Chapter 31:  Revenge

 

Admiral Norrington took a swig of rum, finding a strange sort of comfort in the drink that he had first discovered during his time in Tortuga after losing his commission.  Thank God that part of his life was over.  Norrington absentmindedly turned the penknife over in his hands as he waited for the recently discovered stowaway to be brought to his cabin.  Captain Gillette had reported that a member of the crew had discovered the unexpected passenger attempting to gain entry into a locked storage room.  Gillette claimed that the man they had found was a pirate.  Oh, if it was a pirate…

Norrington’s heart pounded in anticipation as he thought about the first who would pay for the crimes of his kind.  He ran the blade of the penknife across the palm of his hand.  The sharp blade created a thin cut that could hardly be seen until his hand began to bleed.  Clenching his hand into a fist, Norrington felt the warm blood slowly drip down his arm.  He closed his eyes, and for a moment he swore that he felt Jacqueline’s presence in his cabin.

A faint smile pulled at Norrington’s lips as he thought about Jacqueline.  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  “For you,” he repeated yet again.  It had become a sort of mantra to him, a constant reminder of the purpose for his continuing existence.

Norrington’s eyes snapped open as he heard a knock at the door.  He took a deep breath, quickly wiping his and Jacqueline’s blood from his arm and tucking the handkerchief he used to do so safely inside his coat.  “Enter,” he said in a low voice.

He heard the door open, though he did not yet turn around.  “The prisoner, Admiral.”  Norrington slowly moved to face the door.  As he focused on the stowaway, Norrington’s eyes flashed in shock and anger.

It was Jack Sparrow.  But that was impossible.  Jack had died on the gallows before his very eyes, beside Jacqueline.  Yet there he was, standing just inside the door, and apparently very much alive.  Norrington’s mind raced as his hand closed into a tight fist.  “Leave us,” Norrington said to the man who had brought the pirate.  The man nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

“Admiral Norrington,” Jack said, seeming to relax now that the two were alone.  “Nice to see that Lord Shortness didn’t punish you for your show in the prison.”

A smirk curled the side of Norrington’s mouth.  Jack believed that he was safe now, the fool.  “What are you doing here?” Norrington asked offhandedly, running his thumb lightly along the edge of the penknife.

“Me?  Not entirely certain, to be honest with you,” Jack replied.  He suddenly seemed to notice the blade in Norrington’s hands, his eyes narrowing slightly.  Norrington held it up a little higher, moving the knife to catch the light.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Norrington said quietly.  He turned the blade over as he examined it.  “Small and elegant, yet so sharp and efficient.  It has to be—its job requires precision,” he continued, nodding toward a quill pen on the nearby desk.  “Not that its only uses are so benign,” he said darkly, looking up from the blade and to Jack, his eyes cold.

Jack abruptly appeared to realize that he was not nearly as safe as he had believed.  “Taken up a fascination with weapons, have you?” he commented, watching Norrington carefully.

Norrington smiled sinisterly.  “You could say that.”  Glancing at his hand, Norrington noticed that it was still bleeding, but he chose to do nothing about it.  An idea occurred to him.  If Jack was here, alive and well…  “Where is Jacqueline?” he asked suddenly.

The pirate looked from Norrington to the penknife and back.  He took a deep breath before answering.  “You saw what happened, mate.”

“You mean I saw her die?” Norrington said, wincing inside as he remembered his cowardice when he had turned away from the scene.  “Interestingly enough, I also saw your death, and yet here you are.”

Jack’s eyes flashed, as though remembering something particularly unpleasant—his death, most likely.  “Sorry, mate.  She’s gone.”

This comment greatly increased Norrington’s anger and hatred toward Jack.  It was bad enough that Jack had said it in that casual, uncaring tone, but Jack had come back from the dead, giving Norrington the slightest bit of hope, and then he had brutally ripped all hope away.

“Why?” Norrington growled with such ferocity that Jack took a step back from him.  “Why did you come back and not her?” he asked, his eyes flashing.  Jack stared at Norrington as though he had never seen him before.  “I asked you a question, Jack,” Norrington said quietly, his grip on the handle of the penknife tightening.  “Where is she?”

“I told you,” Jack responded, eyeing the blade apprehensively.  “She’s gone.  And I don’t know why I’m back,” he added quickly.

“Apparently the devil doesn’t want to you stop causing chaos yet,” Norrington said spitefully.  He took a menacing step toward Jack.  “But I doubt he can send a spirit back to a truly broken body.”

Jack’s eyes widened as he took another step back, running into small table behind him in the process.  “Now hold on just a minute, mate.  Think about what you’re doing.”

Norrington chuckled softly.  “You’ve no idea, Jack.  You have no idea of the dozens of different ways I have dreamed of having my revenge.  But to actually use any of them on you…that is quite a blessing.”  In his mind, Norrington had been performing his violent acts of revenge repeatedly:  cutting, beating, strangling, and every other possibility for pain and death…and nearly always on Jack.

“Revenge?” Jack repeated, appearing genuinely surprised.  “What did I do?  We’ve already established that William—.”

“I don’t give a damn about Turner,” Norrington interjected harshly.  “He got himself a bloody pirate for a wife—I wish him the best of luck.”  Jack appeared shocked by Norrington’s response.  Norrington nearly chuckled again, remembering how he used to care for Elizabeth.  It all seemed so strange, so foreign to him now.  He could not remember why he had cared for her before.  It was as though she had placed some sort of curse on him, a curse that Jacqueline had managed to break.

“Then why—?”

“Your daughter, Jack,” Norrington interrupted quietly.  “You ruined her.  You caused her life of suffering…and her death.”

“No I didn’t,” Jack contradicted quickly.

“Oh, really?”  Norrington arched an eyebrow.  “So you becoming a pirate had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she became one as well?”

Jack thought for a moment.  “Well…yes it did…”  Norrington smiled slightly at his admission and took a step forward.  “But it wasn’t my doing!” Jack added hurriedly.  “It was Beckett.”

Norrington’s eyes narrowed.  “Lord Beckett understands the brutal nature of pirates,” he muttered.

“But Beckett made me a pirate,” Jack insisted as Norrington took another step toward him.

“He ‘made you’?” Norrington said, amused.  “It’s Beckett’s desire to rid the world of piracy, not add to their ranks.”  Jack was silent.  “It is my desire as well,” Norrington added darkly.

“Robin was a pirate,” Jack reminded him.

Norrington was not even aware of approaching Jack, but he was suddenly standing above the pathetic man, his hand clenched into a tight fist.  Jack was holding his jaw and staring up at Norrington in shock.  Flexing his hand, Norrington realized how wonderful striking Jack had felt.  He felt a peculiar sense of power, a feeling he found oddly satisfying, a feeling he did not want to lose.  But he needed to go slowly.  He wanted Jack to be literally begging for mercy, something that, of course, Norrington would not provide.

Norrington grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt and roughly hoisted him to his feet.  He pulled the man closer, putting the blade of the penknife to Jack’s throat.  Jack winced when he felt the cold metal press against his skin as Norrington hissed, “Because of you, you bastard.”  Norrington pushed Jack back, and the pirate fell to the ground again.  Jack stood slowly, his breath quickened as he watched Norrington fearfully.  Norrington’s own breath was rapid, his body being pumped with adrenaline and his blood thundering in his head.  His grip was so tight on the handle of the penknife that his knuckles were turning white.

“It wasn’t me,” Jack said shakily.  “She chose it.  I told—.”

Norrington struck him again, interrupting whatever lie Jack was attempting to tell him next.  “If you had not become a pirate, would she have?”  Jack stared at the Admiral silently.  Norrington suddenly lashed out with the hand holding the penknife, and a line of blood appeared on Jack’s cheek.  “Answer me!” Norrington ordered as Jack put a hand to his face, covering the wound.

“Yes.”

Norrington stared at Jack in horror, startled by his answer.  “You liar!” Norrington snarled, and he struck Jack again with such force that he knocked the pirate roughly to the ground again.  “You filthy, mangy son of a bitch!” he shouted, kicking Jack in the side.  Norrington smirked at Jack’s cry of pain.  His heart pounding, Norrington knelt down beside the cowering Captain Jack Sparrow.  “I’m going to kill you, Jack,” Norrington said in a low voice.  “And when I’m through with you, you’ll have no body to return to.  This time you won’t come back.”