Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of CBS and are only used for fan related purposes. Any dialogue from the first episode, "Whap", included is used only to further the story.


Inside a Broken Mind


ii. whap, part one;

He could hear the sounds of the wedding party above him, each and every one of them excited and loud and absolutely giddy on expensive champagne.

But as the guests gathered on the deck of the Tarapunga, looking over the sides and waiting for the yacht to leave the harbor, one half of the golden couple was already past the unnecessary hoorah. As it was, the noise and the expectations were enough to give him the beginnings of what could surely turn into a very violent headache and, having slipped away to the hold, he searched one of the pockets on his suitcase for a small bottle of ibuprofen. He popped the two brown pills into his mouth, chased them with a small cup of water from the bathroom and swallowed.

Henry Dunn was the stereotypical Boy Scout: always prepared.

It was only a few minutes to two and he could feel his heart race in anticipation, coupled with a slight panic that not all of the guests had arrived. It was beyond his control—the only one element in their whole plan of revenge he couldn't control now—and it was that, more than anything else, that had him set on edge. Ben, he knew, was here even if he wasn't, and Uncle Marty always made an entrance; there would be no doubt when he finally arrived. And then, of course, there was Abby…

Where was Abby?

She would be coming soon, he reminded himself as he quickly shoved the little white bottle back in his suitcase; out of sight, out of mind. She had to be. She promised, and Abby always stood by her word. Henry had been worried when her RSVP envelope arrived later than it should have, but she promised. Abby Mills would be on this boat before it left for Harper's Island.

Or, he vowed, he wouldn't be.

Tapping his long fingers nervously against his freshly pressed pants, Henry paced the small room, wondering if he should make another appearance above deck. Trish would be worried—if, of course, she could pry herself from Shea's side long enough to notice he was gone—and it might seem strange if he kept away from the limelight for long. It was his wedding, after all. How suspicious would it be if he ignored the festivities and ignored his fiancée during this farce of an affair?

Suspicion was the last thing he needed.

Henry sighed, pushing down the rising panic. He felt his mask slip, his hold on the situation loosening, and quickly fought to maintain control. It wasn't even two yet. There could've been traffic. Her flight might've been delayed. Maybe she had already boarded the deck while he was down below, pacing…

That was it, he decided. It had to be.

Taking a deep breath, grateful that his headache already seemed to pass, Henry stopped fidgeting. Suddenly he was back again, his resolve was firm and he knew exactly what he had to do. First, though, he had a part to play and, with a perfection that any actor would've envied, he instantly became Henry Dunn—Dunn, not Wakefield—once more. Dimpled grin and trusting eyes and all.

Having straightened his light tan suit jacket and resuming his own brand of easygoing excitement, Henry left the comfortable confines of the hold. Once on deck again, he was greeted by a cheer and a rather macho chant from his groomsmen. The smile he wore was real, though maybe lacking in a sense of irony. Sully, Danny, Malcolm, Booth (where was Booth?)… nothing would've come in the way of his frat brothers attending his wedding.

They were good guys, he thought as he welcomed their pats and the Sacred Turtle beer bottle they placed in his waiting hand, but way too predictable.

If what he was doing wasn't so important, so right… well, he just might feel bad for what was going to happen to them. But the essence of a sacrifice was that you had to give something up, something that meant a lot, and Henry already made his choice.

At least he was going to give them one hell of a party first.

Jerked out of his thoughts by Danny's hand on his shoulder—though his carefully composed expression never once betrayed just what he was guarding behind his mask—he followed his friend's point to the upper deck until he was drinking in the sight of Trish, all done up and with her mother's pearls around her slender throat. She was absolutely beautiful, he had to admit, but she wasn't Abby. And, to Henry, that made all the difference in the world.

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, Trish mouthed something to the boys down below—I love you. He played along with his friends, pretending not to know who she was talking to, before laughing along with them as he branded himself the victor. He was the winner. There was nothing that Henry wanted that he couldn't have.

Nothing at all.

Sipping his beer, he allowed himself to remain surrounded by those considered to be his friends. It was strange how comfortable he still felt to be around them. Rather than feel any sort of guilt for tricking them, he chose to just sit back and enjoy the time they all had left together. He knew that the guys thought his enthusiasm, his sense of brotherhood, was because he was getting married, but it wasn't so.

Henry wasn't getting married, but he was preparing himself to make the biggest commitment of his life.

As usual, his thoughts returned to Abby. They never strayed from her for long. She was his world, she was his home and, before the week was out, she would finally—and absolutely—be his.

His grin widened, he took another swig off of Malcolm's fresh-brewed beer, and he refused to continue worrying about her arrival. Just because it was already a few minutes past two and the boat should have already left the harbor, that didn't mean that she wasn't coming.

She would be there.

But, Henry thought after another minute or two, why wasn't she there yet?

He got up then, leaving the trio of his friends to their beer—and Booth to his seasickness over the side—as he moved towards the boarding plank. For all intents and purposes, he was the dashing host, welcoming any last minute guests to the party on the boat. There was no reason for anyone to believe he was antsy, impatiently watching and waiting for the appearance of the one person this whole wedding was designed for.

No reason anymore because, with a deep breath and a true smile of relief, Henry was sure she had just shown up.

There, just past the ends of the Harbor, a garish, yellow Bay Area taxi cab pulled up to the street. He couldn't explain it, he didn't know how he knew, but he was absolutely positive. By the shadow of her profile and the downward, preoccupied tilt of the faceless passenger's head, he knew it.

Abby Mills had finally arrived.

Henry moved to the side, nervous, anxious fingers holding tight to the rail as he watched her intently. What was taking her so long? Why hadn't she left the taxi left? He could still see her in the backseat, hesitant to grab the door handle. Her head was inclined slightly—maybe she was talking to the cabbie? Why was she talking to the cabbie? Why wasn't she with him, standing with him, talking to him?

Why was—

Ah, Henry sighed. The yellow door swung open and Abby, awkwardly, endearingly, stepped out.

Everything was okay now. Abby was here.

She still had to pay the cab driver, get her luggage from the trunk and, knowing Abby like he did, probably agonize for a few more minutes before she actually started toward the chartered yacht. But she was there, and he suddenly felt as if the world was right again.

And right then was when Henry heard the loud, frantic rhythm of a Mexican flavored song, the trumpets and the strings of the Mariachi as it cut through the idle chitchat and the pretentious conversations that buzzed along the boat. Without even having to look over, he knew that the music was a herald to Uncle Marty's arrival. His "uncle"—the brother of Henry's good for nothing adopted father—had managed to pick that exact moment to arrive. He actually succeeded in swaying Henry's attention away from Abby if only for a second or two.

As he nodded knowingly at his uncle's actions, he noticed that he wasn't alone anymore. Trish, having finally ditched her family, joined him just as Marty Dunn, bag in hand and leading the sombrero wearing performers, strolled carefree toward the Tarapunga.

He hadn't been kidding when he thought that his uncle had to make an entrance anywhere he went. Partly amused by imagining just how pissed Trish's dad was at having his high class affair interrupted by a traveling Mariachi troupe, and partly amazed that Uncle Marty had chose this way to introduce himself to Trish's family, Henry just shook his head. He definitely had style, if anything else.

Trish, as usual, gushed over his over-the-top and boisterous performance and Uncle Marty, just as usual, made all the right replies. Henry actually envied that about the man—he never seemed to have to work hard at being likable or friendly or charming. He just was.

As Uncle Marty tried not to be so obvious with his blatant flirting—his eyes, Henry noticed, were undressing Trish's girlfriend, Chloe, as he greeted the partygoers Marty-style—Henry's brown eyes flickered there and back again, drawn to his uncle's bag.

As he peered sideways at the bag, knowing what it had to hold, Henry found himself asking his uncle just where he had found a Mariachi band in Seattle. Uncle Marty's mischievous grin was answer enough. He was like a magician in his way: he never revealed his methods. Everything was a trade secret with him. Henry decided he didn't want to know and, with a laugh, Uncle Marty agreed.

His quick question had done what it was meant to do: no one noticed his attention on the bag. He couldn't contain his elated smile. Henry loved how getting married was the perfect excuse for him to let his pleasure show for anyone to see; of course, his uncle probably thought it was something he said. He had hoped that Uncle Marty wouldn't forget the money. As a side experiment, a certain "what if" scenario, Henry was curious to see what sort of role the $250,000 crammed inside the light brown bag would play.

He didn't need the money—money held no desire for him, only the promise of his happily ever after did—but his fingers itched to grab that bag out of his uncle's hand. Uncle Marty had already told him that he intended to invest in Malcolm's dream of a real brewery, Sacred Turtle worldwide, but Henry had other plans. Better plans.

As Trish placed her hands on Uncle Marty's arm, acting the part of the proper hostess and taking him away to meet her father, Henry didn't follow. Not moving from his place by the yacht's entrance, he wondered if he would still be his uncle's favorite if he knew that Henry had killed Marty's brother, the liar who pretended to be Henry's father for twenty-one years. Or when he discovered his eldest nephew was responsible for plotting his upcoming demise?

It was food for thought but suddenly, instantly, Henry's thoughts were bombarded and replaced by the swelling in his chest he experienced. How could he, if even for a moment, have forgotten about Abby?

The biggest grin he'd worn since the last time he saw her—five months, three weeks, and six days ago when he surprised Abby in Los Angeles for her twenty-fifth birthday—split his face as she slowly traveled down the wooden docks, sheepishly pulling her suitcase behind her.

She waved over at him, the gentle motion of her hand breaking the spell she held over him. Henry waved back and, faster than he probably should have—he still had to be careful of creating suspicion—he met her at the platform, pulling her into a tight squeeze.

"I thought you might never get out of that cab," he confessed when he finally reminded himself he had to let her go.

"Well, I, uh… needed a moment," she admitted.

He couldn't keep the concern from his voice. "Second thoughts?"

"About going home?"

Home. That one word never sounded so beautiful than when it was said in Abby's voice. Home… that's where they were going. Together, with each other, Henry and Abby were going back to Harper's Island for the first time in seven years. At last, they were going home.

He had so much to tell her, so much to say, but he never got the chance. Before he'd been able to offer a heartfelt reply, another voice joined in from up above: "You know, I told him you would come."

"Trish!" Abby's squeal was both, in his opinion, slightly girlish and undeniably adorable.

As the girl he loved left his side, hurrying towards the girl he was supposed to marry, Henry watched as Abby gave Trish a hug as big as the one she had given him. He had to bite back the scowl that threatened to replace his grin. Leave it to Trish to break up the moment. He would have loved to have Abby to himself for only a few seconds more, if he could.

He didn't want to share her.

That feeling, that possessive certainty, only increased when Abby finished boarding the Tarapunga and greeted his friends. He had met Malcolm, Booth and Danny during college; Sully, though, had been one of his closest friends—but not his best friend… Abby was his best friend—since junior high. Henry had talked about Abby and his summers on the island so much during the school year that, when Sully first met Abby, he felt like he already knew her.

Sully gave her that ridiculous nickname—Abner, he inwardly sneered—and the pair actually became friends. Maybe it was because of that, because of the sharp, jealous pang he knew at the affection that she showed for someone else, that Henry felt so bothered when Sully reached out and, embracing her tightly, he lifted Abby up off of her feet.

He knew Sully. A notorious serial womanizer, Sully would hit on and try to get with any girl in the nearby vicinity. He had tried desperately to win Trish over back during their college days, Henry knew, but there was never any real chance for him to have a go at Abby.

Henry would kill him before he let that happen.

He wanted nothing more than to grab hold of Abby and whisk her away from the guys… but he couldn't. He didn't dare; not yet, at least. Not when they were still in Seattle. Besides, Trish was waiting for him and Abby was enjoying herself. Her happiness was important to him, too, and he could always check on her later.

Leading Trish away, pulling her close in an attempt to fool the others in a way he used to fool himself, Henry noticed that she suddenly seemed preoccupied. That, or she had noticed how at ease he seemed now that Abby arrived. Taking his good humor to mean that he was eager to get started—which, in a way, it did—she reminded him that she was still expecting another guest.

"We're still waiting on Cousin Ben."

"He's always late," Henry countered, thinking of only that morning's breakfast.

"He always answers, though," she pointed out.

She was right about that. How was she to know that that was the only thing she was right about at the moment? Taking his eyes off of Abby for just a second, he said, "Give him a call again." And then, like a magnet drawn to steel, his eyes were back—but only for another moment. He wished his gaze could linger but, reluctantly, he let his attention return to his fiancée.

He was just in time to notice the flash of concern as Trish stared down, puzzled, at the screen of her phone. "Voicemail again."

"We can wait if you want," he offered. Not that it would do any good, but it was the thought that counted.

Trish pursed her lips, the strain of the decision weighing on her face. She shook her head. "No… no, we should go."

With a satisfied look of determination on his face, he met Thomas Wellington's gaze and made a single, rotating gesture with his finger. He thought of Cousin Ben as he did and he hoped fervently that the sedatives had worn off on schedule as he planned. It was a petty wish, to want his victim to see the propeller blades whir to life right before they claimed his, but Henry felt justified. He couldn't abide those who thought they knew everything anymore than he could abide liars.

And Henry Wakefield Dunn hated liars.


End Note: I just wanted to thank everyone who read, or maybe reviewed the first chapter. I wasn't too sure how something like would be received and I'm glad it went over pretty well. I had a blast getting into Henry's psyche for this first full chapter - and I can't wait to start on the next one :) I had to really focus on a canon scene in order to set up this story but the majority of chapter two will be set offstage. It should be fun ;) Let me know what you guys think so far!

- stress, 08.20.09