Disclaimer: I do not own Lost or any of its characters.
A/N: I came up with the idea for this story months ago, but have only just got round to writing anything down. I haven't decided how it will turn out yet, so please let me know if you think it's worth writing more.
Chapter 1: Interrogation
"My name is Jennifer Gale! I'm from Minnesota!"
I keep shouting it over and over again but it just seems to make him angrier. He brings his face very close to mine. "I know you're lying," he says sternly. "Tell me the truth!"
"I am telling the truth, I swear!" I'm trembling now, visibly shaking. My breath catches in my throat and the words come out in a strangled wail. I sound like a terrified child and with good reason. I have heard about this man. The Iraqi. The torturer. The bruises had mostly gone from Ben's face when he returned, but I'd heard the others talking about what had happened to him.
"Your leader. He already tried that story and we found him out. He should keep you better informed."
"But I d-don't know what you're..."
"Stop lying!", he screams into my face. I recoil as much as I can, but he has made sure that I am only able to move very little. The rope has begun to rub at the skin on my wrists. They are tied so unbearably tight that there is no way I could work them loose. I have no idea where we are, although I can faintly hear and smell the sea. When I regained consciousness I'd found myself lashed to a tree in the middle of the jungle, with this man standing over me, blocking out the sunlight. The interrogation began immediately; I could not say how long it's been going on. Minutes? An hour? It feels like a lot longer.
I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice level as I speak; "I know what you did to him. Are you going to do the same to me?"
The man produces something from his pocket and holds it up to show me; bamboo shoots, filed down to sharp points. I can only imagine what their use is. "I will do what is necessary," he says simply.
I have heard enough about this man to know he is not afraid of hurting a woman. I feel my heart begin to pound in my chest as I struggle for breath. "Please," I gasp, looking at him imploringly, "please don't hurt me. I swear I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what else to say!"
He sighs and lowers his eyes, a little sadly, before standing and moving behind me. I feel him take hold of my right hand in his and separate each finger. I tense and close my eyes tightly, waiting for the pain to begin. More than anything I hope I don't cry. After all the whimpering and trembling and begging I've just done, it would be nice to retain a shred of my dignity.
You wouldn't expect bamboo inserted under the fingernails to hurt as much as it does. It seems so small, so minor, that when it actually happens, the severity of the pain is an unbelievable shock. I cry out sharply as he pushes the tiny implement deeper under the nails and struggle violently against the ripping, vicious sting. I'm rather disappointed in myself; I know now that, if I had any answers to give him, I wouldn't be very hard to break. Everyone thinks they could withstand a little torture when they see it in movies or on TV. It's easy to be a superwoman in your imagination. Right now, in reality, I don't think I've ever screamed so much in my life, not even when...
"What the bloody hell's going on, Sayid?"
I gasp in relief, feeling my hand being released as my interrogator stands to meet the newcomer. He's young, with blond hair and an English accent. Yes, I've heard about this one too.
"What are you doing to her? Who is she?" He begins to move towards me, a concerned look crossing his open features, but the Iraqi stops him, grabbing both his arms.
"She's one of them, Charlie. We caught her out in the jungle. She is refusing to tell me what they have done with Jack, Kate and Sawyer. She keeps pretending her name is Gale."
The younger man glances over at me, then back at his friend. "Well can't you just... I dunno, ask her nicely, instead of jumping straight to the rack and thumbscrews? It's like Guantanamo bloody Bay round here. She's a woman, Sayid."
I wonder why he is defending me. He seems friendly enough and I might have trusted him if I didn't know he was a killer, like most of these people. He shot a man named Ethan in cold blood. To look at him, you wouldn't think he had it in him. He pushes past Sayid and crouches down beside me.
"Er... OK, love. Do you want to tell me what all this is about?"
"I wish I knew," I say, my voice still far too high-pitched and tremulous. Stop it, Jen, be an adult. "I was in the jungle, just walking by myself. Next thing I know, someone runs up behind me and hits me over the head. I don't know what I'm supposed to have done wrong. But then, that doesn't matter to you, does it? You don't care whether we're good people or bad."
"We know what you are," Sayid snarls, now standing a few feet away with his arms folded, never taking his eyes off me. "There's nothing good about any of you."
Charlie whips his head round and glares at the other man. "Just let her speak, will you?", he says, before turning back to me. For some reason, he doesn't seem to have completely condemned me yet. There might be some hope. He sits down, cross-legged on the jungle floor opposite me. "Right then. If you co-operate, I promise I won't let him hurt you again," he says. "Do you want to start from the beginning?"
Before I have a chance to open my mouth, Sayid has moved towards Charlie. "What do you think you're doing?", he asks incredulously. "After all they've done to you. To Claire."
Charlie ignores him, turning back to me. "I'm waiting," he says quietly.
I take a deep, shaky breath and begin: "My name is Jennifer Gale. My hot-air balloon crashed on this island just over five months ago. I was travelling with my husband. He wanted to fly across the Pacific in the damn thing – real midllife-crisis stuff – and he talked me into coming with him. Anyway, we... we crashed and... and he died. I was knocked out on the way down and woke up two days later in an infirmary bed. My wounds were dressed, I'd been taken care of. My husband had already been buried. Everyone there has been so kind to me. They looked after me while I recovered, let me stay with them. Now I'll probably never see them again. You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
Charlie looks shocked and a little offended. "Kill you? What kind of people do you think we are?"
"Well, you're them," I whisper, my eyes flicking nervously between him and Sayid. "You're the Others."
