, mate?” Sparrow asked in a surprised voice. “Is that why you be letting me dock? Are you bloody ill?”

Norrington’s fingers clawed at the dirtied blue overcoat, trying to tell the daft pirate that he couldn’t draw any breaths, that he was drowning.

(oh come now commodore have you forgotten your oath?)

Jack actually looked worried as Norrington leaned into the pirate’s chest, shoulders heaving in the attempt to draw air into his lungs.

(drowning)

(drowning in the blood of others)

(can you not see us, great commodore?)

The whispers, he could hear them, they were mocking him. Mocking him, or was it Sparrow? Was that pirate saying those hateful words in his ear? Of course, it was Sparrow.

With sudden determination, Norrington pulled back out of Jack’s arms. But Will and Elizabeth seemed to be expecting that move and were there behind him when his ankle gave way beneath him.

Amiee saw the hurt in James’ eyes, as though every fear he had long buried was surfacing. It was undeniable that his very soul shook; his body was not the only thing affected. What spurred this convulsion of anxiety, she wasn’t sure. She was certain of one thing: she was no stranger to such a feeling.

Though it would pass, its effects were terrifying, like an explosion inside the skull that shattered all reason. When it was pieced together, nothing made sense. One was always relieved when things fit as they were before, even if it wasn’t completely perfect. The devastation of panic was too much to bear; storms that disrupted calm.

“Lets get him somewhere, where he can lay down.” Will urged, looking around. But Fort Cromwell was up several steep sets of stairs, the smithy and Amiee and Lene’s shop were both too far away.

But Jack answered that, “Let’s get the good Commodore up on the Pearl, he can lay in me quarters.”

“NEIN!”

All heads were turned towards Lene. The woman looked livid as she stared past the group to the ship behind them. “Nein,” she spoke more quietly. “Er kann nicht gehen!”

Amiee looked at her friend hard, “Warum?” she asked in Lene’s language.

“Das Schiff ist...Übel!”

Jack looked confused, as if first seeing the two newcomers. “What in the bloody hell is she saying?” he demanded, looking worriedly and the gasping Admiral in Will and Elizabeth’s arms.

“She says that he can’t go on that ship.” Amiee began.

“She can speak for herself! You let the Admiral go on that ship and he will die.” Lene declared, pointing a finger at the Pearl’s hull.

Jack looked affronted. “Why the hell not? He looks as if Death is gonna take him right now, if we don’t do anything about it.”

“Because,” Lene sneered, “that ship is evil.”

Elizabeth tightened her grip on Norrington and looked over at Lene. “I feel it too.” she turned to Will. “Get him away from here, take him to our house, it is the shortest distance from here. Lene? Amiee? Will you accompany him? I have to talk to Jack some more.”

Will nodded once before accepting Norrington’s full weight and shouldering him quickly off to their home. Lene moved quickly to take some of Will’s burden as they made their way off. Amiee paused a moment and threw Jack an undefinable look before trailing her friend. When they were some distance away, Elizabeth turned on Jack.

“Why are you here?” she asked, repeating Will’s earlier inquiry.

“I told ya, love, I wanted to come and see what life as given you two in married bliss.” Jack crossed his arms and raised a dark eyebrow. “And all I get is for me kindness is demands and the Commodore plunging headfirst into me arms. Now if I knew he felt that way about me earlier, I would have taken him over the wall with me.” that last part was said with a leer on his expression.

“Admiral.” Elizabeth muttered.

“What?”

“James is an Admiral now, no longer a Commodore.” Elizabeth corrected. “And we don’t mean to sound so rude and impolite,” she looked up shyly at him, “I did miss you Jack. But you came at a stressful time.”

Jack nodded, “Admiral eh? Good for him, guess with that trouble up North with them French, no more pirate hunting for awhile, eh? But what can you mean by stressful times? What be up with Port Royal?”

Elizabeth shook her head and felt some of her curls fall down from their restraint. “No, not with Port Royal. We learned of something new, from newcomers to the town.”

Jack gestured to the retreating forms of Lene and Amiee. “Them ladies?”

She nodded and turn her gaze to the Pearl once more. She did feel the dark whispers from the ship, even darker than when she spent those days captive on it with a crew of the un-dead.

(the moonlight shows us for what we really are...)

“Have you ever heard of mind whispers, Jack?” she asked earnestly.

“What?”

“Mind whispers. They are thoughts or feelings that aren’t truly your own, they tend to brush across your mind without you even hearing them. But some people can pick up on them, it is like hearing snatches of conversations that you are not meant to be a part of.” She peered up into his hooded eyes, “Have you heard of them?”

Jack’s eyes seemed to darken even more so than thought possible. “No, Miss Tuner. I have never heard of such a thing in all of my years.”

(lies)

It had been a week. And Lene was growing increasingly frustrated. Will and Elizabeth had been in the shop everyday, telling pieces of whispered conversations that they had caught, Norrington had been in just as frequent. He had recovered from his spell down at the docks. He still had moments where he was uncertain if he could draw his next breath but there were no reoccurrences of that day. But they had seen nothing of the one Jack Sparrow.

Well, just herself and Amiee, that is. Jack had taken to visiting the Turners every night before heading off to then nearest tavern to drink himself into oblivion. He had yet to set foot into their shop.

Well that was a small relief, the few minutes that she had shared with his person on the docks after his initial arrival caused her blood to boil. Just the fact that the man held no capacity for the whispers made her angrier than she had ever been.

Why was he allowed to be separate from the whispering ones?

Why? When his ship thrived on them? Why must his head be silent?

(don’t close your eyes)

(red and black)

(black and red all in your head)

Lene violently reached for her paint brush and stabbed it into the gob of red oil paint. As soon as the red coated the brush, she swiped it on to waiting canvas. She let her mind fade to black as she made the brush sway back and forth, creating depth where the paint lightened and darkened.

After a while she switched to black and viciously pounded two black orbs into the red haze. Not entirely satisfied, she reached over and squeezed out some white and mixed it with the black to make some grey. It was added around the red to make a misty background.

She stopped paying attention to what she painted and she let the whispers flow through her and onto the canvas, maybe expelling some would let the anger at a man she hardly knew, fade.

(children)

(child)

(child in the dark)

(the dark is closing in)

(death before my eyes...)

(...james norrington, admiral...)

(...a wife and child...)

(death before my eyes...)

Lene opened her eyes with a startled gasp. She hadn’t even realized that she had shut them. The paint brush dropped to her side and slipped from her fingers to clatter on to the floor.

On the canvas, a fire raged and in the middle of the scene were two figures twisted in a dance of pain. The larger looked as if she was trying to protect the smaller, much smaller one.

It was a mother and a child.

No, it was more of a baby than a child.

James Norrington’s brand new wife and baby were dying on her canvas, in a wreath of fire. They were dying right in front of her.

Her mouth was open in a silent scream, as her skin peeled away in the flames. Her arms were bent over the baby, shielding it from the heat, but oh what would happen when the fire ate through the bone? Would some save the child?

Nausea swam through her stomach as she stared at her gruesome creation. She wanted to destroy it, she needed to, couldn’t let anyone see it. The whispers were cruel in their images.

Quickly she stood and ripped the still drying piece of artwork from the easel and made her way over to where she kept the extra paintings that still hadn’t made it to the front of the store yet. As she stood over the pile, calmness descended on her.

Why should she destroy the painting?

It was art after all. She stole a glance over her shoulder to see if Amiee could see her. But the other woman was busy dusting, her sneezing could be heard in the back. There were many extra paintings back here, maybe if she moved some out to the front, she could frame this one and store it away. No one but herself would know it would exist. So why not?

(don’t close your eyes)

Amiee tended to bookshelves that needed dusting, sneezing as she did so. Grey clouds rose up from between the spines of her collections. She wiped a dirty hand across her face, and sneezed again. “Mein Gott!” she cursed angrily. She’d heard Lene use the German expression in times of utter frustration, so it seemed fitting. Even if German was not her native language. She grabbed the newest of books and tossed it onto the counter, without noticing that it flipped open. She wiped down the space where the book had been, and promptly sneezed.

She hadn’t bothered to tie back her unruly hair, so it became streaked with dirt as she worked. Her plain taupe dress was tarnished as well. She was glad for once that the shop was empty, save her friend and herself. She wouldn’t want any customer seeing her. Her hands were red and chapped from scrubbing the hardwood floors with hot water. The tips of her fingers were black with ink the way a cigar smoker’s fingers colour from tar. If she were to see herself in a mirror at that moment, she would have spent the rest of the hot afternoon curled up at the back of the store, crying the dirt off her cheeks.

“Amiee!” Lene called from the back of the store. “Come get this painting and put it out with the others!” Glad to be free of her aggravating task, Amiee darted behind the curtain of beads and took a small oval-framed painting of a full moon from Lene’s hands. The bell above the shop’s door jangled. Someone had stepped in. Lene rose from her chair, but Amiee stopped her.

“I’ll go. I’m on my way there, anyhow.”

“You should get cleaned up, Am—“ Lene called. The younger woman glanced back at her friend. With the awkwardness of the movement, she tripped and lost her footing, crashing ungracefully to the floor. The glass frame smashed, filling her skin with tiny shards. Tears welled in her eyes. The painting was not ruined, but she turned herself away, to keep from marring it with blood. Lene was by her side in a flash, and wrapped her in a gentle hug before retrieving a battered broom to sweep up the mess.

“What has gotten into you, Amiee?”

She shakily got to her feet, afraid of toppling over again, like a porcelain doll. She was a frightful sight, with a dirty face and lacerated skin. She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Inhaling as deeply as she could manage, she made her way to the front of the store.

What she saw made her want to fall once more, if only to hide.

The person who had just entered the shop had found her open poetry book. Black dreadlocked hair fell around a wind-burnt face.

(someday I'll encounter him)

His onyx eyes were narrowed in concentration as he leafed through the pages. Amiee cleared her throat, and felt her heart jump up like a fish out of water when those eyes rested on her grimy countenance.

(tether my fluent tongue inside my mouth)

“You look in a bad way there, lass,” he affirmed. She tried to speak, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her cuts stung. “Cat gotcher tongue?” He stabbed a finger at the open book. “Did you write that?” She nodded mutely. “That’s me, innit?”

Trembling from head to foot, she leaned toward him and read the words on the page.

‘You resound like music in my head
You, with branded flesh and a prideful heart
You are the light at the end of a treacherous path
You are my way home – dark-eyed
You are my sleepless night
You are my missing half
Come to me
Be my melody; my star’

She lifted a hand to tear the page from the book. He caught her slender, milk-white wrist between his rough palms. “You’re hurt.” She flinched, but allowed him to turn her hands over and pluck the glass out. It loosed itself from her skin with a sick sound, and more blood pooled in the wounds. This was the man she’d been waiting for, though she could barely look at him. Her face burned.

“Thank you.”

“So yeh can speak!”

There was a rustling sound from the back as the bead curtain swayed to the side. Lene emerged, with her lunar depiction in a new frame. Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded letting the painting drop on to the counter.

Jack smiled a rueful grin, displaying a mouth full of gold and silver. “I heard about this place from out mutual friends Will and ‘Lizabeth. Thought I’d come and take a look.” his smile turned predatory, “Seeing as how you paint a damn good Pearl and this lass here, seems to know me more than I do.”

Lene shook in anger as Amiee stiffened in Jack’s grasp. “Gehen Sie aus!” Lene screamed.

Jack dropped Amiee’s hand and held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “A’right, I get yeh. I’ll leave, at least that’s what I think you be meanin’.”

As he left, Amiee spun on Lene, her eyes haunted at the thought of losing him.

Lene stared straight back, eyes equally haunted.

German:

Nein: No

Er kann nicht gehen: He cannot go.

Das Schiff ist...Übel: The ship is...evil.

Mein Gott: My God.

Gehen Sie aus: Get out.