Setting: Mid-Season 2, sometime between "The Outlaw" and "The Pirate's Curse"
Category: Mystery, Drama, Adventure
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters of the Lost World do not belong to me, nor do I intend to profit in any way from this story.
Quick thank you's to everyone who helped me complete this story. Katy, Lee, and Rann. It took me almost a year to finally get this story out, but you all helped me with your great advice and made this story turn out so much better. So again, thank you for all your hard work!
Burden of Proof
By Leener
Prologue
He is unrelenting.
Over and over. Again and again.
I struggle to move, but the pressure on my chest is too much.
Are my eyes even open? I can't tell.
Yes, now they are, but all I can see is his blurry outline.
I gasp for breath as once again the air is knocked out of me.
Why is this happening?
Where is everyone?
Fighting him is useless, but I have no other choice.
Fight or suffocate.
The little air I manage to take in between blows is not enough. I am already on the brink as I can see my vision getting darker.
How much more can I take?
I try to use one hand to push him off while I use the other one to look for a weapon. Something! Anything!
Yes!
The cold steel, the firm grip of the handle, the familiar weight. So many times it has saved my life. Hopefully it can do it once more. All I have to do is pull the trigger.
There.
A gunshot.
The pressure is off. I can finally breathe again. I finally let go knowing it's finished.
As I open my eyes and sit up, I find myself disoriented and in pain. I didn't go to sleep on the floor so what was I doing waking up in the dirt of my cabin? Why does my body ache so much? The pounding in my head is too much. I reach up to tenderly touch my head when I notice a warm stickiness against my face. I look at my hands and find them covered in blood and my pistol lying next to me.
What the hell is going on here?
I pick it up and look around. That's when I see him.
Dead.
Lying on the floor.
Shot.
With my gun.
It takes a moment for my mind to process all the information.
I toss the dreaded thing away from me and stare down at my bloody hands. Not again! How many times am I going to find my hands covered in the blood of others?
What had I done?!
He was too young to die.
Slightly dazed, I look up to see Malone and Marguerite as well as several others staring in horror at the sight before them. I can't blame them.
Marguerite is the first to speak.
"John, what have you done?"