Okey, so this is what I would call a make it or break it chapter. I've gotten a little sidetracked in real life, aka I got married. **Throws Confetti** Unfortunately, I've lost a bit of my rhythm. On top of that, LOST ended, which poses a bit of a snag in my plot, seeing as I'm using characters that are clearly already dead and Richard isn't even on the Island anymore. Haha. So, I guess this is officially AU.
My point is, it's super important for me to know people are reading, so please leave comments. I don't want them to show off how popular the story is, I just want them so I know you're there. Comment comment comment!
PS - I apologize in advance for my rotten Spanish. At least, I'm assuming it's rotten.
Chapter Four
Richard
Had anyone asked, the man on the beach could have barely recited his own name. Staring out across the darkening ocean, his knees pulled close to his chest, Richard wondered just how far gone he really was. His forehead was deeply furrowed (though it failed to bespeak any real sign of aging) and the tingle beneath his skin had spread upward into his scalp, where a shock of white hair deserved to be germinating. On any other man. Not Richard. It never would.
Perhaps he had finally snapped; that was something he had to consider. But what did it mean, exactly, to snap? He had always envisioned it as a violent phenomenon, something that involved lashing out at whoever was unlucky enough to close by, most likely with a rifle or a machete. But this madness was more like something he was slipping into slowly, acclimating himself to it like a pool of icy water, and as if he still had the option of climbing out whenever he wanted. The real trouble was that Richard was not entirely sure he wanted to escape. Maybe it was his destiny to go mad. Maybe if he finally allowed himself to go crazy, things would start making sense. Insanity, he thought, might be his only chance for the heaven he longed for now more than ever.
A fire had been built on the beach, as it was every night, and a few small animals were being cooked for dinner. The smell of roasting flesh seemed more grotesque than usual. He had no desire to eat. More importantly, he had no desire to be called for dinner.
Not now, he thought, I'm busy losing my mind.
But to notify him, and everyone else, of dinner was exactly what Jack was preparing to do, in a manner of speaking. It was not as if everyone sat down for a communal meal, with grace offered as they held hands 'round the campfire, but once the food was finished cooking and it meant that it was time to eat. At best, meals could be likened to a buffet where everyone got in line and ate at their leisure. And there was no triangle to be rung, but it was Jack's duty, one way or another, to make sure everyone knew dinner was ready.
In his opinion, not entirely divorced from his medical opinion, Richard was behaving oddly, both in a general context and just for Richard himself. Removing the spit from the fire, Jack cast a long stare over his shoulder. Sawyer, who was standing on the other side of the pit, took note.
"Methuselah seems a bit off today, don't he, Doc?"
Jack sighed, partially because he was a little lost on the reference, that and they were all feeling "a bit off today." He turned back to his work his a shrug, as if none of it was his business. "He's got something on his mind."
There was only a little light left by which to see Richard, but he had been in the same position for hours, at times becoming totally motionless, with nothing but the wind to billow his shirt or muss his hair to prove he was a living being and not a statue.
"Do you think one of us should check on him?" This question came from Kate, intuiting their concerns as she stepped into the firelight.
"Check on him for what?" Jack retorted, a little too sharply. It was the tone of a man whose concern and ire tread a thin line, and he was annoyed with himself for his own incurable compassion. Richard had disrespected him, deliberately and for all to see. Existentially, Jack still battled with the role he had been chosen to play, but whether Richard liked it or not, he was the leader. "Alpert can do whatever he wants."
His voice trailed off as he walked away. It was time to call everyone to dinner. The arms of the fire waved a crackling goodbye.
"What do you think, James?" asked Kate, once Jack was gone.
"What about? We've got a hell of a list today."
"About Olivia and Adam, to start."
Sawyer kicked up a little sand with the toe of his boot. "Time will tell, won't it?" He moved closer to Kate, so that he could see her without the fire stinging his eyes.
"But the whole thing seems impossible. I mean, a hot air balloon... a dead pilot... "
Sawyer interjected. "A couple of unsuspecting vacationers... Seems more familiar than impossible."
Kate was silent. A sensation like frigid air nipped at the back of her neck.
He stepped in a little more, lowering his voice. "Everyone's too scared to say it out loud, but we're all thinking the same thing."
Her eyelids fluttered.
"The Island ain't done with us, yet."
Though it was rarely if ever voiced, there remained a thick line of division between Richard and the others. He was the only one among them to have truly worked, not only for, but alongside Jacob, to have had a real relationship with him. It drew a wide range of responses, with vague indifference on one end and frenzied jealously on the other, though this was becoming less and less common, what with Richard's apparent impending insanity and all. Most littered the middle with various levels of existential dissonance and confusion.
Richard was like an unfortunate prince, permitted to remain in the court after his father's deposition. His presence was unsettling, but tolerated, so long as he stayed out of the way.
This opinion was, in part, the man's own fault. He continued to live among them, because there were no other options, but he had become reclusive and divorced emotionally. The morning's squabble with Jack had been the most they had said to one another in days.
And this was the primary reason for his psychological distress. The argument lingered like a scar on Richard's memory. He had never been the sort of man to tempt insubordination; he was not insolent, he was a worker: a farmer first, cultivating the fields, and then he had been taken on by Jacob. Time and again, he had proven himself to be the best man for the job, any job.
But now he was just... unemployed.
"¿Todo bien?" ["Everything okay?"]
It was Hurley. He stood behind Richard and waited patiently for an answer. The sky was entirely dark, now, the sea, the color of ink. The moon cast a glittery runner down from the horizon. He stared for a little while, allowing himself to fall into mesmerization, or at least dip his toe into the deep end of Richard's preoccupation.
When Richard did not reply, as Hurley expected, he moved to his side and sat down. Actually, he nearly lied down, stretching his legs across the cooling sand and leaning back on his elbows.
Richard's eyes were glassy, almost reflective of the moonlight. Hurley waited for a few more seconds, too see if he would blink. He released a little sigh of relief when he finally did. "Eso era... increíblemente extraño. Right?" ["That was... incredibly strange."]
Richard's sudden response was like little an explosion. He sputtered and laughed and choked on his own breath. Hurley was more than startled, jolting in the opposite direction as he considered making a run for it. But as Richard turned to face him, the clarity returned to his eyes. "Yes," he said, taking it as a sign of hope that someone else seemed disturbed by what had happened. "Weird."
Hurley readjusted himself as Richard tugged his thighs closer to his own chest. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on his knees. Then he tilted his head to the side and did the same with his ear. "What do you think it means? Have you...?" His eyes widened as his brow lifted, as if connected by puppet strings.
It took only a second or two for Hurley to understand his meaning. "No, nothing. At all." He shook his head. "I would have told you, man."
"You haven't seen... her... since..." He gestured with his hand to indicate the reversal of time.
"No... I'm sorry."
Richard closed his eyes, settling his jaw into the valley between his knees. Lately, whenever he closed his eyes, he imagined she was there, actively positioned in whatever was taking place, always present... just invisible until his eyelids were drawn like curtains. But if Hurley had not seen her, he knew he was only torturing himself.
"¿Cómo ella apareció? ...Cuando usted la vio." ["What did she look like? ...When you saw her."]
Unconsciously, Hurley abandoned his Spanish, knowing Richard would understand him either way. "Beautiful, man. And she seemed really nice. And she really loved you. I mean, loves..."
His eyes opened again, his lips also parting in a sort of wild, toothy smile. Hurley's awkwardness was amusing and it made Richard glad to discover he was still aware enough of the world to detect it.
"You're really lucky..." Hurley continued. "You know? To have someone like that."
Richard cocked an eyebrow.
"You're a lucky dude."
He fought the immediate impulse to reject this statement, and it was quite the scuffle. He, lucky? Richard was not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or punch Hurley in the mouth. A combination of the three probably would have been the most satisfying. Lucky? He, Richard Alpert, was lucky? His wife had died of consumption, and he had accidentally killed the only man who might have been able to save her, for which he would have hanged if he had not been sold as a slave instead. And then he'd crashed onto this forsaken island...
"I mean, not everyone gets the chance to someone to love like that." There was more than a hint of sadness in Hurley's voice.
Richard struggled to gather enough saliva in his dry mouth to swallow against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Hurley was right, but he stared at him tearlessly. Despite all the things that had gone to hell in his life, he was the only man in the entire universe who had been loved by Isabella.
"Yeah..." he began, his voice croaking. "I guess I am a lucky dude..."
Directly behind Richard and Hurley, but too far and obscured by the darkness to be seen from the coast, sat Olivia and Adam, slouched and almost relaxed for the first time in days. Almost relaxed. The feel of dry land against the soles of your feet, even gritty sand, after being stranded several thousand feet in the air would move anyone into euphoria. And being given some time to themselves seemed the first sure sign that they were passing some sort of test.
"So, explain to me again... you can see now?"
She frowned. "Adam, it's not like I was blind. This isn't something biblical."
Their voices were hushed, not because they had anything to hide, but speaking to one another privately, they discovered, was their only remaining possession. Their bond as siblings, let alone as twins, felt strong as ever. And, truthfully, it was the only thing keeping Olivia from crying outright whenever Adam brought up the subject of her eyes. Again and again, he pleaded for an explanation, unable to make any more sense of it than she; but the same awe that moved him to search, compelled Olivia to suppress. Her miracle, perhaps against all reason, terrified her.
"But all he did was touch you?" he asked, referring to Jack. "And you didn't feel anything go through you? Like power, or energy?"
"No, it was just... no, it was nothing."
"And all of a sudden, you could see?"
"...Yes."
Adam released a pitchy whistle, Idaho farm-boy that he was, and brushed his hair back with his fingers. "This is amazing."
More than anything, Olivia wanted to change the subject. "Where do you think we are?"
"In the Pacific, obviously. We can't be too far away from somewhere big." His answer was a little too undeveloped for Olivia's taste.
"But we didn't see anything for days." She paused for a minute, allowing her brother the time he needed to devote to thinking. Typically, he required more than most, though she never would have said so to his face. "And what are the odds that the wind would carry us to the only land for miles? Directly. And directly to the only camp?"
"Hey, we don't know that," he replied quickly, almost interrupting her. "This place his huge. Do you really think these people are the only inhabitants?"
"That's what they say-"
"And you believe them?" To punctuate his point, Adam gestured to the bruise at the edge of his scalp , which was still fresh and swollen.
"...No." But it wasn't entirely the truth. Olivia did not care to admit it, but she knew could be just as naive as her brother. Yet, this germinating trust was based on more than a gut feeling. It was almost as if... as if it had been instilled in her, or injected in some way, like a baby's inoculation. She didn't understand what was going on, and she was frightened beyond all expression, but it was almost as if she had expected this to happen.
Olivia sighed. "I don't know. I need to pray about it... or something."
She chuckled and Adam echoed it. "Maybe you were healed by the Holy Spirit." Lifting a hand, he pressed his fingers against her forehead and gave her a shove backwards. "Be healed!"
He was imitating a televangelist their grandmother had frequently watched. Olivia's chuckle became a ringing laugh. "By the power of His Word, I call down the Spirit of Lawd!" The impression was spot on, Southern accent and all, and it sent Adam into a fit of giggles, which he tried to stifle, only to find himself snorting instead.
But as her brother's head rolled back with laughter, Olivia felt the mirth drain from her body like let blood. Her eyes seemed to wander on their own accord, taking in the fire and the people and coast as though she was reading them off a page in a book. Reading was just about the only thing she had ever been able to do without her glasses, now she could see strands of flyaway hair on people several meters away as they glowed in the firelight. It was... disconcerting.
Her eyes halted on two figures by the water, one on the large side, whom she recognized as Hurley, and the other curled into a tight ball, almost a fetal position. Being the farthest thing away that she could possibly see, Olivia focused on them, testing herself to notice the creases of their shirts and the curl of Hurley's hair, all highlighted by the moon.
After a while she was too locked in on them to notice someone approach from the side and invite them to get something to eat. She did, however, recognize the voice as Jack's, at which point she made the decision not to look up at all. A shiver ran up her spine.
Adam pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward the fire, with a brief aside to let her know he would bring something back for her as well. Olivia nodded curtly and continued to stare at the figures by the water, though by now her focus had blurred from forgetting to blink. All of her mental attention was on Jack, who had lingered beside her.
Oh, please go away, she thought.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, subconsciously moving to adopt the same position as the smaller man far in front of her. She hugged her thighs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees.
"Your eyes? They're, um, they're still...?"
"Perfect." She closed them. "Thank you."
"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what I did.
At this, she scowled, and before she realized it, Olivia had reopened her eyes and turned to face Jack, placing her ear on her knee.
Jack crouched down beside her, intently staring at her face with medical curiosity. "It wasn't me, it was the Island. Apparently."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say you're not the first person to be healed here."
"I've... picked up on that at little, yeah. But not everyone gets healed, right? Why?" She wanted answers, of course, but her curiosity was not diminishing the desire to bolt from his presence. Jack's ability to heal, or to channel the Island was... confusing.
"I don't know," he replied. "But, usually, when someone gets this kind of gift, there's a reason for it."
He spoke so matter of factly that it made Olivia's mouth go dry. Immediately, she shivered. The movement propelled her face back to the water's edge, but instead of two figures, now there was only one. Hurley was gone, and making his way to the fire. She stared, silently, slowly realizing their bodies were in the exact same position.
"Don't mind Richard," said Jack, rising to his feet. "He's not usually like this."
What is he usually like, she asked in her own mind, as if she was playing the straight man in a staged routine.
Jack replied as though he had heard her. "Usually he's much more..." He struggled to find the right word, failing in the end. "Just... not like this."
"Is he okay?"
Jack hummed a low note. "I hope so."
The woman had been standing behind him for a full minute before Richard's senses detected anyone. She cleared her throat nervously and he turned around with a start. Twisted, perhaps, was a better word. He looked up at her from an uncomfortable angle, the whites of his eyes slightly exposed. He waited, but she declined to speak first.
"Did you want something?" he asked, worried about what might be wrong. And slightly annoyed by her intrusion.
"His name wasn't Peter," Olivia began, to which Richard lowered his brows in confusion. "It was Paul. The pilot. I told you his name was Peter, but I was wrong."
Richard recalled the conversation, but could not fathom why she had felt it necessary to correct herself. "You... came over here... just to tell me that?"
"Um, no." She bounced a little on her heels before finally moving to a place beside him and taking a seat. She folded her legs Indian-style. "I guess I just wanted an excuse to talk to you for a minute."
At any other time, in possession of more of his wits, Richard might have been intrigued. As it was, he was only put off. He could not decide if she was being overly nervous or overly forward.
"Okay..." He slowly rolled the word off his tongue.
She hesitated again, pulling a sharp breath through her nose. "Can you explain to me what's going on here?"
Richard blinked. Very slowly. "What?"
"The whole thing."
Unbending his knees, Richard rested his weight on one hip, propping himself up with the heel of his palm. "You'll have to be more explicit. What... the balloon? How you're being treated? What do you mean?"
"I mean everything. What's going on here." Olivia gestured dramatically to the ground beneath her. When she spoke again, her voice was nearly a whisper. "The Island. Why was I..."
When her voice came to a complete halt, Richard bit down on the tip of his own tongue, as if he could prevent her from finishing the sentence with some sort of magical power. She reacted to the jolt that ran through his body with a nervous twitch of her own, her hands tugging on her hair.
"I think I may have been brought here."
The skin on the back of Richard's neck rippled, turning into gooseflesh. "By whom?" he asked, as casually as possible, his tone almost mocking. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than for her to go away.
"I don't know. I'm... I'm just confused."
"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I have any answers for you."
"Maybe not, but I get the impression you're just as confused as I am."
The skin atop his brow line tightened. Seeing this, she pushed onward.
"Can I ask you something?"
Richard pressed his lips firmly together, fighting the desire to say no-though he also began to wonder why he was at all willing to put up with such discomfort. He discovered he was already nodding. "Sure," he squeezed out.
"That cross around your neck, do you wear it because... you're a Christian ...or some other reason?"
His fingers tenderly found the gold cross, his eyes closing momentarily. "I'm Catholic. I mean, I was. I guess I still am."
"How do you explain all of this? I mean, my eyes... Am I just... healed, now?"
Something inside him began to soften, like a knot untangling in the bottom of his stomach. He shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging at his skin, though it was neither a frown nor a smile that appeared. "Yes, I guess you are."
Olivia did not reply. Her head sunk into her chest. Hugging her knees, she stared out across the black ocean. The moon glittered on the surface in jewel tones.
Richard looked at her, cocking his head to the side, and realized the softening he felt, the fight against sending her away, was pity.
"I'm sorry," he said, and knew he did not have specify why or for what.
She nodded. "Yeah... thanks."
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