A/N I know I've been absolutely terrible with this long wait before I've updated. My only excuse is that the end of school has been completely hectic and unbearable. It's all uphill from here, though. I promise I'll update sooner next time.

Chapter 9 – Walt

The drone of the teacher's bored voice mixed pleasantly with the hum of the fan. Walt was leaning on his binders, his chin resting on his arm. It was really hot in here. Really hot… and really a waste of time. He was fine without school on the island, wasn't he? In fact, he had had to miss the entirety of fourth grade because of last year. He was fine with that; it didn't really matter one way or another, because he was convinced that school was useless.

Walt guessed that in one way school was okay. He had made some friends – friends his own age, kids to hang out with, not like Mr. Locke on the island. They would leave school on Fridays and walk a few blocks to get some pizza; they would go to the movies and throw popcorn at the people in front of them. Walt smiled a little in the stuffy classroom.

He yawned, trying to keep his eyes open, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to. Mrs. Hendrickson is going to be so mad if she catches me asleep, Walt thought idly. Nevertheless, he slipped into sleep and began to dream.

He was in the apartment alone. Besides the blue flicker of the television, it was dark. Walt was feeling uneasy about the thick blackness, so he turned to switch on the lamp that was always beside the couch. With a click, light flooded the room, and Walt gave a startled and frightened yell when he discovered that he was, after all, not alone. There was someone sitting still, peaceably in the armchair in the living room.

It was the fisherman.

The man who had kidnapped Walt and taken him to a different part of the island, the man who had tied him up against a tree and laughed, the man who had tried to kill him was sitting, hands folded, pleasant smile on his face in his living room.

Walt sat, frozen, staring at the man.

"Hello, Walter." The fisherman drawled, speaking in a surprisingly friendly manner. "I've come to have a little chat with you. I just wanted to know a few things."

Walt stayed where he was, unable to move for fear. His eyes were wide and unbelieving. This is a dream, he realized as he thought. It's just a dream, it's just a dream. He chanted in his head.

"Or is it?" The fisherman said in a pondering voice, making Walt's heart jump into his throat. Wake up! He screamed in his mind.

"Not until I've asked a few questions." The fisherman reprimanded. He leaned forward eagerly. "How did you escape? I've never understood how you could stop me from my plan. I knew you had powers, but… so strong, for such a child… it's fascinating. How do you control them I wonder?"

"I don't know." Walt said stiffly.

"Come, of course you know." The kidnapper goaded. "You were tied to a tree. You couldn't escape. You had no weapons. How did you stop me?" Frustration surfaced on his craggy face. He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. Walt jumped. "How did you get away from me?"

Walt tried not to let the images flood back into his memory (he had tried so hard to forget) but pictures, sounds and emotions came forward into his mind.

Tied to a tree, he had struggled until every bit of energy had left his arms and legs. He leaned limply against the rope that held him and waited for something to happen – rescue or death, it didn't matter. Just… something.

If it could get any darker, it did, and Walt was very alone in the dark forest. Odd creakings echoed around him, and he may have been imagining it, but he seemed to hear whispers, soft, foreboding voices. He strained to hear what it was, and after a long while, he did. It'll all come around. What did that mean? Who was there? He didn't yell out for help, because he was sure whoever it was wasn't friendly. And when he finally did muster up the courage to shout out for help, no sound came out of his throat.

Walt thought he knew how utterly defenseless he was. If something… a polar bear, the monster, the French lady… anything came near, he wouldn't be able to do anything. And where did that fisherman, that kidnapper go?

And where was help? Why hadn't anyone come to rescue him? And then it dawned on him, as the sun began to rise over the night he had thought would never end. His dad hadn't made it back to shore. Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Jin, too. They were all dead. So no one knew – no one would ever know – what happened.

And that was when Walt was able to scream. He yelled at the top of his lungs ferociously, yelled things he didn't even hear, cried out until someone appeared out of the shadows.

The fisherman, or whoever he was, was advancing on him, and he held a long, glinting knife. He didn't look malicious or angry. In fact his expression was somewhat morose.

"If you don't stop that, I'll have to kill you." The kidnapper told Walt over his screams.

And he wouldn't stop. In his panicked mind, he believed it was his last hope, his last chance for Jack or Kate or someone to come and save him. But no one came towards him, except for the fisherman and his knife.

The fisherman stood over him, now, the knife poised in the air. "Stop, boy. Stop and I'll be able to send you back to your people." His voice heightened to match Walt's hoarse one.

He was lying, he had to be. Liar. Murderer.

"But if you continue on, I'll make sure no one ever discovers why you all disappeared."

Walt looked the fisherman square in the eye, glaring with such piercing hate that the kidnapper faltered, and defiantly shouted until he thought he would pass out. "Daaaaaad!"

And amazingly, inexplicably, the kidnapper suddenly keeled backwards, the knife hitting the sand at Walt's feet with a soft thud. The fisherman lay sprawled in the sand, unmoving, as if dead. How could that have happened? He stared for a moment.

And then Walt ran. He ran all day in the direction he knew was the beach where the survivors were camped. Mr. Locke had showed him. He ran without stopping, and in the late afternoon, arrived in front of the astounded Charlie and Claire. His knees buckled and he dropped to the sand. It was only then that he wondered where the rope that had tied him so tightly to the tree had gone.

Michael, Jin and Sawyer washed up a day later, resting on a floating part of what used to be the raft. And Walt felt safe again.

Still asleep, he looked up at the kidnapper. "I don't know how I did stuffI still don't know. All I know is that after we got off the island, all the weird things ended. I can't do anything anymore. Leave me alone."

The fisherman gaped at him. "It's… gone?" He furrowed his brow. "Gone." He muttered to himself.

He stood up, and advanced on Walt, who remained on the couch, too stiff and afraid to move. The fisherman didn't look malicious, and this surprised Walt. He was defeated, his whole purpose gone. He slowly reached out his hand.

Walt realized he wanted to shake hands. Like a gentleman.

"I don't know who you are," Walt said carefully, not extending his own hand. "And I don't think I ever will. But I want you to leave. Now."

The fisherman's solemn face broke out in a smile. He laughed, and to Walt's utter surprise, slapped him on the back as if he was an old friend. He jolted up, shocked at the contact. Bright light hurt his eyes, and he heard a couple of snickers.

He had woken up. He blinked. There was no dark living room, only a classroom full of giggling kids and an angry teacher.

Walt shuddered a little.

"Well?" Mrs. Hendrickson asked, waiting.

"Sorry." Walt apologized. "I guess I was just dreaming." And with his heart still pounding, somehow he knew he was lying.