Secrets – we all have them. None of us know who we are or our pasts. My past, it has been a bad one. Drugs, abuse, drinking – those are just three parts to my past. I want to forget this life I had before, but I can't. There is a black cloud over my head. Only I can see it. Only I know about it. I wish it would just go away. I love her so much, but she doesn't know. She can't know. I'll just end up hurting Claire. I always end up hurting someone I care for. Maybe I should leave – me and my black cloud. Perhaps going far…far away would be best for everyone – be best for the community that will soon be growing.
Charlie Pace walked slowly down the beach. He was near the water, but not quite. The rocker did not want to get his black and white checkered Vans wet. His secret would be ruined then. It was all he had. With a heavy sigh, he glanced up the beach. Under a make-shift, blue, tarp tent sat Claire and her baby. It was a nice sight. Bitterly, the bass player of Driveshaft smiled and looked away before she could see him gazing her and her child. Stuffing his hands into his ratty pockets, Charlie continued on his way. A strand of blond hair blew in front of his face as the wind picked up. Removing his hands from his pockets, he wrapped his arms around his waist so that his striped shirt would not blow and also because his stomach hurt. It was churning. He felt sick. I am sick, he thought rushing off into the forest.
When he was in a hidden place, he bent and retched. The little food he had consumed in the last few days came up. The British rocker fell to his knees and pressed his palms to the ground. God, I feel awful. Help me please. Help me, Charlie prayed as he closed his eyes. The druggie was clammy and a slight sweat had broken out. He was at rock bottom, but Charlie knew it would be worse so much worse.
There was a sound suddenly. "Hello," Charlie rasped out as he looked around. Quickly, he stood and wiped his mouth off, "Locke? Jack?"
"Est mon bébé, où est mon bébé," a woman cried out in French. She sounded quite distraught. The voice scared him. There were no French speaking people in the wreck – at least Charlie assumed that. "Le bébé, où est mon bébé," she cried again in a faint voice. One last time, she cried out for her baby and the voice disappeared. With the disappearance came another sound.
There was silence. There was not supposed to be silence. Locke looked around him. There were balloons, a table with drinks, other appetizers, and a mirror. Locke was dressed in a tuxedo. He was confused. There were people talking - happily and excitedly. They were celebrating. Locke could hear his own voice. He was talking with a friend. Suddenly, the friend stopped mid-sentence and stared wide-eyed at Locke. Around them, the conversations stilled. Locke took a few steps back. He was suddenly scared of what was happening. Everyone was staring at him, or rather, his abdomen. They started whispering and pointing at him. Locke's gaze fell on the mirror - on his own image to be precise. On his shirt, somewhere in the area where his kidney should have been, was a hole. The area around it was stained with blood. He looked down at his body and saw the same. Locke's head snapped up when he hear someone laughing. His father was standing a few feet away from him, holding something that looked like his kidney and he ate it.
John Locke woke up with a start, his breathing irregular. His eyes snapped open and were immediately blinded by the light of the sun, shining through the trees. He quickly shut them again. Slowly counting to ten, he willed his breathing to even out. It did. He risked opening his eyes again and looked around. Trees. Shaking off the last bit of sleep, he started to rise. He should not have fallen asleep. Not out there in the woods anyways. Retrieving his knifes, he started to stroll back to the camp. However, before he made it there, he came upon a sight that surprised him a bit. Charlie stood there, leaning against a tree, looking rather ill. "Charlie?" Locke asked, hesitatingly while he carefully walked closer.
Charlie's grayish-blue eyes widen when Locke came out of the bushes. "Locke," Charlie said chewing his lip, "Did you here her? The French woman? She was calling for her baby!" The drug addict knew he sounded half out of his mind. He was in fact. The withdrawals he felt was controlling his mind. Things that were not there, he saw. They terrified him, but he did not let the terror and paranoia show, accept until now. The drug addict was trying to quit, but he knew what would happen in the end. Charlie would soon be using again. The pain and sickness he felt and what he was seeing was horrible.
As Charlie thought about this, his stomach began to churn. He bent and started retching. Only bile was coming up and it burned his throat like acid. He fell to his hands and knees and stayed like this. His arms shook slightly and he was sweating, but he did not pay any attention. The drug addict was weak from throwing up and from not eating for two days.
Locke looked at Charlie with a worried look. The young man did not look so good. "No," he started carefully, "I did not hear anything." Before he could add anything else, the young man started to retch. Locke did not know what to do. He wanted to help the sick man before him, but he had not the skinniest idea how. Locke looked around him, hoping to find something that might be useful and of course, he found nothing.
Looking back at Charlie, he found the young man on his hands and knees, looking like he was swallowed by a polar bear and spit out again. He walked over to Charlie and bent down on one knee, careful to evade the bile on the ground. He put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "How are you feeling? Do you know what's wrong?"
The man jerked when Locke place a hand on his shoulder. Charlie knew that it was for comfort Locke had done this, but for him, it hurt his skin and the touch scared him. Slowly and with shame, Charlie looked at Locke. "How do you think I feel," he asked the bald man, "I am afraid I do know what's wrong with me, Locke." He looked away from the man and licked his lips. Slowly, he stood and leaned against the tree for support. The man closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
Locke looked at the young man with a glint in his eyes that could be interpreted as a mix between pity, confusion and frustration. It was no good in a time like this for the young man to be cryptic! But Locke also realized that seeing as Charlie looked rather miserable on the outside, he must feel ten times worse on the inside. Locke took a deep breath, counted to five, and then back to one. "Come on, Charlie. Let's get you back to the beach. Jack will know what to do with you. I'm no good at situations like these. Hunting boars, yes. Dealing with physical situations of a human body, no." he said, trying to be supportive and lightening up the mood.
Charlie looked down at the ground and rubbed the toe of his black and white Van slip on in the toe. He could tell Locke was angry with him, but Charlie did not care. The question had been obvious to him and Charlie was in no mood for obvious questions. "I'm not going back to the beach Locke. I'm leaving. I-I can't stay. I'll hurt the community that's starting…I'll hurt Claire and her baby," he whispered as he looked up at Locke. Charlie licked his lips and left his resting spot. He slowly began to go into the jungle, not caring if he was followed or not.
Locke's eyes followed the back of Charlie with an intense gaze and a frown marring his face as the young man retreated into the jungle. There was something wrong with him and Locke was going to find out what that was. So he followed him. He had to run a bit to catch up with Charlie, but he made it there in no time, for Charlie was not walking very fast. Locke grabbed Charlie's arm and turned him around to face Locke. He looked in his eyes. "What is going on here? What makes you think you'll hurt the others? What are you hiding, Charlie?"
Fear was in the man's eyes as John Locke turned him around. He looked like one of Locke's boars. The druggie tried to look away from the man, but Locke held him so he had to. "L-Locke," Charlie stammered, "I'm leaving that's what's going on." He stopped talking then, he could not answer those questions for a moment. Charlie licked his lips. "I-I'm a drug addict, Locke. I do heroin. I have not had a fix in two days an-and I am going through withdrawals. I-I get scary and I'll hurt her accidentally. I get out of my mind Locke. But, I'm loosing. It's only time before I use so I have to leave. You don't understand."
Locke sighed and loosened his hold on Charlie's arm, but not letting go entirely. He let his gaze wander through the forest before settling it down on Charlie again. "I don't understand?" he laughed, humorlessly. "You're right, maybe I don't. Not exactly what you're going through anyway. But I've been through situations that are comparable to it, seen situation that are worse. I'm not going to judge you about who you are and I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through. But I'll tell you this. You think you're trying your hardest already? Then think again, 'cause you can always try harder. You don't want to hurt people? Then be determined enough not to. By just leaving won't solve the problem, you're just pushing it away. You have to face it and defeat it."
The druggie looked at Locke's hand as he held onto it. He then looked back at the bald man. "Locke, as I thought, you don't understand," Charlie said, "I've tried before to stop with people around. It ended up badly. I-I hurt people physically. I'm not risking it Locke. I'm leaving. You can't make me stay. I'll come back, only when I know I'm safe." Charlie yanked his arm away from Locke and stormed into the woods. On his way there, he discretely took one of Locke's blades and slipped it into his belt.