Prison of the Mind

Denial of the Soul

Water ran in inky rivulets down the dark stone wall, forming a puddle where Jack had passed out. Opening his eyes carefully, just enough to see the area immediately in front of him, he searched for honey-colored hair and devilish eyes.

She was gone. He was back in his prison, alone. The world threatened to disappear again as he sat up, pain rushing through his head.

Getting to his feet, he stared down the passage, and raised his eyebrows. The walls were now lined with jail cells.

Empty, he realized, all of them. Much like himself at that moment.

So long ago it seemed that he was stuck in the Port Royal jail, attempting to bribe a dog into handing over the cell keys. Turner had rescued him, then insisted on destroying every single one of his plans until he fell over the stone wall into the ocean, back to his beloved Pearl.

The bittersweet reunion with his ship after Norrington had so graciously given him a head start was short lived.

William Turner Sr. had kindly come aboard to remind him of his impending debt with Jones, and he almost had a serious reconsideration of the rule to not shoot the messenger.

He briefly wondered if he would rather be a prisoner on the Dutchman, instead of wandering the endless corridors and hallways that he was trapped in now.

As least he would have the ocean.

He stopped and cautiously turned around when he heard a soft cry behind him. Peering into the darkness, he listened to a delicate female voice echo against the stone wall. The voice spoke his name, but was not speaking to him.

"Jack. I'm sorry, I-...I couldn't forgive myself for what I did. You would never forgive me. I had nothing to live for."

Blood rushed past his ears. Stepping forward, he came to a stop in front of one of the cells, and at the sight in front of him, froze, reaching out for something to steady himself, and finding nothing.

A small naked woman sat with her knees to her chest, stringy blonde hair hanging in front of her face. Her skin was wet and pale as death. Slowly, her head turned, and empty eyes stared into his empty soul.

"Elizabeth?" His voice came out as a low whisper, as if his throat had attempted to strangle the words before they could be uttered.

Air seemed to be leaving the room faster than he could breathe it. His chest tightened, and for one gleeful moment, he hoped that it was the hand of death bringing him peace.

"Look."

Her head inclined in the direction of her wrists. When her eyes made contact, even she seemed to be shocked by the sight; a red trickle slithering out of her wrists to coil into a puddle on the black stone floor.

Before, the world had swayed before him. Now, it was unmoving, cold, and harsh.

"Jack. I'm sorry. I couldn't forgive myself for what I did. You would never forgive me. I had nothing to live for."

A piercing pain radiated through his head, and his hand flew up to press against his bandana.

He felt sick.

Turning away, he placed his hand against the wall, shaking his head in an attempt to stop conscious thought.

Moments passed, silence grew thicker, until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't believe you."

Hearing a sharp intake of breath behind him, he turned around again, facing her. "I am sure that you hoped that I would be the Jack Sparrow that you knew before you killed me. That person danced around a fire with you. That person would have happily been stranded on an island with you until the hunger did us both in. That person dove into the water to save you, knowing that it might mean his death by a noose. That person, Miss Swann, is dead. The pieces of him are floating in the ocean, along with his ship."

Her eyes were pleading, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Anger spread through him like a slow growing fire.

"You have nothing to say to me. You told me that you were not sorry. You chewed me up and tossed me aside at the first sign that I may have been more than you could handle. You handcuffed me to my ship and left me to die. You are better off dead."

Laughter began tumbling from her lips, shocking him.

"Don't you understand Jack? Everything you see here is something that your mind creates. It comes from within you. Can you not guess what I am?"

She stood up and stepped over to the bars, putting her face in between them, and wrapping her fingers around the cold steel.

He stared past her. "What. What are you?"

A small smile ghosted across her face.

"I am that small fraction of you that is now locked away. That fraction of yourself that is shrouded and choked by the hurt and anger that has filled the empty spaces that your heart and soul once occupied. When you saw me sitting on the ground dying, you stayed. While the only thing that passed your lips was hatred, you did not turn away. You may believe it to be true, but you are not all lost. That part of you, floating somewhere in the oblivion of your mind, belongs to her, even still. Start searching for it before you destroy yourself to the point of no return."

She paused, giving him a sad look, before gesturing to the puddle of blood behind her. "Your broken soul is trying to show you the consquences that will come should you choose to follow the path of revenge. Jack Sparrow, you may not care now, you may want her dead a thousand times over and damned to all nine circles of hell, but when you are walking through the brig late at night in search of a drop of rum to quiet your mind, and you find her with a knife to her wrists, you will wish in every language you know that you could have found it within you to forgive her."

The cells disappeared along with her, and the walls returned. He stood, unmoving, his mind wavering between rage and defeat, until the war gave out to exhaustion, along with his body.