Chp 7
Dearest Jack,
Here I am standing on the beach, my feet on the edge of where the sea hates to go. The spray hitting my face, chilling my soul and my heart begging for your return. The ocean is vast and empty, even the seagulls have abandoned watch. But not I my love, not I.
Here, where the sun blazes my unprotected head, here is where I feel closest to you. Sand on my skin and sea salt in my mouth is where I can feel you. Only hands on glass bring me closer to you, but that place is far away now, gone, like you.
I have only the heat on my skin, the wind in my face and the endless shoreline to remind me of your touch. Your touch, your hands, the warmth of your breath and the child that grows inside me; it is for this that I wait. It is for you that I wait, as time itself unwinds.
For you, my love, I go on.
"He'll come," the familiar Scottish brogue startled her from her thoughts. Quickly she tucked the letter into her pack and turned to smile at Desmond.
"Don't you worry, Jack will come for you," he told her, standing next to her and letting his feet sink into the wet sand.
"I suppose you know a thing or two about waiting," Juliet said.
"Aye," he answered nodding his head and staring out to the sea, the waves a calm roll, "And about faith, faith in love."
….
Jack emptied the contents of his plastic cup and leaned into his seat. Kate's lead had been a dead end, the artist was a recluse, he had been told. No one had even seen the artist, John Lantham, he chose to let his art speak for him instead.
Jack pulled out a pocket calendar and stared at the date circled in red ink. He had a few days, only a few days before Juliet would enter her second trimester. Before she would die. He wasn't any closer to finding the island. How could it just seemingly disappear?
"Would you fasten your seatbelt please?"
"Er, excuse me," Jack said tapping the stewardess on her back and waving his empty glass, "Excuse me. Can I get another one of those, please?"
"I'm sorry sir. We'll be landing in 20 minutes."
"Well, 20 minutes is a long time."
She gives him a sympathetic smile and hands him a paper, "How about a newspaper instead? And if you could buckle your seatbelt sit."
Turbulence shakes the plane and Jack closes his eyes praying for a miracle he doesn't believe in. But the plane steadies itself so he opens the newspaper. His eyes widen and he almost lets out a cry of despair.
Los Angeles
Man found dead in downtown loft.
The body of John Lantham of New York was discovered shortly after 4 a.m. in the…
Jack tears out the article, his hands shaking, as the plane begins its dissent into LAX.
In a drug induced stupor, Jack gets in his car and drives over the bridge leading home.
"Juliet," he calls out, "Juliet."
But she isn't there, she's far away in a plane he can't get to and he doesn't know how to find her. He stops suddenly at the side of the road and looks at the clipping, resting his head on the steering wheel, he cries. In one last attempt to reach out he dials her number.
"You've reached 310-555-0148. Please leave a message."
"Hey, it's me. I, er, I just read…" but he knows she doesn't want to hear it. There's nothing left but the sound of his failure, nothing left but to wait for the days on the calendar to tick by, nothing left but Juliet's death looming on the horizon. But he can't face that, so Jack climbs up on the ledge and doesn't fear the steep drop to solid concrete, he longs for the hard smash and the end. He raises his head and thinks of blonde hair and pleading blue eyes.
"Oh, forgive me."
The sounds of a swerving car bring him back to this earth, smashing glass and the light of fire spurs him into action.
"Help!" a woman cries out and Jack can't ignore her pleas. He can't save Juliet and their child so; he saves the woman in the burning wreckage and her son instead.
….
"How are you feeling?" Bernard asks as Juliet walks into the lab, Sawyer trailing behind her. He feels useless in this environment, he feels dumb. He wonders why Jack entrusted him with Juliet's safekeeping. Why him? When Juliet suddenly grabs his hand and gives it a desperate squeeze.
"So far so good," she says in a forced sing song voice and sits down on the nearby stool.
"This will only take a minute," Bernard tells her and swabs the inside of her elbow. He draws a vile of blood and hands it to Daniel. Juliet bites her bottom lip and squeezes Sawyer's hand again. He looks at her worried face and squeezes back.
"You're gonna be fine," he reassures her and she nods nervously.
Daniel hovers over the microscope mumbling incoherently to himself. Sawyer has to fight the urge not to punch him, tapping his foot madly as they wait.
"Well?" he shouts out unable to take the suspense any longer.
Daniel turns, fidgeting with his tie, "Looks good."
"Really?" Juliet asks getting up and running to take a look herself.
"Your white cell count looks normal," Dan tells her, "The drug is working."
….
It's a beautiful sunny day in downtown L.A. but Jack drives in a fog. His life suspended in a dark cloud of gloom and foreboding. When he stops he pulls out the newspaper clipping and dials his phone.
"You have reached 310-555-0…"
He hangs up, maybe she's already here, he thinks, maybe she's already inside and he can try to convince her. He exits his car with this last bit of hope in mind, and steps into traffic.
Jack doesn't care if he's run down; death would be a welcome relief. Death is where she will be soon and he's more than willing to get there first to welcome her. But he isn't hit and he enters the funeral parlor unscathed but for his battered heart.
A closed casket is on display, seats neatly lined up with no one in them.
"Can I help you?" the funeral director asks appearing from a side entrance.
"Sorry I, actually I came, uh, is the funeral over?"
"There was no funeral sir, only a viewing. Nobody showed up."
"Nobody? You sure?" Jack asks.
"Just you. My deepest condolences. Friend or family?"
"Neither."
"Would you like me to open it up?" the director asks him.
"No," Jack tells him.
"Take you time," the director says before leaving him alone.
Jack stares at the coffin with Ben's body inside, shattering his last chance at finding the island. His hand reaches out and he places his palm on it, tears in his eyes.
"Damn you Ben," he thinks as he reaches for his pills. There's only one left, only one to numb the ever increasing pain.
"Damn it!"
….
"It's really working?" Sawyer asks.
"Looks like," Daniel tells him, "Of course we'll have to keep monitoring Juliet now that she's approaching her second trimester."
"I'll be damn, you did it Bernie, you really did it," he says slapping the Dentist on the back.
"I'd like to run a bone density test on you though," Dan turns and talks to Juliet, "To be safe." She nods and follows him to a corner.
Juliet's hand goes to her mouth to stop the smile creeping onto her face. She's afraid to be this happy, suddenly superstitious. Could she really hope Jack's baby will be born?
….
Jack's apartment is littered with maps, the walls scribbled with coordinates, markings of hope broken and lost. He sits on the floor drinking, drowning the pain and the voices of Juliet calling for him to return. He wants to give up, to crawl into a ball and just end, but something in him presses him on. Something Locke told him rings in his ears.
"Boone was a sacrifice the island demanded."
Was Juliet another sacrifice or was he supposed to offer up one for her safe return?
"Claire was the first woman to successfully give birth on the island," Juliet had said to him.
Can she be next? Jack took another drink, the liquid burning the sting in his chest as he thought of his sister parted from her son. Aaron. Aaron. Was he the offering? Was Jack supposed to bring the baby back?
He flicks his phone open and dials the familiar number.
"Hello," the woman's voice answers.
"Hello? It's me, whoa, whoa, wait, don't, don't hang up please. I know what you said, I just, I just need to see you, please?"
"Ok," Kate sighs, "The usual place?"
"Yeah, yeah out at the airport. You know where."
"Fine Jack," Kate tells him.
"Thank you."
Jack drives to the airport and steps out as another car approaches. Out of the darkness Kate appears like a ray of hope.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey."
"Saw you on the news. Still pulling people out of burning wreckage huh?"
"Old habits."
"You look terrible."
Jack laughs trying to get through this, "Thanks."
"Why did you call me Jack?" she cuts to the chase.
He hands her the worn newspaper clipping.
"I was hoping that you'd heard. That maybe you'd go to the funeral."
"Why would I go to the funeral?"
He ignores her question, trying to keep focused on why he asked her out her, "I've been flying a lot."
"What?"
He tells her about how he uses the golden pass, how he suddenly finds himself praying for planes to crash, how he doesn't care if everyone else on board dies as long as he can find the island again. Kate stares, tears in her eyes. This man before her isn't the Jack Shephard she knew. He's broken and she has no idea how to fix him. He was supposed to fix her, that's how it was supposed to go. It scares her and she itches to run.
"This is not gonna change," she says sadly but assuredly.
"No," he shouts, "I'm sick of lying. We made a mistake."
"I have to go. He's gonna be wondering where I am."
"We were not supposed to leave," he tells her grabbing her to make her listen.
"Yes, we were," she responds releasing herself.
"Goodbye, Jack," she tells him.
"We have to go back, Kate!"
She doesn't say anymore, she only gets in her car and leaves him.
"We have to go back!"
He waits before realizing Kate wasn't going to change her mind and return. At that moment Jack didn't know where to turn so he went to the only place that felt like home. He went to St. Sebastian's hospital. Staggering through the halls, he ignores the looks of the staff and patients. He knows he's drunk, stoned, but he doesn't care. He's Dr. Jack Fucking Shephard, and he has a right to wallow in drink and pills. They don't know what he's been through, he thinks as he makes it to his office and falls into his chair, they don't have a clue.
He spins in his chair to face the wall; a calendar hangs in front, mocking him.
"Excuse me," a woman's voice behind him interrupts.
"What?" he asks sharply, not bothering to turn around.
"Are you Dr. Shephard?"
"Yeah, what of it?" he asks spinning around, "Do you want an autograph or something?"
The well groomed woman wrinkles her nose when she gets a whiff of the booze seeping out of his pours.
"I need your help Doctor," she explains.
"Make an appointment with my secretary. That is, if you have a referral," he says motioning her away.
"No. You don't understand Dr. Shephard," she tells him closing the door behind them and stepping forward, "My name is Penelope Widmore. I need you to help me find the island."
