Epilogue: What A Long, Strange Trip
Say you'll come back when you can
Whenever your airplane happens to land
Maybe I'll be back here, too
It all depends on what's with you. - The Grateful Dead, 'Cosmic Charlie.'
Hurley sat huddled within himself, eyes fixed on the featureless wood and formica table. Seated across from him, Dr. Stillman continued to examine the bedraggled man with a weary face.
"You have no idea how you got out of your room and into the basement of the facility, that's what you're telling me?"
"No, sir." His voice was toneless, his face drawn and haggard.
"And you won't tell me anything else. Except that you want off your medication."
"Yes, sir." He had refused the day's dose when the nurse brought it. He had already been in dutch for being found by a janitor after a massive all-night search after a random roomcheck found Hurley's bed empty, and the refusal of his dosage had brought in the doctor from his weekend break. Doubly irritating for Stillman – the necessity of him being here coupled with the rising certainty that his presence meant nothing for the situation save a signature on necessary reports.
"Can I call Dr. Brooks, sir? He might understand."
Dr. Stillman blinked. "Dr. Brooks? He hasn't been here in months, Hugo. His son came home."
Hurley's head rose to fix a stare on him. The patient looked unhappy but unsurprised. "Okay. Can I go now? I think I've got some stuff to do today. Stuff to think about." He jutted his chin towards a chess board that he'd been setting up as the doctor arrived. The knights and the rooks were juxtaposed in the wrong position, but the doctor let it pass without remark. He licked his lips.
"Are you sure we can't at least get you to try a lower dose?"
"No thanks. I know you can force me, but I'd rather you didn't. I think-" The doctor watched as Hurley paused, eyes narrowing as if focusing very hard. "I think they were kinda making me worse. I started seeing stuff, I guess."
Dr. Stillman sighed, the irony of Hurley's words blowing right over him, and rubbed his eyes. A nurse appeared at the door, knocked once, and mouthed at him. He read the words 'Mrs. Reyes – phone' from her lips and groaned inwardly. For not the first time in his life, he felt tempted by the idea of a drinkable, alcoholic lunch.
* * *
"They're wrong, mate." Bandaged fingers waggled at the chesspieces. "Just a coupla 'em, but it'll count. Those pair, yeah." As directed, Hurley adjusted the little horse and tower pieces. "It's all patience and thinking, this game. I'm not very good at it, maybe one of the others are."
"I'm sure someone'll be by eventually, dude." His voice was still low, exhausted and dispirited. He glanced up. It was, as ever, just Charlie. The pale munchkin face caught his look and broke into a rueful smile to try and cheer him.
"I'm really sorry you had a bad night, Hurley."
"S'alright." He shrugged. "But did it have to be Ben that came and talked to me?"
Charlie shook his head. "Wha?" He looked puzzled. "I didn't know that. I don't even think he's around. Not near, anyway." His head reared back, and he squinched an eye shut in a dramatic look of puzzlement. "Isn't he still back on the island?"
"'Kay. Think I figured that." Hurley prodded a pawn with a thick finger, nudging it forward a square. Charlie kept watching him.
"Whassat?"
"It's all just me, dude." He sighed. "Just me."
"Yeah, but at least you're not alone."
Hurley heaved a brief snort. After a moment, he began to laugh more, a real belly laugh rising from deep within and causing tears to stream down his cheeks. Charlie watched him for another moment and then joined in, sweeping a hand through light, close-cropped hair.
* * *
"You're sure you can arrange nothing." Ben's gloved hand gripped the slender little Nokia with rising aggravation. "You're sure. Yes, Moscow was fine, don't change the topic, Norton." He sighed. "So I can't get in there. At all. No, I can't get to his mother, and I won't try. Don't go there." He tinged his voice with threat. Obviously, the man on the other end got the hint. "Thank you. Yes. Yes, I want Jarrah also kept an eye on. He'll likely do something dramatic, like give puppies to orphans or something equally humanitarian." Sardonic emphasis. He thought of the passports he'd arranged for Sayid and grimaced slightly. Hopefully Norton would have enough tact to not mention the extra difficulty Ben had handed him.
Norton rang off, promising to doublecheck everything. With sour irritation warping his lips, Ben turned to regard the cold, unassailable facade of the Santa Rosa Mental Institute. His own gaze was just as cold. An idea was forming about how to get inside and speak with Hugo, an idea that might tie together two separate matters, but he set it aside for later consideration. There was no real hurry yet, no immediate looming threat he had to manage. He turned and entered his rented silver Lexus with easy grace, peeling away and headed for the freeway.
Benjamin Linus was just made of time.
~Fin
(ABC's LOST and its characters are not my creation, nor do I claim any ownership or rights to the above content beyond that of the average godforsaken fanfiction writer. The depiction of both mental illness and the drug Clonazepam/Klonopin is fictional and should not be regarded as a fair or accurate assessment of either. All errors are my own.)
2009/9/28