Once my soul was astray from the heavenly way I was wretched and vile as could be...
The night cold and secluded. James "Sawyer" Ford trudged into the motel and unlocked the door to his room. The lights were off and the small space almost appeared haunted. At the moment he preferred the darkness as a companion. His hands still shaking he fell atop the bed, his thoughts raging. His task was complete. The man Sawyer, was dead. Dead... the word danced in the thickness of the air. It suffocated him. Making it hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, but the thought of sleeping frightened him. Guilt and condemnation suppressed him, and he had never felt more alone.
As he lay there in the silence, he replay the action over and over again in his mind. Since their rescue from the island it had been his "obsession". He wanted nothing more to avenge his parents. It had taken him three long years, but finally- finally!
Why did this not comfort him though? Why did it only seem to add to his problem; tormenting him. Haunting. Suddenly he became alert. The motel, more of a dump than anything else, was only one story. There were twenty rooms, a long hallway, and a lobby. He heard foot steps marching towards his room. Or was he imagining them? No. Pounding. The door knob being turned. He jolted from the bed, and made a dash for the window. It was a large frame and could easily be lifted, just big enough for a man of his size to escape. He pushed it open, at first he thought it to be stuck, but with little effort it was obedient. He crawled outside. A chill sent through his entire being. The next days of his life he imagined would be difficult. He heard and assumed they were cops breaking into the room. Then he heard gun shots. Evading them. Most of them.
James felt an acute pain in his upper left shoulder, but he had not time to stop and tend to the wound. He had to run.
XXXX
Claire stood outside on the porch. Letting the wind flow through her long blond hair. Aaron had finally fallen asleep, and now she was much appreciative of some quiet time alone. Life had been good to her since she had been rescued from that island. She and Aaron had finally settled down. She had decided to move them to a small town in Pennsylvania. She had not really cared much for California. Everything had been so busy. She had been able to find a good paying job, working full time at a local library, and got Aaron into a good day care center. He was now two and a half, and she could not stop thinking about how fast the years seemed to be passing.
The country side in Pennsylvania was quiet, and peacefully. She walked mutely to the rocking chair that she had put on one end of the porch and sat down. It squeaked in protest, but complied willingly as she began to rock back and forth.
Crickets chirped, and from a near by tree an owl hooted. The stars overhead glistened with such a splendid magnificent. Then, unrepentantly, rain fell. The sound was soothing, but with it it brought a cold wind, that Claire decided it was time to return inside.
Her home...words which she took pride in, was warm. The TV was playing, and a news broad cast was nearly over, however, Claire decided that whatever it was they were talking about seemed interesting, so she turned up the volume and sat back down in one of the easy chairs.
"A con artist named Sawyer was killed only hours ago. Police say that they had been waiting for a break in the case for several years, and are glad that they cam finally move on. They are not releasing any more information as of yet, but say when they have more substantial evidence we'll be the first to know. I'm Emily Edison and this is Station 19 news at ten. Have a good night." That was the end of the special report, and a commercial break was followed. Sawyer...dead? Could it be? Claire picked up the phone and dialed Kate's number. She would want to know.