Lucas awoke to find himself lying in an awkward heap, one arm pressed at an uncomfortable angle under his chest, his head wedged in a corner. Keeping his eyes closed because it somehow seemed like a good idea, it took him several minutes to get his bearings as many discomforts competed for his attention at once. His head throbbed in a steady rhythm behind his eyes, with an especially painful thumping at his left temple. His thoughts were unfocused, flitting away almost as soon as they formed, and he couldn't figure out where he was or how he'd gotten there. Noises assaulted him – a deep rumbling from below, and from above what sounded like a high-pitched squeak and strangely reminded him of Darwin. But the overriding sensation, the discomfort that was quickly pushing all others aside, was growing nausea. Lucas groaned and shifted.

"I think he's waking up." Lucas was finally able to identify the squeak coming from above as a voice, but he couldn't make sense of the words. He rolled, turning onto his side, and shifted his head in the direction of the voice. His body fought the movement with a new roll of nausea, and he groaned again.

"Lucas, can you hear me?" He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, trying to fight back the dizziness and force his head to stop spinning. "Damn it, Brian, I think you might have really hurt him. Come on, Lucas, wake up."

The words started to break through the fuzz in Lucas' head, and he slowly, cautiously, opened his eyes to look up at the voice. He moaned as brilliant white light stabbed at him, and immediately shut his eyes again.

"That's good, Lucas," the voice shouted, and he winced at the loud sound. "How are you feeling? Are you okay? Can you talk to me, Lucas?"

He swallowed hard.

"Gonna be sick," Lucas said, his voice barely a whisper, the words thick in his dry mouth.

"What?"

"Sick," Lucas repeated, clenching his teeth. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Stop the car!" the voice screeched.

"What?" another voice yelled.

"Stop the damned car! He's going to throw up all over the backseat!"

Lucas had no time to brace himself for the sudden stop, and his body flew forward off the backseat of the car until he was lying crumpled on the floor. Before he could even begin to pick himself up, two hands were grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the car. He landed on all fours in the dirt, the rapid, sudden movements nearly forcing him to black out again.

"I thought you said-" a man started to say, and then Lucas was throwing up. The man jumped back to avoid messing his shoes.

Lucas could never remember feeling as miserable as he did at that moment. The world was spinning so revoltingly around him that he could barely keep his balance on his hands and knees, and every tiny movement seemed to set off his nausea anew. He wasn't sure how long he crouched there, heaving into the dirt and gravel beneath him. When he finally felt like the immediate sickness had passed, he crawled a few feet to the side and sat back on his knees, coughing and spitting to the side. His head hurt worse than ever, and he refused to open his eyes for fear of risking another flash of painful light.

"Here," said a woman's voice next to him. He recognized her this time. Jordan Mathers. "Drink this, you'll feel better."

Eyes still closed, Lucas raised a shaking arm and felt a bottle placed in his hand. He brought it to his lips and tasted water. After several swallows, he handed it back.

"Feel better?"

Lucas nodded, winced at the pain that slight movement brought on, and instead mumbled, "Yeah."

He heard feet shuffling about him and took a moment to really focus on his surroundings for the first time since he'd woken up. His thoughts were still muddy and unclear, but Lucas felt some mild relief that he was able to remember how he'd been injured. He quickly and forcefully pushed back thoughts about what he'd learned this afternoon. Now was not the time to think about his father.

Lucas risked opening his eyes and once again moaned out loud at the sudden flash of pain, but he didn't close them again. He blinked rapidly, then squinted ahead through the tears that had filled his eyes. Lucas raised a hand to his face, probing tentatively at the side of his head that hurt the worst, and wasn't surprised to find sticky blood under his fingers. Looking down, he could see blood on his white T-shirt, and imagined he must look a mess.

Turning his head slightly, Lucas could see a sedan behind him, both passenger side doors wide open. They were on what looked like a small, two-lane road with only a handful of cars passing by. Lucas was just planning an escape, trying to figure out how he was going to muster the energy to quickly get to his feet and run into the street to get the attention of a passing car, when the woman appeared at his side again.

"I'm sorry he hit you. I told him not to hurt you," Mathers said, cringing in sympathy as she looked into his face. She reached out with a piece of wet cloth, dabbing at his head and trying to clean off some of the blood from his cheek and forehead.

"Here, put this on," she said. She handed him a hooded sweatshirt that zipped up the front. Lucas stared at her, confused. "Just do it. I'll explain when we're back in the car."

When he still didn't move, Mathers opened up the sweatshirt herself and began to slide his left arm into a sleeve. Lucas frowned and put it on the rest of the way himself. She zipped up the front and pulled the hood over his head, then gave him an appraising stare.

"Well, I guess that'll do. Come on, let's get you in the car."

She stood up and gently tugged at Lucas' arm. He stumbled under a new wave of dizziness when he was only halfway up, and she wrapped her other arm around his waist to steady him. Lucas closed his eyes, feeling the nausea creep back, and forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths. His legs wobbled uneasily beneath him, and he felt as though he might pass out.

"Hang on," Mathers said, and turned him around. She walked him a few steps back to the car and helped him ease into the front passenger seat. He dropped heavily into the seat, wincing as the car door was slammed shut. Lucas leaned his head back against the seat, focusing only on breathing and keeping the nausea and dizziness at bay. He jolted when he suddenly felt something sharp press against his neck.

"Almost forgot about me, didn't you?" Brian said from the backseat. Lucas opened his eyes and swallowed uneasily, feeling the knife press just slightly into his skin at the movement.

"Put that away," Mathers said, glaring at the man as she got into the driver's seat.

"You feel this, kid?" Brian said, ignoring Mathers. "Well, pay attention. We're going to drive to your house, and I need you to be very well behaved. You understand?"

Lucas nodded slowly.

"Good," the man said. "When we get to the ferry, you make sure you play along with whatever we say. If you do anything to arouse suspicion, I'll use this knife. I don't really care who gets hurt. I can cut you just as easily as I can cut the guy on the ferry, or anyone else we might run into. Got it?"

Lucas nodded again. He took a shaky breath when the knife was removed and sagged back against the seat. Mathers started the car, and they pulled back onto the road.

They drove for several minutes in silence, Lucas keeping his eyes closed both to escape the light that still hurt and to focus his thoughts as much as he could. He still wasn't thinking clearly, and his muddled state frustrated and frightened him. He needed to be able to think straight if he was going to get out of this, but he couldn't even begin to concentrate well enough to form a plan. He gave up after awhile and let his thoughts stray at random, resting his aching head against the side window.

"Why?" he found himself asking after they'd been driving for some time, returning to the only topic that he seemed to be able to think clearly about. The question seemed to take Mathers by surprise, and she darted a quick glance at him before looking back at the road.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you do it," Lucas said, the words soft and slurred but understandable.

"I'm sorry, Lucas, I had no choice."

"You had to protect your career. I get that," Lucas said, and truthfully he did, even if he didn't approve of their reasoning. "But my father…why did you have to send those messages? Why the game?"

"We needed to get the file from you," Mathers said patiently.

"I know, but why all the deception? Why not just break into the house and steal it from me? Why not just kill me if I was the only one who had it?"

Part of his mind told him he shouldn't be giving them any ideas, but Lucas was well past caring. He needed to understand how anyone could be so cruel as to lie like Mathers had.

"Kill you?" she asked, sounding truly shocked. "We never wanted to kill you."

"Speak for yourself," Brian muttered from behind, but Mathers ignored him.

"And we didn't just steal it because we didn't even know if you had it. I'm sorry for what I did, Lucas, but we had to be sure you had the file. Your father said he was going to give it to you, but until you sent that message, I didn't know if he'd had time before he died."

Lucas didn't respond. He wanted to tell her that nothing would justify what she'd done, but he didn't have the energy, and he imagined it wouldn't make a difference anyway. They finished the drive to the ferry in silence.

As they pulled up to the pier where the ferry was docked, Brian brought out his knife again and touched just the tip to Lucas' neck.

"Don't forget what I said, kid," the man said. "You're on your best behavior."

Mathers rolled down her window as she drove up and Skipper approached the car, peering into the front seat with a small frown of confusion. He seemed not to recognize Lucas right away in the hooded sweatshirt.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked Mathers when he'd reached her open window.

"You must be Skipper," she said with a welcoming smile. "Lucas told me about you."

Skipper looked confused for a moment, then cocked his head to the side and apparently was able to see enough of Lucas' face to figure out who was in the car.

"I'm Cynthia Carver," Mathers said. "Lucas' mother."

Despite himself, Lucas' eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Oh, well, it's nice to meet you," Skipper said, and touched his hand to his hat. "That you in there, Lucas?"

When Lucas didn't respond right away, Mathers spoke up for him. "He's not too happy with me right now," she said. "He's staying with me and my husband for a week, and, well, I think he's grown rather fond of this island. He doesn't really want to go."

Skipper frowned mildly at this, and twisted his head some more to peek into the backseat of the car. He gave a tentative smile to the man presented as Lucas' stepfather, and then looked back at Lucas.

"You feeling okay, Lucas?" Skipper asked, apparently concerned by Lucas' silence.

"I'm fine," Lucas said quietly when he felt a kick in the back of his seat. "I, um, I think I may be catching a cold."

Mathers turned to stare at him in surprise.

"You didn't tell me you weren't feeling well, sweetie," she said, recovering quickly. Lucas shrugged. Mathers turned back to Skipper with her own shrug, and smiled weakly at him. "I swear, sometimes I think my son wouldn't tell me if he was dying."

Skipper narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't say anything.

"Well, anyway, we need to get going soon. Do you think you can take us to the island? Lucas was supposed to pack this morning, but, well, you know…"

"The next ferry isn't supposed to leave for another couple hours," Skipper said.

"Oh," Mathers said simply. "Well, do you think you could help us out this once? We really are in kind of a rush. Our plane leaves in just a couple hours."

Skipper stared thoughtfully at Mathers a moment, his eyes drifting over to Lucas again, and finally nodded.

"Yeah, sure, I guess so," he said. "Pull onto the ferry."

"Thank you so much," Mathers said. "We really appreciate it."

Skipper grunted and walked toward the ferry to start the boat.

"He suspects something," Brian said as soon as Mathers had rolled up her window.

"We're fine," she said. "He's taking us there, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he knows something's wrong."

"Look, it doesn't matter," Mathers said. "We'll be off the island before he can do anything about it. What's important is getting there."

"We should have just taken a boat on our own," Brian muttered.

"It's too late to second guess now," Mathers said, clearly frustrated. "Anyway, it wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't hit Lucas. The guy was only suspicious because of how Lucas looks."

The car was jolted as the ferry jutted off from the dock, and their growing argument was cut off. The trio sat in silence for several minutes before Brian spoke up again.

"I still don't see why you wouldn't let me get a gun," he said, barely loud enough for Mathers and Lucas to hear in the front seat. Mathers sighed as though they'd had this conversation more times than she cared for.

"You know how I feel about guns," she said tensely. "And right about now, I'm pretty glad you don't have one. You'd have probably shot Lucas instead of just hitting him in the hangar. He'd be dead now, and we'd be on our own in finding the other file."

"Fine by me," Brian mumbled.

They continued to argue for the rest of the ferry trip, but Lucas tuned them out. His head still throbbed incessantly, but his mind was clearing and he no longer felt as sick. If he closed his eyes he could ignore the way the world still spun dizzily. He sat in relative peace, keeping his head clear and unfocused, until they docked at the island, and they drove off the ferry without so much as a wave to Skipper. Lucas wondered idly if Skipper intended to wait to return them to the mainland.

Lucas had to give Mathers directions to Bridger's house on the island. It occurred to Lucas that they must have been studying him over the past several weeks if they knew about the island and Skipper and likely countless other details of his life. As they passed by the Desmond house, Lucas saw three of the children racing around the front yard. They were home-schooled by their mother, and as such didn't get a typical summer break, so he imagined they must be done with the lessons for the day. They all stopped to stare at the car as it drove by. It wasn't often that strange people arrived on the island, and it didn't look like they recognized Lucas. He hoped they wouldn't follow the car to the captain's house. He didn't want them to get caught up in a dangerous situation.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lucas opened his door and started to climb out, but was immediately struck by a new wave of dizziness. He clung to the car door as his legs shook and bowed his head. Brian grabbed Lucas' arm painfully, and with the woman on his other side, Lucas was escorted into the house, his legs barely keeping him standing.

Inside the house all of them were surprised to hear the phone ringing. Lucas looked up at Mathers in question.

"Let it go," Brian said. "No one's supposed to be here." He shoved Lucas forward.

Lucas stumbled down the hall to his room, pressing against the walls to steady himself. By the time he got to his bedroom, he felt light-headed and immediately sank into the chair in front of his desk.

"Get up," Brian said, pushing Lucas out of the chair. Lucas stared at him in confusion. He'd assumed they would want him to delete the file himself. Apparently expecting his question, the man added, "I'll find it myself. You're not the only computer whiz, you know, and I don't want you to accidentally 'forget' about any hidden files."

Lucas shrugged and got up, moving to sit on the bed instead. He glimpsed his reflection in a mirror across from the bed, and pushed back the hood of the sweatshirt. His left eye was swollen and red, and while Mathers had managed to wipe off some of the blood, his hair was still plastered to his head and an angry welt was still oozing just above his left temple. Lucas lowered his head into his hands, fighting the urge to just lie down and sleep.

Mathers, who had stayed at the bedroom door, kept darting nervous glances toward the front of the house.

"Hurry, Brian," she said tensely.

"Calm down, we've got plenty of time," he replied casually. He quickly bypassed Lucas' security systems.

"Maybe," she said, "but if that man on the ferry tipped off Captain Bridger-"

"You're the one who said not to worry," Brian reminded her. "And even if he did, we'll be gone long before anyone can get here. Now shut up and let me work."

They were silent for several minutes, until Brian clapped his hands and announced, "Got it. The kid only had one copy."

"Good, let's get out of here," Mathers said.

"Hold on, I've got one more thing to check out," Brian said. Lucas looked up and watched as the man accessed his messages.

"Wait-" he started.

"Look, kid, I'm just deleting these messages from your so-called father," Brian said. "No sense leaving that kind of evidence around, and I can't imagine you'd want to keep them anyway."

Lucas tensed and watched carefully as Brian quickly deleted the files, then began to look for the messages that Lucas had sent in return. Lucas inched slowly further down the bed, away from the desk. He shot a quick glance at Mathers, who was leaning her head out the door to watch the front of the house.

"Hey, what's this?" Brian asked. "These messages were sent 30 minutes ago."

"What are you talking about?" Mathers asked, leaving her post at the doorway to look over Brian's shoulder.

Lucas didn't wait for Brian's response. He leapt from the bed and raced toward Mathers, shoving her aside as he ran out of the room. Lucas barreled straight into the hallway wall in his hurry, grunting as his shoulder slammed into the hard surface. He quickly regained his balance and pushed off the wall to sprint toward the front door. If he could reach the door, he could call for help. He might even make it to the Desmonds.

But Lucas never even got close to the front door. Brian once again tackled him from behind, and they both fell to the carpeted floor. Lucas immediately rose to his hands and knees, trying to crawl away before Brian could wrestle him down again. Lucas reached out in front of him, knocking over a table, and his fingers found a heavy sculpture of a dolphin. Without thinking, Lucas rolled onto his back and swung the sculpture blindly. He managed to connect with Brian's side and the man grunted in pain. But Brian wasn't stopped, and Lucas saw that he had the knife out again. He leered furiously at Lucas and drove the knife down. Lucas rolled to his right at the same moment and escaped a stab to his belly. The knife sliced open his left side and Lucas yelped in pain, but he managed to continue rolling until he was out from under Brian.

He was on his knees, gripping his side and trying to stagger to his feet, when Brian knocked him down yet again. He was weak, his head spinning and his side throbbing. Brian easily pinned Lucas on his back with an arm across his neck and the knife poised over his chest.

"Stop it!" yelled Mathers. "You'll kill him!"

"Of course I'm gonna kill him," Brian yelled back, glaring at Lucas. "He ruined us. He must've sent that damn file to 30 different UEO officials."

"Let's just get out of here," Mathers said, and Lucas could tell she was crying. "Please, let's just leave. Don't kill him."

Brian ignored her. He pressed his arm into Lucas' neck until he could barely breathe. Lucas kicked his legs and twisted beneath the man, trying helplessly to get away.

"How'd you do it?" demanded Brian. "How'd you send those damned messages? What the hell were you thinking?"

Lucas was consumed by fear and didn't even bother looking at his captor. His struggles were growing weaker. His energy was fading fast. He felt himself growing faint, from blood loss or his head injury, he wasn't sure. He didn't even move as Brian, knife still in hand, began groping Lucas' pockets until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a PAL out of the back pocket of Lucas' jeans.

"You used this, didn't you?" Brian insisted, and threw the PAL across the room in frustration. "You stupid, miserable kid. You didn't even trust your own dad, so you set it up so you could send that damned file to the whole world if something went wrong. Well, looks like you won. Too bad for you."

And with that, Brian lifted the knife again. Lucas clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away at the last minute, but it didn't help. The pain was sharp and sudden as the blade entered his shoulder. Lucas cried out and his eyes shot open unwillingly. That was when he saw Mathers. Brian was snarling at Lucas, ready to wrench the knife out and stab him again, when Mathers swung the dolphin sculpture. It connected with a blunt crack against Brian's skull, and the man toppled over immediately, his body lying in a heap across Lucas' legs.

Mathers collapsed with a sob next to Brian's body, but made no other movement. Lucas kicked furiously, using his legs and one arm to push himself backward and out from under Brian. He nearly screamed from the spectacular pain that shot through his shoulder at the movement. He managed to push himself just a few feet back before he fell back to the floor again. The stab wounds were pulsing in pain now and he couldn't have said where exactly he hurt the most.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there gasping. The only sounds were his own wheezing breaths and Mathers' quiet sobs. Through hazy vision, Lucas could dimly see her sitting against the back of the couch, her legs drawn up to her chest. She was staring straight ahead.

"Help me," Lucas whispered, but she didn't move and he wasn't sure if she had even heard him. He tried to speak again, but couldn't make his mouth work. So instead he lay there, consumed in pain and unsure what was going to happen next. The phone rang.

Lucas turned wearily toward the vid-link screen. He tried to raise himself up, thinking he might be able to crawl to the phone, but he fell back almost immediately with a loud groan. The ring of the phone and Lucas' groan seemed to shake Mathers out of her stupor, and she blinked and looked at him. She stole a glance at Brian but quickly looked away. After wiping her nose and eyes on a shirt sleeve, Mathers got shakily to her feet and moved to stand over Lucas.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, so quiet Lucas could barely make out the words. He blinked rapidly at her, the room growing even dimmer. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Without another word, she left. Lucas lay quietly, listening to his own harsh breathing and watching as the darkness collected at the sides of his vision. He closed his eyes and let the darkness claim him.

xxxXXXxxx

"L-l-lu…Lucas…please, Lucas, wake up."

He stirred at his name, turning his head toward the voice. Lucas blinked his eyes open and saw a cascade of blond hair bent over him.

"Please, don't die, you're going to be fine." It was a girl's voice, and she was clearly crying, sniffling and hiccuping through the words. Lucas felt bad for her, and tried to raise his right hand to her but couldn't find the strength.

"I'm okay," he tried to say, but no sound came out of his mouth. His body felt terribly cold and heavy. Then suddenly there was a sharp pain at his side, and he moaned.

"Lucas!" The blond head swiveled toward his face. "Lucas, you're awake! It's Cheryl. Cheryl Desmond. You're going to be okay. Help is coming. Do you hear me, Lucas? Can you say something?"

"I know who you are," he whispered, and was relieved when his voice cooperated this time. Cheryl raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Cheryl. I know your last name."

She continued to stare bemusedly at him, then realized what he meant. She tried to laugh but it came out as a strangled croak in her near panic. Lucas could see that her cheeks were wet with tears.

"Don't cry," he muttered, suddenly very tired. He let his eyes drop closed. "It's okay. Everything's fine."

"Lucas, don't close your eyes," she insisted. He was reluctant to obey, but he felt so bad at her obvious distress. "Good, just keep your eyes open, okay? Please stay awake. They'll be here soon."

Lucas nodded slowly and rolled his eyes so he was staring at the ceiling. The room was swaying gently. He felt strangely at peace. And then there was that horrible pain in his side again.

"Ow!" he yelled and tried miserably to move away from the pain.

"I'm sorry," Cheryl said desperately. "But you're bleeding and I have to keep pressure on the cut. I'm so sorry. It's the only thing I can do."

Lucas moaned and turned his eyes to the ceiling again. The pressure on his side seemed to have ignited the hurts in the rest of his body, and his entire chest throbbed until he could no longer identify the source of his pain. He felt so cold, and he realized he was shaking.

"Where are your parents?" Lucas asked, his words so slurred that he wasn't sure she would be able to understand him.

"They went shopping today," Cheryl said. "They left me in charge. But don't worry, the others are coming. I called Skipper, and he said they'd be here soon. Captain Bridger, I mean, and the police."

Lucas nodded.

"Do you…is there water?" he asked.

"I can't," Cheryl said. "I mean, I need to stay here and keep pressure on your cut. I'm sorry. But it won't be much longer."

"It's okay," he slurred. His eyes began to drift closed again.

Cheryl opened her mouth to respond, but her head popped up as they both heard the front door bang open and footsteps running into the house.