Attention! To brush up for my sequel fic Resurrection I acutally went back and read Reincarnation, and found quite a bit of mistakes throughout it. The ones in this chapter (whether anyone else noticed them or not) were bugging me so bad I had to repost it corrected. Maybe I'll go through and do this for the whole story later, but for now I present to you Chapter 1 revised.

Summary: In the year 2007 the reincarnation of Elizabeth Turner is plagued by nightmares of memories long forgotten. The Captain of the Flying Dutchman still mourns the loss of his only love, and another certain Captain is no where to be found. Unfortunatly some things never change when and Elizabeth once again finds herself kidnapped by dangerous Pirates, carrying a curious compass and searching for a mysterious key and the chest it opens. Can the Pirate King remember her past before it's too late, or will a new King force his way into her place?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything...

A few quick notes. This story will be told from several different characters' points of view (though mostly through either Will or Elizabeth) inspired by the way Jodi Picoult wrote My Sister's Keeper. I promise Captain Jack Sparrow will be a major character, and to bring back as many characters from the films as possible, even if they don't appear right away. Also, this is my first fanfiction for this series, I'm doing the best I can, don't bash me if you hate it, just stop reading. Reviews would be appreciated.

Chapter 1: Where's the Thump-Thump?


It's foggy. All I can see is the fog. Nothing but the eerie presence of the white mist surrounds me, and I know that I am hopelessly lost, and positively alone.

"Dead men tell no tales…" a drawn out voice squawks from behind me. I turn with a sudden swiftness toward the voice I have no desire to meet, but nothing but the thick mist greets me as I change direction. If I've changed direction at all, I can't tell left from right or even up from down anymore.

"Up…is down…" Another familiar yet distant voice calls, almost reading my thoughts. I jump, afraid that its owner is standing right beside me. As predicted no one is there and I release a breath that I was unaware I had been holding. I can see my breath, escaping from me in a warm cloud as my lungs quicken their pace in fear.

An equally warm puff of air caresses my neck, causing all the hairs on its back to stand on end. Calloused fingers brush my hair away from my skin and I can feel a pair of lips kiss the base of my neck from behind ever so softly. Suddenly I'm melting in a feeling I've never known, and wouldn't begin to know how to describe it.

"Don't stop…" the words are loose from my mouth before I can stop them, and I find myself closing my eyes in sweet anticipation.

"Keep a whether eye on the horizon," his strong voice answers and in a single breath he's vanished. The feeling of my body having turned to Jello vanishes along with him, and I'm afraid again, not wanting to know what other voices await me in the fog.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It's faint, but I can hear it. The rhythmic beating of what, I'd rather not know.


It's behind me now. Slowly I turn, compelled to follow the sound. It's a sad and helpless sound.

"Ta' help wid da cold, and da' sorrow…" a woman's disembodied voice follows me, and I ignore her, partly in fear, partly in my own curiosity for the rhythmic thumping ahead of me.

"Yer goin' to want to know what hit tastes like…" The distant voice is closer than before, I quicken my pace.


The beating is louder, I must be getting closer.

"Forgive me…Calypso…" a man whispers in my ear, his Eastern accent strong in his dying gasp. It's so close I swear I can smell the stench of his breath. I squeal as I leap pointlessly away from it, trying my best to distance myself from the voice of no one.


"Come 'ere Poppet!" Another voice cracks, echoing off of the fog. I feel a dirty hand grab for one of my legs. I scream and kick away.


"You best start believin' in ghost stories Miss Turner," another voice threatens, the fog has grown thick with my tension and fear, "You're in one!"

An animal cries and yelps, angry and mercilessly. I'm terrified, my body has no choice but to run from the fears my mind has created.


The beating…it's growing faint. I'm running in the wrong direction.

"No!" A whisper is all I can manage, it beats one last time.


And goes out.


"It's always belonged to you, will you keep it safe?"

"No," I find my voice, "NO!" I yell at the top of my lungs. No one hears me. I'm still alone, surrounded by the cold unwelcoming fog. I'm panting now; the steady intake and outtakes of breath the only things keeping me from screaming bloody murder into the abyss.

A sound, like a music box playing calls to me from far away, taunting. I've heard that music before, I know it.

"Elizabeth?" an elder voice asks me from beyond. Father? "Are you dead?"

"No," I respond to nothing.

"I think I am," it replies, a sudden wave of sadness hits my harder then anything I've ever felt.

"Yo ho altogether,"

A faint voice sings in my ears, and in the haze of my mind I barely register it as my own.

"Hoist the colours high,"

I sing out again, still unaware of why I would be doing such a thing.

"Heave ho, thieves and beggars," my voice trembles, matching the obvious shakes of my body.

"Never shall we die…"

The last remnants of the tune flicker and fade into the fog. A trickle of wetness runs down my cheek. I'm crying.

In a rush of pain my chest feels as though it has collapsed in on itself. An invisible bond pinches my sides; I can feel my ribs crushing my insides. I inhale sharply to no avail, there is simply no air left to be had.

"Elizabeth! Will you marry me?" That strong, safe voice yells to me frantically.

"I don't think now's the best time…" I whisper breathlessly. I'm going to faint.

"I should have told you everyday from the moment I met you. I love you." He says sweetly and simply.

"I can't breathe!" I yell, but it's useless. I've spent all my oxygen.

I'm falling, off of what I have no idea, but falling all the same, endlessly through the never ending wall of fog and mist. Though the wind whistles loudly past my head, and I can still make out the faint rhythmic beats.


I'm getting close. I can hear it.


"Ow!" I fell from my bed and unto the hard wooden floor below me with a very loud thump, temporarily paralyzing me with pain. When I regain the feeling in my limbs I struggle to sit upright due to the tangle of sheets capturing my legs. It is a war I'm losing. Horribly.

No one comes to my aid after my fall. This is because I live alone. I used to live with my father, well adoptive father, up until his death a year ago. He had fallen ill some months before, after staying out all night during a storm. It was practically a hurricane, and I couldn't fathom why he had left in such a rush. I was worried sick, but of course, it was he who had really become sick. He was in the hospital on the main land for quite some time after that, and I found myself staying there long after regular visiting hours had ceased because I could not stand the thought of leaving him alone in some strange room to die. I also absolutely hated being alone in the hotel suite.

I will never forget my father's last words to me, as incoherent and senseless as they were. He lay in bed, tossing and turning fitfully in his fever. He grumbled a few words I couldn't understand at first, but then he found my hand and grabbed it tight. His eyes stared deeply into mine, and I could not stop the tears from welling up inside. We both knew it was his time.

"Calypso…" he said without warning, the rest of his words were mumbled and I could barely understand him "Calypso…the…heart… Cal…lypso…will free…will…you will" his eyes glossed as he tried to deliver me his final message, "love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you too, father." I whispered through my tears. He was dead.

I am free of my sheets at last, and for no reason at all a force inside me causes me to walk to my dresser. A sudden compulsion has my eyes fixated upon my top left drawer, my hand gripping its knob.

He found me floating a drift almost fifteen years ago, I was five at the time. It was obvious there had been a shipwreck, the broken pieces of a once large yacht scattered across the sea. They had been no other survivors, or at least no others were found. I was discovered in the midst of it, sleeping peacefully upon what I will assume to be a rather conveniently placed piece of drift wood, considering no other pieces like it were found either, and the coast guard determined it was not part of the wreck. But he, my father, rescued me and eventually adopted me when I was claimed by no one else. No family or even country. I don't remember much of anything before the wreck, or even how it happened, just my name: Elizabeth. I prefer Liz or Lizzie for short. Everyone assumes I'm from somewhere in Britain because of my accent, which oddly enough has stayed with me with despite living on a small island inhabited mostly Caribbean natives and Americans, like my father.

He was a wealthy man, and he left all his fortune (including the large home where I grew up) to me after his death. When I returned it was no longer my home, not without him there. It was far too large and far too lonesome to stay in all by myself. So I sold it, no regrets, to a family friend. Whether the house still looks the way I left it or is still standing at all I do not know. I bought a small, one bedroom cottage I had always fancied on the other side of the island right on the beach. It was just outside the busy section of town, though still secluded enough for my privacy I still had plenty of neighbors just off the path. The back wall of the cottage could open almost entirely up to reveal the sea and the sand just beyond the deck on the other side. I had a perfect view of the sunset every evening. That I thoroughly enjoyed.

I pull the drawer I've fixed my eyes on for the past ten minutes open quickly. Inside this drawer lays only one object: a key. This key and the tattered clothes on my back were the only items I was found with after the wreck, its ring so large it had fit around my wrist. Father used to say it must be a good luck charm, to have kept me alive. To be honest, the blasted thing has always frightened me more then it's ever brought me luck. That's why I keep in that drawer, all by its self so it won't contaminate any of my other possessions with its weirdness.

Another sudden compulsion guides my hand into the drawer, and before I can gain control over my own appendage the heavy key rests eerily in my hand. It looks more like two keys combined by the ring actually. One is long; one is short, and each face in the opposite direction. Its metal is a tarnished green from age exposure to water, and for the first time I find myself wondering just how ancient it really is.


I gasp, dropping to the key back into the drawer as quickly as I have retrieved it. Keeping the same lightening pace I grab for the umbrella next to my dresser, and whirl around just in time to knock a sandy haired boy across the face with my unconventional weapon.


"OW! Damn it Liz didn't you hear me knock?" He practically yells through the pain. He's pinching his nose in attempt to blockade the flow of blood racing from his nostrils. I must have hit him harder then I thought.

"Andy, I'm so sorry!" I take a step forward to help him, but he matches it with one step back, his free hand outstretched to make sure I keep my distance. I realize I'm still holding my umbrella, now stained with his blood. With a slight bump I push my drawer closed with my behind (I'm embarrassed to let anyone know where I keep that key, or that I keep it at all) before hastily dropping the umbrella and making a dash for the bathroom, "Let me get you some towels!" I yell after I'm already half way there.

When I return to the bedroom Andy has his free hand cupped beneath his face to catch the falling blood drops. It isn't doing much good, and most of the blood seeps from the fingers and onto the floor. I stand frozen in the doorway for a moment, my gaze drawn to the small pooling of blood next to my bed. Andy senses my presence and looks apologetically at me, and I realize his mistaken my transfixed gaze for one of horror. He thinks he's ruined my floor.

"Sorry," he looks pathetic saying that as blood pours across his lips. I take a moment to control my thoughts before rushing to him. I throw the baby blue towel at him rather haphazardly, and he fumbles to catch it. Once he does he presses it firmly against his nose, and the towel begins to stain black. I crouch beside him, thrusting my white towel onto the wood with more force then necessary. I push hard against, trying to absorb the fallen blood before it can get away.

Andy's hand takes me by surprise when he places it against my back; I release a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding. He crouches down beside.

"Relax Lizzie, the floor's not the one whose bleeding." Wordlessly I look away from him and to the floor; the very spot I had the pleasure of being woken up by this morning. I have been squeezing the towel so tight the some of the blood has leaked through onto my hands.


A shiver runs through me and I hold my breath. I felt it, a forgotten dream sensation so familiar, yet so distance, beneath my hands. A rhythmic beat pulsated up through the floor boards.


"Did you hear that?" I find myself asking Andy, my gaze never leaving the spot where the blood had pooled.

"Hear what?" I don't answer him, "Liz, hear what?" he shakes me slightly.

"Oh," I pause, the words caught in my throat, I listen for a second more, but the sound is gone, "Nothing." I finally struggle to say. Perhaps it was my imagination.

Andy's father is extremely wealthy, and is in fact the "family friend" whom I sold my father's house to. Therefore Andy does not have a job, as Daddy pays for everything, including the new yacht he wishes to take me sailing on this afternoon, and to spend the weekend at sea. I love the sea, so I wouldn't say no and some other of his friends are going as well, meaning we won't be alone. That is a good thing. Andy and I dated for a little while during high school. I broke it off after my father had become ill, and I hadn't had time for a boyfriend then. Unfortunately, Andy still fancies me even though all attraction I had felt for him dissipated during my father's illness. Andy has yet to realize this.

"You ready?" he asks after our little "spill" has been cleaned and I'm all dressed. I take one last look in the mirror; the girl staring back at me is tanned significantly from island life. Her long light brown hair has been stained blonde in streaks by the sun, and is now pulled in a tight braid down her back, only the chin length strands of her growing bangs are left free. She wears no make up, according to the boys she's pretty enough without it. She wears no jewelry either; it only gets in the way. She wears a white tank top and maroon sarong over her bikini. Where looks are concerned she really can't complain. No one but me notices the loneliness hidden within her dark brown eyes.

"Liz?" Andy calls back from outside. Without warning I reach into my top drawer, and pull out the key. I don't even glance at it as I somehow stuff it securely between my bikini and sarong. Who knows, perhaps the blasted old thing will give me some good luck after all.

"I'm ready!" I yell as I grab my bag and head for the door.


This time I pretend to ignore the noise. Maybe if I do, it will go away.