Chapter VII- Old Friends- New Enemies
"He's gonna kill you."
Ralph whipped around to his right, clamping a hand over his mouth. His heart thudded in his chest, and when he saw who was there, he swayed on his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy.
It was Simon.
Simon was dressed just as he'd been when he died on the island, but his body was unmarked; no blood, no stab wounds. He was also standing on a swampy pond, which wouldn't have bothered Ralph had it been January.
But it was September, and the temperature was well above freezing.
Simon just looked at Ralph, his face vaguely sad, but for the most part blank. Pointing up the hill, he said, "You know what's happening up there in that house right now? Roger's talking to Jack. He's telling Jack to kill you tonight."
Ralph just stared. He tried to find words, tried to say something, but he just wheezed. The air to speak wouldn't come. What was he supposed to do? Simon was dead. Everyone had seen it happen. There was no way he could be here…
But he was. And he knew about the meeting, which probably had a story all of its own.
Simon finally said, "Ralph, Piggy's not here because he's moved on. Passed over to the other side."
Ralph finally managed to whisper, "What? How do you- how-"
Simon cut him off. "Roger killed Piggy, Ralph. His spear was the one that finished me off. And Jack was in charge, letting him do it. You tried to stop it. What do you have to feel so bad for?"
Now tears welled in Ralph's eyes at the memory; he'd bawled his eyes out on that beach, right in front of the Marine captain. He'd done his job; done everything he was supposed to do. None of it worked. Not one single bit of any of it had worked at all.
"It was my fault. All of it was my fault." Ralph finally managed to say, barely keeping himself together. This was all too much. He just couldn't take anymore. He took a step forward, but Simon just moved- moved- back into view again, now standing on the side of the hill.
"Piggy's not here because he was sure you wouldn't waste your life over what happened to us. I stayed because I was afraid you would." Simon's sky blue eyes peered at Ralph in the dark. "Which one of us was right, Ralph?"
Ralph looked at Simon; he just didn't know what to say. Being in charge meant you were responsible; deaths under your command were your failure and no one else's. For so many sleepless nights he'd wished for the strength to just sling his uniform belt over the heating pipe in his room and put an end to the nightmares; he was tired of being the only good soldier left in a school that was supposed to produce them. But Simon had to be here for a reason.
"What do you want me to do?" Ralph was all but begging Simon, all but fallen to tears. He'd just had enough. How much more was he supposed to take?
Moonlight shone down on the hill as the wind blew above, and the trees shifted; Simon was barely more than wisps of smoke now, wisps of smoke shaped like a dead boy kept alive by tortured memories. Simon's last words barely reached Ralph's ears:
"Never give up."
Then a breeze blew up the hill, and Simon was gone- if he'd ever been there in the first place.
Never give up…
Ralph wanted to scream. What the hell were dead kids relying on him for? Why hadn't those Marines just waited another ten minutes and let Jack kill him on that damned island?
Finally he could wait no longer. Ralph quietly started making his way up the hill.
The house was dark, just as Ralph expected; Jack wouldn't want any lights on for prying eyes, especially not tonight. Walking across the unkempt stretch of lawn, littered with bricks and glass bottles the Foxhounds had cheerfully broken after emptying them, Ralph stopped at the back door. He knew who and what was probably waiting for him inside; he also knew, now at least, that Simon and Piggy would have expected better of him than to just walk into it. He was going to find his way out of this. There just had to be a way.
But while Ralph had already resolved to at least go out fighting, he'd forgotten how Roger was not only brutal, but silent. The solid mahogany leg of a chair crashed down on Ralph's head and killed the lights. Roger stood above the unconscious battalion exec, sneering in the dark; this part had been Jack's idea. Roger had wanted to use a knife to the neck instead of a chair to the head. As he dragged Ralph inside and up the stairs to the attic, Roger reminded himself that this was, for once, worth it. His patience with Jack's glory-seeking and theatrics had been wearing thin; after all, when he, Roger, had pushed the boulder that killed Piggy, Jack had been in the middle of some drawn-out and totally unnecessary argument with Ralph. Jack just didn't know how to shut up and kill sometimes.
But this time, things were different. Roger, the light-skinned boy with the dark heart, was smiling as he dragged Ralph's unconscious form inside. He didn't know what had hit Jack so hard yesterday; there were times when Jack confided in nobody, not even someone as special to him as Roger. But Roger had seen Jack when the note summoning himself and Andy was passed today; it had made him feel some pity for Ralph… and that was not a feeling Roger often knew. But that dark look in Jack's eyes… Roger smiled. The old Jack was gonna show up again tonight; Roger was sure. Everything was gonna be fine.
Ralph woke up to the sensation of somebody smacking his face. Sitting up, he found he'd been propped in a corner of the cavernous attic, and the first thing he noticed was Jack's grinning face. Ralph recoiled and sprang up, swaying dizzily on his feet and almost falling over. Jack laughed; this was just too much fun. Turning to someone behind him, Jack said, "Hey, guys- what do you know? He's up!"
Ralph raised his fists and made a clumsy swing at Jack, senses still dulled but a determination to fight returning. "Jack!" a voice called out, and the blonde boy spun on his heel and sucker-punched Ralph in the stomach. Ralph fell to one knee, gasping for air, as Jack laughed, standing above him. "I told you to stay out of my way, Ralph. I told you I was gonna get you if you didn't."
Ralph stared up at the grinning, lean form of Jack Merridew, hating everything he stood for. "You know," he hissed as his breath returned, "you're a real fuckin' coward, Jack."
Jack's face darkened. "And you're a big hero. Let's go!" he grabbed Ralph and forced him to his feet.
It was then that Ralph noticed Andy and Roger standing off to either side of the room; they'd cleared a wide space down the middle amidst all the boxes, trunks and stacks of old books. The space led up to a wide, ornate stained-glass window at the far end of the room.
Suddenly Jack began clapping his hands, a mocking smile on his face. "Very good, Ralph. You've figured it out."
Stall for time, Ralph told himself, thinking furiously. You've got to stall for time.
"Figured what out?" Ralph asked.
"I'm gonna kick your fucking ass, Ralph. That's what. I'm gonna shut you up for good."
Ralph shrugged, suddenly nonchalant. "If you think so."
Jack frowned, puzzled. "What?"
Ralph smiled a little, pointing at Andy and Roger. "Why'd you need those two if you were just gonna do that? Still too chicken-shit to get the hard work done yourself?"
Storm clouds formed over Jack's face; he quietly said, "Okay" and turned around, unzipping his BDU blouse and tossing it aside. He motioned to Ralph. "Go on. I'm done with this fuckin' talking bullshit. Come on, Colonel. Let's do this."
Ralph took off his own uniform blouse; he could use the slight improvement in mobility this would bring. Jack was fast, but Ralph was slightly stronger; it was gonna come down to which boy could use that more to his advantage.
A wolf-whistle sounded in the vast, dusty space of the attic; Ralph had done his share of PT and then some since the island; it was one of the only things that seemed to keep his mind off what had happened, if only for a short time. "Look at you, Colonel!" Jack crowed, then advanced with his fists raised. "Come on, Ralph. I'm hungry."
"Me too." Ralph said. Shifting so he took Jack's first fast blow on the shoulder, Ralph lashed out and punched Jack in the face. He grinned when he saw Jack stumble slightly, touching the blood on his lip. Jack smiled after a moment. So this was going to be a challenge; that was good. When Ralph moved forward next, feinting a left hook to Jack's face, Jack grabbed his wrist, ducked, and threw Ralph into a heavy piece of old luggage.
When Ralph was too slow getting up for his tastes, Jack moved in and gave Ralph a good kick in the ribs. And another. "Come on, get up! Get the fuck up! Time to go see Miss Piggy-tits!" he taunted. Ralph suddenly slammed an arm into the inside of Jack's knees, though, and Jack cried out as he crashed to the floor. The two quickly rolled up and faced each other, both breathing hard. For just a moment they locked eyes; there was nobody they hated more in the world than each other. Then one punch was thrown, then a kick, and it was on. Jack was still lean rather than bulky in any way; he always preferred hitting hard and fast, ending things quick. Ralph took many painful blows- and landed some too- before realising his best chance at survival was making it an extended engagement.
Ralph shifted over to the defense, drawing Jack out and making him waste his energy. Jack lashed out with a flurry of quick, cutting punches, driving Ralph up against a stack of old wood boxes and slamming his head against it. Snarling furiously, his face twisted with rage, Jack kicked Ralph in the chest with all the strength he had. It was more than enough; Ralph's head whipped back and he saw stars. Then Jack drew back a fist, meaning to land a calculated blow on Ralph's face; dimly Ralph realised Jack meant to break his nose. He ducked as Jack came towards him, but not so fast that Jack missed entirely; instead of hitting Ralph's face, Jack's fist struck the hard bone of his forehead. Pain lanced up Jack's left arm and he swore violently, backing away reflexively. "Shit. Fuck! You fuckin piece of-"
Ralph suddenly launched himself at Jack, crashing into him and forcing Jack backwards towards the window.
It was blazing hot in the attic now; both boys were sweating furiously. Jack struggled fiercely, but Ralph could already sense he was starting to lose the battle; Jack had let his fury get the best of him as he so often did, and now he was starting to wear out. It was hot outside, too; heat lightning flashed in the distance. As one ball flashed not far from the house, Jack's eyes suddenly went wide and he screamed. "What the hell did you do, Ralph? What the hell are you doing?" Ralph briefly backed away and glanced behind him. Roger and Andy were at the door to the attic, plastered against the wall, their eyes wide and staring just like Jack's. Another ball of heat lightning flashed, and as it lit up the room Ralph saw.
Simon and Piggy were standing in the middle of the room.
They vanished with the return of the darkness, though, and Ralph turned back a moment too late. Jack came at Ralph with the fiercest blows he could land; much to Ralph's surprise, Jack had enough strength left to win the upper hand one final time. He grabbed Ralph by the shoulders and shoved him hard, spinning him around; Ralph overcompensated in his attempt to right himself and crashed through the window. Jack stared, half-awed and half-horrified, as he stared at the gaping hole in the stained-glass window. Walking up to its edge, Jack stared down into the darkened yard.
Ralph was lying stretched out on the grass. He wasn't moving.
The lean, tall blonde stared in silence, sinking slowly to his knees as he did so. Lightning flashed in the distance; in only a few seconds thunder rumbled through the yard. How very appropriate, Jack thought vaguely.
Footsteps behind him; distantly, Jack heard Roger's stern, quiet voice telling Andy to go back to the barracks. Yes, it was perfectly fine, Roger snapped, you just get your ass back to the barracks and stop asking dumbass fuckin' questions. Then the footsteps again, boots slowly making their way across the floor to him. Roger's hand fell on his shoulder. His other set the .44 in Jack's palm.
"You wanna finish him off?" Roger's voice was inviting, generous; he sounded pleased.
"Roger… I killed him. Didn't I?"
Roger shrugged, despite knowing Jack couldn't see him. "Yeah, probably."
"You can go, if you want."
Now Roger frowned; he wasn't sure what to make of this. Jack's voice was oddly distant, detached; he just went on staring down into the heavily-overgrown gardens on the side of the house. In all likelihood, he'd just offed his worst, most hated enemy, and here Jack was, showing all the life of a sack of potatoes.
Hey…
Now Jack was staring down at the gun. He kicked out the last of the glass above one stretch of the floor and sat down, letting his legs dangle over the yard. Suddenly, he snapped up the revolver and fired-
-down at Ralph's body in the yard.
