NOTE: THERE IS NO FLASHBACK IN THIS CHAPTER!

The Outsiders Chapter 5

It was dusk, with a slight tropical breeze blowing off the water. Sawyer sat leaned up against a tree, reading another book, but with his Harry Potter style glasses. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps in the sand.

"Sawyer, do you know where Sayid is?" Shannon asked, with a worried look on her face.

"Well, well, well. Now looky here, it sticks! So where off you been, eh?" Sawyer inquired in his typical manner.

"That's none of your business!" Shannon exclaimed, annoyed. She scanned the camp, as if searching for some sign of Sayid, and then flicked her eyes back towards Sawyer when she realized the he knew what he was doing, like she was embarrassed. "Now, I'll ask you again. Do you know where Sayid is?" She didn't care what sawyer thought.

"Whoa there sticks. No how in the hell would I know where your boyfriend is?" Sawyer retorted defensively.

"He's not my boyfriend," Shannon retorted angrily, "I mean…well…"

Sawyer smirked with pleasure at her reaction. "Well, what sticks?"

"Ugh," Shannon cried. "You're hopeless, you know!" She spun around and stalked off angrily towards Sayid's tent. She would just wait for him there until he returned.

Sayid was tied between the too pontoons of the raft, half-dangling by his tightly bound wrists from the beach side edge of the raft's platform. All that touched the ground were his feet; his butt hung only six inches from the sand.

He glanced up at his hands, gritting his teeth as he did so, the tightly wrapped ropes chafing his wrists. He tried to bend his knees but was unable to. The attacker had wrapped his knees also, to prevent them from being bent. He had no chance but too bite his lip in pain, for the attacker had prevented them from getting into a comfortable position.

He looked over to his left, and found Hurley who hanging in the same torturous position, only he had to hold up a lot more weight!

"Cursed," Hurley mumbled, "They're cursed! Stupid numbers: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42! Those numbers are cursed!" he shouted!

"Hurley," questioned Sayid, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I am now," he sighed. They heard the snapping of twigs in the jungle. "Danielle, is that you?" Hurley called out warily. "Danielle?" A shadow drifted across in front of them. There stood them man who had knocked them out and strung them up.

"Hello," the man's voice had a disturbingly superior air to it. "Hanging in there alright."

"Why?" Hurley struggled against his bonds, writhing, trying to somehow get his feet under him. "What did we do?"

"Who are you?" Sayid inquired coolly. "Where did you come from?"

"That is of no importance!" the man replied maniacally. He walked slowly towards Sayid. "Why are you here?" the man demanded.

"We were on a plane that crashed on this island," Sayid reported.

"A lie! That is a lie! I demand that you tell me the truth! He had bent down, his face within inches of Sayid's. Tell me," his putrid breath wafted towards Sayid's face.

Sayid never answered. He flung his head at the man's face as hard as he could, bashing the man's nose with his forehead. The man staggered backwards from the blow. Reaching upwards, the man wiped his nose with his left hand and found it to be both broken and bleeding. He grabbed it between his palms, and jerked it to the right, setting it back into place with a crack.

He walked menacingly towards Sayid, and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up. He shoved the back Sayid's neck into the edge of the bamboo decking of the raft.

"I am not going to ask you again," he stated coldly.

Sayid gasped for breath, contorting in pain from the spasm cause by the pressure on his neck. "I told you, we are survivors…survivors of a plane that crashed on the island several weeks ago."

"I told you, you should have told me th…" but the man never finished. They heard a crack from nearby, and the man's head snapped backwards, a spray of blood shooting from the back the of his head. The man's grasp released from Sayid's neck, causing the rope to bite into his wrists as he quickly dropped to the hanging position. The man reeled backwards, and fell to the sand with a thud. He was dead. Some one had shot him, right between the eyes.

Boone walked through the jungle, trying to make his way towards the hatch. He was taking a slightly different path than usual. He knew that if somebody saw him going the same way each time that they might suspicious and followed him to the hatch.

He came out into a clearing, not knowing where he was at first, but then realized where he was. He breathed in through his mouth, and held back the urge to throw up, as he smelled the most disgusting thing he had ever smelled in his life.

He scanned the clearing and saw the makeshift crosses, marking where some of the bodies had been buried. He was in their graveyard. He did a double take as his eyes scanned passed something odd, what looked like a hole in the ground but with a cross in back of it.

He walked up to them hole but stopped a few feet away. It was becoming nearly impossible to keep from throwing up; his hand was clamped over his mouth. He flicked his eyes up to single the name on the cross: Ethan.

"Oh God." He twisted to the side, and fell to his knees, throwing up like he was going to die. He glanced back at the grave. It was empty. Ethan's body was gone!