A young man stood in a graveyard, behind the old church. He stood by two graves dug a long time ago.
"I'll find him." He said to the graves, not really talking to the dead but to himself, a statement of reassurance, that his whole life of searching had not been in vain. Then stood in silence. The man entered the church, taking his hat off as he let in a cloud of dust, letting all his sandy blond hair fall down.
"James." The preacher acknowledged. The man nodded his head. He walked from the steps of the church. He had been coming every since his parents' death, all those years ago. Ever since the bank robbery, when he was only eight, he had been orphaned. The young man mounted his horse, being careful not to drop the letter that he wrote to the man that killed his parents. Bent on revenge, he started to ride.
At the saloon, in a different town, the Scottish man sat at the bar, drinking his glass, not looking at anyone. He too, was looking for someone, but it was not in vengeance. He had left her in England, to prove to her father that he was good enough to marry her. Now, he realized he was right. He wasn't, and never could be, good enough for her. Spending all his money in this bloody useless town, drinking his life away. Three years he had stayed, not interacting with anyone, failing Penny. The mines were useless. How can you become great working in a mine? You can become rich, but no one can be as rich as her father. He took no notice of the man holding a notebook, with a skinny tie around his neck, sitting down at the bar a few chair away from him.
"Boy! Get in here and help me with this patient!" Christian Shepard yelled. The young man came into the room.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"She's sick." Dr. Shepard said sarcastically, pointing to the patient on the table who was coughing. The man looked around the room.
"Give her some of that." he said, pointing to a vial on the counter.
"Why should we waste it on her? She's only a woman."
"It'll cure her. That's why. And just because she's a woman doesn't mean you can deny her treatment." Christian sighed. That stuff would cure her, but it was usually used for stronger sicknesses. Though not wanting to waste any, he admired his son's ability to want to help everyone. Unfortunately, Christian didn't have the courage to tell his son how proud he was of him.
"You can leave now." Christian told his son. The man left the room, and sat down in one of the chairs outside, in the lobby. He wondered what he had done to make his father hate him.
An Iraqi man sat inside the sheriff's office. Being the sheriff's and detective's right hand man, he did the things that they, by law, weren't allowed to do. He had just made a man confess to the murder of the banker's wife. He felt very bad about what he had done. His parents had come from Iraq, but he had been born in the U.S. After his family died, he came to live out here, and this is where's he's been ever since. He has a reputation as a torturer. He's never enjoyed it, but rather looked at it as something that had to be done. The man he had gotten to confess was being hung tomorrow. The sheriff made a special request that he be there to watch. The Iraqi adjusted his hat.
"I have got to get a better job..." he thought.
Another man sat in a rocking chair outside the saloon, playing his guitar. Another man, probably of Chinese descent, sat in the chair next to him, napping. The first man put his guitar and shook the other man awake.
"Hey! I was sleeping." The Chinese man said. Ignoring him, the first man said,
"There's someone out there." He said, pointing to the man on horse back riding into town. The man, who had tanned skin and blond hair, but not at blonde as the first man's, didn't look very friendly, menacing, even. He turned to the Chinese man.
"Who do you think that is?"
"The president. How the hell do you think I know?"
"Well pardon me, I mean, what if he's important? What if he can help us get out of this bloody useless town?" The horseman dismounted, the guitar man's comment sparking his interest.
"So, you want out of this town? May I ask why? It's mighty charmin'."
"Who are you?" The man hesitated, then said,
"Sawyer." The two men stared at Sawyer. "I don't get your names?" The guitar man, feeling guilty, said,
"I'm Charlie. And this is-"
"Don't tell him my name!"
"-Miles."
"I'm gonna kill you, Charlie." Miles warned.
"So why do you want to leave this, well, beautiful town?" Sawyer asked.
"Cause there's nothing to do! It's too bland. No action. The only important thing that's happened in the past decade is the murder of the banker's wife, but that Sayid guy tortured the criminal into confessing." Sawyer nodded, looked around. When he was sure no one was listening to them, he whispered to Charlie and Miles,
"What if I told you I could turn your lives around, bring more action into them than any of the stories you've ever heard?"
"I'd say you were off your sodding rocker." Charlie replied.
So, just in case you didn't get who they were, in this chapter we introduced Sawyer, Desmond, Daniel Faraday, Jack, Sayid, Charlie, and Miles. I'm pretty sure that's gonna be the band of outlaws, but please review and tell me who you think would be good in the gang.