Her Eyes
Summary: Wakefield's thoughts when he first saw Henry.
Rated: T - for Violence and Language
He lurked through the forest of his homeland "Harper's Island." He felt invincible, powerful, but most of all he felt fulfilled. He'd killed nearly everyone. Including her. Sarah. Her name alone in his mind made his insides clench, made his insides burn with fury.
Her. The one who threw away his only child. The one who gave up on him for some damn local Sherriff. She was the one who, years and years ago, was able to make him forget everything wither her promises of forever. When he was with her, the predatory urges that burned him to the core seemed to die down. Sure, he'd had thoughts about what her blood would look like on his hands, but when she caressed, when he felt her soft skin always so much warmer than his, none of it matter. He was hers.
Now, he was disgusted at how fucking whipped he was.
A smile of twisted satisfaction spread across his face as he thought of how shocked and frightened her eyes had been as he stabbed her, and how cold and lifeless they became as she bled out.
That's not how he chose to murder her, though. No, he chose to hang her next to the others, almost as if he was telling her (and himself) she was nothing more than another of his worthless victims. As he tied the noose around her neck, she couldn't fight him off because of the blood loss, but her whispered pleas showed as much of her white face as in her soft voice. He made sure she was steady before kissing her once on her forehead, then letting her fall. She didn't hit the ground, for the rope he'd tied around her neck prevented that, but her neck snapped and she died almost instantly.
And she knew exactly why.
He clutched his boarding knife tighter when he heard footsteps running. He spotted his prey. Gray sweatshirt, jeans, dark hair, pale skin. As the young man ran closer, Wakefield jumped out and the startled man drew back, as if ready for a fight, but terror was written all over his face.
Pretty stupid.
He raised the boarding knife above his head.
And froze.
Her eyes.
No. He looked closer.
Her eyes.
The startled man stared at him with some bizarre fascination and in that instant, there was a connection between him and this man who had her eyes. Wakefield opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't. No words would come out. He was once again trapped by her eyes.
A dead woman's eyes.
Could this be his own?
His mind reeled, trying to count the years he'd been looking, and the possibilities that this was the Sherriff's, because it was definitely hers. Her eyes.
But last he'd heard the Sherriff only had a daughter. Abby.
And this young one standing before him had his features on his face. His skin tone, his mouth, his cheekbones. But her eyes.
Slowly, he lowered the boarding knife. The young man took one step back, as if he was unsure whether he should run or not. Wakefield had no choice. He wanted to take his could-be son and run away, but he heard more footsteps, so he did the only thing he could at the time before getting off this island. He flipped the knife over and rammed it into the young man's head, knocking him out. He gave on last look at the man before running.
Somewhere along the way, that damn Sherriff had gotten him in the back while he was thinking about the young man. He was shot, but that didn't stop him. He'd had worse. He could barely even feel it now. So at last, he got on a boat and got off Harper's Island.
For now at least.
He vowed that when all of this died down, he would come back and meet the young man. And, if he didn't somehow kill him beforehand, find out why he had her eyes.
The End