Disclaimer: Lost is owned by ABC Television and was created by Jeffrey Lieber, J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof. I don't own it but I love it.
No good deed goes unpunished – Oscar Wilde
She sat with the lighter in her hand. It was a cool night but she didn't notice. She sat in her t-shirt and ripped, boot-cut jeans, waiting, knowing he would turn up from that dive bar in Ames. No DUI for Wayne. No arrests. No justice in this town. His brother was the Chief of Police for the City of Ames. His brother-in-law was the Mayor. Now wasn't that just dandy? She didn't care for Wayne's family and claimed no kinship or blood relationship to any of them. The men were all corrupt, lecherous alcoholics, just like him. There wasn't one good apple in the bunch. The Chief, if off-duty, was probably as drunk as Wayne would be when his beat-up truck would weave and roll up the wide gravel driveway on her family's land that used to be part of her grandparent's working farm.
She hated dealing with him. She hated the smell of Jack and Coke on his breath along with straight whiskey. The SOB liked to get sauced, sometimes at home, other times with his drinking buddies to talk about God knows what. He was rarely sober and was a mean, violent drunk. That was the nicest way she could describe him in that condition.
Kate played with the lighter. On. Off. On. Off. She had cooked dinner, a can of soup, ate, and cleaned up. She didn't turn off the stove burner all the way. It was hard. She had to use pliers because the knobs didn't line up and it wouldn't shut off. It was the last working burner. Her Mom had asked Wayne to fix it or replace the stove. She had been beaten the last time she asked.
The lighter she played with was the same one she used to light the burner. Kate didn't smoke. She always carried a lighter along with other items for survival. Her knife, twine, cord, fishing hooks and line, flashlight, flares, jumper cables, small first aid kit, dry matches for campfires and other odds and ends in the saddlebag of her bike.
On. Off. On. Off.
The flame was fascinating. It was critical for survival, wasn't it? Fire? For cooking. For heat. For melting and making things. How would man had survived without it over the centuries?
It wouldn't be the first time she left it that damn burner on. She was afraid of ripping the whole knob off and opening up the entire gas line. Wayne was too drunk to be any help at night. Her Mom was pulling another double shift. She might be able to fix it. Kate was waiting for Wayne to make sure he was asleep before her Mom came home from work. She didn't want him to continue his bender into the late hours only to black out and beat Diane up again with no memory of it in the morning.
On. Off.
She stopped and thought about her Mom. She was tired of babysitting her and dealing with a leering drunk who wanted to get in her panties. She was 24 years old now and, as lecherous as he was, there was a line he wouldn't cross now. No more groping or trying to sneak in her room at night to touch her. No more beating her with his belt buckle facing out until her legs were striped and cut. No more pushing her down the steps or broken bones. No more threats to kill her Mom if she told on him. He knew she carried a large, folding bowie knife in her back pocket and kept it very sharp. She also had a gun and was a crack shot thanks to her Dad who was in the army. She didn't forget anything Wayne did or said. It wasn't that she wasn't able to forgive people. He would never change. He would never apologize to either of them.
On. Off. On. Off.
Her mom was sporting new bruises. Kate took out a policy on the house for $125,000 two weeks ago. She signed it and had her Mom sign it. Only her mom was drinking. She seemed confused. Kate explained what it was 4 times. Kate kept the policy in her bike bag. She wanted her Mom to be taken care of if anything happened. Maybe it would someday from neglect of the house. Maybe it would be the damn burner. Who knew? Kate had to get away someday. If she left her Mom with that bastard, Diane would be dead within a year or less. He was starting to break Diane's bones. She was too slow and a little too old for his taste now. Kate was ready to leave town the minute she graduated at 18 but stuck around for her Mom's sake. She was her Mother's keeper.
On. Off. On. Off.
Nothing would probably happen. It was just one burner. Or would it? Should she try again and risk ripping the knob off or leave it?
Anger simmered inside of her, anger she tried to push down. She had asked Curtis at the hardware store downtown about how to fix it or if it should be replaced. It had been broken and got harder to shut off over the past 4 weeks. She asked him 3 weeks ago. Wayne and her Mom weren't doing anything about it. She didn't have the money to get it fixed with her job or knowledge on how to deal with gas lines. "The Lord helps those who help themselves." Isn't that what her Mom used to say? Why didn't they help themselves?
On. Off. On. Off.
She hated Wayne. She did since the day he moved in. Nobody had protected her by then. She had to grow up. Dad was usually deployed on a special mission and unreachable. That was after they settled in Ames thanks to her Mom's lusting after Wayne. They had traveled and moved from base to base until Kate was 5. She was an Army brat. After that, Diane had moved them into the old family farmstead with Kate and ran Dad off, then divorced him. Wayne moved them shortly after. That and the years that followed were the worst in her life. The only respite was being with her Dad and going on trips when he was on leave. She also liked time away from home playing with Tommy or being around his family, who were nice enough. She would do anything to escape that house, even hide in the woods until late.
On. Off. On. Off.
Her Mom didn't believe her when she told her about Wayne. She blamed Kate. Then she started to be hostile to her daughter, as if Kate was competing for Wayne's attention. Kate was 8. She had to button up her shirts to the top and cover herself. She was made to wear a pre-teen t-shirt under her regular ones and training bras when she had nothing up top. She was a late bloomer and didn't get her period until she was almost 16. She was a tomboy, lean with little body fat from running and climbing. The doctor said that's why it took so long. Then the boys noticed her in school. The girls were jealous. They said things and called her names like slut even though she didn't date or let any of those adolescent creeps touch her. But nobody believed or protected her. Except Tommy. That didn't do much good. He liked her too but knew she couldn't reciprocate. Not while she was living with Wayne and fighting a battle to fend him off and protect her Mom.
On. Off. On. Off.
She looked up. Finally. Headlights were coming through the trees casting uneven amounts of light as it filtered through the trunks and dead branches along the makeshift driveway. The truck came to a halt near the house. Same story. Different night. The blaring country music was cut off from the cab as the truck is shut off. He got out. His boots made the gravel crunch as he staggered over in jeans and a dirty flannel shirt. His brown hair was greasy and his teeth yellow as he smiled. She put the Zippo lighter in her back pocket and stood.
"Well, heya, girl. What are you doing here? Hey, there." He was drunk as a skunk and pleased as pie to see her there on the steps. Wayne grabbed unsteadily for Kate. She put his arm around her shoulder but kept her body from touching his. She was annoyed and disgusted with him, the reek and even the feel of skin from his hand. It was like touching a snake.
She helped him up the rickety wooden front steps, badly in need of repair, through the screen door, then the house door."Alright, let's get you to bed. Watch your step, watch your step."
"What the hell is that smell?" He asked, slurring his words when they were in the house. She guided him through the short hall to the room he shared with her Mom.
"Probably your breath." Kate winced, her head turned, leaning away from the reek of alcohol combined with rotten breath pouring out of his mouth. She wished he would stop talking. She also wished he would see a dentist.
"Yeah, right." He slurred. He allowed her to guide him into the room and she let him fall on the bed. He could sleep on the floor for all she cared.
"Come on." She was annoyed and looked at him with undisguised contempt. She pulled his boots off one at a time. It was hard to get those smelly things off of him. The quicker she got this done, the better. She just wanted to tell her Mom about the stove and go home to get some sleep. She had to work the next day.
"You're beautiful." He slurred. He looks at her face and her petite body with lust in his eyes as if he expected her to respond, his step-daughter, his biological daughter. "Hey. Hey! I just gave you a compliment." She yanked his second boot off hard and glared at him.
"Yeah, I heard you." She spoke with undisguised contempt and put a blanket over him, careful not to touch him. Big mistake.
"Aren't you going to take my pants off first?" He grabbed her arm. He had a strong grip for being so drunk. "You are beautiful." He leered again, as if that would do something for her. She swallowed a little to hold back the urge to vomit.
She thought that castration would be a fitting punishment for him, something that would be a service to female kind, but she wouldn't be the person to deliver it. She decided she was done and twisted, then jerked her arm away. "Good night." She said with no feeling. She didn't wish him good anything. Just good riddance. She wished he would crawl back into the hell hole he came from.
Kate left the house. She turned out the lights and felt her pocket for the Zippo. She sat on her motorcycle and hesitated. Should she fix the burner? It will probably keep until her Mom got home. She'd stop by the diner anyways. She guessed Wayne was sleeping and not stupid enough to light a cigarette. Lazy bastard. He should have fixed it already.
She fired up her motorcycle engine and took off on her bike to tell her Mom, then go home to bed. Then she heard a deafening boom behind her. He lit a cigarette. Stupid Wayne. She didn't cry. She didn't stop either. She had no emotion left for someone like him. But she knew she would have to face her Mom, her brainwashed Mother who loved the man that abused her and turned a blind eye to what he did to their their biological daughter. Now what was she supposed to say? I was stopping by to tell you I couldn't get that burner to turn off again? Too late now.
She was angry at her Mom, but loved her enough to waste years 6 years hanging around. Kate made damn sure Diane had a policy just in case something happened to that house, in case Wayne never fixed it, whether it happened now or later. If it wasn't the stove, it would have been something else. He never fixed anything. She was sure Diane was going to blame her.
She went to the diner and left the policy with her mother. Diane tried to explain her damaged wrist to Kate, telling her a feeble lie when they both knew it was Wayne. Kate didn't know what to say at that point, so she gave her the policy with the briefest explanation, her eyes red. Kate took her jacket and walked away. Her mom yelled, pleading with her, asking "What did you do?" Kate couldn't say it. The words were stuck in her throat. Remember that stove you both never got fixed? Wayne lit a cigarette.
Kate did nothing.
She never expected Diane would call the Chief of Police, Wayne's disgusting brother, to accuse her of murder and insurance fraud on a document her mother signed willingly after being told several times what it was. Kate knew she had to get the hell out of town. But she was free from Wayne and Diane. Free from babysitting her Mom to make sure Wayne didn't kill her.
She bought a bus ticket to Tallahassee to start a new life. Some smart-ass guy kept trying to talk to her. Then he pressed his body against her, physically excited by her closeness, making Kate want to retch. He reminded her of Wayne minus the Jack and Coke smell. He cuffed her. She said she didn't do nothing. She didn't do nothing.
Nobody believed her. Same story. Different day.