The floorboards creaked beneath Eric as he followed the man across the deck. The feeling of a smooth, solid surface beneath his feet felt so foreign after all the time he had spent walking on dirt and sand. The embrace of the shoes he wore felt even stranger…
The wind was especially heavy, sweeping the hair off his forehead and causing his eyes to go dry. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to find his body in the almost comically oversized sweatshirt he had been provided with. The soft texture of the fabric on his hands reminded him that this was real life, and he wasn't dreaming.
He looked out at the waves; they were darker here. The shade of tropical teal he had grown so accustomed to had transformed into a deeper, more ominous blue as the ship had made its way north the past few days.
"Through here," the man he was following said, holding open a pristine, white door. Eric walked through it, careful not to catch his foot on the ridge on the bottom like he had done the first time. Once he was inside, the door was closed behind him.
Eric expected to see the captain, these were his quarters after all, but there was no one else in the office. It was dim inside, lit only by several porthole windows and a desk lamp. The lamp illuminated a pile of folders and pictures scattered across the desk in the center of the room.
He looked down at files and noticed immediately that they contained photos and information on all the boys from the island. He swallowed hard and his stomach tightened. Remembering that they had been real, civilized people before the plane crash wasn't easy to do.
The door behind him opened once again and the captain entered. "Hello, Eric," the bearded man greeted him, "How are you feeling today?"
"Good," Eric answered. He wasn't sure if it was the truth.
"I'm glad," the captain said as he made his way around the desk and sat down in the chair. He nodded his head towards the chair next to Eric, indicating he should sit. Eric obliged. "I really appreciate you coming to meet with me."
"Why am I here?"
"Because I need your help," the captain informed him. He looked at Eric for a reaction but received nothing. He cleared his throat before continuing. "We're going to arrive at port tomorrow, and there are going to a be a lot of worried parents there looking for their children, and I think you and I both know what the problem with that is…"
Once again, Eric said nothing.
"Our records indicate that there were 39 boys on board the plane that crashed," the captain continued, "But we only rescued 34 of you. I need to know who those four boys were…the ones that didn't survive."
Eric felt the pit in his stomach grow once again, his chest began to swell as the memories of those they had lost entered his head once again. He looked down at his lap, maintaining his silence.
"Eric, please. We need to notify their families before we arrive," the man urged him. Eric took a deep breath and mustered all of his courage.
"The first boy…I don't even think I knew his name…"
"That's okay," the officer encouraged him, "Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"He was…young. Really young. And he had a huge red birth mark on his face," described Eric. The captain shuffled through the photographs on his desk, trying to find one that fit the description. He finally found a suitable candidate and held the picture up to Eric.
"Is this him?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," Eric answered.
"Good, Eric. That's good work. Who else?" The captain encouraged.
"…Simon." Eric's voice squeaked towards the end of the name as he tried to hold back tears.
"Him?" The captain held up another photograph. Eric couldn't bring himself to look at it. "That's okay," the man assured him. "Who else?"
Eric took a deep breath to try and collect himself. "Then there was Pig…" Eric cleared his throat, "His name was Daniel. He wore glasses." The officer nodded and took note of the description.
"Okay, Eric. That's three. Who were the other two?"
Jack sat cross-legged in the clearing in the torrential downpour. The heavy droplets of water bounced off the palm leaves all around him and hit the now muddy ground with wet splats. He could barely keep his eyes open due to the constant steam of water sliding down his face.
The last remaining embers of the bonfire hissed as the rain drowned them out and a weak white smoke rose from the ashes and into the night sky. The rest of the boys had retreated from the feast and back down the mountain towards camp once the rain had started. Jack hadn't followed.
He lightly ran his trembling fingers over the bruised and bloody knuckles of his left hand. He wondered whether the dried blood belonged to him or Roger. Probably both. He began to aggressively scrub it away with the rainwater, ignoring the sting that came with touching the bruised flesh. He slammed his unbattered hand into the mud before burring his face in his hands.
Jack wished he could attribute all of his anger to Roger - to what he had done to Ralph. But what Jack had done to Roger was driven by a much deeper rage than just learning what had happened between the two people closest to him. When he had been hitting his best friend it felt as if he had been trying to take out the anger he had towards himself. He wanted Roger to be Ralph's only enemy; to blame him for all the pain that had been caused for Ralph on the island. But within himself Jack knew that he was just as responsible for Ralph's pain as Roger was. The only difference being that Ralph couldn't remember what Jack had done to him.
Ralph had been all Jack wanted since the start of their disastrous adventure, he had always know that. But now, now that he had Ralph, he couldn't even look the boy in the eye without feeling guilt rain down harder on him than the rain pounding down on his back now. He wished he could start over. For real – not just take advantage of Ralph's blank memory. He wished he could go back to the beginning and be with Ralph the way they should have been. Maybe he would even be nice to Piggy.
"Hey." The voice from behind him ripped him out of his trance and he whipped his head around; preparing to defend himself from Roger.
But it wasn't Roger.
"Shit, sorry!" Ralph apologized quickly. He knelt down on Jack's left side and pressed his nose into the redhead's broad shoulder. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"I guess I'm just a little jumpy," Jack ventured as he put his arm around Ralph's back.
"Are you okay? I mean, from earlier."
"Me?" Jack looked at the other boy. Ralph's bright turquoise eyes blinked in obvious affirmation. Jack felt guilt swirl through his body all over again. "Well, of course I'm okay," Jack answered. "Are you?"
"Living the dream," Ralph whispered with a delicate smirk. They both chuckled before falling into silence for a few moments.
"Why are you still up here?" Ralph asked softly as he pressed his head further towards Jack's neck.
"Just…thinking." Jack pressed his lips against Ralph's soft hair which had been matted down by the rain.
"About what?" Ralph questioned him innocently. Jack sighed.
"Everything."
He could feel Ralph look up at him – expecting him to say more, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell Ralph everything that was on his mind but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He would lose him, and if he lost Ralph, he would have nothing left.
Jack brought his hand up to scratch his head out of discomfort and Ralph caught site of the bruising.
"Your hand," he whispered, taking it in his own. He laced their fingers together and gently rubbed Jack's knuckles with his free hand. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really," Jack lied.
Ralph wasn't convinced but he kept silent anyway. He continued to inspect Jack's hand before stopping suddenly.
"I'm sorry I lied to you, Jack." Ralph's voice was low and ashamed. His hands were still embraced with Jack's but he was looking towards the ground.
Ralph's words weighed down on Jack like a boulder. The irony stung and he wanted to vomit.
"You're sorry for lying to me?" Jack uttered mostly to himself. Ralph gazed at Jack with confusion lining his features. Once Jack saw the other boy's expression he realized how cryptic he had sounded. "What I mean is, you shouldn't be. I shouldn't have let anything happen to you."
"It's not your job to take care of me, Jack. I shouldn't have let anything happen to myself."
Jack brushed away the hair that was stuck to Ralph's forehead from the rain before caressing his cheek.
"I don't deserve you," Jack whispered, his eyes locked with Ralph's.
"Don't talk like that," Ralph cooed just as quietly. He slowly brought his lips to Jack's. They met in a light kiss. Ralph rested his fingers gingerly on Jack's chin. Ralph felt Jack's tongue against his own before Jack gently pushed him to the ground.
The rain continued to fall peacefully around them. Ralph could feel the mud in his hair as he moved in rhythm with the redhead. He didn't care. Jack's hands travelled down Ralph's sides and massaged his hips while Ralph's fingers ran through the other's hair. The kiss deepened and Jack moaned as Ralph timidly bit his bottom lip.
Jack grinded his hips into Ralphs and turned his attention to Ralph's neck. He nipped at the skin before enclosing his lips on the sensitive area.
"Jack?" Ralph murmured softly.
"Hm?" Hummed Jack without turning his attention from Ralph's neck.
"Jack." Ralph's tone wasn't stern, but rather aimed at obtaining the other's attention.
"What is it?" Jack asked, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at Ralph; their faces only just apart.
"I need to ask you something," Ralph began slowly, speaking into the other's lips due to their closeness, "But I don't want you to be mad at me."
"Anything," Jack answered, intoxicated by Ralph's scent. Ralph sighed and paused before continuing.
"R-Roger," he stammered, "He said some…scary things about Simon, and Piggy. About how they died." The reality of this statement dragged Jack out of the trance that Ralph's presence had sucked him into.
"Uh…" Jack mumbled, unable to form cohesive thoughts. This is it.
"You don't need to tell me how. Not yet," Ralph continued, "Just please, please tell me you didn't have anything to do with what happened to them."
Jack could feel the world revolve as he tried to decide how to answer. He could tell the truth; the truth that Ralph deserved, or he could keep himself safe and keep the only thing that mattered to him anymore.
"No. Of course not." Fuck.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I'm the worst.