Chapter 2
I found myself stumbling blindly through the jungle, disoriented and
confused. Charlie, Sayid, Jack, they had
all claimed the Others possessed the strength and cunning of ten men. So what was this broken rag-doll of a man in
our Hatch?
And yet, his eyes were not
pleading, but immeasurably hungry and calculating as they searched my
face. Contrary to my purpose, this
encounter had answered nothing, but only intensified my curiosity. Who was he?
And what was he? As weak as his battered and half-starved
body, or as sharp and cunning as his gaze?
I kept looking back on his face in my memory, split lip, black eye,
clothes ragged and torn, and I found that I felt pity more than anything. What were we keeping him in a cage for,
anyway? From the whispers on the beach,
no one was even certain he was an Other, and not just some hapless survivor
like ourselves.
I began again to think about Ethan. The only true Other I had ever met. Had he not been helpful, if not aloof those
first days? I remembered him hauling
firewood. I remembered him slicing
mangoes. And wasn’t it true that, when
Charlie shot him, it was in the middle of the jungle, witnessed only by Jack
and Sayid? I grew a little cold at the
thoughts I was entertaining. These
people were my people. They were only
trying to protect us… right?
As
the days went by, I found myself returning to my previous state, existing as
the silent cog in the wheel of our camp.
Each day, I considered trying to go back to the hatch, trying to get
another look, or at least to snoop outside long enough to hear his name. If they knew his name. If they had even bothered to learn it. And then something happened. Michael returned.
I was far from the first to find out,
predictably. In fact, the only reason I
found out at all was because, about a week after I first visited the hatch, I
finally gave in to my temptation to try again.
I came this time, armed with the laundry of half the camp, hoping that,
with the addition of Ana Lucia into hatch rotation, I could finally convince
someone that an all-night laundry bender was someone’s idea of a good
time.
Unfortunately for me, the Island decided that it just
wasn’t laundry day.
I found myself on the path to the Hatch not long
before dusk. Jack and Kate were out
doing… whatever it was that Jack and Kate did.
Locke was off duty on the beach.
Hurley was even more cheerful than usual. I thought I had it in the bag. The sun had begun to set as I found myself
deeper in the jungle, and I suddenly remembered why it was unwise to leave camp
in the evenings.
If anyone else would have known where I was headed
that night, I would have sworn up and down that I hadn’t heard the
gunshots. And that much was true. I was pausing to adjust my pack of laundry
when I heard it, almost quiet enough to miss, the sound of rapid footfalls,
deftly in the brush.
I found myself suddenly awash in a pool of
torchlight. As my eyes began to adjust,
I saw that it was him. As he registered
my face, his expression became overwhelmed by what I could only describe as
terrible disappointment
“It would be you, wouldn’t it?” He asked quietly.
“What did you do?” It tumbled out of me,
absurdly.
“Nothing.” He stated
simply.
She really had been the last thing he expected to see
on this god-forsaken path. Gardner. He couldn’t remember anything else about her,
save the fact that her passport photo had very much resembled a mugshot, she
had looked so surly. In the dancing
firelight, as at the Swan, she didn’t look surly at all, just delicate. And right now, she was trying very hard to
stop staring stupidly at him. As she
straightened, he barely registered a hint of movement at her collarbones. She was wearing a necklace. It was an ankh. He silently cursed Jacob for this.
“It would be you, wouldn’t it?” He asked quietly.
“What did you do?” She was practically shouting.
“Nothing.” He stated, emotionlessly. “Walk with me. Quietly.”
“What did you
do?” I asked again, this time with
purpose. Who was on duty tonight? I moved to drop the laundry and leave him on
the path, but he shot out a hand and stopped me.
“Nothing.” He
repeated. “But if you go back there,
there is a very good chance that Michael will kill you.”
“Michael?” I
asked, perhaps too shrilly. His eyes
flashed in the firelight.
“Yes. Michael.
It’s really quite astonishing, what someone will do for their
child.” At these words, he began to move
off into the jungle. I hesitated, then
stumbled off after him.
“Take me with
you.” I hissed. It burst out of me, unbidden.
“No.” He didn’t look back, but instead continued to
pick through the underbrush, torch flickering ahead of him.
“Take
me with you. Please.”
“Tell
me, I’m curious, why on earth would you want to just take off into the jungle
with a strange man you’ve just met?” He
asked, tonelessly, picking up speed.
I
caught him by the crook of his elbow, swinging the both of us to a sudden halt
once again in the darkness.
“You
may know, in your heart, that they had every reason to beat you and lock you in
a cage.” I murmured, meeting his eyes again for the first time. “But they don’t. So take me with you.”
He rounded on
her. If she was going to be in the habit
of just asking the same questions until she reached a satisfactory answer, she
was going to be far too much trouble to accompany him further. He scrutinized her face. She stood her ground, resolutely.
“I’m sorry to tell
you that you’ve misplaced your implicit trust.
That belongs with Dr. Shepherd, not me.”
“Jack and Locke
have no justification for their actions, aside from the excuse that you are the
Other, and they fear the unknown. I’m
tired of fearing the unknown. I want to
know it instead.”
They stood in
silence for a long moment, one expectantly waiting for an answer, the other
perking his ears for the sound of encroaching footfalls.
“Take me with
you.” Nine-year-old Ben was pleading
with Richard Alpert. What had he
said? He had closed his eyes, composed
himself, and his eyes had filled with the same vague disappointment that Ben
was busy twisting his expression into now.
“Maybe that can
happen.” He finally said, demeanor softening deliberately, and she straightened
with surprise. “Maybe. But if that’s what you really want… If that’s
what you want, I want you to think about that.
You’re going to have to be very, very patient.”
He turned away
again, and conducted her through the jungle in silence for some time. Eventually, she stopped once more, shifting
the pack of laundry and clearing her throat. He bristled and came to a halt.
“Yes?” He murmured
testily.
“If I’m not coming
with you, just where do you think you’re leading me?” She asked, half proud of her cleverness, half
dreading the answer to her query.
“I
am sorry, Tristan. I am.” He responded
quietly and, before she could even process what he had said, he had pulled Michael’s
gun from the waistband of his pants and slammed the butt of it into her left
temple.
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