Indigo Junction

by javajive

Post S5 - There is a rumour she might have ended up in Bali. He doesn't know if he will find her there or if he even wants to... - rated for swearing and some mature content - COMPLETE

35. Another walk on the ledge

Thank you so much for all of the reviews and for still reading!

Thanks to K. for something beautiful you said (wrote) that inspired this whole part of the story. Something about not hurting others even though you have been hurt yourself. Of the strength it must take to break out of that cycle. You put it a whole lot better - but I loved the idea behind it.

Rated M for language, mature subjects and sexual content.

Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it. Just borrowing.

…

Another walk on the ledge

…

It's way past midnight, the ship is dead calm and he can't catch a darn wink. Pieter and fifty-nine ways to do away with him twirling around in his brain like angry fireflies.

Her. He tries not to think of her at all.

At two o'clock he gives up, there isn't anything he can do before they get to Bali anyway, spare a drowning accident that is. He pulls a t-shirt over his head and pads barefoot out in his shorts. The heat is pressing, the breeze almost non-existent. His shirt sticking to his skin. The moon is so ludicrously full, it looks fake. Like a big-ass lantern slung up in the sky for laughs. He makes headway down to the kitchen for a little midnight raid. A silent prayer of thanks when he finds the door unlocked. Ni Luh normally protective of her domains.

Raffling through the freezer, hit by a sudden irresistible craving for ice cream. And a beer. No, not beer, wants to get properly drunk but suspects the good stuff is safely under lock. Ni Luh's liqueur stash like Fort Knox. A noise behind him makes him turn around.

And there she is. Equally barefoot and looking at him in round-eyed surprised as she swishes in. Her hair down her back, touching her waist now, a wild cave-woman mess, long strands of it across her face as if she's been roughed up, curls teasing him, annoying him, the way they form long sloppy spirals. Wants to twirl them around his fingers. Wants to do a hell of a lot more. Drive his hands through all that hair as his hips meet hers. Her lips unnaturally red against her pale skin, as if someone has kissed them raw. The fluorescent lightning accentuating freckles. Something about her, like this. Like having a three tiered cake in front of you. Perfect. Dripping in frosting and covered in elaborate sugar flowers. And you just want to stick your fingers in it, mess it all up, lick the icing off.

"What are you doing up Freckles?"

"Transmitting national secrets to the Soviets… what do you think?" She sails by him in some kind of black boy shorts and a willow green camisole. And it looks staged, too damn good to be true. Nipples clearly discernable beneath the slinky fabric, an irresistible wobble when she moves. Ought not to wander about like that. Anyone could see her. That pervert Pieter if no one else. Christ, wants to pull up behind her and grapple her breasts under that top. Wants to see how they fit in his hands nowadays. Bets they'd spill over a bit. A hand-full and a little more, tips peaking out between his sprawled out fingers.

"The beer is in the other fridge." Pokes her tongue at him. As if she is seven and he's an annoying pig-tail-pulling kid. But they're no kids. And she's frustratingly more woman than ever, at least outwards. Damn, those breasts of hers, give or take a little, exactly like the thousand of other pairs he's fondled in his life. Insignificantly different. Just boobs for God's sake, just like the ones the Danes are sporting, nothing special at all. And if he felt like it, he could be thrusting himself inside a moaning, squirming blonde, squeezing her tits - right now. If he'd wanted to. Still, he stands here slavering like a damn fool over her.

Leans against the freezer, enjoying the sight of her standing there, opening the lower cabinets, dredging for something. Legs, toned and strong beneath the shorts. The smooth pale skin. Wants to come up soundlessly behind her back. Run his hands up and down those thighs.

"Wadn't looking for beer Darling." Not looking for anything now. Doesn't want beer. Doesn't want ice cream, doesn't want anything you can eat with a spoon or drink from a bottle.

Wants her.

Wants to bend her over that cool marble countertop and just take her. A purely physical want, like a white-hot band behind his eyes. Has to shake it off, this won't do.

"So, cravings too huh, Sweetcheeks?"

"Cute, Sawyer." She shrugs. Doesn't seem all that bothered by his presence. Continues moving down the line of cabinets. Opening one, closing another.

"Hey, I'm on your side Freckles." Wants to tell her about Pieter. But he doesn't want to rock the boat. Doesn't want to give her a push, an excuse to run. She just might skip on him in the next harbor.

"Funny way of showing it." Yeah, you have no idea. How he's spend the entire evening trying to think up a way to neutralize the Pieter situation. A diving tube clanked against the crown of that flimsy blonde head. That's the best one he's got right now. And she's distracting as hell. A lamb steak prancing around in front of the big bad wolf.

The shorts, some kind of stretchy fabric, making her butt look round and full. He sighs hard enough for her to hear. She casts a disinterested glance backwards, clearly choosing to ignore him. She continues to look for whatever she has her mind set on. Whatever she's craving, it sure isn't him.

A little fantasy never harmed anyone though. Indulges himself. Envisions sneaking up behind her to cup that ass, driving his fingers inside the waistband, sliding them down. Peachy fuzz skin under his hands. Warm and wet and so, so sweet. He knows she is. Remembers exactly how she feels, how she tastes, how she smells. Is picturing how he'd hoist her up on the counter and which route his fingers might take next when disaster strikes. Shooting all thoughts of romance to hell's end. How she doubles over. Convulsions racking her, like a sick cat.

No - not that crap again.

And hell. Puke everywhere, her aim isn't much to brag about. Dripping down the side of the cabinets on the countertop, the floor. He does his best to clean it up, grabbing a cloth and a sponge off the counter. His own stomach turns. The sour stench conquering the kitchen in no time effectively sobering him up from any physical urges he might have harbored. She's still hulking, crying and puking, having made her way to the washbasin, swearing, cussing like a sailor. Her back heaving, hands gripping the countertop on each side of the sink. He freezes like that, the view of that obstinate flint-hard spine poking out through the silk of the camisole gluing him to the spot. Fills him with such desperation. And it's not funny now. Not one bit. A frailty that he finds hard to swallow.

"Kate. Shit…"

"Back off Sawyer!" As if he might attack her now, at her weakest. Bent in such a torturous way, he can see the outline of her her ribs through the back of her top. Ass in the air. Just pitiful now. She turns the faucet on, splashing her face with water.

"I wasn't gonna' say nothing…"

She stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Water dripping down her face, gathering in large drops at her chin. The neck of her camisole stained wet. He lets the sponge and the washcloth fall to the floor, just loosens his fingers around them, opening his hands up. Ready to make a run for it, the way she glowers at him. Straight in the eyes and something has changed, shifted. Doesn't expect the hatred in them. Makes him want to back away slowly.

"No? You've got nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes? No funny comments?"

"I mean... I was only messing with you, but hell girl. Shit..." Finds it hard to breathe. Fuck. She is. There is a clump of cells in there, growing, taking her over, imposing. And he. He's already fucked one kid up. And hell, he can't do this. Not like this. "I didn't mean to… Was just winding you up..."

Had just wanted a reaction. Any.

"Stop talking!" Baring her teeth like a little saber-toothed tiger. "And cut that out too!"

"Cut what out? Ain't doing nothing."

"Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"That!" She thrusts her index finger in the direction of his face. Her mouth like the grill of an old Ford, teeth bared up to the gums. Upper and lower. "The pity party, cut it out!."

Sweat breaking out across his forehead. Stands there straight upside down watching as she rotates ninety degrees, and he knows he should move out of her way. Knows this part. How her cheeks go taut and her nostrils flare. That little tiny squint. The calm just before the storm. His mouth moving, tongue forming words on its own. Things that have to be said. Need to be aired. Doesn't want to be the one to do it. Wants to be the one claiming 'seasickness' hiding his head in a big old pile of sand.

"We can figure it out Freckles..."

And there it is. The first lunge forward, propelling him backwards. Followed by short taunting little thrusts. He stumbles.

"We? We are 'we' now? 'We' James? Really?" The 'James' said the same way you might say pest or plague or dysentery. Like an illness.

Well fuck. Wipes a hand across his eyes. Doesn't want a damn kid. He never did. One thing to want to impregnate her. Another to deal with the complicated, convoluted consequences of it all. Can't. Won't. That whole other abyss he doesn't want to look down into. Her losing another. Him, a father. An impossible combination. That ridiculously blue-eyed baby Cassie had shoved in his face in prison. Freakishly perfect, looking like she'd cut the kid straight out of a milk commercial. Had felt nothing. Had just wanted that damn picture away from him.

Can't.

"Hey. I'm not the one who took off! Don't lay this whole thing on me! I wanted to be with you!"

"You self absorbed son of a bitch. I told you. I told you I couldn't do this again. Told you..." her voice escalating, increasingly hysteric undertones. The blame game, he can take it. Let her.

He tries to keep steady, lets her shove him all she wants. If that makes her feel any better. God knows he's deserved it. Deserves anything, everything she might choose to dish out. She has him backed up against the cabinets, a knob digging into his buttock. Eyelids clipping, a little girl tremble to the bottom lip. He knows this too. The signs, and he waits for her to start crying so that he can take her in his arms and rock her and whisper that it'll be alright, just fine, when the first punch hits him across the chinbone, the next somewhere else, fuck if he knows. Just knows this; how she pummels him. Has to fight the urge to hit her back. Holds his arms up, trying to throw her fists off, away.

But what happens next is worse. Much worse. Hurts a hell of a lot more than the hard knuckled punches she throws like a goddamn pro'. She spins around against the cabinet next to him and slams her forehead against its corner.

And again and again and again. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Until he unfreezes. Throws his arms around. Stop it. Has to stop her. Restraining her the best he can. She tries to head-butt him too but he's expecting it, that's a given. Ducks and dodges, but there is no running from this.

"Schh girl, don't do this. Not this." They collapse on the floor in a pile, he hits his hipbone on the skirting of the cabinets, an elbow on the floor. The way she squirms and kicks and fights. He ought to be used to this. He if anyone should be able to handle this. He presses her head against his shoulder. Hooking his arm around it to stop her from trying to bang it again. Thrashing and bucking. Legs wrapped around her like a big fucking python.

Feels how she slackens against him, the fight ebbing out of her. Like holding a large rag doll. Her head lolling on her neck as if it's too heavy to hold up. Holds her like a goddamn baby, cradling her neck in the crook of his arm.

She has lost it. She has lost it completely. Her forehead bruising already, swelling up, a big fat lump. Ugly, self inflicted. Her mouth wide open in that soundless cry of hers. Eyes like thin incisions. Nothing there. Not his girl. Buries her face against his chest. At least that. At least she's hanging on to him now. Her nails sharp through the fabric at his shoulders. The faint acid smell from her mouth.

And though Sawyer doesn't believe in God, not really, he senses being watched. A taunting all-powerful finger pointing straight at him. 'Here. You got what you wanted. Now deal with it dumbass!' The guilt choking him, how he must have exacerbated this whole psychotic breakdown, brought it on. His fault from the beginning to the end.

"Schh, it'll be okay baby girl. It'll be just fine, "he mumbles stroking her back, though honestly he doesn't really believe it will be. Not right now.

"You fucking bastard," she squeaks and maybe she's crying, maybe not. Swinging, swaying her in his arms. A gentle rhythm aimed to soothe her, to comfort himself.

"Yeah… yeah I'm a bastard… just let it out."

On some level or on all levels she must have known all along. All the while he'd taken the stupidest, lowest kind of digs at her. Making it into a cruel joke so that he wouldn't have to deal with it. The stupid thing at the reservoir, in her cabin. Had picked on her the way he always picks on her. He'd told himself, he'd wanted to push things to the edge. Make her face up to it. But that's not it. The gravity of the situation, he hadn't wanted to think that far. Dead babies, betrayals and lost hopes. The fucked up state of the two of them

"I don't wanna' - don't - wanna'…" Like a child with a temper tantrum. He doesn't wanna' either. Wants to run from this. And if he could take it away this very instant - he would. One stupid time, that first morning, too drunk on her to be bothered with putting on a damn rubber. Not worth it. Nothing is. Nothing.

"Sorrysorry sorry... " Because he is. They're both so fucked. And he's one sorry sonofabitch.

…

He looks at here over there in her cot. A large green plastic pail by the head of it. She lies there like a human cannelloni, rolled into a sheet in spite of the humid heat. Stares straight ahead of her, exhausted by the outburst. Closed off and unavailable now in the aftermath. Her forehead is a complete mess. Like a toddler who has tested and proven the theory of gravity from a considerable height. A bump, egg sized and plum coloured, skin broken, split there.

Christ. He's a moron of epic proportions. What the fuck has he done? They're not even together. Her. Fragile and screwed up. Him. An unreliable bastard. A baby. All in all, nothing but a cataclysm for disaster. Hesitates for a second. Stay or go. But he ain't no hero. Needs to breathe. Needs her desperation away from him for a while, needs to disconnect too. The hold she has on him, sticky and human and so all consuming it drowns him.

Needs a big old beer. Needs to sit on deck, feel the warm ocean breeze on his face, clear his mind. What the hell is he supposed to do now? She'll fight him even more now that she has that little bugger to consider. She won't be with him just because she's knocked up, he knows her that well. And he wouldn't want her like that either. Wants her whole and complete. Choosing him because she wants him. Because there is no other way.

When he edges the door open carefully, trying not to make a sound, the hinges squeak a little, rousing her. She turns her head towards him, bashful and embarrassed like someone who has binged on too much booze and made an ass out of herself. Danced on tables and been loud and brash. Only she hasn't. He has. From start to finish. That morning. No damn condom. What the hell had he been thinking?

"James… I'm sorry."

Stands there in the doorway, one foot outside already. Ready to make a run for it.

"You ain't got nothing to be sorry about Peanut. You never did. Just sleep."

Changes his mind, comes back to the bunk and leans down to give her a kiss. On the cheek. And he shouldn't, he ought to just get out. But he lingers there while she lies stiff as a plank. His nose poking at her cheekbone. He can't help the hand that reaches for her hair. Brushes it back brusquely. Repeatedly, like petting a cat, careful not to touch the swelling on her forehead. His heart just chockfull of love for her.

"One day soon, you've gotta' forgive yourself..."

The stillness around them, his words unexpected, even for him. He's hot, can smell his own sweat. The hint of sourness on her too. But her cheek feels cool beneath his nose. She doesn't touch him back. Just lies there under her sheet, letting him caress her hair.

The strands wavy and a little coarse between his fingers, as if she's washed her hair in salt water. Rubs her hairline with the heel of his hand, stroking his nose against her face. It'd be so easy to kiss her now. To have her curl up next to him, her back against his chest, her buttocks against his thighs. He'd hold her as long as she'd let him. Mine. Would place his palms flat over her stomach. Caress her skin and mold his hands over the fleshy little round belly. Hugging both of them at the same time. Doesn't even know what he wants, but his hands seem to know. Yearning to hold on to her, like this. Mine. Both of them, the clump of cells too. Only she's not ready to give it up yet.

"Seriously Freckles, you need to move the hell on…" With me, he wants to add but he can't. It has to come from her. She has to find the courage. Take the jump. He can't push her. And it's almost impossible not too. He's a man who fights for what he wants, shoves and demands. Only with her, it's no use.

Who is he to lecture her on leaving the past behind anyway? The stupid letter, he'd carried along all those years. Would probably still be carrying it if things had been different. Braces himself and gets up. No more 'good nights'. Knows they are at a crossroad. Something's got to give.

Chose me.

…

He's too wired, can't even think of going to bed. Cleans the kitchen properly, soap and all, some funky crap that you can spray on – Mr. Muscle or something like that. Scrubs the cabinets down, top to bottom, eliminating all traces of vomit, making it smell like a freaking garden. Hopes Ni Luh won't notice and get her panties in a bundle about it. He takes his time. Aware that he ought to sleep but he feels like he's on speed, his heart beating quickly, nervously. His brain fizzling, crackling. Trying to work his mind around it all. Needs a fucking plan. A foolproof plan.

Finally celebrates the sparkling clean kitchen and a job well done with a cool beer, sitting perched on the counter breathing in the lemon smell when Captain Maf'ud comes sneaking in. Can't be a minute past four o'clock. Still dark outside. People ought to be tucked up in bed at this ungodly hour.

"Hey Cappie, you want a beer?" Dangles it by its neck.

"No." Rod up his ass as usual.

"Can't sleep either huh? Must be the age old pal."

"I sleep fine. It's Subuh , morning prayer."

"Ah, a devotee. So maybe some coffee buddy?" He jumps off the counter, reaching for the kettle.

"I make myself." Captain tries to pass him, grabbing at the kettle. Sawyer sweeps it up and away. Childish, but immensely satisfying.

"Nah, see Captain. I need you to get this show on the road. We're setting sail. I wanna' get to Bali before lunch."

He fills the kettle with water while Captain Maf'ud just stands there, arms straight at his sides as if he's a soldier in front of an officer.

"In a hurry Tuan?"

"Yep. You've got it, get that damn anchor up and get your starched ass up on the bridge. Get us on the road alright, I'll make your goddamn coffee."

"As Tuan wish."

Sawyer brings a mug up to the captain before he collects the satellite phone. Henry sounds rough when he answers. A wild night out on town perhaps. Or the fact that it's barely five thirty.

"Wow, it's really early dude… Everything alright?"

"No buddy. It ain't alright at all. I need your help."

"Sure... shoot."

"This guy, we need to do some damage control."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Fill you in on the details later, but right now I need another service. Can you get your lazy ass out of bed and track down a woman doctor."

"You want a woman doctor?" Henry sounds wide awake at this.

"Nah, I mean, one of those doctors, you know, that looks at women bits, babies and crap. Someone we can trust."

"Oh dude. You knocked her up didn't you! Hugo was afraid this would happen." Hugo huh? Would have reckoned Jack for the worrying kind. Feels like a wayward teen having let down the chastity club. Fuck. It ought not be such a big damn deal. They're both adults for Pete's sake. Hell, that's what grown-ups do. Make fucking babies.

"Oh was he now? Well that ain't any of your concern buddy. Just get me the best goddamn doctor you can find. One that knows a thing or two about babies and women and… losing babies."

"You mean… losing, what? She wants an abortion?"

How would he know? It's not like she talks to him about it. But it's humiliating to let it on. How separate they are, how they no more a couple than he and Henry are right now.

"No you dimwit , she wants not to lose it. Look, just do it, track someone down. Someone who speaks English. We'll dock in Sanur by lunch, at the pier south of the Emporium. You arrange with the visit. Make it late, like nine-ish and tell him to bring all the stuff he can think of, tests, equipment, vitamins and crap... pay him a fortune. We just need it done."

"Sure. Alright."

"And hey, did you hear from them? Any news."

"No news. Sorry James."

"Figured."

"And James, I wouldn't let her get off the boat here… It's not safe. She was in the news quite a bit, back then."

…

He bends over her. She's barely awake, just enough to appreciate the smell of clean man when he presses his lips against her cheek, his hair brushing by her skin.

"Rise and shine Honey bug. You awake?"

Forcing her eyes open. So tired. Her head pounding as if she has a hell of a hangover. Wants to hook her hands around his neck, draw him down to her. On her. In her. So many nights she's made the distance between his and her cabin, two doors down. One hand on the cool metal handle before turning around. And now, it could be so easy. He's here.

"Yeah, sort of…" Last night comes back to her, embarrassing. The loss of control, the blur when it slipped through her fingers. Moments like that when she sees Wayne's face looking straight back at her. Feels his blood coursing through her veins.

"We're on our way to Bali Freckles... Already pulled up anchor." A gust of toothpaste when he opens his mouth. Makes her want to kiss him raw. Kiss it away. Wants the taste of tobacco and firestorm. Wants to forget where they are, what has happened. Wants to ignore all that is screwed-up and muddled. He is here.

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking... Last night…" What's this? Is he leaving?

"What..? What are you talking about?"

"You've gotta' face up to this shit." A hushed tone, the type to be used for uncomfortable truths. He is. He's leaving her. Something has changed, transformed, the undercurrent changing its direction. Nothing obvious, just a sense. Like a picture hung slightly askew, just enough so that you notice if you stand straight ahead of it.

"What shit… what are you saying?"

Would never have worked out. Not boyfriend material. He doesn't need her now, she reminds herself. None of that has changed and she still is what she is. You fill a garbage bin with garbage – you don't put something precious there. And definitely not your heart.

But he had.

Unexpectedly, like a curve ball. Something absurdly wrong turned right. Only now, she doesn't know up from down.

"Later when we dock in Bali… " Oh. This is goodbye of she's ever heard one. He sweeps the back of his fingers upwards along her neck, her throat, like a lover would, startling her. A spur of the moment kind of thing. A badly planned caress. Yanking his hand back when he realizes what he's doing.

"You stay put okay? You stay on this damn boat." Lifts his chin up, away. Looking around her cabin as if he's never been there before. "And you ain't gonna' go all wacko', smash your head against a rock or go AWOL as soon as we hit dry land for that sake. That understood?"

"I'm not an idiot James."

Rolls his eyes, underlining the fact that is exactly how he thinks of her. She takes in the sight of his arms, one on each side of her, the way muscles and skin and bone can make beauty like this. Wants to run her fingers up and down them. Wishes she weren't such a massive coward. Look at me, she thinks and perhaps he can hear it, feel it because he does. Unblinkingly nailing her down. A nerve spasm in his cheek, a nervous kink that she wants to smoothen out. Thinks that he might kiss her. Waits for it. Tries to transfer that thought too. Come. Come. But he's turned the radar off.

"Glad we're clear about that. And Freckles… you'll have a gentleman caller tonight. Just do me this last favor and treat him nice alright? No punching him in the nose or biting ears off. Let him do his thing and don't bitch about it. It's all for the best."

What? What? What's for the best? Opens her mouth to say something, steal back an ounce of dignity when he shoots up and she's left watching the door slamming shut behind him. Left sitting on the edge of her cot shouting at the closed cabin door:

"What gentleman caller?"

…

He walks away. Puts distance between her cabin door and himself. The slippery notion of him, her and a kid, sliding around, impossible to get a grip on. The only thing for sure; it changes everything. Takes what is complicated between them and multiplies it by a hundred.

He's startled by someone jogging up behind him. The soft sound of sneakers against the deck.

"Up bright and early Herb?" Keeps walking. Pieter catches up to him, hair wet from a morning shower. Shit eating grin in place, all set.

"So how come we're already moving? I thought we were leaving later."

"Have a schedule to keep." Get out of my fucking way.

"Hey, you look pooped Boss. She keep you up all night?" Cocks his head backwards. Must have seen him come out of her cabin.

"That's right asswipe. Now just get to it. What do you want? How much?" Walks on, takes the steps in two. Pieter huffing and puffing to keep up. Not in such prime condition after all. Guess with the weed and the dinkies that would do a man in.

"We'll talk about that later. I'll give you a number and you can prepare it."

Grips the railing of the stairs, hoisting himself up the last stretch. The sky is a sad gray today, wind picking up. And he feels tired. Tired and old. Can't even do this, can't even keep the scumbags away from her. Turns to look at the persistent creep, smiles when he sees the thin blonde hair lifting in the breeze, revealing the retiring hairline.

"I'll get your fucking money once we're in Bali and then you'll get the hell off my ship."

They stop there, just outside the main salon. Spots Ni Luh setting up breakfast inside, she gives him a little wave and a smile.

"Oh, your ship is it?" That quick lick of his front teeth, showing the underside of his tongue slug-like." Hey, that doesn't sound right. And besides I'm planning on staying right here man."

"Yeah? That what you think?' He wants something else. He leans his forearms against the railing, turning his back against the salon and Ni Luh's curious brown eyes. As if she can read lips. Pieter sidling up next to him. A sense of continuation, from last night.

"See, 'cause you are going to arrange something for me."

"What, just spit it out for fuck's sake."

And fuck! How little it takes to make it all come apart. Unraveling, a house of cards blown to pieces, and he understands now, what she'd meant. She'll always be on the run. This is what it's like. She can never relax, never let her guard down – and in effect; neither can he. That's what she'd been trying to tell him. This.

"Her." His head inclined in the vague direction of the cabins beneath.

"What do you mean 'her' ? What the fuck does that mean? You want me to put in a good word for you with the Danes, that what you want you little sociopath?"

"No, her. I want a date with her , bro'. Your little sexy criminal down there."

His skin as if doused in ice water. Makes him shiver and he tries to control it, tries not to let on how much it affects him. He's stuck trying to negotiate with a psychopath. It's no joke. The danger real. If he'd had a gun he'd have cocked it about now. Pressed the barrel against the temple of him.

"Yeah and you can go and fuck yourself."

"Nah, I don't think so bro'. Look, it's simple, I want the money – and – a little romantic tête-à-tête with her. Or I might just wander off and end up in bad company. And I do like to talk…"

"She's pregnant you sick fucker!"

"Oh really? That's sweet man. Yours?"

"Ain't gonna' happen sleaze bag! Look, I'll get your fucking money and…"

"Nah. I want what I want. But I'm not unreasonable, I might settle for a blowjob... Then again, always wanted to get laid by a real life criminal. And also... you better throw in some weed into the deal. I'm running low."

"We ain't got a deal, you little weasel. She blows your disease ridden little shrimp and then you'll leave her alone? I ain't buying it." And he thinks perhaps it's a testament to how he has grown up, matured. That he doesn't just maim the pervert on the spot. But it's hard. Impossibly hard. Holding it together for the greater good. For the long-term kill.

"Yes, well there you've got it. Simple as that; money, a night of passion with little Cuz, the recreational goodies and we've got ourselves a deal man."

A heroic effort. Not letting his fist shoot off. Clenched against his side in a cramp.

"It'll have to wait. The boss wants to see you," he presses out between teeth.

"What boss?"

"Yeah, you're really something. Your fucking boss; the big Kahuna, Henry. Wants to see you for some unimaginable reason."

"Maybe a promotion? You put in a good word for me huh, Herb?"

"Hardly."

"But you will. You'll tell Henry what a gem I am, and that I deserve a decently padded pay check. And I wanna' be in charge. I wanna' be the boss on this fucking ship."

"Take it up with Henry. Ain't got nothing to do with me." Greedy bastard, eyes glittering, revelling in the sudden power. Can interest him in a nice deep sea grave perhaps? A block of cement around his sick feet.

"Think it does. And the weed… get me some fine Acehnese Ganja, none of that cheap tourist shite."

He leans his head sideways against Sawyer's. Can smell some cheap-ass cologne on him. He'll get weed alright. Will buy him a truckload so that he can smoke himself to death.

"So tell Ethel to expect me tonight bro. And she might wanna' prune a bit. I don't like hairy bitches." Sucking on his teeth. Yeah, damn it. Sawyer tries to refrain from hyperventilating. No wonder the asshole wears fakes. Someone must have beaten the entire set out of that foul mouth a long time ago.

Keep it together. Just a little longer. This close to strangling the evil freak. His hands in a white-knuckled clutch around the railing.

"So I wonder what it's like to fuck a pregnant chick, hey? Heard they get really wild man…" Pieter throws over his shoulder. Strutting off, looking indestructible, floating high on his newfound power.

Watches the back of him. And it takes all he's got not to hurdle himself on the bastard. Wouldn't be conducive to his plan. In fact, it might ruin everything. But it's sour. His mouth like it's been rinsed in vinegar.

A knock on his shoulder. Lotte standing there when he turns around.

"What was that about Herb? Is Ethel preggers?"

Great. Just what he needs. A busty blonde Dane butting into his business.

"Eavesdropping ain't nice Sweetheart." Fakes a smile, ain't her fault he's being fucked with by some pothead.

She's wearing a t-shirt today. Probably the first time he's seen her in anything else than those bikini tops. As far as he can tell she isn't wearing anything underneath though. Picks a smoke from his pack. Lights it up but changes his mind and flicks it over the railing.

"Who's the daddy?" She is a persistent one. Should have been more careful. Doesn't have the energy to deal with a boat full of imbeciles as well.

"Some useless asshole she's better off without. What's it to you Honey?"

"And you're setting her up with Pieter… why?"

Hooks his arm through hers, pretending to be cool as a cucumber.

"I'm a romantic Darling. Come on, let's get some bacon."

…

He eats breakfast with the guests; Kate is predictably nowhere to be seen. It's as well; he's in no shape to be around her.

Maybe it's the outrageous notion of him telling her to move on. Maybe it's his own guilt. Maybe it's Pieter and his hissing threats in his ear. What's for certain is that something crawls its way out of the darkness. A muddle of abstract thoughts, a stew of crap bubbling up. All the things he's done in his life. The innocent man he shot point blank at a shrimp stand. The women he cheated, crushed, stole from. Lives he ruined, many of them. That little girl. Had betrayed her like Judas. Had denied the evidence presented. Turned away from the obvious truth, spelled out in facial lines and dimples. And Kate. How he's failed her too. Repeatedly. Is failing her right now.

He doesn't believe in shit like Karma, or maybe that's exactly what he does. But this morning, a crooked kind of logic sneaks inside and kicks down all resistance. Needs to move on too. Needs to write a big fat check to the entire fucking cosmos. He's got a hell of a debt on his shoulders.

Helps Ni Luh clear up after those rich slobs. Stacking dirty dishes and picking up coffee cups on a tray.

"Great believer in Karma Ni Luh?"

She looks up from what she's doing. Wrapping the cheeses and the cold cuts in cling wrap.

"Yes."

"How so?"

"I believe you can weigh up something bad by doing something good."

No hesitation, as if this is a perfectly normal question to ask someone over the breakfast buffet.

"I ain't so sure Lulu. Who keeps tabs on it all then you reckon? God? Your accountant?"

She bustles by him. A whiff of freshly baked bread from her, as if she's a walking, talking oven. 'Mama', he thinks and he doesn't even know where that fucked-up fragment of a thought comes from. The baking, corn bread. She hadn't had to do those things. Had enough money to employ help, still. He remembers sitting perched on the kitchen counter, watching her hands working the dough. White flecks, flour dusting her skin up to her elbows. Her voice, singing – a tune irreversibly lost in the past. Hates how he can't remember. Can't quite visualize her face or her voice. The only thing he knows, how her hand would feel on his face. How he would feel, protected. Loved. Like something precious. Hers.

"You're taking care of your cousin, that's a start. That's something good."

Tired. He's so fucking tired. Pieter, Kate, last night. Wants to lay his head down on Ni Luh's plump lap and sleep. Have someone take care of him for a change.

"Yeah… hell, I don't know. It's wearing me down to the ground," he says, because it does. "That make me an asshole?"

She shrugs; she must have heard worse things. If she only knew what sort of a shit he is. Someone who can aim a gun at another person's head. Someone who can grind his knuckles into mincemeat on another man's face. Someone who can maul down woman after woman, no looking back. No regrets. Though that's not true. He's got plenty.

"No. It makes you human."

"I'm at a dead end Lulu-girl. What the heck does Karma say about that huh ?"

She looks up at him. The round cinnamon brown cheeks and the finely drawn eyebrows. She has a nose that is so small it looks like it's been stolen from a child, but the eyes, beautiful, frighteningly sharp. Looking into him as if he's a microscope and she a scientist about to make a breakthrough discovery.

"She's… Is she pregnant?"

Closes his eyes. Squeezes them shut for an instant, and it doesn't make it any easier. The worst thing that could have happened. He doesn't think she is strong enough. Isn't sure he is either. He can't imagine it, can't see it. Feels a tragedy creeping up on them, hoisting itself forward, closer and closer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"What can I do for you Herbert?"

He exhales. He needs another set of hands for his plan to work. Maybe he can trust her. He doesn't know yet, but right now he hasn't got plenty to pick from and maybe she isn't the worst choice. Something about her, standing there, her hands on her hips like Wonder Woman, ready to take charge. And he could need someone like that. Someone who seems to have both feet on the ground, who knows what the heck she's doing, because he sure as hell doesn't. Uses the old crinkled smile, dimpled charm, hoping she'll fall for it, all the while suspecting that she's probably too smart, too jaded to buy into it.

"I need a favor. And you're my go-to girl Lulu."

He can do fuck all for Kate, doesn't even know where to begin. But he can try to keep her safe, keep the other bad wolves at bay. That he can do. Old dog that he is.

…

They're docked in Sanur. Just a stroll down from the Emporium. The weather is lousy. Hard rain, hitting the ship. The sky like lead, heavy and low, pressing down on them, giving her a headache. They have lunch in the main saloon. She sits facing the pier, the beach-walk beyond and a nostalgia grips her, so strong she feels like crying in her tom yam soup. They're all there, chatting animatedly. The Muellers trying to discuss the latest Nobel price literature nominee with a pair of uptight Danish sisters.

"We're not Swedish," Britt snaps. Lotte doesn't even bother getting involved, slurps her soup like a sulky toddler. Turns towards Kate who has the misfortune to sit on her side of the long table.

"Where is Herb?" Demanding, as if Kate has hidden away a favorite toy.

Kate shrugs. God knows, off doing something useful like drinking beer under the tarp of his favorite beach bar perhaps. Has the nerve to tell her to stay on the boat, leaving her in charge of this circus. Not hungry. The soup too spicy, the company too annoying. Pieter is missing as well, Mario sitting quietly on his end of the table, useless in this context. He does nothing to help her keep the guests happy.

So, Sawyer and Pieter. She can picture the two of them. Drinking and trying to out-cool one another.

"Hey, I was talking!" Shaken from her thoughts by Lotte elbowing her in the ribs. Rude. Little rich girl, used to the attention,

"Sorry, you were saying…?"

"You okay with 'that'?" Nods towards her middle, somewhat vague.

"You mean the soup?" Wipes her mouth with her napkin. Wants to go and lie down. The wind is strong today, rain whipping against the salon windows. The waves making her nauseous. "It's a bit spicy."

"Oh yeah… right. I guess, in your condition ."

"What condition?"

Leans in closer, as if they are friends sharing a secret. A hand shielding her mouth.

"You know. The 'baby' ."

"What baby?"

"Oh drop it, I know everything. So the father…? He's not around huh?"

"What father?"

"Well Herbie said… I heard him talk about it, earlier."

"What did Herbert say now?" He talked. To her about it, to Barbie. Something so deeply private, something so off limits and he drags it all out in the open. On display for the whole world as if it were juicy gossip and not the end of the world. As if it were all on her shoulders, no skin off his nose.

"Said, you're better off without him."

"It's starting to look like that."

"But you're getting right back on that horse huh?"

"What horse?" It's getting ridiculous. Like speaking in riddles, Alice in Wonderland and the Mad Hatter, this is what it must feel like.

"Well, I heard Herb arranging a date for you, with Pieter tonight. You like him?"

Gentleman caller? Pieter? Wants to throw up now. Is this Sawyer losing his cool. Running from it all.

"Yeah sure." What's he playing at? Trying to push her together with somebody else.

"Be careful though. It didn't sound… well, it didn't sound… nice."

"What didn't sound nice?"

"Well… Pieter said he wanted to.. You know; do it with a pregnant chick. Just wanted you to know… Some guys are into weird stuff."

"Aren't they just?" He'd said that. To Sawyer. And he was left standing. Left alive. Didn't protect her, didn't throw Pieter over board. It doesn't make sense. It turns her whole world upside down. He did nothing. "And you overheard this… when?"

"This morning."

"And Herb seemed alright with it?" Didn't beat Pieter into a pulp?

"Yeah sure. Like usual, cool. And then we had breakfast together." A little smug giggle. Yeah that's right. She can have him! Asshole. "Hey, what happened to your face?"

"Walked into a door," she mutters. Fuck him. Better off without him indeed. He must have freaked, must have decided to cut her off. Pimping her out and spreading her secret to the entire ship. Wants to cry, but wants to kill him more.

She'd trusted him, always.

This doesn't make any sense at all. Except if he's scared out of his mind about, well about last night. She is too. And now, it seems, now she's alone with it.

Nothing new about that.

…

She's hiding out. Can't sit through another dinner with them all. Drops a half-assed excuse, saying she's not feeling well, which isn't a long stretch in any case. Has a bucket near her bed all of the time lately. A green plastic monster she fears and needs at the same time. Familiar like an old enemy. The times when she finds her face hovering over it, staring down at its pea green bottom. Wishing it away, wishing it all away - it doesn't help. That green bucket. More real than anything else.

Her jeans that don't button up anymore, she covers the little gap with a large t-shirt. Contrary to the evidence, she isn't a complete imbecile. Knows what she knows. But it's one thing to watch how her own body changes; it's another to dare define what it means. Doesn't.

Can't. And if she doesn't think the words, it isn't true. It isn't happening. And she reasons that she can't be insane, because if she were, she wouldn't be aware of it in the first place.

A timid knock on the door. Just from the careful tok-tok-tok she knows, it isn't him.

"Ni Luh? You're not… not having dinner with the others?"

"Just checking on you. Are you okay? The swelling seems to be going down."

"Yeah." She forces herself to smile, touching her forehead. That stupid story of walking into a door. Doesn't think anyone buys it but it doesn't matter much. It wears her out, pretending. Can feel how the fakeness almost makes her muscles cramp." Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, is all. How are the guests?"

"Behaving… You want some company?"

No. Absolutely not! Wants to sneak down the stern, get the dinghy out in the water. Wants to escape, run, far from here. That's all she wants. And where is he? Why is he not back yet? The admonition not to get off the ship. Not just caution. Something not right about it all.

"It's okay really Ni Luh. I'm fine."

And Ni Luh doesn't give a hoot whether she's welcome or not. The kind of person who owns a room. Her confidence, unquestionable, not something she even reflects upon. Kate can tell. Sits down on the bed next to her. Moves the bucket away slightly by pushing it with her sandal-clad foot. A surprisingly dainty little foot emerging from the sturdy ankles. As if stolen from another body, an elegant little dancer who now walks on stout, duck-like feet.

"You seem lonely." It's so simple, and it makes her skin crawl. Doesn't want to share. Doesn't want anyone peaking in behind the wall. Wants to set the guard dogs on her but Ni Luh is so kind, so sweet, she just doesn't have the heart to be snappy with her.

"No, really. I'm fine alone."

"No I meant, you seem lonely, really lonely. All of the time."

That one bores into her like a poisonous arrow, works its way deep into her core. That's who she is. Lonely. Always a little off, somewhat out of kilter. Always alone. Isolated by who she is. Nothing she can do about it. Can surround herself with a hundred people, she'll always feel separated, as if not entirely part of them. A gene missing, an instruction she did not receive.

"You like your cousin, don't you?"

"What? Yeah of course I like him." What's not to like? Lying, conning, conniving son of a bitch. Will steal your heart like that with his soft nimble fingers, his pecan toffee pie voice and the lips. Lethal, deft and precise like a rattlesnake's strike.

"No I mean, you really like him. I can't help noticing. You look so lonely, when you're watching him."

Too fast, too intimate. Wants the woman out of her cabin. Now. Doesn't like the way she sees right through her. Doesn't like the fact that she's spent a second thinking of her, observing her. And her pathetic longing for him.

"It's not like that."

"We're the same Ethel… you and me." Highly doubts that. Unless she has blown up a man, stolen someone else's baby and accidentally killed her first love. Her English freaks her out. Perfect, precise and far too advanced to come from a person who has never lived abroad. Must be a clever woman, has never reflected upon this before. But it's bizarre, her accent; a hint of old Britain. The grammar nearly faultless.

"How come your English is so good Ni Luh?" Deflecting, sparring, her own mode of attack.

"British man. Took me in after I left my village. After I was thrown out."

"Oh, you worked for him?" Senses a tragedy. Thrown out. But the way she says it. Her face calm and her chin held high. Proud, like nothing can touch her. Kate finds herself envying her intensely. She wants some of that, whatever it is.

"Yes you can say that. It was an exchange. Young girl for food and a home. A little cooking a little affection for English lessons. Yes I guess it was a sort of work arrangement."

She hadn't asked for that much information. Cheeks heating up in shame on this stranger's behalf. 'We're more alike than you think.' How can she know? Distressing to think that she might give it away so easily. Her secret. Like a bad odour in the room that only the most astute pick up on.

"He was old. But kind, in his own way. Anyway… no man in my village would have married me."

"Why?"

"Spoiled. They all knew. Ruined."

"Oh..." Knows everything about being ruined. Doesn't want to hear more. Enough. Needs this like she needs a big pus-filled abscess.

"Developed too quickly, my own fault, attracted the wrong kind of attention. Not someone you marry." But there is something odd about this woman that makes her doubt her story. She doesn't look right. Her eyes, not downcast. "No one would have wanted me for daughter in law."

The nausea when she remembers all those boys, all of those men. How she'd followed them, letting them lead her, take her. Some room, some hotel, the backseat of someone's car. She had let them, because she had had this absurd notion that perhaps there was some kind of balance to be found. Someone who could fill her up again. Ni Luh's large padded hands gripping her knee, patting it in a way that makes her want to cry. She pushes herself up from the cot with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it then. But I'm here… if you need something. Nobody should be that lonely."

Yeah, yeah. Not likely.

"Thanks Ni Luh. But I'm alright." Not lonely. It's normal. Everyone is alone, it's a myth that someone can take that away and she sure doesn't believe in it.

"Oh and ginger…" she says in the doorway. She says it as if it's her name. Ginger.

"What?"

"Ginger. It helps… you know against…" Makes a rather rude sign, two fingers against her open mouth. As if she's making herself sick. "I'll get you some. It'll soon pass anyway."

Doesn't answer. Wants to hurl something against the door. Won't think about it. Won't. Doesn't want to connect, doesn't need sympathy. And right now, the only person who could make her feel a little less alone, a tiny bit less isolated, he simply isn't here.

Ni Luh returns ten minutes later, softly edging the door open. Without knocking this time. Sets down a steaming hot glass of amber tinted liquid, a slice of lime floating in it. The fragrance spreading hotly through the cabin. Lime and ginger. Leaves again without a word, just a soft you-and-me sort of smile. Doesn't need it. Doesn't need her compassion. Doesn't need this sisterhood of soiled childhoods. But the tea, the spicy sharpness of the ginger. It burns her throat but it takes the edge of the nausea a little. Just a little.

She lies there on the bed. Eyes closed. Knows she'll have to open them soon. Has to look this problem in the eyes, stare it down just like with Ni Luh, needs to own it. Deal with it.

But not yet. Not just yet.

Hears the door opening again. Crap, what is it with people tonight? Can't leave her in peace for just one lousy evening? Will get up and lock the door. Later, when she has the energy.

"Ethel…"

Pieter. Smiling, looking almost angelic the way the over light hits him. That little boy's haircut. Straight blond hair, parted carelessly in the middle. A plastic bag in his hand, held out like an offering.

"Herb told you I was coming, right?"

Gentleman caller, my ass, she thinks. Gets up from the cot, too vulnerable lying there. Accidentally knocking over the empty glass. It doesn't break, just rolls across the floor, almost all the way to his feet.

"What do you want Pieter?" She gets up standing, wants to get closer to the cabin door. Doesn't like this. The intrusion.

"Thought you might want some food. Since you didn't come up for dinner." Dangles the plastic bag in front of him. Raised eyebrows in a way he probably thinks looks cute.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

He walks by her. Sets the bag down on the floor and sits on her cot.

"What do you want?" Doesn't like the way he just sits there, smiling as if he's in on a secret and she isn't.

"I take it Herb didn't fill you in on our little arrangement?" Grins at her looking so deliberately innocent, her inner alarm goes off somewhere deep within. It's not alright. This.

"What arrangement?" she asks quietly.

"You know, you and me… here."

You and me? Going to kill Sawyer when she sees him. Trying to make her move on, like this? Setting her up with some random guy. Is he insane?

"No he didn't. Maybe I should go find him so he can give me all the details of your 'little arrangement'. Where is he?"

"No idea. Sent me back to the boat. Said he has some things to clear up. So Ethel, looks like it's just me and you."

"Wonderful."

The nerve of him. He lies down on her bed, shoes still on, bringing up a little metal box that he places carefully on his stomach. Wearing a brown shirt, carelessly buttoned, showing off half his chest. And it's one thing for Sawyer to walk around like that, sleazy as hell on this guy. Thinks he is really something. He's just a boy, she tries to assure herself. Just a kid trying to get lucky. Though he's probably her age, at least. The haircut makes it hard to tell.

"Wanna' smoke? Might take the edge off your nerves."

Shakes her head. What's wrong with him? Pieter shrugging, a little nervous laughter, fake for sure.

"No, no right. Of course. Can't because of the little critter."

"You gonna' leave or do I have to kick you out buddy?"

"I'll leave. As soon as I get what I want. A little loving, shouldn't be so hard. Herb tells me you're a hot one."

Oh, does he now? A little nagging doubt at the back of her mind. He wouldn't. Locker room talk. Is he like that? But the way things have been lately. Last night. He hadn't stayed with her, this morning, distant. It doesn't matter now anyway, only needs this scumbag out of here.

"Not in this life. Get the hell out!" Tries to sound tough. Isn't scared. Yet.

She fumbles behind her back for the handle, pressing it down and it's stuck. Fingers trawling the lock. Keys gone. Stretches a hand out, towards him, demanding. Tries to prevent it from shaking.

"Give me the keys."

"Soon as you fulfill your end of the bargain. Come here. It's not a big deal, just a little mouth and we're set. You've got a pretty mouth…"

"That's the deal you made with Sa… with Herb? A blowjob. For what? What does he get?" Feels sick now. Not that she hasn't done a whole lot of disgusting things to get what she wants. She has and she is woman enough to admit to it. Slept with that creep, Jason, for months just to get him to help her with the bank job. But this – not being in control - not her deal. As if she's a morsel to be dished out.

"Yeah, why don't you ask him Ethel? Since you are so close and all." Twirls a joint around between his fingers. "Ha, he didn't even tell you did he?"

Conversation over. He can't hurt her. She'll take him down. Will crush him.

Can only hurt you if you love them. Wayne. Had loved him, worshipped him in the beginning. Like having their own little exclusive club. He'd been funny, he'd talked to her like a grown-up. Their own private jokes. Him and her against her mother. And then somewhere along the line, it had changed. The private jokes had become; schh. It's between you and me. You trust me right? My special girl. She'd walked right into that one. Hadn't even realized she was trapped at first. Like a stupid dull animal. Enjoying the way he took care of her, being his pet. Feeling special. Not understanding until much later that she was stuck. Unable to move backwards unable to get away.

But this. He's just a snooty asshole, thinks he can bullshit his way around. She'll call his bluff. He's not as tough as he's making out.

"Okay buddy. You want this, you gonna' have to take it." Almost adds; make my day. Actually looking forward to the physical confrontation. The taking charge. She's no victim. He's got no idea who he's messing with.

"Sure. That's the way you wanna' play it." He's up from the bed and all of the sudden the cabin seems smaller, he seems larger and she doesn't seem to have anything. "Hey, what happened to your face? Herb smack you around like the little bitch you are?"

Dancing around like two boxers in a ring. Doesn't feel so confident now. Her fear, a faithful old friend. The possessive octopus, slippery and cold – hugging her hard like a desperate lover, trying to sneak a tentacle around her throat.

Looks around, her hair whipping against her face. And he follows her every move, sure of himself. He's got all the power, she none. A weapon, anything. Should have never gotten this comfortable. The knife she'd used to keep under her pillow back at the house in Sanur. Could really need it now. She creeps backwards, edging her way close to the wall, and they circle each other like two animals in a cage. Has her eyes on his balls. She'll take him out, make so that he can never get it up again. He doesn't know who he's playing with. Waiting for him to make a move so that she can take him down. Crush that ugly nose of his, gorge out his eyes.

A knock on the door that has them both paralyzed.

"Sorry, it's me again." The muffled sound of her voice, has her trying to swim up to the surface, so far down. Survival and defense all that matters.

"It's okay Ni Luh." Though it isn't, not at all. Nods to Pieter, mouthing; the key, the damned key. "What is it?"

"The doctor is here. Can he bring in his equipment? He needs to set it up for the examination."

Turns her head so fast she makes herself dizzy. Doctor. No.

"What doctor?"

"I don't know… Mr. Herbert sent for him. Could you please open."

The handle being pulled down. Pieter fishes the key up form his pocket and hands it to her. Smug now, he finds himself quickly.

"Later then…" he whispers. Yeah right. He's getting off this ship tomorrow if she has to throw him over board. Unlocks the door and he slinks out, not even acknowledging Ni Luh there.

"Mr. Pieter? You two friends?"

"I didn't exactly invite him."

"You be careful alright. I don't like that man."

And she sits there on her cot. Like a sheep on the way to the slaughter house, watching as it's all set up, cables connected, the screen set down on her night shelf, precariously perched on it's edge. Hopes it will fall and shatter against the hardwood floor. Hates him. For making her do this. Alone.

The doctor is dainty and trim. Doctor Yunus. Speaks English in a funny high-spirited way. Slightly hyper and too chipper for her taste. Actually would prefer to fight it out with Pieter than do this.

"So Mrs. James…" As if he's about to offer her a ride in a hot-air balloon.

"Miss."

"Miss James, other losses, yes?"

"Yes." She keeps her eyes on her lap and holds up her fingers. Doesn't want to hear the numbers out loud. So and so many weeks, so and so many days, so and so many holes torn up in her. It's just numbers. Can't hurt her. Pretends it's not about her. Like a stupid film sequence. Some silly girl that has gotten herself in trouble. The shame of it. A body that doesn't work, a sort of justice for all of the bad things she's done. Doesn't deserve a kid. It's pretty straightforward.

"And how far along do you think you are Ms. James? How many weeks?"

She shrugs, because she can't put up enough fingers for that count, would have to use her toes. And she doesn't want to think of it, compare with the others she's lost. Numbers. They shred her, slice her up. But as bad as the numbers are, it's the machine she fears the most. Worse than the green bucket. An old enemy, they are intimately acquainted. Sorry, no heartbeat. Maybe it was for the best.

The gooey jelly stuff squirted on her belly. Cold. Like Kryptonite. The strength, the little she has, seeping out of her. Turns her face towards the wall. Doesn't want to see it. It can't hurt you if you don't' let it. Sorry, no heartbeat. Doesn't matter. She never let herself hope in the first place. Never let herself feel. Doesn't matter. It doesn't exist.

"There we are." Oh damn him for the chirpy attitude. Hates him then, though she doesn't even know him and none of this is his fault. The heartbeat, you idiot! Say it now, and be done with it. No heartbeat. No heartbeat. So sorry Miss, nothing we can do. Just do it. She's been through it all before.

Then the sound is turned on; a steady pulsating rhythm, chuff-chuff-chuff flooding the cabin and she refuses to let it in because she knows it has the power to shatter her. Doesn't turn her head to look either. Can't stand seeing it. But it's there. For now.

A piece of him. Something good. Life.

The doctor takes her blood, several vials for lab-work. And she doesn't flinch. It's nothing, the physical. Nothing. Can breathe now, for a little while. Maybe not tomorrow, but right now. It's alive.

"I don't know for sure yet," the doctor says collecting his things, putting them down in his bag again. "But before we get the answers we'll start you on some medication."

She shrugs. Aware that she must seem rude but she can't take it in. The word medicine, as if there is a hope in hell that this might end well. She isn't used to good news. Has never had an ultrasound and walked away from it with something alive inside of her. It's a first and she doesn't know how to deal. Misses him, he'd had said something stupid, and why isn't he here? Hates him for putting her through this, alone. As if this is her little problem, has nothing to do with him. The unfairness of it all. It shouldn't surprise her, she isn't someone who ever thought the universe fair and just. Still. It's infuriating. An easier emotion than hope.

He has a bunch of little bottles in an icebox, the kind you might use for picnics. Gives her a few packs of syringes and shows her how to use them.

"It's blood thinners, heparin. Twice a day, will keep the placenta from clotting if that's your problem. If it isn't we'll stop once you have your results. But considering the late losses… "

Doesn't listen to the rest. Doesn't want to hear any of it. He gives her a few strips of little pills writes her a prescription too for a refill. Aspirin, kiddy sized. Ought to do something with the blood too. She's hardly listening. Hope, he's doling it out together with the meds he stacks on her shelf.

"Keep the heparin in the fridge, and make sure you don't forget. Every twelve hours. You understand Ms. James?"

"Yes." Perfectly. Shot; heartbeat, no shot; dead baby, simple as that. Crystal clear.

Hope. No, you're not welcome here. She doesn't want it. Kicks it away, but it has a tendency of winding itself back in. Comes creeping right back with its puppy eyes and soft downy fur. Let me in. It'll be okay this time.

"But it's a little late for this sort of therapy. You should have been on meds from the start. No guarantees at this stage…" Just like that, hope snatched back, chain around its neck yanked back viciously. Lock it into the doghouse. She wants nothing to do with it. Hope and her. They don't get along, never did.

"Okay," she says though nothing is. Where is he? He ought to be here. Bastard, making her go through this alone. He sets it up and flies the coop. Probably thinks he has pulled his straw to the stack now. Done his bit.

"You just have to pray Miss, trust in God..."

Wants to throw something heavy at him. Even though he is quite alright, the kind she could deal with, except for this last line. Pray. Bullshit. When has that ever helped anyone? Ever.

And Kate's God is a particularly fickle god.

He's capricious and unreliable and most of all; he plays rough when you're down. Little sharp kicks in the underbelly when you're at your weakest.

She hasn't prayed since she was eleven, hiding under her double blankets trying to ignore the steady thuds against her bedroom wall. Mumbling into the sheets, trying to block out that sound, obscene, like someone snapping a wet towel against skin, her mother's stifled wailing. The pathetic powerlessness of it all. Had prayed for a flash of lightning to strike down on their house. Stop it. Stop it. And if she'd gotten what she'd prayed for ten years down the line, it had only been because she'd stopped waiting for God and turned the valve to the propane tank herself. Flicked the lighter.

Figures that if prayers didn't help then, it sure as hell isn't going to help now.

…

It's that hour, that minute when the sun dips into the sea, bloody oranges and violent purples, gaudy and lurid. He hates it, how the light hits the open beach bar sideways, casting long jittery shadows across the stone floor. Hates that he can't make him out clearly where he sits by the bar, leaning an elbow on it, his chin cradled in his hand.

Last time he'd seen this man, he'd wanted to kill him. Had almost.

The eyes, inky black lashes and the golden brown almost orange in the anguished rays of the dying sun. The way they hit him straight in the face. The alarm, the fear that he put there. Wobbles on the chair and gets off it almost falling to the floor. Before he's got the time to scoot, Sawyer's hand sweeps forward, grabs hold of him. Barely catching his arm. Tall and lean, but not very strong. A man who runs.

Sawyer bundles him out around the corner from the bar, slamming him up against a cement wall, garbage bins lining, tipping over, clanking against the cement foundation. The rats scuttling away, and a stench of rotting food, sweet and sickening. Hands around his neck, thumbs against the hollow of his throat, pressing.

"What do you want!"

"Cool it, cool it. I ain't gonna' hurt you."

Danan snorts, a little sniffle as if he'll believe it when he sees it. Glossy brown hair falling across his face. Eyes hard. Can barely look at him. This. He did this. He and the darkness he carries with him. Covers his guilt with greasy, smug bullshit.

"You wanna' earn a buck?" It's surreal, standing here with a good strong stranglehold on the man, breathing shallowly as if after a long sprint - offering him a goddamn job. This time he actually laughs. Scoffing, superior snigger that fits badly with the vulnerable position he's in.

"You want me to work? For you? Fuck you asshole! Fuck! You!" Spit spraying against his face. Wants to wipe it off but can't let go.

Danan twists, a sudden, knee bend, shooting upwards, almost slipping out of Sawyer's grip. Almost. He shoves his chest up against him. His underarm thrust under Danan's chin. His own knee pulled up in defense. Thigh angled to protect his balls.

"Fuck. Calm down. It… It's for her."

He stops struggling. Panting, gasping.

"Who?"

"It's for her. She's in trouble."

"Are you out of your mind? What makes you think I want to help you?"

"I don't. Just a hunch."

"Yeah? Can you let the fuck up?"

He lets his arms fall to the sides. Expects to see Danan scamper off into the approaching evening like one of those dog-sized rats. The beautiful man, his nose, you can tell it's not the same. The symmetry gone, a bump that wasn't there before. Makes him look harder, more masculine. The jaw, everything is off. A scar running, splitting his eyebrow in two. Knows he must be sporting a few fake teeth. A flash of his own knuckles, beating them bloody on his teeth. Feels sick.

He did this.

He broke perfection. A sadness that has nothing to do with compassion. Has everything to do with his own destructiveness. His father's legacy. A man who can kill the mother of his child. Just like that.

Danan, pulls the edge of his shirt, straightening the collar. One of those thick expensive cotton shirts. A hand over his hair, smoothening it down, trying to steal back some dignity. Almost coyly. Seems something Kate might have done. Eyes amber colored and intense on him. Cat eyes. Makes Sawyer want to look away but unable to break the contact.

"Say you're sorry." Grumpy but he does grumpy well. Jaw sharp like an old Hollywood actor. "And buy me a drink."

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. You want to ask me a favor. Least you can do is apologize and buy me a drink."

Sheepish now. Hell. He'd almost killed the guy. Hadn't spent much time worrying about it either. Not after that night. Not a second spent on regret beyond that. Now he wants to sit here and sip girly drinks in the sunset. Some kind of mind-game, but he doesn't hold the triumph card here. He's prepared to beg if he has to.

"Sure thing buddy." Walks ahead out of the shadows, around the corner of the beach bar, about to tell him not to expect any funny business when he hears behind him.

"Don't flatter yourself cowboy. You're not my type anyway." Sleek and underhanded. A snap higher in the food chain, it can't be denied.

"Yeah, yeah, not into the whole over-the-hill thing, I remember..."

"Yeah that too, but it's more the bone-crushing tendencies that puts me off."

"So…what's your poison buddy-boy?"

"Oh, I'll have a vodka." Looks around the bar as if he's worried someone will see him here with Sawyer. Some jealous boyfriend skulking around perhaps.

"Yeah? No Apple Martini's, Mojito's or umbrella drinks?"

"Glad to hear you are completely void of prejudice. Vodka will be fine. Cold, no ice. But you go ahead, have a Mojito."

He orders two vodka's at the bar, one with ice and the other without, while Danan takes a seat at one of the rickety tables at the back of the locale. The bartender eyes him apprehensively, something that sounds like 'American dog' wheezed under breath when he sets the glasses down with a bang on the bar counter. Sawyer slaps a few crumpled notes on the bar, he'll be damned if he's going to leave the sonofabitch a tip.

"I'm still waiting. Where's that apology?" Danan draws a fingertip along the edge of the glass. Around and around as if he's trying to make music. Looks like a well practiced seduction trick, something he does as part of his game. Sawyer watches, borderline fascinated. Got to remember that one. Something that makes you think of sex. And he must be good at what he does, this freak, because Sawyer has never found another man mildly sensual. But this. Yeah, he's good. Should forget all this bullshit and team up. They could rack up a fortune.

"Well, fuck it. What do you want? A goddamn hug?"

That one actually earns him a crooked smile. Vaguely entertained, as if he's royalty and Sawyer an amusing peasant. Comical in his wooden clogs and with his boorish clumsiness.

"So, you've got five minutes while I down my drink." Stops fingering his drink and takes a swig instead. "And I'm only giving you the time of the day because you have me mildly intrigued. So start talking."

"I need a problem to go away." Like talking to the Godfather. Humiliating.

"Don't see how that's my problem."

"I need you, well… I need Dewi, and your contacts."

"Dewi and I don't work together anymore. Not since… you know."

"Yeah well, I think this guy will require a little bait, Dewi would be great but anyone else might do too. "

"So… this problem? Has to do with her?"

"Yep."

"What makes you think I'd help you? The only thing I want right now is to knock your teeth out."

"See, I don't believe that. I think you'll do it."

"And why so optimistic cowboy?"

"You care for her."

"You think?" Sneers, taking a large mouthful from his glass. For being a sissy boy he sure seems to drink like a man. "I tricked her, helped Widmore's men kidnap the kid and her friend. You think I care!"

Widmore. If he's indeed his father, the pathetic asshole has been screwed royally too. Wants to ask about it, but he has more important things to think of than tracking the genealogy of Widmore's wild-oats across Asia.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think you do. And if not, there is always the money." Swirls his glass, clinking ice against the rim.

Ah. Pleased as punch over the way Danan's eyes become a tad rounder, drawing in his breath. Hah, got his attention now. Short on cash it would seem. Daddy not filling up the old bank account now that he's gotten what he wanted.

"You've got some nerve coming here, asking me to help you." Flicks the shiny chestnut brown hair back. He's got some moves, the slick bastard.

"I ain't asking for me. I'm asking you to help her."

"What sort of trouble is she in?"

"This guy. Recognized her from…"

"And now he wants money. Why don't you just pay him off?" Yeah, genius. Why didn't he think of that?

"And then what… he'd be back for more two weeks later. She'd never be safe."

"I don't know why you think I'd care either way. She was just a job to me. That's all. You know how it is. You're a professional too."

Gonna' have to guilt trip him into this. Grappling for straws now, he's got to win Danan over. It has to be quick and flawless. No time to set up other contacts. And he knows Danan must have a finger in with the police, some old buddy or boyfriend, he's sure of it. Henry does too but not for the sort of thing he wants to get on the road. What's more, Danan can get the props, he doubts Henry would know where to start with that.

"That kid. It was like her own. You let them steal her goddamn kid."

"Now you care? I seem to remember that you weren't exactly concerned about her happiness back then. Came back to mess with her… screw with her mind. She was so wound up about you."

"She's pregnant." Look how easy it's becoming. To say it. It doesn't mean he can take it in. But he can say it. As if it has absolutely zilch to do with him.

"You don't say? How did that happen? Yours?"

"Yeah, mine smartass." Gulp. His. And. Hers. Still doesn't make her - his.

'Wow, yours? Then she really is in trouble. Poor little thing, she has a pitiful taste in men." That little playful smile, flirty. Makes him want to fidget, move his chair away a little. Mostly because Danan has a valid fucking point. She does have a shitty taste in men. Proof in point.

"Cut the drama queen stuff. So… you'll do it or not? " Pushes his own hair back, aware of how it looks like he's copying the pretty boy's moves.

Danan picks his cigarette pack up from his breast pocket. Stretches it over the table, offering him one. A whiff of cloves and spices that makes him want to throw himself over the entire pack. Could really need a smoke now.

"Nah. Thanks. I've quit," he says instead, feigning disinterest.

"You have huh? When?" Lights up his own and Sawyer can't help following the movement, graceful and slow, hand to mouth, between index and middle finger. Elegant as hell. The tricks he could pull if he'd had half of that poise. Shit. The type of women he'd been able to pull. A whole other class. The obscenely rich trust-fund, socialite type. But that's all in the past, for now.

"Now. I just quit alright!" Muttering, embarrassed though he can't explain why. "Ain't something I fucking have to explain to every damn loser who asks."

"Oh I see! You're about to be a daddy, that's what it is. You're straightening out for the little one. How very suburban."

"Fuck off."

Danan laughing to himself. Oh, he's loving this, the sudden advantage. The sense of power. Sawyer like putty in his hands so to say. It seems to be the theme of the day, the second asshole he's had to brown-nose today. Danan cuts out the sniggering abruptly. Elbows on the table as he leans forward, causing it to tilt a little. Sawyer has to weight it up by placing his own hands on the table top, steadying it.

"I'm not offing anyone." Eyes like a tiger, or hell, he doesn't know. The orange tones of his irises unsettles him. "I don't do that sort of things. That's your area I guess."

"Easy buddy, I ain't looking to kill him. I wanted him dead he'd be stuck under a reef already."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I just want him put away somewhere where no one will listen. Credibility crushed, you get the idea. Want him where he can 't hurt her."

"Okay. You can stop the sales pitch now, it's getting boring." Sweeps his drink and stands up while Sawyer remains seated. Doesn't know if this is a win or a loss. "I'll do it. For her. And you better make the money worth my while, blockhead."

"It will be. And then some."

"See what I can do... I'll be in touch. Emporium right?" Puts his smokes back in his pocket and smoothens back his hair. Looking out, above Sawyer's head, at the ocean. Probably aware of the effect it has. The low sun straight in his face making his eyes burn orange and umber.

"Yeah."

"And hey… tell her; I'm sorry. I did what I had to. I never meant to hurt her." His hands on the back of his chair as if he couldn't' stand upright without holding onto something. Sincere now.

"Well too bad you did then." Miserable sucker.

"And I've paid for it, wouldn't you say?" he says stroking the bridge of his own nose with a finger. "So, you two going to play happy family now? Is that your plan? How is it going to work?"

"Ain't none of your fucking business."

Danan laughing, a hard, flinty little laughter. Like taking a long steak knife and twirling it around where it hurts the most.

"You can't heal people, cowboy. You either hate them or love them... so stop expecting her to be whole. She never will be, trust me. Expect nothing from her and you might just be alright."

"You're an expert on healing now Dorian?"

"Yes. That cowboy - that I'm an expert at."

…

Henry, as crumpled and greasy as always in Hurley's office. Sawyer tapping his finger, his leg vibrating. Can't sit still for shit. Nervous, jittery - about to blow apart. Like a junkie in withdrawal which is probably exactly what he is.

"So, he agreed?"

"Yep. But it's gonna' cost us buddy." Chewing those gums like a camel. In with one and as soon as the flavor is out he swallows it and pops in another. Aware that it can't be good. All that nicotine. But it helps - for about two seconds.

"No problem. Hugo has set aside funds for…for the event of something like this."

"Really? What… like planting goodies on someone and hooking them up with law enforcement."

"Well, he didn't call it that, exactly."

"What did he call it then?"

"Miscellaneous."

"Great, then we've got our very first miscellaneous. Go and write those checks Marlow. The sooner we get this thing off the ground the better."

"Hey, you can smoke if you like." Pushes the ashtray towards him. Nice silver thing, Hurley sure doesn't skimp. "You look like you could need one."

"Nah. I quit."

"That nicotine gum then dude?"

"Yep genius."

"I'm sure you're not supposed to eat that many. And you shouldn't swallow them."

"You my mama now Henry?" Pissy and irritated. Maybe he should just give it all up and smoke. Has a brain splitting headache too. Doesn't even know why he ever thought this might be a good idea. Going cold turkey on a day like this. "Come on now, get cracking. We ain't got all that much time."

…

She throws up. That's the first thing she does every morning, sure as clockwork. Throws up before she even has anything in her stomach. Brushes her teeth to rid herself of the taste. She takes her shot. Her first one on her own. Sits on the edge of her bed, skin pinched between her fingers. It's no big deal but minutes afterwards she has an ugly purple welt at the injection site. Wears a loose sundress today over her jeans. Leaves them wide open. No point in denying it anymore, no way she can squeeze her stomach in. But all in all it's like every other morning. The ultrasound, the doctor last night. It changes nothing. Back to not believing. Keeping hope at bay.

She hangs out in the kitchen. The guests have been packed off on a day tour with Mario as their faithful servant. A trip to Ubud for some cultural show and half-day at a spa to pamper their rich asses. Pieter is off somewhere, she hopes he falls down into a volcano or something so that she doesn't have to deal with it. Ni Luh is scrubbing out the fridge, clearing up for new supplies to be picked up.

"You not sad to see the guest leave huh?" Ni Luh's beautiful round moon-face grins at her. She's that obvious. "They are getting on my last nerve too. But soon we'll be getting a new pack, just another week."

"Can I help you wash those racks off?" Points at the upper shelves near the ceiling, where they keep dry foodstuff behind a net.

"Sure…." She ventures but her lips thin a little, her eyes shifty. "It's just that… well Mr. Herbert told me to… you have to rest. I'm supposed to take care of you."

"You are supposed to 'take care of me'?" Doesn't like the sound of that. Fills her with dread. "What am I? An invalid?"

"Ya… that's what Mr. Herbert said... make sure you eat and all." Ni Luh focuses her attention the fridge she's wiping down. He's sure been busy around here, finding her a baby sitter and all.

"He's a good man your cousin, taking you in." Ni Luh says, nose half way into the vegetable box. Kate stands there, torn between storming out and lonely enough to want to stay. What the hell has he been telling everyone? Taking her in! The cheek.

"Yep, he's a regular hero my cousin."

"Since your fiancé is not around, well – he must feel responsible."

They stay silent for a while. Ni Luh scrubbing energetically at the fridge. Her strong arms shaking with the effort.

"So when is he coming?"

"Who?"

"The fiancé? You will get married no? Before you're too big?" Gestures at her own round belly. Has a nasty urge to ask her if she's pregnant too. Makes a grimace before she decides to blow apart Sawyer's comfortable little lies.

"There is no fiancé Ni Luh."

"But the father…?"

"No father."

Sly bastard. Thinks he can do what he wants. She's going to kill him when he puts his big rude foot on this deck again. And where is it? Where did he sleep last night?

"Oh," she says, unable to disguise the pity. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to do anything." Doesn't know what to do. Won't think of it. Her jaws so tense they almost crumble. It doesn't hurt if you don't let it.

"Okay, okay… only Mr. Herbert says... I thought… Ah, do you want me to make you a sandwich or some lunch?" If she adds 'good for the baby' she'll bludgeon her to death with a broom.

"No, no I'll just wait for the others, for Herbert to come back… Have you seen him this morning?"

Ni Luh, filling her round cheeks with air and releasing it in one big puff. A sigh. Wipes her hands on her skirt, raising her fingertips against her mouth. The pity exchanged for something else. Uncomfortable.

"He… he won't be back. Mr. Herbert said, not to wait for him."

"Not to wait… with lunch?" He's staying away another day. Where is he. Hates this, not knowing what he's up to. It isn't normal. He'd always let her in on his plans, but something must have happened. Something between them changed. He is freaked out, she knows it. Cassidy. Her. They are not so different after all. This is what he does, runs and hides.

"No. We stay today and tomorrow we let guests go on their shopping trip to Kuta. Then we're to continue to Jakarta, as planned. Pick up new guests... Mr. Herbert's orders, not to wait for him."

"And he'll what..? Join us there or…? What did he say Ni Luh?"

Ni Luh's large wet dog eyes. Shakes her head and says nothing.

Kate turns towards the counter. Her hands flat against its cool surface staring straight into the open cabinet. Arms set at a stiff angle, keeping her from falling over. Left. Won't. Be back. Gone. Like a scalpel slicing her skin, no pain at first, the fine, fine cut. And then. All at once. The wounds splits apart and it is too much. To much.

…

The plank leading down to the pier. It taunts her. Haunts her. She walks past it. Back and forward, walks around the ship, around and around, eying it. They are in Sanur. So near their little house. She could just sneak off, for a little while. Have a little look. Doesn't know why but she needs to see it. Reminds her of a happy time. Lie or no lie, she'd been happy there, Claire and Aaron under the same roof. Her Aaron, the milky sweet smell of his baby skin. The weight of him against her chest. A longing that goes beyond that. Her own. Baby. Would have been big now. And there is no use in thinking of it. What's gone is gone.

The pier, the beach-walk beyond tempting her. It beckons, whispers. Come. Leave. Run. Nothing here to stay for.

But his voice is stronger. And she can't believe he'd leave her. Not for real. Ni Luh must have misunderstood. Wants to go after him, force answers out of him.

Stay put Kate.

Toothpaste breath and his beautiful mouth. Should have kissed him, pulled him into bed with her. Made him hers again. Should have. Could have. Would have. Her hesitation, her questioning everything. She's a wimp, that's what she is. A world-class chicken. Played it safe.

Stay put. Stay on this damn boat.

But when did she ever follow orders? She's losing her footing. The pendulum between trust and doubt. He's up to something and he's leaving her outside. Leaving her hanging. Why wouldn't he involve her? It doesn't make any sense. Unless he is really leaving her.

…

Late afternoon, the others ought to be getting back soon. There is a ceremony, a procession of sorts down at the beach. She puts a foot on the plank. Just going to get down, have a little look around. The colorful clothes calling for her. Women in white blouses and yellow sarongs. Large offering bowls, cookies, fruits and flowers piled high, topped off with incense sticks. The air fragrant, the longing chewing up all resolve. Puts the next foot on it. Careful on the narrow plank. Just a little look, a short walk. What would the harm be in that?

"Come here, I've made some coffee and buns for you." Ni Luh calling for her making her almost lose her balance. Like a prison guard. She must have been watching her. A substitute mother. Like the one she never had. Comes up and wraps an arm around her, much shorter, the arm ends up around her waist, leading her away.

"Come here Ettie, come sit down. Try to relax a little." She bundles her up, into the main salon where there is a good view over the marina.

"What's with the coffee Ni Luh? It tastes different."

"Ginger. I put ginger in it. You know, for the nausea."

And it's better today. Maybe it's the little hope that comes in the shape of hair-fine syringes or maybe it's the ginger. Maybe the steady chuff-chuff-chuff she heard last night.

"Thank you. Hey… that's Pieter right?"

The wheat blond man walking down the pier towards the Merdeka. No. Go away. Another person walking behind him. And God. She knows that walk, the fluid movement, the sleek lines. The hair, glossy dark, cut straight like Cleopatra's.

Dewi.

Like seeing a ghost. Dewi. Here. With Pieter, walking up the plank. Her, slim and perfect in a little red dress. Long pale legs making it up the narrow ledge easily. A large tote bag on her shoulder. Pieter must think he's died and gone to heaven.

"Don't worry. I'll keep him out of your way. You go lie down."

She does. Careful to lock the door now. Dewi here. Doesn't understand how it all hangs together only knows that it does. Something about Pieter, how sure he was last night, it keeps clawing at her. He knows something. Has some kind of power. Sawyer wouldn't, and this she is certain of, wouldn't have left him standing if Pieter didn't have some kind of stranglehold on him. If Pieter knows Dewi, then he knows. About her.

She paces in the cabin. A hazy escape plan taking shape. Just knows she has to get away, leave. Packs her bag. Passport, a little clothes. Aaron's blanket, the syringes and the aspirin. Bank papers and the red espadrilles he'd bought her. That night, how they'd kidded around, sweet and tender, meeting each other half way. Hurts to think how easily she'd let that go. She's weak. Could have fought for him, could have fought to keep herself from falling away. From running. But it's time to run again. All signs point to it. Better sooner than later. Zips her bag shut and looks around the cabin. Nothing else she needs. It's all there in the light little overnighter.

"Ethel, open up!" Ni Luh's voice shrill, unlike her usual butter-soft Balinese sing-song. "Now."

Scrambles to get the door open, the urgency rattling her.

"Come on, move it! Stop standing there mouth hanging open. You'll catch flies."

Ni Luh, bossy, all business. Dragging her along, ushering her forward. She snatches her bag up.

"You packed? You knew?"

"No… knew what? What's happening Ni Luh?"

"The police. The police. On the dock, plain clothed officers. Coming this way... Lets go! We'll talk later"

Police. She knows, all is lost. Doesn't matter anyway, was leaving in any case. Senses dulled, numbed, Ni Luh's hand warm around her wrist. Like a mother dragging an unwilling child to school.

"Where are we going! What are you doing?"

"Dinghy."

"What. What about the meds?"

Ni Luh holds up a little freezer box. Small, like a kid's lunch box and the image is complete. Off to school it is then.

"How? How did you know? How come you're prepared?"

"You want to be caught by police or you want to go dinghy."

Alright. Dinghy it is. Ni Luh fast and effective. The sound of the oars dipping into the water, ear splitting to her. Though she knows it's not. Ni Luh's strong brown arms, her almost manly grip on the oars. Rows the boat like a pro. Navigating among the other ships, away, putting a steady slow distance between their little boat and the 'Merdeka'.

They don't speak. She sits there feeling like she might throw up any second, feeling utterly useless. Like a little Barbie doll that can't fend for herself. Holding onto he bag in her lap.

They row southwards, past the dock. Far beyond. The boats replaced by marshland. Wants to protest when she starts rowing the boat through the muddy water, tall grass folding itself around them. The sky a deep azure blue, surreal, deepening downwards from the dome towards the sea.

"Where are we going?"

"Hide you."

Doesn't ask any more questions. Puzzling, this relative stranger helping her away from the cops. The tropical night falling fast around them. The sound of crickets and creatures of the night holding a concerto around them. The dripping of oars and Ni Luh's calm steady rowing. They hide the little boat in the high grass, make their way up towards a road, mud up to their knees. The road is lined with women waiting, every ten meters. Short skirts, their beautiful Balinese faces disfigured by garish make up. Maybe Ni Luh notices her expression.

"Don't mind them. Just working ladies. Like us, they don't like cops either."

"Oh… yeah of course."

And where is she taking her? She wants to ask but can't bring herself to. Why is she helping at all? It doesn't make any sense.

"We call my friend. Come. Let's find phone."

"I have a phone." She digs in her bag and hands the cell phone over to Ni Luh. "Why are you doing this?"

Watches as she flicks the lid open and carefully enters the numbers.

"You and me. We are like sisters." Turns her back on Kate while she speaks. Hushed soft tones. "Okay. Lets go. We'll go to my friend's house. It's not far, we can walk."

They trudge on. Her wet jeans sticking to her legs. Stained brown from the knee down, sea grass glued to them. Ni Luh's wide hips in front of her, swinging the icebox in her left hand, almost jollily. As if this were normal, as if there were anything remotely normal about this. Escaping the police.

"Why? I don't' understand."

"Sometimes you have to just trust. Come, keep walking. The faster you're indoors the better. Bali is not safe for you."

"But why are you doing this?"

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm a friend."

"What?" A hand on her shoulder pulling her around so that she can look at her. Chocolate eyes meeting hers, long curved lashes. Like those beautiful Balinese cows, and she knows it doesn't seem a good association. But they do have that same sage quality, the beautiful wise eyes. Large and wet and brown.

"Pieter knows about you."

"What are you talking about? What is it that Pieter knows?"

"About you… your real name. That's why… Mr. Herbert is taking care of it."

Feels cold. So cold. Real name. That didn't last very long. Shit.

"What… what is he taking care of? What is my real name Ni Luh? And why are you helping me?"

"I'm… lets say I'm sympathetic to your… your cause."

"My cause…?" She's not a revolutionary freedom fighter for Christ's sake.

"Yes. What they say you did."

"How much Ni Luh? That's why right? If the police catches me you can't ask for anything. So. How much – do – you – want?

"It's not like that."

"So what's it like? You're going to put me in a tighter spot before you blackmail me? Ripen me up a bit, put the pressure on? What's it like huh?" Fear making her vicious. Stands there looking at the icebox in Ni Luh's hand. She could take it. If she lunges forward, takes her by surprise. No problem. She can beat the crap out of her and run. But the other woman is strangely calm.

"No. No blackmail. I want nothing."

"Everybody wants something."

"Those men, they're from narcotics. They received an anonymous tip. It's been taken care of. They're not after you."

"What? So… by taking care of… You mean Pieter. He was set up? By who?"

She only shrugs. Round brown shoulders in the sleeveless coral pink blouse.

"Herbert did this? That's what he's doing?" Shit. What a mess. What a fucked-up mess. "And you Ni Luh… you must want something."

"Yes." Okay, if it's money she's got it. The account. More than anyone could ever ask for. She's willing to part with it. It's just money. "I want to come with you…"

"Come with me? Where?"

And she's aware of how dumb she must sound, repeating every single question. But she has a hard time following. Feels like she's being slowly covered with snow. A whole big pile of it, heavy and cold.

"I have an idea. I know where you could be safe, until the… well the baby."

"So you're Mother Theresa… you'd help me just because you are just so kind. That it?"

"No… well. I believe, the only way to fight it, the darkness inside of you is to be better. Than him."

"What the hell are you talking about? Ni Luh? Is that even your name?"

"What you did. I… I did something… same. I'm like you. You and me… we are the same."

Just stares at her. It's not real. She is not standing here talking murder with the head chef. A misunderstanding. She hears what she wants.

"What did you do?"

"Like you... And I'm proud of it. Proud. But I won't be like him. Karma, I'm Hindu, I need to put things in balance. You understand? Black and white, evil feeds evil and good is returned with good."

Not happening, like the ramblings of a crazy person. This. Standing on the roadside by the marshland discussing Karma with a little Balinese woman who speaks perfect English, prostitutes eying them curiously. And the weird thing is that though the words are abstract, loosely picked out of air. She understands. The precise words to describe what she believes, she believes it too.

"You did what to who Ni Luh?" She asks, not because she wants to know. Just to test, just because the other woman's lack of shame is so puzzling. The way she talks, as if it has nothing to do with her.

They stare at each other. A dare. Dare you to say more, she thinks. A passing flash of something. Yes. It's there. It's buried beneath a practiced bravado, under a poised grace. But it's there. The grimy hues of family secrets. Same. Stares until Ni Luh admits defeat, looking down on her sandals.

"My uncle. Everyone loved him. But he loved only me." She'd have laughed at how the soft consonants treat the words, if they weren't so true. 'He loved only me.' She knows everything about being singled out, being special. Like an addiction, thinking you can't live without it, can't be invisible again. Knows all about sunning yourself in someone's eyes, relishing in the attention, not realizing the walls closing until they are ten feet high towering above you and there is no longer an escape route.

"I was never caught, that's the only difference between you and me. Only difference." No no, that's not all. It's the way Ni Luh's eyes gleam, a glossy hard black when she looks at her again. Powerful. Pain, she recognizes it but this woman is different. Not like Kate, not hanging her head in shame, not carrying the stain inside, not letting it dominate her, eat her up. Proud.

"Oh God… "

"You, I read your story on the internet. You did a good thing."

"I never did a good thing."

"Wish I had done it like you. Boom! Fast and clean. I was very careful. Took a long time. Put a little rat poison in his tea every morning before school, very little. Every morning, month in, month out. Waiting, waiting. Patience. So much patience. He was sick, very sick. From doctor to doctor, never a cure. Everyone else was very sad."

Oh great. They have hired a poisoner as cook.

"So…" And somehow, inexplicably. She's not scared. Not frightened. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing. Quid pro quo." Jeez, Latin too. Evil genius. No, it doesn't feel like that, it just doesn't. She digs in her pocket, takes a step closer and presses something in Kate's hand. A cassette tape, the old kind.

"What's this?"

"My confession. My proof of good faith. So maybe you can begin to trust me. See, I have a plan. For you. For the baby."

"There is no…"

Puts her large warm hand on her cheek. Maternal. And she feels it. Doesn't know why this person cares at all, doesn't know why she trusts her. But something rings true. Just like that. An ally crawling out of the woodwork, a fellow murderer and she feels oddly safe, protected even. Something intriguing about this woman who must carry her own dark secrets, her very own stain, and still, a survivor. Like her. Like she wants to be. Could be.

Something good has to come out of her life. The balance must be brought around, put in place. The demons, they need angels. The filth needs beauty. She needs. Him.

And the baby, the budding hope of a life. She knows it's there. Like a little ransom. A passenger. Her love, frail, frightened, hiding its face in palms. Held back. Won't love it until she sees it. Until it takes its first breath, flays and screams. Until she sees it, touches it, she won't believe. Love needs proof, demands it.

It seems too much to ask for, like opening your mouth wide, waiting to be fed like a baby bird. Give me this. The greed of wanting it all, asking for it too because you think you won't get it anyway. Might as well ask. Damn God. Damn you. This, just this, and she'll never ask another thing.

Wants them. Wants everything. The man, he's not good, not bad – just a man who knows how to push the darkness aside. The passenger too, unwilling, accidental – and so, so damn wanted. Wants them both.

Please. Won't bother God again. Ever.

…

Slush, fluff? Out of character? I don't' know. Maybe. Probably. For those familiar with Bali, I have taken some liberties with location since the swamps are much further south (just didn't feel like moving the ship). Hope you enjoyed it in any case :) Thanks so much for reading through yet another pathologically long chapter.