CHAPTER 10
Desmond surveyed the beach. Now where had the bampots gone off to? He stumbled upon them at last in the act ransacking the contents of Sawyer's tent. Charlie was gazing at the cover of a newly discovered prize, though why he needed to bother with that when he had Claire to look at, Desmond could not fathom. "Charlie."
The musician dropped the stack of magazines like a guilty boy who has just been caught by his unsympathetic father.
"Oh, Desmond--"
Desmond feared that Charlie was about to launch into some kind of justification, which would imply that he thought Desmond cared one whit about what was going on. And of course Desmond didn't. The musician could steal from another man's tent; he could sit all day flipping through a stack of pornography for all the Scotsman cared.
Desmond didn't dislike Charlie, but he didn't understand the man either. He'd done everything he could to save the diddy from the lightening flash so that the man could continue ineptly courting Claire and playing with that wee bairn of hers, but he didn't know how Charlie could enjoy the presence and the smiles of the woman he loved and yet still manage to carry about him a slight peevishness, a mild discontent. If Desmond's own Penn were here, all the isolation of the island would melt away in a moment; its barren stretches of sand would be transformed into a fertile beauty; its monotonous fruit would seem a varied and scrumptious feast; even the sudden, unpredictable rains would fail to aggravate him; they would seem, instead, a refreshing and splendid change from the warmth of the day, a welcome whim of the sky.
At least, that was Desmond told himself. In his memories, where the shrine of Penelope collected no dust, there were no petty squabbles over how to squeeze the toothpaste; no irritations when he was asked, please, to remove his shirt from where it hung carelessly on the back of the kitchen chair ("After all, Dessie, how many additional seconds would it require to secure a hanger?"); no headaches on any night of the week; no boring functions to attend as an act of duty; no bothersome cats to trip over in the hallway.
"I need you to come with me," Desmond said directly. He didn't have time for the boyish embarrassment that was creeping across Charlie's countenance. There were weightier matters at hand, events that had dried up all of Desmond's flippancy. A man lay dead in the ground.
"You guys find Eko?" Hurley asked.
Desmond had volunteered to be the one to bring the pair back, but he hadn't volunteered to break the news. "Both of you."