Lils: Well, here we are! Chapter four! Now we'll move on to a different perspective for a while! Hmm…now to reply to reviews:
Lil Aussie Alias Chick: ((falls to knees)) THANK YOU! I am so happy you reviewed! If you were here in person I would give you a hug and buy you a thousand lottery tickets!
XDom: Thanks…obviously Jaye thought that would be a nice twist…hmm…you know, out of boredom I checked up on my horoscope the other day and found that it matched pretty well too… … …
Dandan2300: Ahh! Glad you liked it! And sorry it took so long to update…school sucks, as we all know. And about the conversation…we'll see what we can do…
Laurenasbrufa: Interesting penname…and thanks for reviewing very much!
Chapter four: Not Quite Family Problems
Shannon Rutherford sat with her long tan legs hanging over the edge of the bed, bare toes just brushing the floor, which was covered with stained carpet and smelled of alcohol. Behind her, lying seemingly asleep on the bed was a man with long, shaggy blonde hair, broad facial features (including a bruise on his chin,) and a strapping bronze body. Shannon glanced at him, and then back at the television set in front of her. It was blank. She picked up the remote.
The default channel just happened to be the news. Shannon stared dully at the two reporters, a man and a woman, each of them looking perky with cups of coffee just inches from their hands.
"And that's all we have on that…more updates…well, as soon as we get them in!"
The woman reporter seemed to be done. She reached for her coffee. Shannon rolled her eyes, tempted to try the remote again, see if there was something better on. But then, behold, the man reporter put on an urgent face and said the magic attention-catching phrase of all reporters: "This just in!"
"Yeah I'm sure," she muttered, but set the remote down.
"It seems an alert has just been sent out for a criminal on the run."
The screen zoomed away from the pair of reporters, replacing the redhead reporter-woman with a blue screen with a large blown-up picture in the top corner. The picture was that of a young woman. Her face was shrouded with long dark locks, her eyes glinting just behind a stubborn curl.
"Kate Austen," said the correspondent, "has been suspected to be hiding out somewhere in Australia, wanted for several bank heists in several countries, along with multiple murder charges. Whereabouts are unknown, but if you have any information, please call our information hotline. It is vital to authorities…"
Blah, blah, blah, Shannon thought. "See, Sawyer? You're not the only criminal on the run."
The man behind her stirred, grumbling.
"What was that?" he said, his temper boiling instantly; she could hear it in his voice; see it in his eyes.
"Never mind."
"No, you said I'm the only criminal runnin' around here."
"Not anymore, you aren't." Shannon crossed her arms, and decided smartly that she wasn't in the mood to fight, so she struck up another subject. "Anyway…do you think the cops have gone after that little punk in the hotel yet?"
At this, Sawyer's scowl etched deeper into his face.
"Oh, so you wanna talk about that, do ya?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Shannon stared at him.
"I told you not to talk to that paparazzi," he snapped. "People saw what happened."
"I thought you said – "
"But don't you worry your pretty little head, Sticks," Sawyer went on like she hadn't spoken. Shannon felt her cheeks getting hot with anger. "We all know how much you like the fame. Get your face on TV; maybe earn yourself a movie career. I know the type."
Shannon glared daggers at him, wanting now more than ever to hit him. She glowered at his face, at his smug little grin. She hated the way he always had to be dominating, even if it meant being annoying as hell. But…ah…screw it, she decided. He was sexy that way.
"So what?" she whispered.
"So," he laughed, "what do you think's gonna happen once people come out with the real story?"
"Since when have you cared?" Shannon crawled toward him, but just as she reached him, her cell phone rang. "Shit."
She scrambled off the bed and ran for her purse, found her phone, and flipped it open. She groaned when she saw the number and name posted underneath it: Carlyle.
She considered not answering it…but she knew he wouldn't leave her alone until she did. She hit talk. "What?"
"Shan—"
"Boone, I don't want to talk to you right now, so just shut up," Shannon shot angrily.
"Shannon, why don't you shut up and let me finish?" Her stepbrother, Boone, replied in an infuriatingly anger-free voice.
"Fine." Shannon shifted her weight from one long tan leg to the other, sighing and tucking her short blonde hair behind her ears. "What do you want, Boone?"
"Watched the news, lately?"
Instantly she felt her face get hot. "You're here?" she shot, accusingly.
"No."
"Well how do you –?"
"When someone from a boy band gets hit, you usually hear about it, Shan." His voice became suddenly harsh. "What are you doing in Australia? And how did you get involved in something stupid – again?"
"I don't have time for this!" Shannon yelled, her eyes filling up involuntarily with salty tears. "You don't have any right to be in my business."
"Oh I think I have every right to know why you're – "
"No, you don't!"
"Shannon, do you need help? Do you need me to come down there?"
"No!" Shannon took a deep breath.
Over on the bed, Sawyer had sat up, and was looking at her with an annoyed expression.
"Listen, just shut up Boone, okay? I don't need hel-anything, okay? So just…"
"What's going on?" Sawyer growled.
"Who was that?" Boone had obviously heard Sawyer's gruff, drunken voice. "Shannon, who's there with you? Is it still the guy that hit the boy band guy?"
Shannon let her cell phone drop from her ear, fighting the wave of emotion that was coming over her. The cell phone was still calling her name.
"I said, what's going on, Sticks? Is there a problem?"
"No," Shannon said bluntly, looking away.
Sawyer glared at her, and then snatched up the phone. "Hello…No, I won't, son…I'll do what I want…fine, here she is…"
Click. Sawyer snapped the phone shut. Shannon held her breath. She closed her eyes and counted… Five…four…three…two…one. Ring, ring, ring…She reached for the phone again, but Sawyer batted her hand away.
"Don't answer it," he snarled.
"You're drunk," she replied, coughing up a sob.
"And you're not?"
Shannon glowered at him, and then snatched up the phone, taking off for the bathroom. She heard Sawyer yelling after her, locked the door, and fell back onto the toilet seat, gasping as her bottom slipped through. In her mind she cursed Sawyer for not putting down the seat again…and then flipped her phone open, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
Boone was already yelling before she could even say hello. Not that she had been planning on it…
"Who is this? Shannon? Where's Shannon? I'm telling you right now it will only take me a day to get down there and bust your – "
"Boone!" Shannon's hands were shaking.
"Shan?" Instant concern. "Shannon, are you alright? Who was that guy? Shannon? Hello?"
Shannon sat and listened to his voice for what seemed like hours. She looked over her shoulder and stared at her reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself with all of her dark makeup and hollow eyes.
"Boone." She whispered his name.
"What? You need to talk to me. Are you hurt?"
"Boone." She closed her eyes as she said it, finding a strange comfort.
"What?"
Shannon glanced at the bathroom door, scared to open it. Then she remembered something Boone had told her when she was little. If she were ever scared, he would come for her.
I…I'm scared…"Shannon? Are you there?"
"Boone…" A strangled sob came out of her throat. She turned the sinks on as high as they could go, blocking out Sawyer, and making it so that Sawyer couldn't hear her. "I'm scared."
"I'll be there tomorrow, Shan," Boone vowed. "Just stay where you are…I'll come for you, all right? I'll come for you."
"I know you will," Shannon whispered. The phone line went dead, and she set her cell on the edge of the bathtub. She put her head in her hands and sobbed, wondering how she'd gotten into this mess, and, for some reason, if that kid from the hotel was okay.
"I need a plane ticket to Sydney," Boone said, determined.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but the plane is almost full—"
Boone pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and shoved it at the man behind the counter at the airport. "Does this loosen up a seat?"
The man, Steve, if his nametag was correct, eyed the money greedily, hit a few keys, and then said, "Seat 14B, Flight 194. It leaves in half an hour." He snatched the money from Boone.
As Boone hauled his bag to the luggage check, he couldn't help but smugly think, never underestimate the power of cash.
His plane was boarded quickly, or so it felt; he was the last one to take his seat next to an older couple. He watched dully as the man gave the woman his ring, although for what he didn't understand, and decided he wasn't interested.
He was too worried about Shannon. Sure, she'd gotten herself into bad situations before, but she had never ever, in all the time Boone had known her, sounded that terrified. He drummed his fingers against the seat, sighing.
"You all right, son?"
Boone's eyes slid over to the row next to his, where a bald old man sat, gazing at him. "Fine," Boone said shortly.
"Not to be rude, but you don't look fine," the man said.
Boone looked at him curiously. "Why do you say?" he asked.
"Well…" the bald man moved his arms slightly, gesturing a shrug. "I don't know…maybe it's the worried look on your face, or the way you've been muttering this whole time."
"I haven't been – " Boone paused, and then caught himself smiling. The bald guy laughed, extending a hand across the aisle.
"John Locke," he introduced himself. Boone took his hand unsurely, thinking there was something peculiar about this man, but not being able to place it.
"Boone Carlyle," he replied, as brightly as he could manage.
"So, Mr. Carlyle, why are you going off to Australia?"
"Erm…it's my, uh, sister." Boone began to feel uncomfortable, although he supposed he was just overacting – this guy was just trying to be friendly, that's all.
"Ah," Locke said softly, nodding sympathetically. "I had a sister. A foster sister…Jeanie."
Boone nodded slowly, then pulled Watership Down out of his bag, hoping to ignore the strange old man.
Shannon was still in the bathroom, leaning against the wall, and sitting on the floor. Sawyer had given up yelling at her about an hour earlier, but she was still too scared to come face to face with him before Boone got there…she hadn't been scared of him before…before what happened in the hotel. Before he hurt that kid that was just trying to help. And the more Shannon dwelt on it, the more she came to realize that it was her fault if that innocent, courageous young man died. If she hadn't started yelling at Sawyer, if she hadn't gotten that E channel guy's attention, if she hadn't…
But you DID, her conscious snapped.
Shannon sighed and shifted positions, as her foot was asleep. She shut her eyes and hoped to sleep until Boone came, and once again, saved her (arse).
Boone stepped out of the airport and hailed a taxi in a way only a city-boy could. He threw his bag into the backseat and jumped into the front passenger seat, beside a Hispanic driver with large eyes, dark skin, and thick black stubble.
"Make a round," he said, and the driver nodded as Boone pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open and waited irritably as the screen displayed the "Searching for Signal" prompt. The driver pulled around the airport, waiting for instruction. Boone began to feel embarrassed, but finally his phone entered said service area, and he dialed and held the number one. In no time at all he was listening to his own phone ring. Once, twice, three times, and then Shannon answered him.
"Where are you?"
"The airport. Where are you?"
He heard a sigh and some shuffling, a loud clank and a curse.
"Motel. East side of town." Shannon then proceeded to give him an address, which he repeated to the taxi driver, who nodded and exited the airport – or at least, tried to; a Hertz bus cut him off and thus Boone had to endure much cursing in Spanish…but finally they were out on the highway, Boone leaning back against his headrest, suddenly exhausted.
"Boone?"
"I'm here," he replied stifling a yawn. "Who is this guy, Shan?"
"His name's Sawyer."
"And you believe that?" he scoffed, glaring at the back of the bus.
"I don't know."
Suddenly Shannon sounded like the little girl she had been when he had first met her. "Just hurry, okay? And be careful."
"Yeah…" Boone wasn't sure how to carry on the conversation, or if he even should. Finally, he flipped his phone shut without a good-bye, but he didn't feel too guilty. In fact, now he felt mad. She didn't have the right to make him come all the way down to Australia – or anywhere for that matter – every time she screwed up.
"Trouble?"
Boone looked at the driver, startled. The Hispanic man grinned at him, and laughed, his voice thickly accented.
"Do not worry, I get it all the time!"
Despite himself, Boone felt a ghost of a smile touch his lips. He rolled down the window and inhaled the foreign air. It smelled fresh, and for a time, the sky was open. But withered trees and neon signs soon replaced it as he entered the back part of the city.
After about an hour's worth of driving, the driver stopped in the lot of a beat-down looking motel. Boone got out, grabbed his bags, and tossed his money threw the window.
"El adiós, mi amigo. ¡Y la buena suerte¡Estoy seguro que usted lo estará necesitando!" ("Good-bye, my friend. And the good luck! I am sure that you will be needing it!")
"Gracias. Y tomaré esa suerte." (Thanks. And I'll take that luck.) Boone gave the man a wave. He laughed heartily and drove off, leaving Boone standing alone with his duffle bag, facing the windows of the motel.
Inhaling deeply as if he was just about to dive underwater, he headed for the main entrance, stepping smoothly through the sliding doors and into the lobby. He asked the woman at the front desk for a Shannon Rutherford, and came up with a Shannon Smith and Sawyer Smith, and went for it.
"Thanks," he muttered to the stout, gray-haired woman, and shouldered his bag, heading down the hallway.
He didn't have to walk far – the motel wasn't very large, and "Shannon Smith" was located on the first floor – before he ended up in front of the door. He raised his fist and knocked firmly. He noted the door was unlocked.
"Get outta here!" shouted a gruff voice from within the room. Boone reached for the handle and pushed the door open, coming nearly face-to-face with a tall, shockingly well-built but not so well shaved man with long blonde hair. He looked like he needed a shower and some sleep, and he smelled of alcohol. In fact, the whole room did.
"Where's Shannon?" he asked firmly.
The man glared at him murderously. Boone stood his ground. "Where's my sister?"
From the bathroom, Shannon heard Boone's voice, and almost sobbed with relief. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her bag of toiletries—including her nail polish, make-up, and inhalers—and opened the door. "Boone!" she cried.
"Stay where you are, Sticks," Sawyer growled.
"Don't listen to him, Shan, c'mere and I'll get you out of here," Boone said, a pleading look in his eyes.
"And who the hell do you think you are?" came Sawyer's agitated scream. Horror suddenly flashed in Shannon's eyes. She saw her brother lying on the ground…just like…just like that kid in the hotel. Tears leaked out of her eyes.
"SAWYER STOP!" she screamed, dashing forward and grabbing his arm. He was strong and shook her off once, but she just jumped back on him, screaming, "STOP! STOP! STOP!"
"GET OFFA ME!" Sawyer roared.
"Shannon!"
Shannon heard her brother's voice cut through the noise and violence. Boone…
"Shannon!" Boone ran forward, catching Sawyer around the middle. Shannon screamed as she went down, digging her nails into Sawyer's arm. He howled as Boone tackled him. She tried to sit up…but suddenly she felt a splitting pain set through her abdomen. She tried to breathe and couldn't.
The air came half way up, stopping in her throat. She felt dry and horribly exposed then, choking on the air she couldn't swallow or let go of. Her lungs burned. She couldn't breathe. I CAN'T BREATHE!
"Shannon?" Boone's voice was quiet and close, very close. She could feel him lying over her, calling in her ear. But the pain was so bad…she couldn't think. Couldn't make herself take in air. Air. Air!
"Shan? Shan are you—oh, God, are you having an attack?"
Dry wheezes were his only response. Shannon saw dark around the edges of her vision, clouding around her, whispering for her to let go.
"Where's your inhaler?" Boone's face flashed in front of her, filled with fear, concern, and determination.
Shannon managed to lift her bag weakly before her arm dropped back down. Sawyer had grabbed his things and stormed out, most likely because he knew that Boone would call the cops on him.
"It's going to be okay, Shan, alright? You need to calm down—he's gone, I'm here, you're safe. Got it? Now, come on, you can do this…just hold on…"
Shannon tasted the cool plastic of the inhaler touch her lips. And then, the glorious feeling of air returning to her. She gasped in the warm air of the hotel room, and the darkness ebbed away, until she could see everything perfectly again.
"You okay now?" Boone asked her.
Shannon sobbed and threw her arms around her stepbrother's neck. "Boone…"
Boone wrapped his strong arms around her, and whispered, "Everything's going to be fine, Shannon… Don't worry…"
Boone helped carry Shannon's things to the cab he had hailed. It sat waiting with an open trunk in the parking lot. He grunted; Shannon had a lot of stuff. But it was okay. He smiled at her as he passed with the last of the luggage, and then they both crammed into the backseat, Shannon turning to face the window, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Do we have to go home?" she whispered.
"Of course we have to go home!" Boone retorted. "You weren't gonna stay here, were you?"
She didn't answer for a long time. "I wonder where he went…"
Boone sighed in frustration.
"No one-night-stand is worth that," he said. Shannon whipped around, glaring at him.
"It wasn't like that!" she said defensively. "We were together in – "
" – The first hotel you got kicked out of, I know," Boone finished for her, turning his back and glaring out the window. Just as the cab was pulling out of the parking lot, he spotted two men leaning against a traffic light post that marked the entrance to the motel lot. A shiver ran down his spine; he didn't like the look of them.
One was tall with the starting of a beard and sunglasses. His skin was oddly hard looking, and darkly tanned. His brawny shoulders were hunched, hands in his pockets. The other man he stood next to was much shorter and very skinny and pale, with greasy-looking hair and tight skin stretched along his white face. He had weird lips, Boone noted, reminding him of the fish in his twelve-year-old fish tank; how they would press their lips against the glass.
And then they were gone as the cab turned the corner.
END OF CHAPTER
Lils: AHHHHHHHHHH! REVIEW NOW!
Sawyer: Shaddup! I have a headache!
Lils: Of course you do. You had a hard time this chapter.
Sawyer: I did not.
Lils: You had everything under control, right?
Sawyer: 'Course I did! Now stop yellin!
Lils: I'm not yelling!
Sawyer: You just did!
Lils: That was you!
Sawyer: I - ! (fumes)
Lils: Hee. I win. Now I'm going to jabber in spanish! sé una canción eso se monta todos nervios!
Sawyer: Just shut up! You're a nightmare! And what did you say, anyway?
Lils: I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES! And i won't shut up until people review!
Sawyer: WELL THEN PLEASE REVIEW PEOPLE!
Lils: Yes – REVIEW SO SAWYER'S HEADACHE CAN GO AWAY! That or he'll just go get some aspirin – if he were smart – which he's not, the southern idiot.
Sawyer: WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?
Lils: A SOUTHERN IDIOT SO THERE! MEEH! Estúpido imbécil.