Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.
A/N: This is a four piece story. It is all written so I'll update it once a day.
Locke trod lightly through the jungle, not sure where he was going. Yet again he felt as though he was being led somewhere and he was pinning his hopes that it was the island communicating with him, leading him along to his higher purpose. But until he found it, he would continue to follow his instincts, now quarter of an hour away from the beach.
A moment later he found what he was looking for. The feeling of needing to obey had dissolved slightly, letting him take in the scene in front of him.
Charlie was lying in front of him, eyes half-lidded, not focused. A large back-pack, so filled with statues of the Virgin Mary that the top could not be zipped, one of them smashed next to him, powder spilled out of the bags, fallen onto the ground.
"What are you doing Charlie?"
Charlie's head turned slowly as his eyes opened the slightest amount more, "none of your business."
Locke knelt down and traced one finger through the dirt and the heroin, melding them further together as he avoided looking at Charlie. He found it hard to cope with what had happened; found it hard to believe that, after all he had done to try to fix Charlie, that he was un-fixable. Every single time that any progress was made, he returned to his stash.
"It's fighting a losing battle," Locke muttered the words to himself, unsure whether he was referring to Charlie's attempts to remain sober or his own to attempt to force the sobriety onto Charlie.
"What the hell does that mean?"
He didn't think that Charlie had heard what he had said; the anger in his tone was becoming common placed and Locke attempted to counter it with mellow tones, knowing that the sadness was seeping through.
"Nothing, it means nothing."
"Tell me what you were saying about me!" Charlie struggled to get up but gave up a couple of seconds later, apparently taking too much hassle. Instead he tugged on one of the bags, not realising that it was already open and the final remains of the heroin tumbled out. He swore and fished into his rucksack, trying to find another but Locke jerked it away, failing to notice the flash of hatred that speared Charlie's eyes. "Give me my drugs back!"
"No." As the days on the island continued to tick past, Locke had found himself becoming more resigned by the moment that he was to be hated, ignored and detested by his fellow survivors. It didn't seem to matter then, that he was taking away Charlie's supply again. It was better to be hated sooner whilst doing good deeds, rather than just wait for the inevitable and try to stave it off with token conversations with anyone who would part with so much as the time towards him. He left the bag for a moment, standing and scuffing against the ground with the toes of his shoe, trying to destroy what little was left there of Charlie's addiction. He was about to reclaim the bag when he noticed that it was now sitting in Charlie's lap.
"You had no right to do that…"
"I had every right to do that. I am trying to make you better."
"…And you had no right to take her…"
"Take who?" At this he was genuinely confused. He was aware of Charlie's objections to his friendship with Claire but that had ended long ago.
"…Do you think…" Charlie paused as he reached inside the bag. The statues situated about his hand shifted as he drew out his prize. He left it hidden before asking his question, "do you think that you are a good person John?"
"Yes."
In an instant Locke regretted his answer. Charlie retrieved his prize and smiled at it for just a second, not enough time for Locke to react before he heard a few loud cracks break through the air, felt the impact against his stomach and chest and tried to flee from the darkness that enveloped him. Then there was nothing, and he didn't even feel as his body fell onto the floor.