Thank you, guys! I'm still in awe that other people enjoy this besides me!
agentalana: That story about finding the abandoned house is awesome - it gave me chills! I've never actually been to Tennessee, but I live in the Ozark mountains of southern Missouri, and it's pretty similar geographically and culturally to the Appalachians.
sugr4sawyr: Dancing, check. I've added it to the agenda (although it might be awhile... ;)
Chapter Seven
It was happening again. The door swung open, letting in a gleam of lamplight from the hall. His dad's feet came into view and then entered the room, slowly, with sickening deliberateness. From under the bed, he tried to slow his terrified, ragged breathing. Pressing himself as far back against the wall as he could, he watched as his dad lowered himself into a sitting position on the bed. He tensed, waiting for the shot.
Instead, he heard a woman struggling, pleading. His mom? But she was already dead, lying in a gradually spreading pool of blood out in the front hall. The terrible sound continued, delaying the gunshot. This was out of sync...it never happened in this order. Something was off, here. The dream wasn't following its well-worn track.
The oddness of the sound allowed him to surface from his sleep, the fog in his brain lifting slowly, one layer after another. By the time he was almost awake, he began to realize that the noise wasn't part of the dream. As he reached complete alertness, the phantom woman cried out again, and his entire body jolted with realization.
Kate.
Frantically kicking the sheets off of his legs, he grabbed the pistol he kept in the drawer next to his bed. Making his way across the hall, he threw open her door with absolutely no idea of what he would find. Although the room was in almost complete darkness, he could just make out, with dawning relief, that she was still in bed, and that there was nobody else there.
She was having a nightmare, too.
Laying the gun down safely on the bureau, he moved over to the side of the bed and stopped, unsure of how to wake her. "Hey...Kate. Kate!" he called without touching her.
Her head continued to move uneasily on the pillow, and she was muttering something he couldn't make out, the words every once in awhile punctuated by a sharper cry. Her legs jerked convulsively under the sheets and then stretched out again.
Taking her by the shoulders, he started to shake her gently. "Hey, wake up, girl!" It didn't seem to be having any effect.
In a terrified voice that he'd never heard from her before, she moaned, "No..."
He shook her more firmly. "Kate! Gotta wake up, now!"
Suddenly, with no warning at all, her arm came up as she elbowed him forcefully in the jaw. The power of the blow sent him staggering backwards onto the floor. The noise of him falling finally awakened her completely, and she sprang out of the bed, retreating to a corner where she switched on a lamp.
She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, looking around in confusion and fear.
"God damn, Freckles! What the hell was that for!" He pulled himself back into a standing position, rubbing his jaw painfully.
She focused in on him, surprised to see him there. She still looked defensive, as if she would have no problem at all killing anybody who came near her at the moment. "What...? What are you doing in here?"
"I was tryin' to wake you up!" he shouted. "Thought maybe you'd like to get out of that nightmare you were havin.' Maybe next time I'll just let you stay in it."
"No.." She still looked distressed. "There was...there was somebody in here." She stopped, thinking. "Wasn't there?"
"Nobody but me," he replied, a little sullenly. He felt kind of bad for yelling at her. She obviously didn't have a clue what was going on. "It was just a dream."
She continued to let her eyes wander around the room, but the truth of the situation was becoming apparent to her now, and she seemed embarrassed. "Oh," she said in a small voice.
After a few seconds, she moved slowly over to the bed and sank down on the edge of it. He sat down next to her, still holding his hand to his jaw.
She glanced at him sideways a little sheepishly. "Did I get you pretty good?"
"I'll live," he said, still annoyed. "Hell of an elbow-jab you got there, sweetheart. I been around a lot of pissed off girls in my time, and they don't fight like that. Somebody trained you to do that, didn't they?" He watched her closely.
She looked into his eyes for a second, but it was clear she wasn't going to answer. Glancing over toward the open door, she waited a few seconds and then said in a quiet voice, "Sorry I woke you up."
"Don't worry about it. Didn't wake me up from anything good."
She nodded, understanding what he meant.
After a pause, she sighed. "I haven't had that dream in a long time. I think...it might have been because of what we were talking about out there. I never should have said anything about..." She took a deep breath and went on almost in a whisper. "About Iowa."
He waited. There was no point in asking her what the dream had been about. Not a chance in hell she'd tell him.
She went on. "It was stupid. I should have known this would happen." She glanced at him and made an attempt to smile, but she seemed angry at herself. "No more trips down memory lane for me."
He nodded his head once in acknowledgement. "I'll try and remember that."
They sat without speaking for a few seconds. She fiddled with a strand of her hair, a faraway, disturbed look in her eyes, and it was obvious to him that she was thinking about the very thing she'd just declared she didn't want to think about. He tried to come up with something that would lighten the mood, at least a little.
"Don't recall tellin' ya you could have that t-shirt to sleep in."
She looked down at the shirt in question and smiled slightly. "I had to sleep in something."
"And why's that?"
Almost laughing now, she looked up at him. "For occasions just like this one."
"Yeah," he said, amused. "Well, you look better in it than I do, anyway."
She seemed to feel a little better now.
He asked hesitantly, "Gonna try to go back to sleep?"
Considering, she looked over at the clock. "I don't think so. I don't want to risk another one of those." She stood up and grabbed the bathrobe from a nearby chair. Pulling it on, she said, "It's almost four. I think I'll just go on down and make some coffee, try to stay awake." Lifting Pride and Prejudice off of the nightstand, she went on. "Besides, this is getting really good. They're starting to realize they don't hate each other." She looked at him meaningfully, and then dropped her gaze, seeming embarrassed.
He smiled a little at her discomfort, then followed her out into the hall. "Want some company?"
She thought for a second, but then said. "That's okay. You should probably try to get back to sleep...I still feel bad for waking you up."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," she nodded. Her eyes said exactly the opposite, though, and the fact didn't escape him. "I'll see you in the morning. Well, later in the morning," she corrected herself. Giving him one last lingering look, she disappeared down the flight of stairs.
He stood there, unsure what to do. She clearly was only saying that because it was her automatic reaction to push people away. Should he follow her down? Every fiber of his being urged him to, but he still couldn't seem to make his feet move. What the hell could he do if he went down there? If they were sleeping together, it would be different...he might be able to make some effort at comforting her. But with the awkward physical barrier between them, what was he supposed to do? Talk? He was hopeless at that touchy-feely shit. He'd somehow end up either insulting her or coming onto her, however inadvertently.
For the first time, he began to wish that she had gone to Jack, for her sake. He would have known exactly what to do in a situation like this. Hell, he'd probably be down there with her already, getting her to cry on his shoulder and whipping up some pancakes and eggs for her during the breaks. Sawyer couldn't do that. He doubted himself too much to even make the attempt.
Feeling bitter and useless, he went back into his room and closed the door.
Making a subconscious effort not to sleep so late, he woke up around ten. Okay, maybe it was the smell of frying bacon that woke him up, but he liked to think that his willpower had something to do with it. She must have decided to make breakfast...and he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like that.
When he entered the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was that she was wearing the damn dress again. Great. He couldn't quite put his finger on why it disturbed him so much, but evidently she was planning to make it an established part of her meager wardrobe, at least while she was here. It seemed that she was going to alternate between the jeans and the dress, so that half the time she would look like Kate and the other half she would look like...that. What a perfect way to screw with his balance and keep him permanently off-kilter.
He cleared his throat, and she turned, giving him her best Donna Reed smile. "Morning, dear."
Christ, did she have to mess with him like that? He knew she was just joking, but he wished she wouldn't. The delusion was oddly painful.
He made an attempt to assume his standard demeanor. "Lordy, woman, are you cookin' up a whole pig? Guess all that tossin' and turnin' musta made you hungry."
"Not really. Besides, I'm a vegetarian."
"Vegetarian who eats pepperoni pizza?" he asked in a smart-ass tone as he sat down at the table.
She smiled as if she'd been caught. "All right - I'm a part-time vegetarian. But I don't do bacon."
"Yeah? Who's it for, then?"
"I figured somebody around here might be interested in it. Seems to work pretty well as an alarm clock, if nothing else," she said, slyly. "You want one egg, or two?" She waited.
Turning around to face him, she met a blank stare. "Sawyer."
"What?" he asked, jerking abruptly.
"One egg or two?" she repeated slowly, looking bemused.
"Uh...one. One's fine."
She cracked an egg into the skillet and gave him another quizzical glance.
After a few seconds, he spoke, haltingly. "Next time I'm out and about, you want me to, uh...try to..get you some more clothes, or somethin'? Since you didn't exactly plan ahead for the trip?"
She looked at him, considering. "I appreciate the offer, but the thought of what you would bring back is...kind of terrifying," she said with a comical grimace.
He laughed slightly and nodded his head. "Yeah...you got a point there. Never claimed to be a shopper."
Lifting the egg out with a spatula, she laid it on the plate with the bacon and carried it over to the table. "I washed it," she said somewhat defensively as she set the plate in front of him. "It doesn't smell like mothballs anymore."
"Sure hope you used the gentle cycle, sassafras, because that fabric's sixty years old...it's liable to just disintegrate on you at any second. Wouldn't want that now, would we?"
She sat down at the table and looked at him wryly. "I'm actually impressed that you even know what the 'gentle cycle' is."
He gave her a sarcastic look and picked up a piece of bacon. Pausing, he asked, "You just gonna sit there and watch me eat?"
"No," she said, standing back up. She seemed a little sad and distracted, despite her smile. "I don't know what I'm doing...lack of sleep makes me act weird."
She headed toward the doorway, and then turned back towards him. "Hey...I saw on a commercial this morning that Hurley's gonna be on The View to talk about what it was like to live on the island...You want to watch it?"
He shot her a look that told her all she needed to know.
Laughing slightly, she said, "I didn't think so."
Before she could leave, he forced himself to ask her, awkwardly, "You feelin' okay? I mean, after last night and all?"
She looked down at the floor, thoughtful. "Yeah...I mean...It takes awhile to shake it off, completely. But, I'm fine. Just...tired." She looked back up at him, hoping he would believe that and let it go.
He nodded, not knowing what else to say.
She went on through the doorway and into the living room. It occurred to him, too late, that he should have thanked her for breakfast. Just one more thing that he couldn't get right.
After fixing herself a sandwich for lunch, Kate sat in the living room with the TV on, trying hard not to fall asleep. She didn't have the energy to do anything vigorous like cleaning or rearranging furniture, but she was afraid if she took a nap the nightmare might come back. It had a tendency to repeat in cycles, and she wanted more than anything to avoid it. It would help if all the drapes didn't have to be so tightly closed - the house was so damn dark.
Thankfully, Sawyer was helping to keep her awake, even though he didn't know it. He was trying to fix the hinges on the back door, a job he clearly had no idea how to do. Every few minutes, the house echoed with a loud cry of "Son-of-a-bitch!" or something along those lines. She smiled slightly. Who would ever have thought listening to him bitch and moan would be strangely comforting?
Hearing the door slam, she turned her head and tried not to laugh as he came into the room and collapsed onto a chair, exhausted.
Looking at the TV, he glanced at her comically. "So what's goin' on here?"
"Well," she began confidentially. "Julian thinks that Melinda did something to make her lose their baby, but what he doesn't know is that the baby was really Diego's...and Diego's mother kidnapped it so that she and her lover, Pierce, could raise it. But the real twist is that...Pierce is Melinda's brother."
"Gotta say, Freckles, I never woulda thought you were the soap-opera watchin' kind of girl."
"I'm not," she said with a smile, turning the TV off. "And now I remember why."
Suddenly, a knock at the front door sounded. They both looked at each other, paralyzed with shock. Moving into action at the same time, they stood up as the knock sounded again.
"Should I...Should I hide?" Kate asked, worried.
"Yeah..you better." As she started out of the room toward the pantry, Sawyer seemed to think of something.
He called her back. "Wait." He looked both relieved and annoyed at himself. "It's probably the damn air conditioner guy."
"Oh," she breathed out in relief, feeling like an idiot. They'd both completely forgotten about him.
The knock came again, sounding impatient.
"I'll just go upstairs, then." Halfway up, she turned and said warningly. "Make sure you don't let him come up here."
"I won't," he said, annoyed that she would even feel it necessary to say that.
Waiting until he heard the door of her room shut, he finally let the guy in.
It took much longer than he'd expected, and what made it even more annoying was the fact that the kid was a talker. Instead of just shutting up and doing his job, he wanted to ask Sawyer questions about the plane crash and the island, and despite the rudeness of the responses he got, he just wouldn't take the hint. He reminded him of Charlie a little, except for the fact that his accent was Southern instead of British. Just like Charlie, he found it necessary to incessantly mention the fact that he was in a band, although there was no apparent reason for this at all.
Finally, after an excruciating two hours, the kid got the thing fixed and made out the bill. Sawyer grudgingly wrote a check for the $275, feeling pissed off at Kate once again. Anytime he had to shell out money, it made him pissed at someone.
He watched until the truck had disappeared around the bend in the long, winding driveway, and then went back inside. "All right, coast is clear!" he hollered up the stairs. "You wanna do the honors of turnin' the damn thing on?"
No answer. Thinking that she probably couldn't hear him, he went up and knocked at the door. "He's gone... you can come out now."
Still no answer. A little worried, he turned the handle of the door and softly inched it open a crack. "You still in here?"
As he poked his head in, a bit concerned, he saw that she was asleep. Swinging the door further open, he stood there quietly and looked at her for a minute. She was lying on her stomach like a little kid, her head turned towards the door. He watched her slow, deep breathing, fascinated. With an uneasy sense of recognition, he noticed that in her right hand, she was grasping a balled-up portion of the blanket, tightly. Even in sleep, the muscles of her hand didn't relax their grip. He knew that he often did the same thing himself...sometimes his hands ached for hours after he woke up.
He knew it was probably wrong to stand here and watch her like this, but he couldn't quite pull himself away. He felt something uprooting itself inside him; the moorings were shifting somehow and he was losing his footing. It wasn't just that having her here kept him frustrated in a physical sense - there was that too, of course...but that would be the same with any beautiful woman. Something else was happening, besides that...and it scared the hell out of him.
She looked so small and defenseless lying there. That was an illusion, he knew - she was anything but defenseless, and he still had a sore jaw to prove it. But still...the fact that there were dozens, if not hundreds, of trained detectives and law-enforcement officials out there somewhere, right now, hunting her down, using all their knowledge and authority to find her and overpower her... The thought of it filled him with a rage that he had never known before in his life. It was like nothing he'd ever felt for himself.
He decided, then and there, that he would kill anybody that came after her here, without a second thought. He didn't care who they were or whether they were just doing their jobs - he would murder every goddamn one of 'em if that's what it took. Maybe he couldn't talk to her or make her feel any better about the past, but he could at least do that. It was maybe the one thing he did know how to do.
Closing the door softly so as not to wake her up, he went back downstairs to wait.
