Disclaimer: Once again, I am too weary to try and steal the boys and the island. Willy G.'s getting let off too easily… But soon I will finish one of these chapters before 2 AM and have the strength to fight on.
Author's Note: I am a lazy bastard. I'm sorry that this took so long!! But I was doing SOME other productive stuff, like writing original stories and – AND- drawing pictures of our favourite choirboys. I mean, somebody had to do it. Anyway, guys, this is it. Not the end, mind you, just the darkest chapter as of yet. I hope it pleases you. Let me know if it's too much, and I'll see what I can do. As always, if there's a mistake, let me know and I'll change it.
Oh! Just as a side note, it's supposed to be all choppy throughout this part because of the lack of full consciousness. And I'm sorry that it's so short. Lots of reading between the lines in this one.
Warnings: Savage beatings, non-consensual (and not just the discussion of)
Sing the Little Children
Eight
The sea heaved and the island rocked as the sun burned all the life from the tiny rock. Only Ralph was left, hiding in the cool depths of Jack's cave. He watched Eric burn away outside the cave entrance.
"G'bye, Ralph," the younger boy said as the flesh melted from his face.
"Bye, Eric."
When Eric was gone, Ralph was not alone. Simon was with him. Simon, with his dark hair and too-bright eyes, was lying beside Ralph, most of his body in shadow.
"I'm sorry I killed you, Simon," Ralph said sadly. He picked up the smaller boy and cuddled him close, like he would a dog. He scratched the dark head. "I didn't mean to."
"That's all right, Ralph." Simon was smiling. "It was mostly the metaphor that killed me."
"I always knew you were cracked."
"So are you, Ralph."
Before Ralph could reply to that, Simon was kissing him.
Simon's kiss was very different from Jack's. Simon had a movie kiss, a happily-ever-after kiss. Simon was holding Ralph's head still and using his tongue and squirming about in a most appealing manner. Ralph felt a sweet tightness in his body. He laid the dark-haired boy on the floor and sank into him. He was throbbing, like a heartbeat, like a wound, like the sea. He felt that he was close to something, as he throbbed inside Simon, something dark and hot.
Simon started to scream. Ralph hit him to make him shut up. He liked it. He liked the fear and pain. He liked the strength.
He was Roger, staring down at his victim, his prey. Simon was Petey and Jack, crying and snarling at the same time.
It was Jack's eyes, wild and blue, that rose up and consumed him.
/O/
Ralph woke to a great heat and wetness between his legs. Still drowsy from sleep, he moaned and curled around the hide that was bundled at his hips. His hands twisted the rough leather, rubbing it against himself. His lips curled in a sleepy smile as the flesh of his thighs and belly shivered. He hummed with pleasure at the waves of sensation that both exhilarated and relaxed him. His hands moved more quickly.
When his fingers touched the stickiness beneath the hide, he gasped and started. He sat up, bowing over his folded legs, and glanced around the cave. Petey was curled against one of the walls, closer to the entrance than Ralph. The little'un was obviously asleep, buried under a pile of hides with only his tense face and a small fist showing. Sighing a short breath of relief, he brought his hand up.
With the dim light that reached to the back of the cave, he could see a milky fluid coating most of his fingers. The sight made heat rise in his face. He was embarrassed; despite his situation, despite the barbaric existence in which he found himself. He was embarrassed, because his body was trembling on the edge of the last great taboo.
Flashes of his dream rose up in his mind and he shuddered as a chill crawled down his spine.
Quickly, quietly, Ralph wiped his thighs and the flesh between them. The hide, now quite sticky, he tossed into the smallest of the cave's alcoves. He stood, letting the air steal some of the heat from his skin, and went to the front of the cave.
"Hallo, Eric," he said upon seeing the cave's lone guard. Eric looked up and Ralph was glad to see the smooth skin of his round face.
"Hallo, Ralph." Eric appeared unusually pensive as he sat against the cliff wall, his legs stretched out and large feet jutting out into space. His spear's point rested on his shoulder, its butt against the rocky path. His expression was troubled as he stared off into the misty horizon.
The sun was hovering just above the mountain, lengthening its shadow into something more threatening. Ralph had to look away from it. He stared down at his wrists, with their long scabs, and at the sea, which had swallowed the broken bodies of Ralph's own past. He stared at it and wondered if it would, in the end, swallow his future as well.
"You should go back inside." Eric seemed to suddenly realise that Ralph was there, standing next to him on the Castle Rock path. The hunter got to his feet, moving his arms as though to usher Ralph back to the cave, though he did not touch the former Chief. "Jack'd be real pissed if he saw you outside…"
Ralph, although he doubted that Jack would see him, did as he was told. He wandered over to Petey and knelt by the little'un. Eric, after watching him for a moment, went back outside. Peter's face was slick with sweat, and hot to the touch. Ralph dipped his fingers in the bowl of tepid water that the twins had brought earlier and dribbled it on Petey's chapped lips, hoping to get some liquid into the little'un. The little boy turned his face deeper into the arm beneath his head and Ralph let up.
Ralph moved away from the little'un, scuttling back until he was against the far wall, where he hunched over his knees.
He glared straight ahead. Keeping his mind away from everything. He wanted to sleep again, but was afraid of what he might dream. He wanted to walk out of the cave, push by Eric, and go swim in the ocean. He wanted to find Jack and demand to know what had happened between them. He wanted to find Roger and drop a rock on his head.
Most of all, he wanted to go home.
/O/
Jack had woken into a nightmare.
His face was pressed into the sand. A small rock was grinding into his cheekbone and he could breathe through only one nostril. His arms were tightly bound, making his shoulders ache with a pain that nearly matched the pounding of his head. When he managed to slit open one eye, he regretted it. The slanting beams of the setting sun were like spikes driving into his brain. He groaned and tried to roll over.
"'Ey, Jack!" Roger's bellow made the world shudder. Fear and pain and nausea warred within him as he felt Roger's weight settle on his back. He could not prevent a whimper when Roger's fist buried itself in his hair and pulled his head up. He felt the larger boy's breath on his cheek. "I'm Chief now, Jack. You lose."
Roger shoved Jack's face back into the sand. Jack, concerned now with the pain blossoming in his nose, was barely aware of Roger lifting off of him.
"Bring him," he heard from far away.
Arms were looped under his, rough hands and blunt fingers digging into him. The muscles of his back and shoulders spasmed and he did not know which pain was worse. He tried to get his feet under him, but his captors were too quick and his body unwilling to do as he commanded. He was dragged uphill, through the undergrowth, over logs and creepers. For several minutes he blacked out again, until he opened his eyes to see the soggy jungle floor beneath his face.
He lay this way for several minutes as bodies moved about his still form. Occasionally, he would be kicked, but he felt numb and barely recognized the fact. His mind was blank, loosely focussed on the pain that had become his entirety. It was only when he scented smoke that he became somewhat more aware of his surroundings.
"I am Chief!" Roger was yelling, announcing. Jack wondered who he had gathered at his fire. "I am Chief! Jack is not!" Roger was getting louder. "Jack is nothing! Jack is shit!" There was a roar, as many voices rose up in approval. "I am Chief!"
Familiar anger began to burn once more in Jack's belly. Some of the pain faded.
"Jack is nothing! Jack is a pig!" He could sense Roger's closeness, as though the other boy was standing over him. "What do we do to pigs?"
The chanting of little'uns, with a few deeper big'un voices. Jack would have been scared if he wasn't so pissed off. He gritted his teeth and tested his bindings, then quickly gave up as pain stabbed into his shoulders.
"I'm gonna stick you, Jack," Roger muttered, for Jack's ears alone. He ran the point of his spear down Jack's spine. When it reached Jack's tailbone, the place where the scrap he wore about his waist fell, he dug the point in. A keen worked its way up from Jack's throat despite his every effort to keep it inside. Roger laughed. "A feast!" The new Chief's cry was taken up by his followers. "Hunters! Kill some pigs! Hunt, hunt, hunt! We will feast tonight! We will feast forever!"
There was much screaming and shouting of glee and the pounding of feet on earth and the crash of bodies through the jungle. Soon, Jack could hear nothing but the cracking of the fire and his own laboured breathing.
With no warning, his feet were grabbed up and he was being dragged. He was dragged for several metres, until he thought that he would suffocate from the dirt being shoved up his nose. Finally, his legs were dropped with little ceremony, the top of one of them hitting a sharp rock. As he tried to snort the dirt out of his nose, he heard Roger pacing around him.
Roger said nothing, so Jack was unprepared for the short whistle and the sharp burn that etched itself into his back. It was closely followed by a second, and a third, and a fourth. Jack lost count as black crawled around the edges of his awareness. He began to thrash despite himself, tears flooding his tightly shut eyes. Pleas formed in his mouth, only to be swallowed and transformed into wordless moans.
Eventually, Roger stopped. Jack floated on semi-awareness, as though his mind was not quite attached to his body. The beating of his heart was overly loud. He listened to it avidly, waiting for the moment when it would stop. But it went on, and he continued to live.
"I've wanted this so long," Roger's rubbed like gravel against Jack's ears. He was sitting on Jack again, straddling the redhead's hips. His face was close to Jack's. "Teach you who's boss."
Even floating as he was, fear worked its way into him. His anger was fleeing, leaving him to deal with this reality alone. He pulled at his bonds again, but the pain in his muscles was increased by the burning of his flayed skin. He could not struggle to any great extent.
Roger's hands were on his shoulders, pressing him into the ground. He bucked, trying to keep his head up, and Roger laughed. And then Roger was touching his back and he nearly screamed. It felt like the larger boy was tearing the flesh from his bones. He thrashed, uselessly kicking his legs. Red spots began appearing at the back of his eyes.
When Roger left the lacerated flesh, Jack barely had the time to regain his breath. He could feel the new Chief fumbling at the small of his back, then the tearing of cloth. Blunt fingers were digging into his hips, bruising him. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, tasted blood and savoured it.
He was startled by a sharp pain in one buttock. He writhed, but was held down. He could too easily imagine Roger's large teeth breaking his skin, being stained crimson with his blood. He struggled, fighting back a wave of panic that was building just beyond the last vestiges of his anger.
Something hot, and thick, and sticky slid across the skin of his thigh.
Petey's broken body bled across his vision.
The wave broke. His body, suffused with fear, wriggled and squirmed and spasmed, trying to free itself. Roger was too strong, with his large hands grinding Jack into the dirt.
When it happened, it happened quickly.
Jack screamed.
/O/
Ralph and Eric stared out at the darkened island, the scream echoing in their ears.
"I don't think he's coming back," Ralph said quietly. In the depths of the cave, Petey cried.
