Somewhere Along the Way
***
"Don't leave me, Ralph."
The breeze blowing from the island brought more than the acrid smell of smoke for Ralph. With a sudden glance backwards, through the porthole, he saw nothing more than the island set ablaze, and cursed himself.
What did you think you'd find, his mind half-jeered, Piggy? Piggy with his empty head?
With a shudder Ralph turned away from the open porthole looking out onto the deck, and stared around at the cabin in which he was sitting. He would have aliked the blindingly white room to a hospital; sterile, clean and stinking of some disinfectant. There was little comfort here; more of a menace. He felt that he was locked in one of those padded cells that crazy people go to. He had read a joke book once with a picture of those cells…he hadn't found it funny then, and he didn't find it funny now.
Outside, shouts from the seamen sounded harsh in Ralph's ears, which were smarting still from the heat and clamor of the fire. Gulls screeched, and waves lapped gently against the boat. The heat was intense, still, but in the bland cabin it was cool. Ralph swallowed and clambered onto the bed. He had been cleaned up; the bruised flesh around the spear-wound from Jack had been wiped with some stinging water-type thing and dressed in a bandage. His hair was still irritably long, but it had been tied back, and he could see without that blasted fringe crowding his vision. His hands were calloused from the constant skinning, and several of his fingernails so bitten-down that they almost bled. But they had dressed him in a clean white shirt and trousers, too large, but enough so that he felt clean and presentable for the time being. He had kicked off the shoes they had given him; it was too hot, and besides, he had done without shoes clambering up the mountain, so why would he need them to pace the polished deck of the cruiser?
Absentmindedly, he fiddled with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, and realised, for the first time, how brown he had become. The constantly peeling sunburn had stained his fair skin a deep tan. He looked up, slightly startled, and into a mirror on the other side of the room. There was a stranger reflected there. For a moment, he honestly didn't believe it was himself reflected. He had become very thin, and under his eyes were deep purple shadows. His face almost reminded him of a skull. He looked so much older, and felt so too.
Ralph wondered why he didn't feel more distressed. After all, he had witnessed so much horror in such a short time…why wasn't he gibbering in the corner, crying and reaching out for unseen arms?
The door creaked open, and in stepped the captain, tentatively, as though he expected Ralph to be feral. When he saw that the boy looked relatively normal, he hardened and managed a smile.
"Hello, old chap. Settled down a bit?"
"Yes sir." Replied Ralph as though he was at school.
" I've just come to ask a few quick questions, if that's alright." He tapped the clipboard in his hand with a pen. "Couldn't get anything at all out of the others. Half of them are lying about like they're zombies."
And well they should, though Ralph dully.
"Alright, then." The captain sat on the side of the bed and smiled at Ralph under brown whiskers. "How did you land on the island in the first place?"
"The plane crashed." Said Ralph, looking at the floor.
"Thank you. How many of you were there?"And remembering Ralph's mention of two deaths, he grimaced, slightly. "To start with."
Ralph bit his tongue before replying in haste. "About thirty."
"About?" There were two raised eyebrows over the captain's clipboard.
"Yes. Well, we don't know. We couldn't count. The littluns kept moving, so Piggy couldn't keep count."
"Piggy?" the captain questioned again.
"Yes, Piggy. That's what we called him."
"Oh. Did he mind?" The captain noted the usage of the past tense, thinking 'Piggy' must have been one of the deaths.
"No." Ralph replied shortly.
"Right. Well. Do you know everyone's name?"
"No."
"None of you?"
"I don't think so."
The captain sucked his teeth. However unhelpful the others were bring, this little boy wasn't helping.
"Alright. I think I'll come back later, when you've had some rest." He got up and cast a concerned eye upon the boy. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Ralph." He replied, not looking the man in the eye.
"I'll leave then, Ralph. Before I leave, though, boy, do you need anything?"
Yes, though Ralph sullenly, I need a lot of things, but I can't ask you for any of them. I can't ask anyone.
He cleared his throat and managed a weak smile.
"No, thank you."
***
That night, Ralph looked out the porthole again. They had not gone far from the island. It was still a flaming beacon sitting on the horizon. It seemed to want to set the velvet canopy of night alight, as it's glow extended with the ever-darkening night. Stars began to set in the sky, hard gleaming little buds of light that would soon bloom into glorious flowers in the flower-bed that was night. If the stars were flowers, then the moon was surely where they drew sustenance; a large, silver lake brimming to the top. If one looked hard enough, thought Ralph, they could see the roots of the stars leading to the full moon.
At home in England, there had always been a Bible on Ralph's nightstand, and sometimes, when Daddy was on leave, he would come into Ralph's room at night, and read from the Book. It had been covered in dark red leather, and with gold letters was emblazoned the words "Holy Family Bible". There had been a picture of the Virgin Mary and Joseph and the donkey on the cover, Ralph remembered. Daddy would open the Bible, usually on the psalms, and read from them. Ralph's family had always been been very religious, Roman Catholics, so he had never given much thought to the existence of God. Now he wondered. Piggy was murdered. Simon was murdered. The two who could have ever done any good on the island and they were knocked off as soon as possible. Ralph felt more troubled than ever. Was he bad, too? Was he like Roger and (he paused to grimace) Jack? Could he have stopped Piggy's death? Could he have stopped Simon's death?
No. The answer came to him assuredly, confidently. He couldn't have. Who would have heard his voice over the tumult of Simon's death-dance? And he could hardly have knocked Piggy out of the way of the rock, and fallen into the sea himself.
A wave of doubt washed over him. What kind of excuses were these?
He looked out the porthole again, and began to speak, very quietly, not knowing exactly who he was addressing.
"Hullo, Simon." He searched for a place to rest his eyes and they finally fell on a star, which was still half-budding. "I know you're dead. I know you're probably in the sea somewhere now. But I want to talk to you, Simon. I want to say sorry.
"Y'know, Simon, when you talked to me that day when we were looking for the Beast. When you told me I'd get off the island. When you told me you just had to think and you'd know that I'd get off the island. You were right. I got off, Simon. Me and Samneric." He paused. "And Jack and his hunters. I know," he half-grinned, as though he was speaking to Simon face-to-face. "Worse luck." Ralph took a breath. "Simon, Piggy didn't get off. They did him in, Jack and the rest. Roger. Piggy never did anything, I know. So I don't know what to do now. Maybe you can help me. I'm in the boat now, Simon. I'm alone in a room. I'm frightened, now, a little. I kept thinking, what if Jack comes after me in the night? What if he does me in? Simon, I'd like if you were with me now. You and Piggy. Because," he stifled a sniffle. It was just the cold, he thought. "You'd be reassuring. And you'd tell me, "See? You got off the island." And then Piggy would look at me through his glass and sniff. And I'd laugh because it'd just seem so silly. All three of us, like chickens in a henhouse." He rested his forehead on his palm, suddenly stricken. "Oh, Simon. How did you know? That I'd get off that damn island and you'd not? How could you be so calm, Simon? How could you have called out, trying to save us even when we were killing you? How, Simon? How could you know so much?" With than, a veritable dam of tears burst from his eyes, and he let them flow, silent tears so as not to disturb the night. "So you died as pure as you were born." He swallowed. "Goodnight, Simon. I'll see you again."
***
"Ralph." A voice broke the stillness of Ralph's sleep.
"What…?" Ralph mumbled sleepily.
"Ralph." More urgent now.
"What?"
"Ralph!"
Ralph's eyelids snapped open, almost irritably, but widened in shock when his eyes focused. There, perhaps a foot from the side of his bed, stood Piggy. Ralph blinked in disbelief, thinking it a hallucination, but, no, there stood Piggy still, not with his empty head, but as he had stood on Castle Rock, before the collision with the rock.
Tentatively, Ralph spoke.
"Piggy?"
Piggy nodded, his eyes squinting. No specs, still.
"Hullo, Ralph."
Ralph stared. Piggy continued.
"I'll only be here a bit. I jus' wanted a talk. Jus' a little talk."
"Right."
"Ralph, I met Simon last night. He was a sight more cheerful than me, I can tell yer. So we were just walking for a bit, and I says to him, I says, "Simon, aren't you the least bit cross wid us?" And he just smiles, that peaceful little smile, and he says back "No. I'd rather be here than there." I tells him he's cracked. And he smiles again. So I thought about it for a bit, because there was nothing else to do there, and now I reckon he's right. But still Ralph. I comes now to ask you why. Why did you just stand there, Ralph? When the rock…"
He didn't need to say any more. Ralph opened his mouth to speak.
"Piggy, I –"
"No, now Ralph. I'm still speaking. I mayn't got the conch, but you listen here. I'm not blaming you. I'm not saying you launched the rock. You're chief, Ralph. You're chief. You've a plan. If I've to die to go with the plan, I'm happy wid that. But Ralph, I can't help thinking why you didn't call out. I had no eyes, Ralph. I don't have no eyes even now. Ralph, I could've just stepped out of the way – "
"But, Piggy – "
"No, Ralph!" Piggy's brow furrowed over his squinting eyes. "I'm talking. You listen. I could have just stepped out of the way, and I'd still be 'live. I'd still be 'live, and I could help you wid the others. Why didn't you – "
"Because they'd get you!" Ralph cried aloud. "Jack and Roger and the rest! They'd stick you like a pig! They'd kill me, then! Piggy, why did you come back? I can't help you!" Ralph collapsed on his pillow.
There was silence.
"Alright. Alright. I can't help you either, Ralph. I'm sorry for coming back. I'll go now. Simon says hello, and he says thanks for talking to him earlier. He says he'd like to talk to you again. He says keep talking to him, and someday he'll find a way to answer. Ralph…"
"Yes?" Ralph half-sobbed.
"Hush now, Ralph. I said I'm sorry. I know s'not your fault. Will you talk to me, too, like you talked to Simon?"
"Yes, Piggy."
"And Ralph, will you try and get my specs back? I can't seem to find 'em. I thought they'd come with me, but no. I don't know if Jack still has 'em. Will you try, Ralph?"
"I will."
"I'll see you, then, Ralph."
"I'll see you Piggy."
***
"I'm telling you, sir, he's mad –"
"Kept me up all night, shouting and screaming – "
"Talking to "Piggy", or someone – "
With the morning light came the sailor's complaints of Ralph's nighttime conversations. The sea-captain had more to think of than a seemingly insane little boy, like the fact that his daughter had a deeper-than-he- would-like affinity for Frank Sinatra, and his wife had a particular penchant for fur coats. However, he wouldn't want the boy to go totally mad, and his sailors to fall asleep on duty, so therefore he decided to pay Ralph a visit.
"Morning, Ralph."
The little boy was sitting on the side of his bed, looking considerably better than yesterday.
"Morning, sir."
"A few of us heard you talking a tad loudly last night. Are you alright, boy?"
"I'm fine sir."
"Who were you talking to?"
Ralph bit his lip.
"I'm not altogether sure."
"It's not uncommon, chap, for a bit of paranoia to follow such trauma. You're not frightened, are you?"
"Not any more, sir. I'm fine now."
The captain nodded. "Now, do you have any questions?"
"How are the others?"
"A bit quiet. But they seem all right. You were in a bad way when we found you. The others weren't half as bad. Are you sure you're fine?"
"Yes, sir. Just a few scratches."
The captain leaned in a bit. Over meaningfully raised eyebrows, he said softly.
"I'll not get waxy, chap. You can tell me the truth."
Ralph smiled a bit.
"I'm fine, thank you."
***
The island was far away now, thought Ralph, as he leaned over the rails of the deck. He had ventured out of the cabin, finally.
The island was far away, but why wasn't the fear?
***
A/n: What do you think, dearies? You're not obligated to review, but I'd advise you to. When judging on what you think please keep in mind (i) I'm twelve. (ii) I'm not William Golding. (iii) This is my first LotF fic and (iv) I didn't have to do this for school. I've tried to make my friends read the book, but most people won't come near me when I have the LotF book in my hand, because I tend to wail "Poor Simon" quite a lot.