Disclaimer: At this point in time, in the story, the only character I own is Chris. However, I whole bunch of new original characters will appear throughout the story. The characters I do not own, in this chapter, I will not spoil, because it involves one of his connections, and I'd prefer you read about them, rather than me telling you. But I don't. LOST is owned by Touchstone/ABC.
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One of the main reasons Chris hated the island – absolutely hated it – was because he couldn't see it. Of course, he didn't let anybody else know that, but he couldn't.
He was blind. And he had been for a number of years.
One of the fortunate coincidences about the plane crash was that the person scheduled to fly to Los Angeles with him had to cancel at the last minute, causing him to go alone. If the man had accompanied Chris, his secret would have been revealed, and peoplewould have to shelter him.
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"I'm not a baby!" Chris fumed, and took a hard thrust away from his mother who had placed her hand on his in an attempt to guide him across the street. He was unwary and relatively uncaring of anybody who had noticed his outburst, and probably would have a good laugh about it. 'Oh, did you hear the one about the 27-year old blind guy and his mom…?'
Yeah, just what he needed. A joke about him.
"Chris, honey-" rang his mother, clearly sounding hurt at her son's outburst. She took back the extended hand, and held it close to her chest. She looked absolutely crestfallen. "-I just wanted to…"
"I know you did," Chris replied, almost instantly. He sounded bitter. His mother's intentions were good, all she wanted to do was look out for her son, who had only become blind a few days before, and hadn't stepped out into public since the ill-fated optometrist encounter. His first visit downtown just had to be with the only person who would try to hold his hand in the middle of the road. "I just want you to know… that I can do it myself." Chris lowered the pair of sunglasses he was wearing, and smiled. He tried to sound sincere, since it was true, but he felt a certain vulnerability out here. The big city, the big world…
His mom smiled slightly. Her little boy had grown up. Of course, there was absolutely no way he would be crossing the street without his 'sensing stick', which Chris boldly gave the name his 'dick stick', because of how he looked with it. He may have grown up, but he still had the maturity of an eight grader.
She always knew her song was different, growing up. From an early age, he expressed a great love for the sciences, which was apt, considering she was a biologist. As soon as he left high school, he applied for a job at some big-wig science company… Hanson, or something. She would have preferred him take a nice, solid job at a High School, or even just a chemist in his basement. But when he got the job, he went into some sort of solitary.
"Okay, Chris," she said, politely, "I just don't want you getting hurt."
Chris stifled slightly, as his mother pulled him forward gently on the street, "I'm fine, mom, really." It wasn't very convincing. "I'll take my dick stick wherever I can."
That made her smile. Despite his vocabulary, he was a good boy.
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Of course, eleven years later, and he still called it the dick stick, but less frequently, now. He had grown accustomed to having friends dragging him along, despite his protests. It was just something he lived with.
However, it had nearly been a week on the island, and people spoke to him like a normal person. He knew he was a normal person, but nobody back home treated him like one. This island, albeit a blessing, was also a curse. Just that morning, he had nearly stepped into the ocean, thinking it was still part of the sand, until somebody stopped him, and jokingly asked if 'he was blind, or something.'
He had an urge to say, 'Yeah, I am!' but he knew he couldn't. It had only been a week. A week, and they had already discovered a potential leader – some doctor, named Jack – Chris hated him. He hated his voice, he hated the way he bossed people around, and he just hated Jack's attitude in general.
Sitting down on a mossy rock, Chris was solemnly drawing in the sand, with a stick. Nothing artsy, just a few element atomic notations, to take his mind off of everything – thinking about how hard it was to have a secret like that. He made an assumption that everybody on the island had secrets, but nothing as big as his. He had lots.
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"Darwin!" roared the voice of one of the head 'honchos' of the Dharma Initiative. She was possibly one of the most annoying things to grace this planet. The Initiative began years back, by two college grads, only a bit older than himself at the moment (23), and was now one of the chief branches of Hanso – although, top secret. Chris – Christopher Darwin, as he was called by his associates, instead of his preferred nickname of Chris – was decked out it a pale white lab coat, and turned around the speaker, holding two beakers in his hand. One of them, filled with a bubbling green substance, the other yellow.
"Yes?" he asked, with a groan, and set down the two beakers of his lab bench, one of them nearly missing the edge. Sweat was lightly rolling down his forehead, as the lab was usual hot – a whole bunch of busy, stinky men and women, Bunsen Burners going off in every corner, and the ever-popular explosion caused by a freak accidental Chemical Change.
The woman – a blonde – was the niece of one of the head operatives at the Initiative, so she just happened to be ranked higher than him by association. It was only his first year worker there (edging on to his second), but he had already outwitted her completely, and she was half the chemist he was. She even managed to cause a fire just by mixing two basic chemicals, and forgetting the outcome, and it burst out. Fortunately, people were there to assist almost instantly.
"Come help me with this," she demanded, cattily. It was one of her pastimes, acting like this towards him. The company knew all the promise he had to be successful in the company, but she hogged all of his work, and took the credit. He tried to not let it faze him, too much, but sometimes her antics really got to him. She had a compulsive lying problem, or so it seemed, and she would lie if it helped her get ahead. Once, she even lied about a family member to secure a job for her.
Maybe that's why they called her 'the lying Libby Widmore.'
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Chris heard a laugh, and footsteps streaking through the warm sand, towards him in a slightly shady area near the woods. He lifted the stick, and waited for the footsteps to come close enough before reacting. It was hard to know when somebody was near you when they were walking on sand.
"Are you gonna pass me that?" the person asked – it was a girl. Chris hesitated, not sure exactly what to do. He could ignore her and pretend he was deaf; he could reach out and pray he chose the right side, or he could tell the truth. He didn't even know what it was he would be reaching for. He just chose to ignore her.
The girl sighed, and he could hear the tapping of flip-flops on the bottom of her feet as she walked toward him. "You could have picked up my Frisbee," she scowled, and it sounded like she walked slightly past her.
Choosing not to respond, Chris gazed off in another direction momentarily, until he heard the whooshing of an object becoming louder and louder, until…
Wham!
Chris let out a groan of pain, as he felt himself fall back, off of the rock, landing on the warm sand beneath him. He grabbed on to the forehead, feeling around with his thumb to see if he was bleeding. His sunglasses had slid off of his head, but he didn't care. His own safety was at risk here. "What did you do that for?" he asked, and hissed a curse.
"Well, when somebody throws a Frisbee at you, the idea is to catch it-" she said a-matter-of-factly, and let out a gasp. "What's wrong with your eyes!"
He let out another groan, and rolled over on to his side, and a sharp pain filled his foot. It felt as if it has been dislocated, and was now facing more than the regular 180 degrees it should have been. Cringing, he pushed it back up, subduing the pain, but it was still noticeable. His face was now buried in his arm, while resting his head on the other; he had an unavoidable surge of anger towards this naïve little girl.
Hearing her ask the unavoidable question, he thought of what to say. He could lie, or tell her, both ideas would hurt him in the long run. Either way, even after seeing his eyes, she probably would go tell hero boy, and he would come to his rescue.
'Pah. My trouble is past Jack's level of expertise,' he thought irritably, and rolled back towards the girl, his face now red. "What's your problem!" he asked, deciding it would be best to ignore the girl's impolite question.
"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the island, this morning," she said cheekily, as if the whole plane crash had been a joke; a complete and utter joke.
Chris frowned, and let out an irritated noise. "Glad to see you're enjoying your vacation. Why don't you do me a favor, and go back to your mommy."
The girl seemed visibly upset by that, even though Chris couldn't see it. It took her a while to think of a response. 'What does he think I am?' she wondered, and grabbed her Frisbee from next to the angry man. "You never answered my question," she told him.
Did this girl give up? Why did she think that Chris wanted to talk to her? "Where do you get off, thinking I'm going to tell you personal things?"
It was true, though. All these people – all these survivors, had been lucky. They survived a potentially deadly crash, with very, very few casualties. As soon as they were rescued, all their secrets – every little thing they told to another person – would not be forgotten. The criminals would be told on, the confessions would be told. None of these people were friends with another. They all wanted to get off the island, as soon as they possibly could. And, as soon as that help came, they would forget each other. Just like that.
There was no point in explaining to this girl – who, judging by her attitude was only a teenager – his life, his personal information, anything.
"It's not like I was asking you about how many times you shoplifted from the jewelry store, jeeze. Some people are wound too tight…" she began to trail off, causing Chris to get a little annoyed. What kind of conceited little…
"I'm wound tight because I don't want to tell you about my problems!" he said, raising his voice. His head began to hurt, as a vein pumped through it, trying to regain circulation. "How about I tell you about the time I cheated on my girlfriend with her best friend? Or the time I threatened to kill somebody I worked with? Why not? Because it's none of your fu-"
"Hey, it's not like I told you to tell me any of that crap!" she said, a slightly amused tone to her voice. "All I wanted to know is if you were blind. It's no big deal."
Chris huffed, and managed to sit up. He had a head rush, at the acceleration of his rising, but managed to stand up without falling over. With his head still throbbing, and his drawing stick still in his hand, he began to walk away, holding the stick slightly in front of him, as if guiding a trail. "It is to me…" he whispered angrily, as he shifted the sunglasses on to his eyes, again.
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"What would you, of all people, Libby, need help with?" he asked her, trying to sound as sincere as possible, but couldn't resist being a little snide about it. He didn't think she caught the sarcasm, anyway.
Libby laughed cockily, and tossed her head to the side, allowing her blonde hair to fall behind her shoulder. "I need help with a solution," she told him, trying to sound as desperate as possible. She showed him an equation on a clipboard she had written down, and he read it over quickly.
"What exactly are you making?" Chris asked, not looking up. It was long and intricate, and he wasn't quite getting it. It didn't resemble chemistry, more like physics – electricity.
"Well," she said, with a smirk, and began to explain the problem. He had no clue what it was, exactly, that she was planning on doing. She had mentioned something about magnetism… electromagnetism? He wasn't sure.
"Why don't you go ask somebody else? I'm not exactly… good… with physics," Chris said modestly. He was a modest person, when he could be. Libby didn't even have that word in her vocabulary.
"He told me to ask you," she said, and Chris knew who she was referring to. "He told me you would know the answer."
Chris arched an eyebrow, and looked away from the paper, shaking his head. "I don't know what Candle is talking about," he told her, "I know nothing about electromagnetism."
"Don't lie to me, Christopher," she said in a monotone voice. Chris' eyes caught hers, and they seemed rather tense, angry.
"I'm not lying, Libby," he said quickly, frustrated. "… And it's Chris."
She huffed, and pulled the clipboard away from him, shoving past him angrily. There was something seriously wrong with her. She had this… problem… about her, and nobody could figure out what it was. She had this need to be right, but she didn't have the brains for it. Well, from what she demonstrated, she did… but she was much too spoiled, she got everything from her family, everything she wanted. She thought the right answer would just fall into her lap.
Then, when she started to not get what she wanted, she began to lie, to always be right. She would make up a ridiculous lie, and make people believe her story, and then she would have the feeling of being right about it. It made her feel better.
One thing, Chris knew, was that he felt extremely sorry for her.
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That night, back at camp, had been a weary one. Nobody really felt up to doing anything, not like Chris really cared; as soon as night time kicked in, he would just shut up, and listen. He couldn't do anything abnormal. What if he walked into the fire? Not the best idea, to make people think you could see, now was it?
He ran a hand through his hair, and stood up, wobbling to log he was sitting on with two others, a Korean couple, who couldn't speak English. They must have felt worse than he did. People kept talking, and talking about them… how weird they were. It wasn't fair to them. Chris was lucky enough to be able to hide his disability, his hindrance, though it was difficult. Maneuvering his feet over to the other side of the log, he made an attempt to find his way back to his sleeping area.
"-oh, Chris! Wait up," said a voice from the group around the fire. A girl named Janelle, if he remembered correctly. She was nice; she had been in Australia diving, before the crash.
Turning around slowly, careful not to trip over anything, Chris smiled meekly. "Yeah?"
She laughed, quietly. She was only a bit younger than he was, but she was full of youthful energy. Unlike the girl he had run in to earlier, she had some kindness in her. "Tell us about yourself," she said, and there was a murmur of agreement between some of the other people seated around. "It's been, what, a week since the crash, and you haven't told us a thing about yourself?"
Chris twitched slightly, and stepped closer to the log, dragging his feet so not to trip over it. As he worked his way over it, and reclaimed his seat, and sighed quietly before managing a response. "I'm Chris…"
"We know that," a man, he believed his name was Tony, said. There was, once again, a murmur of agreement, and a bit of laughter, mixed in.
"I'm 32-"
"32!" exclaimed Janelle, with a laugh, "you don't look like 32… much too cute," she told him, causing him to blush (luckily, it was too dark to notice).
"… If you keep interrupting me," Chris said, playfully, yet brutally, "I'm not going to tell you anything." That shut them up. "Thank you," he said, now grinning. "I'm from a city in the US, one which doesn't concern any of you. I worked as a scientist before the… crash," he started, but stopped abruptly- nothing else to say.
The conversation seemed to be on hiatus, as he finished, as if he had the whole crowd waiting for him to continue, but he wasn't going to, it's not like he could. Chris yawned, and managed to stand up again, stretching as he did. "If you'll excuse me," he told them, waving. "I'm going to bed." He managed over the log, again, and walked away from the group and the cackling of the fire. Hopefully, he wouldn't trip on his way—
--Thud!
Too late, he fell.