1Chapter Two: The Jungle Within
Charlie stomped through the dense jungle, swatting at the buzzing mosquitoes and gnats. Maybe I'll be eaten alive. Not that anyone will miss me. Kate and Jack and all them... they don't want me around. I'm just in the way. Kate's words echoed in his head:
You don't have to help.
In Charlie's mind, that was just a softer way of saying, "Charlie, you're useless. Go take a nap." None of them wanted Charlie. The only one who had ever seemed to really appreciate him was Claire. She was the only who didn't automatically push him away, call him 'druggie' and 'useless'.
Okay, so they never really came out and said those things. But they were thinking them.
Claire was always there to smile for him, to laugh at his sometimes stupid jokes, to comfort him without having to say anything at all. It was so unfair that the one person who had ever really cared about him at all, the only one who tolerated him, was taken away from him.
Charlie's eyes welled up. "Oh God," he wailed aloud. "I can't believe I'm actually crying out here alone in the jungle. 'Rock god'... HA! How pathetic."
He fell to his knees. Wow... dizzying, this is. He swatted at imaginary flies and tried to stand back up. Wiping the hot tears out of his eyes, he gave a last, pitiful sniffle and walked on slowly. The jungle seemed to pulse around him, a steady, deep rhythm, like the trees were breathing. The sun overhead was nearly midway through the sky, and the almost-afternoon heat pounded on his head. He felt like his brain was slowly deteriorating under its fierce temperatures.
Great. Instead of being eaten alive, I'll just melt here in the middle of nowhere.
He shuddered at the disturbing image of a Charlie-puddle spreading languidly over the dried leaves. Charlie imagined his mouth, gaping in surprise, floating in the mucky substance while his eyes spun around and around and around....
And around... and around... and...
He fainted.
If anyone had been out there in the middle of the jungle later that afternoon when the sun was sinking into the west, they would have seen a tired-looking young man sprawled over a log, passed out. They would have seen him toss fitfully from side to side, frowning and muttering in turn, murmuring the name over and over again: Claire!
"CLAIRE!" Charlie shouted, sitting bolt-upright. His eyes were round and wide with anxiety. "Oh... God... what a headache..."
Shakily he heaved himself to his feet. He gulped. He was always so weak after fainting. And this wasn't the first time, either. Many a time he had gotten overheated or overexcited and dropped to the floor in a senseless heap. It was a habit –or a problem– he tried to keep quiet. It wasn't at all manly to faint, in Charlie's opinion.
I wonder if anyone's noticed I'm gone yet. Probably not.
Charlie continued on, rubbing the back of his head, where he'd hit it on the log when he fainted. Oh yeah. A nice bruise that'll be to wake up to tomorrow. If I don't get eaten alive or melt first.
He marched in silence through the trees, the only sounds the rustling of the leaves and the crunch of his footfall. Charlie thought about perhaps singing a song while he walked, just to pass time. But as he started to sing the first few words, a strange and unbidden feeling would come over him. A feeling of sudden fear, like he was doing wrong to break the near-perfect silence of the jungle. There was definitely something sinister about the island. Charlie knew it. He could feel it, the heartbeat of the island pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own increasing heartbeat. The island was alive.
The pounding in his ears grew louder and louder, and Charlie's steps quickened, as did his heartbeat. He felt sweat pooling on the back of his neck. Fear resounded through his body. Something approached.
At first he felt it, he felt that something was coming closer, but then he heard it drawing nearer to where he stood, shaking and fearing. He tried to scream but it was as if his own breath was caught inside his own throat, trapped in his lungs, unable to give him enough wind to cry out. Not even a whisper could he coax from his paled, tightened lips.
And suddenly, something climbed out of the bushes before him. Charlie jumped back in fear. His own scream was muffled— but not from terror. He frowned in wonder.
Chapter Three: Little Orphan Alice