When Claire woke up several hours later, she was alone. The room she was in was poorly lit—the light in the ceiling flickered, threatening to give out at any moment. She had to blink several times to allow her eyes to adjust so that she could see the room clearly.
It was a fairly
decent sized room, smaller than the average motel room—but just
right for a single person. The furnishings were simple; a bed, a
comfortable-looking chair, a small night table, and a dresser made up
the furniture, while a wood-framed clock on the wall, a framed
painting on the opposite wall, and a lamp on the night table
completed the decoration.
There were no windows in this room, and
there was only one door. So despite the overall friendly, inviting
appearance of the room, Claire couldn't help but feel like she was
in a cage. It was homey, but still a cage nonetheless.
Claire sat up slowly, her head throbbing with a dull pain. She reached for the lamp and turned it on. It wasn't perfect, but at least it was enough to make the annoying flicker less noticeable than it had been.
The clock read: 3:45 A.M., and Claire knew that she should have at least tried to go back to sleep. But she felt that she was too awake to do that. And besides, she had some exploring to do… if there was anything to explore in this room. She didn't dare try the door, thinking that maybe there was a guard posted behind it. That thought was unnerving.
Looking around didn't take that long—there wasn't much to find.
There were a few books in the top dresser drawer, nothing that caught her immediate attention; the others contained various sets of clothing and some personal items. Claire couldn't help but wonder of her captors had easy access to a supermarket and the mall. And if they did… why the hell were they still on the Island?
Claire flicked the lights off and sat on the edge of the bed. She would sit in the dark until someone came for her… or until she fell asleep again—which ever came first.
Sleep came first, but she wouldn't know it until she woke up.
Joe knocked on the door as he opened it. "Miss Littleton?"
He flipped the light switch on the wall and frowned when the fluorescent lights flickered and then dimmed. "Someone'll have to fix that later." He muttered quietly.
Claire stared at him blankly for several moments, unable to find her voice.
"Well don't just lie there," he said uncomfortably, "It's breakfast time."
Joe wasn't a bad man, necessarily. He was just doing his job, for the greater good of mankind. But even as he insisted it was right, he still had his doubts. Maybe there was a better way of doing things. Either way, he was glad that it wouldn't be his concern after a day or two.
Claire got up and silently followed him out the door and down the hall.
"There's a bathroom over here," Joe said, indicating to one of the various doors that connected to the corridor they were in, "Make sure you note which room it is, 'cause you won't be allowed in any other room but your own."
"Thanks."
Claire said, finally managing to find her voice. There were a
thousand questions she wanted to ask him, but she supposed that it
might be wiser to wait. Joe didn't exactly seem like the guy who
would in charge, and therefore, he probably didn't have all the
answers she was looking for… if any.
She tried to pay attention
to what he was saying; only grasping half of it as her thoughts
wandered. He sounded like a tour guide with a slightly southern
accent and a mixed manner of speaking, but with less enthusiasm than
the average guide… if that was possible. She couldn't help but
wonder if anything he was saying would matter in the long run.
"…And this is where you'll come to have your meals every day." Joe continued as they turned another corner and came into the dining area. He motioned to one of several tables that had been arranged in the large room, "Grab a seat. I'll be back with a tray. I hope you like eggs and toast." He disappeared behind the counter into the kitchen, and Claire could have sworn he was humming as the door closed behind him.
She picked a table that was almost in the middle of the room and sat down, taking a few minutes to observe her surroundings.
The room was almost designed like a very small school cafeteria. A count of fifteen tables, with a half a dozen chairs around each of them, were arranged neatly; with enough room between them for people to get around comfortably. Claire had to wonder if they held meetings in this room… it would have made sense, after all.
"Like I said, I hope you like scrambled eggs and toast." Joe said as he emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray that was furnished with eggs, toast, jam, and a glass of orange juice. "It's not much," he said as he put the tray down, "But I don't cook. This is as far as I go."
Claire nodded
appreciatively and attempted a smile. She was confused, to say the
least. Yesterday he had been a party in her kidnapping, threatening
her with a gun. Today he seemed to be kind as a lamb. Or that was how
it appeared.
She picked up a fork and slowly began to eat.
"Don't say much, do you." Joe stated, sitting down across from her. "I s'pose that's to be expected." He fiddled with his thumbs for a few moments as he watched her. "I—"
"What the hell do I have to do to get a decent cup of coffee around here?!" An angry voice came loudly from out in the hall before its owner stormed into the room. "I haven't had a good cup in four days. Four days! Joe, didn't Elaine show you how to make it?"
"You might make it yourself, Martin." Joe suggested, "Yeah, she showed me how to make it. But no one makes it as good as she does."
"Obviously." Martin replied, agitated. "She's supposed to be here this afternoon, right?"
"She's here now, in the kitchen. She only got here a little bit ago." Joe explained quickly.
"What?! Why wasn't I told?"
"Well, I thought I'd wait until you came up. " Joe said apologetically. "She needed to get her things settled in, anyway."
"Alright."
Martin seemed to calm down a little with that answer.
"How's
your breakfast?" He asked, addressing Claire for the first time.
His sharp dark eyes
"It's fine." Claire said quickly, glancing at Joe as she said it. The food was fine, but the only reason she had answered was because Martin's tone demanded an answer. She didn't dare make him more upset than he already seemed to be.
Martin smiled slightly, "Well at least one of us thinks so."
"He isn't very pleasant, is he?" Claire asked after Martin had vanished behind the kitchen door.
Joe looked up at her quickly. He was surprised—Claire hadn't said more than two words all morning. "Well…" He looked down, almost worried about talking behind his partner's back. "I guess he doesn't come off as a nice person. But he's just doing what he has to do. And it's my fault that he's out of sorts this morning—with the coffee and all."
Claire shook her head as she finished what was on her plate. "I'm sure it's not really your fault. He probably just has an over-developed set of taste buds. "
Joe grinned broadly at this statement—he couldn't help it. "You know something? I think you might just be right."
"Elaine?" Martin called as he walked straight through the kitchen into an area that had been converted into a small but comfortable one-person apartment.
"In here, darling." The laid back reply came from around the corner.
Elaine was curled up in a chair, pouring over one of her favorite novels. It wasn't an unusual sight at all—her sitting with her head rested on one side of the chair and her legs swung up carelessly over the other; she was almost completely oblivious to anything else that was going on. And when wasn't she reading.
Martin came and rested his hands on the back of the chair. "Elle, think you could get me a—"
"A cup of coffee?" She finished for him, still reading the well written lines in her book—or pretending to. It was hard to concentrate on any book when Martin was talking.
"Yes." He said, his brow rising with surprise. "How'd you know?"
Elaine smiled, "Lucky guess. Joe couldn't make a good cup of coffee if his life depended on it." She said it with a tone that indicated that she rather enjoyed the fact.
Martin
almost criticized her for being uncharacteristically mean, but he
couldn't.
"That would be the understatement of the year."
Elaine
looked up at him, her green eyes laughing. "It's already on the
stove, Martin. And I think there's toast in the warmer if you're
hungry. I didn't have time to make anything."
Well, that
wasn't entirely true—she just hadn't wanted to upset Joe by
sending him out of the kitchen. She knew he tried so hard to do
things right.
"Thank you." Martin was already in the kitchen, and he sounded rather relieved.
"Besides, Marty," Elaine said, adjusting herself with a motion that sent her flowing auburn waves cascading down the side of the chair, "I know you better than anyone else here does. There isn't much that you'll get past me."
"Isn't there?" Martin asked, sipping his coffee as he sat down across from her.
Elaine laughed as she shook her head. "Nope."
Martin's expression became stern as he said "Well I guess I'll just have to do a better job of watching myself, eh?" He continued, clearly teasing—though by the look on his face no one else would have guessed—"I can't have you knowing everything. It's bad for business."
"Well…" Elaine began slowly, with the same serious tone, "I guess I don't know everything about you—or I didn't. Because today I learned that coffee withdrawal gives you some manners."
"Hey!" He exclaimed, surprised, "Don't you dare get any ideas." He shook his head and sipped his coffee again, muttering, "Unbelievable."
"You started it." She insisted, laughing. Elaine sat up properly in the chair and changed the subject. "You didn't sleep much last night, did you?" She asked, studying him closely. "Really Martin, you look terrible."
"And you look like an angel." Martin replied, teasing edging on sarcasm. He knew she was right though, and, knowing Elaine, she wouldn't let it go. "Alright, I'll see if I can get a few hours in before this afternoon."
"Good. I made your coffee decaf, just incase. "
"I noticed." He said, "But it's still better than anything Joe made, believe me."
"He's going back tomorrow, right?" Elaine asked, ignoring the last remark.
Martin
nodded "Yeah, bright and early."
He stood and went to
put his cup in the kitchen, "It's too bad he can't stay."
Elaine wasn't sure if he meant it or not, so she left it alone. "Finished your coffee?"
"Yes. And now I'll go get some sleep—because you wouldn't have it any other way—"
"If you say 'Mother' I'll hit you!" Elaine threatened, interrupting him. "And no, I won't have it any other way."
Martin laughed at her as he bent to kiss her forehead "I really am glad that you're here." He said. It was as close as he would get to an apology of any kind.
"I know." She said. "Now off with you." She shooed him out of the room with out moving from her seat.
He went without saying anything more, and Elaine sighed when he was gone. She picked up her book and set it down again—she couldn't read it. There was too much to think about… the reality of it all.