The warrior.
The hunter.
That was who he was to them. To all of these dark, angsty young men and women who populated the Island and longed to leave it, he was just the man who caught and killed wild boar. Sort of a caterer for Hell; for that was how they saw this place; Hell.
When something went missing, they called on him to go and find it; when the Island stopped feeding them sweet fruits, they asked him to skin a boar or two. The pregnant girl is missing? Call on Locke. There's a mysterious hatch in the jungle? Locke will know what to do.
They didn't know he has been paralyzed for three years before the plane crash; whatever would they think if they did? How could anyone be such a talented hunter-warrior, if he hadn't even walked since before DriveShaft's 15 minutes of fame? It was simply inconceivable; no one should have that power, least of all an ex parapalegic.
His years in the wheelchair explained one of his other strange traits; though few were aware of this particular part of his complex nature. Only to three other survivors was he a philosopher; only to Charlie, Walt, and Boone, was he a savior of souls.
Someone had once told him, as a conversation point, that it was impossible to cure heroin junkies of their addiction without the proper treatment facilities. He hadn't believed it then, and he certainly didn't believe it when he learned of Charlie's addiction. If it took all the time they had on the Island, he wouldhelp Charlie Pace through addiction and withdrawal. "Don't tell me what I can't do," he thought, and he inspired the young musician to give up his stash.
Children aren't willing to learn how to survive, they always said. They don't have the proper mindset. Well, Walt was different, and he could see that from the start. The young boy gravitated towards him, and so he did what he thought was right; he taught. He treated Walt like an adult, and so he learned like an adult. If you put the 9 year old in a competition of survival with several thirty-somethings, he would win. "Don't tell me what I can't do," he thought, and he showed Walt how to look after himself.
And there was always Boone. Of all people, he would have thought Boone Carlisle least likely to side with him; to help him in his quest to please the Island. And yet, he was eager to help; at first, just searching for Claire and Charlie when they went missing; then, putting up with just staring at a hatch for hours on end without ever doing anything to open it. When his legs had started giving out on him, Boone was ready to lend a hand; that was true loyalty, and you couldn't get that from just anyone. "Don't tell me what I can't do" had become Boone's attitude too. He wouldn't give up if he thought there was a hope of saving the castaways, and now...
The others; they did not trust him. He was dangerous; he was a loner and he could throw one of his 400 knives at something and not stand a chance of missing. More than anyone else, he has a connection to the Island they had crashed on to, and he alone obeyed its commands without a second thought. And so the Island took.
He knew when he had the vision that if he kept listening to the Island, Boone would get seriously hurt; but It would never take the life of an innocent, would It? He knew when they found the plane, just sitting so dangerously at the top of the cliff, that sending his young companion up there would be sending him to his doom. But the boyish exuberance within his spirit got a hold once again, and he convinced himself that it would be alright. Nobody had ever died falling in a plane down a cliff on a mysterious island before, why should they start now?
He realized the tragic flaw in his thinking when the plane started to tip.
"Boone, there's no time!" he had cried. "Boone, get out, now!" But Boone, as he had known, always had to try to be a hero, and when the encouraging sound of a voice on the transmission reached his ears, he refused to give up his quest.
The plane was falling now.
He watched in horror as in cart wheeled down the cliff face, and landed, nose first, on the hard ground. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that Boone might not be too badly hurt...but then the small airplane crashed to the ground, belly up, and he knew no amount of struggle could save Boone now. Not willing to accept the young mans fate, he forced his weak legs to carry him over to the plane, where he dragged his companions bloodied form for the wreckage. Though his once-strong legs were failing, and failing fast, he carried Boone back to the caves.
And then he lied.
Jack wanted to know what had happened, so that he might be able to save a life. He would NOT want to know that they had spent weeks just staring at a hatch instead of hunting boar. He would NOT believe that a vision had guided the two to this plane, the doom of Boone Carlisle. Jack was a practical man; and practical men make good doctors, but bad philosophers.
He had other reasons for not telling Jack about this plane, about the hatch. It would only worry the other castaways, who were already on edge after the encounter with Ethan. And, to fight their fears, they would want to investigate these strange places and things, which, in the end, would only make it harder for him to solve the mysteries of the Island. That would be the worst of all possible cases, and if he could help it, it would never happen. Boone's death would not be in vain.
Now he pounded on the hatch in bitter agony. He'd done everything, EVERYTHING in his power to do as the Island asked, and yet, the Island was now taking from the only friend he really had here. Why, WHY was it doing this to him! Why was it taking Boone?
He had given up on whatever hope he had of saving Boone now; no amount of knowledge of skill would revive the young man. Nothing would save him, and for the first time in his life, he felt guilt strongly. Boone was dying, and it was because of him (though unintentionally), and there was NOTHING he could do to change that.
He'd found it at last.
What he couldn't do.