Author's Note: If my calculations are correct (which they should be, since I went through all the previous chapters), the last chapter took place on a Wednesday. Now, this chapter skips ahead to take place on the first weekend of Jack and Ralph's breakup. And do you know what that means? That there is only one week left and then Jack can finally tell Ralph the truth! Hooray!

(12) Weekend #1

"The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it." — F. Scott Fitzgerald

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With everything that had happened during the week—which included the unfortunate breakup with Ralph and the random bouts of playing the kissy face game with Cristóbal—Jack had been unable to find time to visit Mr. B at Brown Cow and confirm his schedules and such. He desperately needed this job, but first, he needed to see Mr. B about the details, just in case something wouldn't work out. It was best to find these things out as soon as possible, lest he wasted his time by getting trained and such.

Feeling rather anxious, Jack woke up earlier than he usually would on a Saturday morning. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was only 7 a.m., much too early for the restaurant to be open. Feeling slightly disappointed that he would have to put off his meeting with Mr. B for another few hours, the teen reckoned that he may as well make the most of the his time since he was awake anyway.

Jack forced himself out of bed and, after hastily washing up and changing out of his jimjams, he went out to look for any odd jobs that his neighbours may need help with. Maybe he would be able to earn a bit of cash by painting a fence or mowing the lawn or something. Anything was worth a shot, especially since he needed the money in order to help support his family. Besides his pride, he wouldn't lose anything by doing such menial jobs. He just hoped that there were at least a few people out this early in the morning . . .

Score! He spotted one!

'Hello, sir!' Jack called out to an elderly man, whom was just stepping outside in his pyjamas to retrieve the morning newspaper from his porch.

'Good morning, young man,' the other greeted him kindly. When he realized that Jack wasn't going anywhere, he asked, 'Is there something I can help you with?'

'No, sir—it is quite the opposite, actually.'

'Really?'

'Yes,' Jack nodded. 'I was wondering if there were any jobs that you could offer me for today. Do you need your lawn mowed? Or your roof fixed? Or is there something that you need to pick up from the dry cleaners?'

The man looked at him oddly.

'Well,' he said slowly, 'as a matter of fact, I need my new prescription from the pharmacy.'

'Say no more, sir, I can get it for you,' Jack said, happy to have found a job so quickly, however temporary it may be.

His neighbour laughed amiably.

'You seem like such a nice lad, but you appear to have done things in the incorrect order?'

'Oh? How so, sir?'

The man held out his hand.

'My name is Harry.'

Jack grinned.

'I'm Jack. It's nice to meet you.'

'The pleasure is all mine.' He clapped the teen on the back heartily. 'Now, about that job . . . Go to the pharmacy just around the corner over there,' he said, gesturing with his newspaper, 'and ask for someone called Chuck. He's a nice lad, too, and he's from South Africa . . . Well, perhaps not a "lad" per se. I do believe that he may be older than I am.' He laughed heartily. 'Anyway, where was I?'

'The prescription, sir?'

'Ah, yes. Ask for Chuck—he should have my prescription. Just tell him that "The Jet" sent you.'

Jack laughed.

'Forgive me for asking, sir,' he began politely, 'but . . . "The Jet"?'

'Because of the noises the rear end of a jet makes,' Harry responded, grinning.

'I see,' Jack said, all the while thinking, "That was a little too much information there."

Harry must have read his mind, for he added, 'Sorry, lad, it's just a little joke between two old fogies.'

'Right. I'm on my way, sir!'

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'Tell me again why I have to go to this dinner party thing,' Ralph whined as masculinely as possible.

His mother tutted loudly and began to rummage through his closet for suitable attire for the irritable teenager.

'Because,' she said, 'he is a colleague of your father's and it would be nice for you, his only son, to make an appearance, however silent your presence may be.'

'For how long?' he asked stubbornly.

'Until it is over,' she replied, pulling out a classic black suit and tie combination. 'Now, stop asking questions and get dressed.'

He sighed.

'Yes, mother.'

Mrs. Macpherson smiled gratefully and left the room, closing the door behind her.

As much as Ralph did not want to attend some stranger's house, he did not wish to disobey his parents either. With a heavy, dull heart, he changed into the outfit that Mrs. Macpherson had chosen out for him; not that he really cared if she chose it or he did, as long as it was dark enough to reflect the shadows of his soul.

"But am I really the one with the black heart, or is it Jack?" he wondered.

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Black, black heart

Why would you offer more

Why would you make it easier on me

To satisfy

I'm on fire

I'm rotting to the core

I'm eating all your kings and your queens

All your sex and your diamonds (1)

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In Ralph's opinion, the evening had proven itself to be rather uneventful thus far, for it was just like any other "adult" party that he had been to—boring.

Upon their arrival, he and his parents wandered around in a tight cluster greeting everyone and asking how things were, how their children were doing, how their dogs were acting after being neutered . . . The usual. (It was rather amusing, actually. Ralph didn't think that his parents even knew half those people they were talking to prior to the five-second introduction from the host.)

After some time, the three of them had drifted off into their different groups; his father went away to converse with his work buddies (since this party was pretty much meant for them), his mother exchanged baking recipes with "the wives", and Ralph . . . was dead bored. The only person who was even close to his age was Brad, whom was about twenty-five years of age and did not seem the slightest bit interested in getting to know Ralph. Brad apparently took after his father, for his groomed attire and bland expression matched the latter's quite well . . . Not that Ralph really knew whom his father was, but all the men in the room (including his father) resembled each other so well that they could have been brothers, even that Chinese man across the room sort of looked like his father's long-lost brother or something.

Anyway, returning to the present moment, dinner was being announced by the host's wife. Her name was Mary, or Marie, or Maria, or something like that.

'Dinner is now being served in the dining room,' she announced brightly, flashing a pearly white smile.

"Fake," Ralph thought. "Definitely fake. There's no way that her teeth can be so naturally white like that . . . Well, this is the world in which my father belongs, so I may as well get used to it. I still remember when he used to tell me that I would be just like him; of course, that was when I was much younger than I am now. But if this is the type of world that I'll be entering—so fake—then I don't think that I'd like being corrupted by it." He smiled to himself. "Well, I guess I don't have too much to worry about, since I am most definitely not like him. It doesn't look like I'm going to reproduce or carry on the family name or whatever. Heh!"

Ralph snickered darkly and made to enter the dining room along with everyone else (since he had already fallen slightly behind), but something caught his eye. It was a photograph that was resting on the shelf above the fireplace. It had evaded his attention before, for he had been too consumed in his own thoughts and his own boredness. Now, however, the image caught his eye.

It was a picture of the host and his wife, as well as a young boy. The picture, judging by the quality, was taken while on vacation some time ago. The three were standing together in front of the Opera House in Sydney, Australia. They looked so happy!

Ralph allowed his gaze to wander to the other photos beside it. There was another one of the family; this time, they were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower . . . and now the Statue of Liberty graced them in the background . . . and there were the Aztec Ruins.

"Wow, they certainly got around," Ralph thought, amazed. "But I wonder where their son is now. I'm pretty sure that all of these pictures were taking a while ago, since it doesn't look like the hostess has had the time to have any plastic surgery or anything. She looks older now than she does in the picture, so that means he—their son—will be older now . . . But I haven't seen any trace of him here. I haven't seen anyone like this around here.'

No. He definitely hadn't seen anyone with eyes that shone like that, that looked so pure that one couldn't help but be fascinated by its innocent glory.

Then his eyes fell upon the final picture. It was one of those typical school photos, where the subject is usually staring off into space or whatever. The most important aspect of it, however, was that this was a clear, close up portrait (unlike the ones that were taken on his vacation with his parents). The teen's eyes widened slightly when he saw whom it was. Surely he was mistaken! Ralph squinted slightly to read the year printed in the corner of the photograph. The picture was taken about six years ago, so the child in the image would be about his age now. But then . . .

'Oh, there you are,' the fake Mary, or Marie, or Maria, or whomever said, sounding relieved.

Ralph started and turned to look at her.

'We were wondering where you were,' she said. Her eyes (which were a clear, blue shade, but nowhere near matched the wonderful hue of her son's eyes) glanced over to see what it was that he was looking at. 'Ah, I see that you are interested in our family photos,' she said, a tinge of pain caused by a shadow from long ago laced her voice.

'He . . . he is your son?' Ralph asked, although it wasn't really a question.

'Yes. He was.'

'What happened to him?' Ralph braced himself for the answer.

'He died.' Tears welled up in her eyes.

'I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. 'Our boy was always so considerate and generous; he always put others before himself. In the end, I think that it was . . . a broken heart that . . . did that to him.'

Ralph bit his lip, wondering if he should ask his next question, but he soon realized that he didn't have to.

'He would be around your age by now; I think that you would have liked him.' She blew her nose. 'Ah, yes, our Simon (2) was the little ray of sunshine in our lives—my husband and I, that is.'

Although he had already realized that their son was none other than Simon (of whom he had never met his parents prior to the island incident), another conclusion entered Ralph's mind and his breathing quickened. The expression "it's a small world" is greatly underrated, for such a . . . coincidence seemed so surreal.

"Impossible," he thought, immediately dismissing the idea.

'Ralph? Ralph, dear? Are you all right?'

'Er . . . Yeah, but I'm . . . I'm afraid that I am suddenly feeling unwell,' Ralph responded hastily.

Although, "unwell" was hardly the proper word to use. Perhaps "shocked" would be better, with a generous helping of guilt at the side. He couldn't believe that he had accidentally been so mentally rude to Simon's mother (think: "fake teeth"), especially after how kindly the boy had always treated everyone.

'Er . . . I think that it would be best if I just went home,' the teen said.

'But what about dinner?' she asked. 'You haven't eaten anything yet.'

'I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sure that it is delicious,' he finished lamely.

'Are you sure that you're all right? Do you need someone to drive you home?'

'No, that's fine.'

'Truly? I can call a cab, if you'd like. It would not be a problem.'

'No, thank you,' Ralph said politely. 'I'll just walk.'

'But if you're unwell . . .' She sighed. 'Very well. It is your decision.' Then she smiled. 'I'll go and tell your parents not to worry about you.'

'Thanks.'

She patted him affectionately on the shoulder and walked away, muttering, 'The teenage mind is so strange at times.'

With his head still reeling slightly, Ralph left.

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Fly me up to where you are

Beyond the distant star

I wish upon tonight

To see you smile

If only for a while

To know you're there

A breath away's not far

To where you are (3)

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But Ralph did not go home.

No. He decided to wander about for a while. Maybe the fresh air would help to clear his head, for a thousand thoughts and questions were running through his head at lightning speed.

"Simon? Those were Simon's parents! Why am I suddenly encountering ghosts from the island? And by ghosts, I mean old 'acquaintances' of mine, of course. First, there was Jack. Then there were the twins. Now there's Simon! Who's going to be next? Piggy? Roger? The deranged pilot? What the fuck is going on? Why is my past coming back to haunt me all of a sudden? It must be my karma (4) or something.'

Eventually, the teen found himself in the park near Simon's house. With his head still reeling slightly from the ideas pouring forth from it, he headed to lone wooden bench and collapsed onto it. The bench was located at the edge of the pathway that he had been walking along. Above it loomed a single lamplight that made it possible to view the lush greenness of the grass and the dull hue of the pavement, which were separated by the bleak beige of the bench's fading wood.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to see some of the others from the island. It's all in the past now, so maybe things can improve for us in the future . . . but only if they've gotten past the whole 'kill Ralph' stage of their lives. I could do without that," his mind rambled.

He sighed and rested his hands at the behind his head.

"Maybe this whole 'ghosts-who-are-not-really-ghosts from the past' thing isn't so bad," he thought. 'After all, I'm reacquainted with Samneric and they turned out okay. Mind you, they didn't want to kill me to begin with. They never really went through the 'kill Ralph' stage; they were just following orders from their 'leader'. Stupid Jack. He went and turned everyone against me for not helping them to hunt down those stupid pigs. Well, I'm sorry for wanting to escape that damn island, Jack Merridew!"

At the memory of his now-former lover, Ralph felt a pang of pain in his chest.

'Stop!' he told himself firmly. 'Stop brooding over the past! Stop brooding over Jack! It's over. There's nothing that can be done, and I have too much fucking pride to beg him to take me back. He's not worth it.'

"Yes, he is," a little voice in his mind argued.

Ralph ignored the retort.

Just then, a stray cat wandered towards him from behind. Her black fur stood out in stark contrast to the grass beneath her. Ralph, however, had not noticed her sudden arrival and continued to stare at the sky.

'You think that you hold all the answers, don't you?' he muttered sarcastically to the stars. 'Well, newsflash! You don't! All you do is sparkle fancily in that black blanket of space . . . But I guess I owe you some credit, because one of you is close enough to shine some sunlight onto our otherwise dull planet . . . not that it helps me much, though. Sunshine is useless to me unless—'

He paused in his musings, for something just reentered his mind. It was the same conclusion that he arrived at when Mary-Marie-Maria-whomever said something about Simon, although—at the time—he had dismissed it as impossible. However, not that he had thought through some of the things that had happened to him in the past year, perhaps it was not so impossible after all . . .

The teen started when he felt a smooth tongue graze his fingers. Glancing down, he finally noticed the cat and smiled welcomingly.

'Out for a late night stroll, are you?' he asked.

In response, she meowed softly.

He laughed and absentmindedly stroked her downy—although slightly grimy—fur with his hand. After all, she was a stray. Now, where was he? Ah, yes . . . What was it that she, the hostess, said again? Something about Simon and sunshine or whatever . . .

"Our Simon was our little ray of sunshine."

Hmm, interesting . . . Sunshine . . . Simon . . . er . . . Simon . . . Little . . . Ray . . .

Ray . . .

. . . Ray . . .

'RAY!' he exclaimed, suddenly sitting up.

The cat hissed at him, for she became startled by his sudden outburst.

'Sorry,' he apologized, petting her gently.

She immediately forgave him and purred softly.

Not that he noticed, though. Ralph was too deep in thought to pay close attention to his surroundings.

'Ray . . . Simon . . . Ray is Simon . . . Simon is Ray,' he murmured to himself.

'It took you long enough to figure out,' a sudden—although slightly familiar—voice said.

Immediately alert, Ralph jumped to his feet in surprise.

'Ray?' he called out uncertainly.

Then said teen stepped out from behind a tree nearby.

'You rang?' he inquired in the uncanny imitation of Lurch from the Addams family (5).

'Simon?'

"Ray" bowed down at the waist. When he arose, his face had changed to resemble that of his past being, Simon.

'Simon!' Ralph exclaimed. 'Holy shit. It really is you.'

'You were expecting the Tooth Fairy (6)?'

'No, but . . . I thought that you were dead.'

'I am.'

Ralph felt stupid.

'Obviously, but . . . What happened? Were you just suddenly reborn with magical powers or something?'

'Yes . . . and no.'

Confused, Ralph ignored his last set of questions and persisted with a new round.

'What are you doing here? Why have you come back? Why now? Does Jack know that you're Simon?'

When he paused to take a breath, Simon replied, 'Yes, he does.'

'So why didn't you tell me?'

'You are asking a lot of questions,' the other teen said, not answering the question.

'Well, duh! How would you react if one of your old friends suddenly came back to life?'

'Touché,' he replied with a grin. 'But I am not what you would call "alive", Ralph. To answer your question as to why I have returned, it is became I have come here to help you.'

'Help me? I think I had better sit down for this.' The latter teen shakily lowered himself onto the bench, where the cat jumped up beside him a moment later.

'New friend?' Simon asked, amused.

'I guess,' Ralph said with a shrug.

Simon sighed and sat down next to his companion.

'Okay, Ralph, what I am going to say isn't precisely going to . . . satisfy your curiosity,' he said frankly.

"'Isn't precisely'?" Ralph repeated mentally. "Either it is, or it isn't."

''There are some things that you just have to figure out on your own,' Simon continued.

'But what can you tell me?'

'That things are not always as they appear to be.' He turned away for a moment, obscuring his face from Ralph. When he turned back, his face had transformed into that of Ray once more.

'Can you cool it with the whole changing thing?' Ralph asked. 'It's freaking me out.'

Ray laughed.

'I don't have a lot of time today, Ralph, so I'll make this quick. There are things going on that you are not aware of.'

'Huh? What things?' Ralph asked, but Ray ignored him and continued.

'Patience and love can help you get through these things. Search inside yourself.'

'What things? Do they have to do with Jack?'

Once again, Ray ignored his question.

'Keep an eye out for me,' he said instead, winking mysteriously. 'I'll be back.'

And he was gone.

The cat wandered away soon after.

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Jack felt terrible. The day had been terrible. The pay had been terrible. Everything was terrible!

Firstly, there hadn't been too many jobs available. Since it was Saturday, a lot of people were feeling productive because of the lack of office work or whatever that they had to do and many had declined his offer. Besides, why would you pay someone if you had the resources and time to do it yourself for free?

Secondly, most of the jobs that were available were so stupid! He actually climbed a tree to retrieve someone's cat. Not only did the cat go back up again, but Jack had fallen from the tree several times before he finally managed to make it to the same branch that the cat was sitting on. It had been such a long time (i.e.: the island event) since he had climbed a tree that he had many of his attempts became failures.

Thirdly, the amount of money that he received had been crap! Since the jobs he did were not actually "official" or anything, the whole "minimum wage" bit didn't apply to him. As such, the people who he worked for took advantage of it and paid him below minimum wage. That really, really sucked!

Jack was in a terrible mood when he returned home late that evening. He had just finished a babysitting job for two monsters . . . I mean, children . . . and he was exhausted! Without even bothering to take off his shoes, Jack dragged himself into the living room and flopped on to the couch.

"Maybe tomorrow will turn out better," he thought, trying to be optimistic. "I can only hope!"

The one good point of the day was perhaps—no, not "perhaps", but "certainly"—his meeting with Mr. B. The latter had given Jack a tour of the restaurant, talking to him, asking questions, and encouraging the teen to ask questions of his own as they went through the supplies and equipment. The two had only vaguely discussed how the business worked, for Jack would learn that on his own when he physically started working there. As well, they talked about Jack's pay and how often he would work there.

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'You're one of my top priorities right now, Jack, m'boy,' Mr. B said. 'So, I'm going to try my best to give you a schedule that you'd like.'

'It doesn't really matter to me,' Jack replied offhandedly. 'As long as I only work on Fridays and Saturdays and as long as I have the option of trading shifts off, I'll be happy.'

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And he was . . . happy, that is. He had a job. He had a job and he would be able to help his mother with their declining financial situation. As well, since he was Mr. B's "top priority", his work would not interfere with his schooling.

Jack had completed his meeting with Mr. B after an hour or two. And, since he had nothing else planned for the day, he resumed his random jobs with his neighbours . . . which basically led to a hellish Saturday overall.

But it was over now and Jack was home, away from everything! For the time-being, at least, he did not have to worry about anything. Besides, he was too tired to do so anyway.

Yawning widely, the teen closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to wash over him.

He was asleep not a moment later.

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(1) Mini-Disclaimer: "Black, Black Heart", David Usher. You know, I had a lot of difficulty understanding what this song meant. Even now I am unsure if my "analysis" is correct. Oh well . . . Have you figured out why I'm suddenly using so many song lyrics? Besides the fact that I think it's kind of neat, I'm also just getting lazy and the lyrics make the chapters appear slightly longer. Ha! You're getting gypped!

(2) Yay! Simon is back! So . . . you know what's coming, right?

(3) Mini-Disclaimer: "To Where You Are", Josh Groban. Such a sad song!

(4) If memory serves me right, karma has something to do with the reincarnation process that Hindus believe in. If you do something bad, that will reflect on you in your next life. (Please don't throw bananas at me if I'm wrong!)

(5) Mini-Disclaimer: The Addam Family, but I don't know who they belong to.

(6) Mini-Disclaimer: Obviously, the Tooth Fairy is not mine.