A/N: So I felt like writing something heavy. Really heavy. And this is what I came up with. It ties in a little bit with my other Lord of the Flies fanfic "Who Comes in the Night."
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Lord of the Flies. That all belongs to William Golding. The tutor and Samuel Hawkins are both mine. Oh, I also don't own the lullaby Suo Gan
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Summary: Jack Merridew has convinced himself nothing of consequence happened on the island, absolutely nothing. However things keep reminding him of the horrors he encountered and participated in. His mind won't let him forget. Character Death.
Nothing, Absolutely Nothing
Jack stood on the deck of the ship as it moved across the water farther and farther away from the island. He held around his shoulders a blanket that one of the sailors had given him. All of the boys had received one. Standing on the deck, he looked out at the shrinking island, barely able to repress the shiver that continually tried to make its way down his spine.
He heard someone come up behind him, but he did not turn. A hand came down on his shoulder hesitantly. He stiffened.
"Jack." Ralph's voice was soft, barely audible.
"Don't touch me," Jack answered in a flat tone. Ralph removed his hand swiftly, as if he had been burnt. There was silence as Jack continued to stare and Ralph continued to hesitate.
"What are we going to tell them?" Ralph asked finally, his voice hoarse and somewhat frightened. Deep down, Jack did not blame him. He was afraid too. But he refused to show it. Holding his head high, Jack turned to Ralph and met the other boy's grey eyes squarely. Ralph flinched slightly but held his gaze. Jack was mildly impressed.
"Nothing," he answered, before letting Ralph relax by turning away. "We're going to tell them absolutely nothing."
Silence prevailed once more and Jack did not even notice when Ralph left. He did not turn away from the sight of the island until it finally became a speck and then was gone. He turned then, his blanket flapping behind him like a cape as he strode down into the lower levels of the ship, where the rest of the boys were waiting for him, their leader, to tell them what to do.
It was rather pathetic really, he mused as he pushed past a couple of the boys who had stood when he came into the room the captain had given them. They had deteriorated from British school boys to whimpering, dumb savages. And Jack knew it was all his fault.
He stood at the end of the room and surveyed the group of dirty faces before him, looking up at him expectantly. He knew they were waiting for an impassioned speech of some kind, to rally them together back into their excited frenzy that they were so used to. But he simply curled his lip at them and pitied them. They were not smart enough to think up a plan to keep them out of trouble, only he had survived with brains enough to control the situation.
"Listen up everyone," he said finally, and the boys stared. "We're going to forget everything that happened on that island. Do you hear me? Every last thing. We crashed and we survived and that's all that we're going to remember."
Samneric raised their hands simultaneously. Jack frowned but acknowledged them.
"What about—"
"—and Simon—"
"—they're dead."
Jack just looked at them for a long moment. "An extremely fat boy and Simon? My fellow soprano? Why, they wandered away in the woods soon after we arrived and got lost. We looked for them everywhere but we couldn't find them. Don't you remember?"
Samneric looked confused but some of the littleuns were nodding slowly, as if they really did remember. Jack looked at them directly, his blue eyes blazing into their wide ones as he spun the story.
"We were scared, remember? Terrified that something had happened to them. We looked everywhere, up on the mountain, and in the woods. Sometimes it rained and we couldn't see anything, but we kept looking. And remember what we found?"
"Nothing." The whisper came from every littleuns' lips. A slight smirk crossed over Jack's face briefly, as he straightened. Looking over at Samneric he stared at them, his eyes narrowing slightly, until they turned their faces away.
"What did we find?" he asked them, crossing his arms over his bare chest and letting the blanket fall to the ground behind him.
"Nothing," they murmured in unison.
Satisfied that his plan was working, Jack looked over the somber group until his eyes fell upon Roger, who was standing in the corner, his head down so that his dark hair hid his face. Jack moved forward slowly, the boys around him parting to make a path for him that led straight to the dark boy. Reaching out, he laid a pale, dirty hand on the other boy's shoulders.
"Roger, my dear boy, tell me. What did we find?"
Slowly, Roger lifted his head. A strange glint in his eyes caused Jack to step backwards involuntarily, and the shiver that had been held at bay suddenly coursed down his back as Roger's upturned face revealed a thin, malicious smile.
"Absolutely nothing," he said in a low voice, and Jack dropped his hand from the boy's shoulder. They stood there for a long time, keeping eye contact steadily. Finally Jack began to smile as well, the shiver completely gone as his plan fell into place so neatly and perfectly, Jack swore he could hear the click.
"Brilliant," he breathed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone in the doorway: someone with a shock of blonde hair above a disapproving white face. But when Jack turned to confront the boy, Ralph was no where to be seen.
00000000000
Three years passed and not one word was said to the general public about what had happened on the island. Roger did, however, get accused of murdering Piggy and torturing the twins. He was sent off to an insane asylum, and Jack chose to forget about him then as well.
He had gone back to choir, as if nothing had ever happened. He tried hard to maintain his C sharp range, but his voice changed and that position was given to a new boy. He had to take his place with the tenors, which irked him to no end. Especially when he saw this new boy. Apparently a rumor was going around before he arrived that the new kid had the voice of an angel.
Jack knew of only one other person who had matched that description. A small, slight boy, who fainted often, yet had a voice so beautiful it made grown men cry and Jack turn green with envy. Simon. There were days when Jack hated Simon. When the small boy was praised everywhere the choir went, when people would stop the boys in the street and try to coax Simon into singing a note for them. Jack was the one who could hit C sharp range, but was he told he had the voice of a heavenly being? No. His face was too ugly, his features not as angelic as Simon's. He did not stand out as anything and all the important solos were given to the boy who could barely form three sentences under pressure.
But then it was hard to hate Simon, he was so sweet and gentle. He never snapped or grew angry when Jack criticized him or looked down on him. He was always willing to help out in any way he could. Sure he was a little weird and said strange things sometimes, but he was everybody's friend, even if they were never his.
This new boy was like that. He even had a name that started with an "S." Samuel. Samuel Hawkins. He had black hair as well, just like Simon's, only it was not as coarse. And this boy Samuel had pale skin and blue eyes, not tan and black like Simon's. But he had the same angelic features, and the same angelic voice. The only thing that was different was that this child could hit the C sharp range.
Every time Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye, he would stiffen, afraid he would see Simon if he turned completely. But then Samuel would approach him and greet him, and Jack would relax and resume his disdainful attitude.
An alto had taken Roger's place as well. He was so completely different from the dark boy who usually stood beside Jack that it was easy to forget about Roger. To forget that a Roger ever existed. But the more Jack saw of Samuel, the more he heard him sing, the worse it got.
Jack tried to keep the memories of the island forgotten, and he mostly succeeded, but every time he crossed paths with the small soprano, they would fall upon him like a heavy rain shower. Little things about the horror he became a part of: a face, a smell, a taste, a sight, a feeling, a dread, a hope, a terror. They tormented him and he wished them gone forever.
Then something happened that made him crack. It was not a very big or important thing. It was just a little thing. And that alone made him feel all the more ashamed at his behavior.
He had been in one of his classrooms, going over a Latin translation for extra credit. No one else was in the room. He had not been sleeping well and therefore his head began to bob after a short time. A mouse scurried across the floor, causing his head to jerk up sharply. When he saw that it was just a mouse, he returned to his translation but began to nod off again in a short while. Finally he just rested his forehead against his desk, figuring he could close his eyes for a few minutes.
Instantly notes from a song seemed to drift across his mind. He could hear a high voice singing it in angelic tones.
"Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;"
Jack looked up suddenly, knowing he had heard those words before, along with that voice. His blood ran cold as he realized what it was. It was that song Simon loved to sing, when he was along by himself, practicing. That old Welsh lullaby. Their voice instructor had asked Simon several times if he would sing it in front of the congregation one Sunday, but the small boy just quaked at the prospect, or, on his bad days, fainted.
"Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;"
He gritted his teeth and clamped his hands over his ears. Who was that singing?! Whoever it was needed to stop before they ruined everything. Before they made him remember so vividly he would never be able to forget again. Jack stood and pushed back his chair roughly, moving around it quickly. He stepped on the mouse on his way out and heard its dying squeak. Caring not for the poor mouse's demise, he continued on, opening and shutting classroom doors as he searched for the source of the beautiful voice.
"Ni cha' dim amharu'th gyntun,
Ni wna undyn â thi gam;"
He could not remember. They could not make him! Nothing could make him, absolutely nothing. The song seemed to come from everywhere and he could not locate the source. Finally he found his way to the room where a representation of the sancturary's stage had been set up for practices. About halfway down the aisle to the stage, a small, slight boy was facing away from Jack and the doorway, his black hair disheveled and wet in appearance. Jack's fingers trembled on the doorknob.
"Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn,
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam."
The boy moved down the lightly, as if floating like a spirit. The long white choir robe the boy wore trailed across the ground as it was slightly too big for him. Jack's breath caught in his throat as the boy lifted the robe in order to climb the steps up to the stage. The boy's feet were streaked with dirt and mud. As Jack watched, he continued to make his way up to the stage, still singing in a now eerily familiar voice.
"Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura ar y ddôr;"
Jack moved forward without really meaning to, his eyes fixed on the slight figure as it glided back and forth across the stage, reverently running dirty hands along the benches where the boys stood to sing their practices. Jack could not take it any more. He let his hand fall from the door handle and rushed down the aisle toward the boy. He had to see for himself; he had to make sure there was a chance he could still forget.
"Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y môr;"
Before the small boy could start the next verse, Jack leapt up the stairs and grabbed him, whirling him around to get a good look at his face. As soon as he did, he stumbled back, releasing the boy with a look of horror.
"You're dead!" he spat finally, scowling at the boy with all he was worth. He could not believe this was happening to him. Scores of memories he had left behind so carefully began to make their way to the surface of his mind, and he winced at every single one of them. He denied them so fiercely that a headache began to throb along his forehead.
"You forgot me," Simon said, looking slightly hurt. He stared down at his toes, now covered by the long robe. "I came to see you. I had hoped you hadn't forgotten."
"Of course I forgot," Jack seethed. "Nothing happened on the island. Nothing at all! There was nothing of consequence to remember."
Simon looked up at Jack with big dark eyes. "Nothing?" he asked in a low voice.
"Absolutely nothing," Jack replied through gritted teeth. "Now I don't know what's going on. I must have drifted off to sleep or something, because this cannot be real. You were . . . you were . . ."
"Killed?" Simon supplied helpfully, to which Jack just glared harder.
"Missing," he finished. "You went missing on the island. We looked for you but you were nowhere to be found. So we just went about, collecting fruit and hunting boar and then a guy came and rescued us. That's what happened."
Simon looked at him sadly. "You've convinced yourself of that, haven't you?" he asked softly. "And nothing I say will make you change your mind will it? Help you see the truth?"
Jack gritted his teeth. "That is the truth."
Simon sighed. "I was afraid this would happen. I'm sorry, Jack. But I can't help you until you admit to what you did and repent."
"I did nothing!" Jack screamed. Simon just shook his head and looked away, his entire countanence one of dejection and sadness. He glanced sidelong at the seething boy after a moment.
"I hope you get better, Jack," he said softly. "I really do." He turned away and made his way down the aisle back toward the door, singing again, finishing the verse Jack had interrupted.
"Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw,
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw."
Jack growled. He was not going to let this go that easily. He had to forget again completely and he could not get Simon's face out of his mind. He took the steps two at a time as he hurried after him.
"This is a dream," he said, more to himself than to the boy he was running after. "If I defeat you I can forget forever. I know I can."
He grabbed Simon and turned him around roughly, pulling back his arm back with his fist raised.
"You don't want to do that!" Simon cried suddenly. But it was too late. The first came down and Simon fell backwards, sprawled on the ground.
"Mr. Merridew!" The sharp voice of Jack's tutor rang out through the room and Jack looked up sharply to see the man frowning down at him, shock written in his eyes. Jack blinked several times then looked down at the boy at his feet. He suddenly gave a cry of horror and jumped back, for the boy who was pulling himself to his feet, wiping a bloody nose was not Simon, but Samuel. The small boy looked at him with wounded eyes.
"I'm sorry if my singing offended you; I didn't mean to," Samuel said in a quavering voice. Jack looked from him, to the tutor, to the stage, then back to the boy.
"You were up there singing?" he asked, blinking in shock. The boy nodded, his hair flapping up and down on his forehead.
"Mr. Merridew, will you explain yourself?" the tutor stepped forward quickly down the aisle and put his arm around Samuel's shoulders.
"But he wasn't—I mean, it was—that song he was singing! How do you know it?" Jack was looking at the boy suspicously now, wondering if he had found out about Simon in some way. Jack realized he must have been sleep walking . . . it was the only explanation that made sense.
"I was practicing," Samuel said, sniffing. "Father Geoffry wanted me to sing the lullaby on Sunday."
"You can't! That's Simon's . . . song . . ." he trailed off as he realized he had just spoken the forbidden name. His face turned red, clashing with his orange hair as his blue eyes blazed angrily at Samuel as if to say "look at what you made me do." The tutor looked at him concernedly.
"Simon's been gone three years, Jack," he said gently, thinking the boy was being protective of an old friend's memory. "And that song has been sung long before Simon was born. And will be sung for many years to come. This is Samuel's chance at singing it. I'm sure Simon would not mind."
"I would mind," Jack said sharply, thinking that neither of them were getting the point. The memory of Simon had to remain buried. Otherwise everything would fall apart.
"Simon's dead, Jack," Samuel said; rather insensitively, Jack thought.
"I know that!" Jack snapped, scowling. "I'm the one that—" The cut off abruptly, realizing he was about to do it again. The tutor and Samuel looked on expectantly.
"That what?" the tutor prompted. Jack kept his mouth firmly shut.
"What?" Samuel asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Nothing," Jack muttered. "Absolutely nothing."
He pushed past the two and stalked out of the room. He passed through the hallway full of classrooms, he passed by his Latin classroom, stopping briefly to notice the perfectly healthy mouse sitting on his Latin extra credit work. He continued walking until he was out of the building and down the street. He kept walking, letting the stomp of his feet drive his thoughts out of his mind until there was nothing there but the pounding. Then he stopped suddenly. The pounding was too familiar.
He was standing there when someone ran into him. He did not apologize, although the other boy did. He did not react when the other boy did a double take. He only looked over when the boy cried, "Oy, it's Jack! I didn't recognize you. You're all pale and thin."
Jack blinked and then frowned at the boy, taking in the blonde hair and the friendly gray eyes. He wondered if his day could get any worse.
"Ralph," he said shortly, wondering what the boy was doing still standing there. "You look . . . good."
"I'm feeling much better," Ralph said, although warily now, as if he too worried about memories being dredged up. "It took a while. It took a long while. But I've forgiven myself for what happened and I'm doing my best to forgive the others as well. What about you?"
Jack scowled. "What about me?" he asked.
Ralph looked puzzled. "Have you forgiven yourself yet?"
"Whatever would I need to forgive myself for?" Jack asked sharply, thinking he really should have apologized to Samuel for hitting him.
Ralph blinked. "For what happened on the island," he said slowly. "To Simon, to Piggy to—"
"Why does everyone always assume something happened?" Jack cried, throwing his arms up in the air and startling Ralph. "Nothing happened, remember? Absolutely nothing!"
Ralph seemed to realize immediately what was going on. His expression changed to one very much like Simon's, sad and sympathetic. "You kept beating that lie into your head until you believed it, didn't you?" he asked.
"Leave me alone," Jack muttered, stepping around Ralph to keep walking. Ralph stayed where he was but called after Jack in an urgant voice.
"You're never going to forget completely, and you know that Jack!"
"Shut up!" Jack called back over his shoulder. A couple blocks later Jack glanced behind him and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no one there. He tried to get Ralph's words out of his mind then, but was rather unsuccessful.
When he got home his dad was there in the living room, polishing one of his rifles. He looked up briefly. "How'd your day go, son?" he asked.
"Nothing happened!" Jack screamed, causing his dad to jump in surprise. "Absolutely nothing!"
He tore up the stairs to his room and slammed the door behind him, breathing hard. He ran over to the window then, and shut it, pulling the curtains over it until his room was darkened to his satisfaction. Then he sat on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. Nothing had happened; there was nothing to remember. So why could he not forget?
The memories came hard and fast then, there in the darkness and silence of his room. The crash, the island, the conch shell, the fat boy with the stupid ass-mar, Ralph, Simon, Roger, the arguments over power, the boar, the face paint, the stupid dance on the beach, the beast, the attack, the realization afterwards, the stakes sharpened on both ends, the fateful day on the rocks, the chase, and finally the man and his ship and the lie he had convinced everyone to believe.
Gritting his teeth, Jack dropped his feet to the ground abruptly. He had to do something to keep them out of his head. Whispers were coming now, whispers telling him what he should have done, how he could have been a better leader, how this all was his fault and if he had only listened to Ralph . . .
"NO!" he shouted suddenly, silencing the whispers for a moment.
"That's not going to make it go away." Jack whirled around to see Simon standing on the other side of his bed, his hair still wet, blood and mud still streaked across his face and hands. He was wearing his old choir robes this time, the ones he was wearing when they had crashed on the island. Another thing Jack now had in his memory.
"Go away! Go away! You're not really here. This isn't real!" Jack pounded at his head with his fists as though to drive Simon out of his mind.
"I'm not going to go away until you remember and repent!" Simon cried, looked alarmed at the other boy's display.
"There's nothing to remember!" Jack screamed, his face turning red with the effort. "Nothing happened! Absolutely—"
"Nothing," Simon finished for him. "But that's not true Jack. That's not true Jack!" he repeated louder when Jack clamped his hands over his ears and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not going to go away until you admit what happened and repent. Please Jack, I don't want you to keep carrying this pain inside of you. You need to let it out!"
"NO!" Jack stood abruptly and turned on Simon, a wild look in his eyes. "I'm going to get rid of you. I know how I can do it too!"
He strode to the door and flung it open so hard it smacked against the wall and left a dent in the wall. He stormed down the stairs, Simon hot on his heels. "What are you going to do Jack?" he asked earnestly, his eyes wide.
"I'm going to shut you up forever," Jack said with a maniacal cackle. "I'm going to do what I should have done when you first showed up in my head."
"Go to a psychologist?" Simon offered hopefully. Jack whirled around at the bottom step and glared up at the smaller boy.
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" he growled in a low, dangerous voice. "You'd like them to lock me up like they did Roger, wouldn't you? Put me in with the crazies. Well I'm not crazy. Nothing happened on that island, do you hear me? Nothing!"
"You're talking to someone inside of your head," Simon reasoned, trying to keep Jack from storming anywhere else. "That qualifies you as crazy. Maybe that's a good thing though! Maybe some time alone in the asylum would do you good. It did Roger good. He's much better now!" He pointed to the newspaper that lay on a small side table just inside of the door. A headline read: INSANE SURVIVOR OF ISLAND CRASH SUCESSFULLY REHABILITATED. Next to it was a note. Jack could not read what it said from where he stood, but he caught the word "shopping."
"Oh you visit him too and give him this little speech of yours?" Jack asked sarcastically.
"I'm from your head. Not his. How am I supposed to know?"
Jack stared at him a moment before shaking his head and jabbing a finger into his temple. "Well enjoy your stay because you're going to be gone very soon." Checking the living room to make sure his father was no longer in the room, Jack crossed over to where the polished rifle hung, taking it down from the pegs and stroking it tenderly.
Simon seemed to realize what was going on now and hurried forward, laying a hand on Jack's arm. "Jack, don't!" he cried, his dark eyes wide with horror.
"You can't stop me! You can't stop me!" Jack taunted, dancing away from Simon and clutching the gun tightly. "You're just inside my head and you can't stop me!" He laughed again.
"Jack, please!" Simon begged, tears beginning to swim in his eyes.
"Oh don't give me that," Jack sneered. "After what happened to you I'd assume you'd be glad to get rid of me."
Simon's eyes glittered with brief hope. "No, no, I forgive you! I forgive all of you!"
Jack realized his slip. His lips tightened and he looked down at the rifle in his hands, his features hardening. He had to shut this kid up before he ruined everything and brought back that horrible night more vividly. It was already invading his senses. He could smell the firewood, the scent of the cooking boar. The voices of the boy's war whoops and hollers rang in his ears. He could feel sand between his toes, a sharpened stake in his hands. A stake sharpened at both ends.
He checked inside and saw with disappointment that his dad had taken out all the bullets. But wait, there was something glinting at the bottom. A slow smirk curled his thin lips. His dad had missed one. Jack looked up at Simon with a smug look.
"Forgive us for what?" he asked. "Nothing happened. Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He turned the rifle so the barrel was facing towards his head. He looked over at Simon with a cruel smile. "See you in hell." Simon seemed to shimmer in the light from the window, tears streaming down his face.
"Jack . . ."
The older boy did not hesitate. His mouth covered the barrel and his finger pulled back on the trigger. The shot echoed throughout the room. Everything went black instantly. However a soft sound seemed to be in the air, the sound of a choir boy singing. The last thing Jack heard before he silenced everything.
"Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw,
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw."
Sleep child mine, there's nothing here,
While in slumber at my breast,
Angels smiling, have no fear,
Holy angels guard your rest.
Man, that was depressing to write. If you haven't heard this song it's Suo Gan. Look it up on youTube or something it's a beautiful lullaby. I got it from Empire of the Sun and I suggest you look up the version in that movie, since it's a choir boy singing it. That's the version I had and the one I had in my head the entire time I wrote this. Review and tell me what you think!