At World's Beginning

Errand of Fools

Now

There was a scream in his mouth as he bolted upright, gasping for breath as his heart raced in his chest. It took James several seconds to remember where he was.

The nightmare was less a dream and more a remembrance of terrible things, unfolding horrific memories within his mind like the petals of a venomous flower, spilling poison across his thoughts.

He remembered the kiss, but even that precious memory was tarnished by what came next. After Elizabeth had scrambled onto the rope, James had been confronted by the crewman with the starfish on his face. James had ordered him to return to his station, but the barnacled man had ignored the command and begun to repeat a haunted mantra.

Part of the crew, part of the ship... Part of the crew, part of the ship...

James had suspected the end was nigh. Jones would be appearing any moment and they would be caught, so he had separated the tow ropes from the Empress and the Dutchmen. He had turned back to the starfish-man, hoping to continue his ploy of distraction, but then he had had no air to breathe. He had seen the wooden pike sticking out of his chest, but all he could register was surprise.

James Norrington. Do you fear death?

James shuddered hard at the ghost whisper in his ear. It couldn't have been real. He was here, alive and well, his memories a product of concussion or sea madness. Surely he had not answered Jones by stabbing him with his sword. Surely the last thing he had not seen was the look of cruel amusement in the cursed man's eyes.

Then take a look for yourself, if it's all just a horrid dream.

He didn't want to. His heart raced and his palms were damp and he did not. Want. To look.

But curiosity, or perhaps the masochistic, self-destruction he had picked up along the way, won out in the end.

James reached down with cold, shaky fingers, and found he didn't need to unbutton his coat. The buttons had already been ripped off by someone else's hand, but only the top few inches. As if... they only needed to reach so far.

No. Please, no.

The silent prayer of denial was unheeded. He pulled open his coat and the fatal puncture wound was there in all of its glory, settled directly below his heart. Bloodless and gaping like a maw into Hell itself.

Panic overtook him as his mind seemed to leave his body for a time. He watched from a distance as this frightened man, once Admiral James Norrington, banged on the bars of his cage and screamed. For help or death, it wasn't known, but he didn't stop yelling until his voice went hoarse and his knuckles were bloodied on the dank bars. He collapsed to the floor and put his head in his palms.

What had happened to him? And what would become of him now?

Only the rhythmic creaking of the ship answered his unspoken pleas. Despite all of his shouting, no one had come for him, not even the timid, frightened crewman from before. He was utterly forsaken.

It had been quite a while since James had vomited, but not so long that he didn't immediately recognize the impending signs. He leaned to the side just in time to avoid emptying the comments of his stomach into his lap. It was nothing but bile anyway, and it burned terribly, but what was worse was the hysterical laughter that bubbled up his throat afterward. He wondered if any of the bile had spilled out of the hole in his chest, like a barrel that had sprung a leak.

Get ahold of yourself, man!

James had seen all manner of strange things before. Men who became bones in the moonlight, still-beating hearts in chests. Davy Jones and his crew of monsters and horrors. And yet, seeing himself as a part of the fantastical tale, as an unnatural thing that defied explanation, was enough to drive any man mad.