A Pirate's Love

Perpetual Fear

Jake's POV:

"Ah, but I know exactly who she is," Dan Deranged uttered, catching my attention. He sneered through the lattice bars, his jaws snapping open in a frightful grin. My stomach churned as he stared at me, his black eyes burning through the darkness. "As soon as I laid my eyes on her I knew she would be a perfect addition to my plan of revenge," he continued, satisfied with himself.

"What are you on about?" I voiced angrily, my patience with him running short.

"The Governor's daughter, she is," he sneered. "And with every drive into her, I knew I was getting back at my betrayer. Every action toward her was intentional, mate." I felt sick at his words as he continued, and I dared not look into his eyes any further. He was amused with his abuse towards her, something I tried desperately not to picture in my mind. "And it looks like she's taking a liking to you," he continued, "which either means she became my revenge towards you as well, or that you have used her just the same as I did."

"We are not the same," I spat, "and don't call me that. I do not stand for your actions. I would never wish evil on others, even if evil was done to me."

"Ah," he laughed, "but that's where you are wrong. I can see it in your face. You wish me dead."

"I wish for you to come to justice," I said with disgust.

"Isn't that the same? What is justice but vengeance with another name?" he asked, entertained by my response. He had a point. "I will hang. You will hang. I wish you dead and you wish me dead. We are nothing but the same." I contemplated his words and Elenor's, wondering if I truly had changed. He was right, I did wish him dead. I dreamt of the day he would hang ever since he stole The Funeral of Innocence. Now I see he wanted me to hate him. He wanted me to kill him. He wanted me to seek revenge as another means of corrupting my character. Every action was intentional so that he might win in the end. "Morality is blurred when the word justice is used to describe murder," he finished, his words ringing through my head.

"What do you know of morality?" I asked, shaking out of his hold on me, remembering his cruelty. "You will die for your actions either way." He smirked hideously from across the cells and gripped at the lattice bars with his blackened fingers, pulling himself closer.

"Another wrong statement, Jake," he stressed, confusing me more. "I will never die," he whispered shrilly. I did nothing but stare at him, trying to understand his meaning. He smirked with a look of evil in his eye, wiggling his sooty fingers at me. "A practice I picked up while in Africa."

"What do you mean?" I asked, prepared for a radical answer.

"To the vodunists, a spirit lives on after death, roaming the world until it is reborn," he spoke boldly. "Rituals can be performed to reunite the spirit with the body, or better, live on through the spirit realm. I have adopted these rituals. Possession and visitation is what I know best." Shocked, I listened carefully as he spoke slowly. "In other words, I will haunt you for as long as you are living." His voice was deep and demonic, methodically rumbling through his chest. Yet, I hardly believed him, knowing full well that vodun couldn't be performed absolutely and that he was only attempting to strike fear. It was a belief system—a myth, nothing more. Sensing my disbelief, he chuckled, his teeth shining in the bleakness. I watched him as he shuffled in his cell, disappearing momentarily in a shadow. "How do you think your lover got that strangle mark around her throat?" he taunted. "I was so close to killing her before she awoke, no thanks to you" he grumbled, striking alarm into my chest. How could he have known about her nightmare? He was never aboard The Sparrow of the Dawn. Or was he? Was there truth in his words that he could bilocate? That he could possess? I shuttered at the thought. His rage ran so deep, his hatred so fiery, that he had turned to something unnatural. An uneasiness swept over me, bile burning the inside of my stomach. I involuntarily inhaled sharply, sending a jolt of pain to my side. I rubbed at it carefully with my hand, trying not to wince. We may have both adopted the practice of revenge, but I could never let rage consume me like he did.

"I do not fear you, Dan. I never have," I said to him, causing him to suddenly rush to the bars, clanging his chains against the metal. He scowled at me frustratedly, his brow twisting in resentment.

"Ah, but you do fear losing her, don't you?" He bickered, spitting as he spoke. "I could do anything I wanted to her as she sleeps. You are ignorant to the power that I hold," he yelled in a panic, capturing the room in an uncomfortable silence as he finished.

"I do not fear you," I repeated calmly, unwilling to fuel his fire. "You will die." A sudden blankness swept over him. He stared not into my eyes, but rather, through me. Through the walls. He was distant, almost not even there.

"I do enjoy being chained," he spoke in a whisper. I could not tell if he was speaking to me or himself. He spoke as if he were a child, small and innocent. I watched him as he slowly put pressure on his shackles by pressing them against the lattice bars. Thick globs of blood began seeping through the bandage on his wrist and trailed down his arm. He had no expression as he bled, only sighed heavily as if in pleasure. I thought back to how I had flayed his wrist to the bone and how deep the wound must be. If he had not been captured and soon hung, surely death would come to him by infection.

As if snapping out of a daydream, he hastily brought his wrist to his face and whined in pain. I watched in horror as he lapped up the blood with his tongue like a dog, reminding me of his madness. I had to turn away from him at the sight, disgusted by his action. This man had once been my friend, sane and intelligent. He was the best quartermaster in the navy, unmatched in rapport and respect with a crew. He kept the men at ease. He was not only a leader, but a friend. He did everything so precisely and willingly so all I had to worry about was fulfilling my duty by creating charts and devising strategy. He used to take pride in his work. His change was like the flip of a switch, unforeseen as we docked after the war. Had I failed him, or was it a mere change in his biology? Was his derangement created or was it always inside? I did not fear him. I could not fear him. But I did fear how quickly someone could change from sanity to insanity, and live only for and through rage. He was deranged, but he was also broken. A piece of him that was once there is now lost. I did not pity him. I grieved for the man he used to be and was nauseated by the monster in front of me. I suddenly wished for him to die, not out of hatred, but out of sympathy for who he once was. Like a rabid dog, he deserved to be put down. It was the most dignifying thing that could be done. Does the deranged beast deserve dignity? No, but the creature it once was does.