It was hard to see through the rain. The ocean's gentle waves of the morning were gone, whipped into a frantic frothing by the downpour. Her clothes were soaked, it was freezing, and she knew, sitting in the slushy mess of sand, that her jeans were already filthy. The bubbles on the water's surface, created by each falling drop of rain, served to busy her wandering mind. They travelled a short distance before exploding, leaving little ringlets of the pure, white foam, soon to be destoryed as water continued to fall from the skies. They were all... timebombs. Things can only go so long without bursting.
Her breath caught in her throat. God. It really is cold. A shiver shook her body, leaving a sickening, metallic ache in her bones. She drew her knees to her chest, clasping her fingers around them weakly, struggling to lock them together, just to keep them from slipping away from each other. She turned her head slowly to the west. Would the sun be going down by now? Kate had always wanted to walk into the sunset, away. Just like Sawyer, she thought, still hugging her knees, without the poetic beauty. But now, there was no west, there were no directions, just a cold, white rain that enveloped everything, all around. There was no sun.
She flexed the tendons in her wrists, unlatching her fingers. Where was he going anyway? A horrible, breathless feeling squeezed her heart, she choked a little, should have followed him. Her thoughts crept back to the day the raft had left. The day Sawyer had come back. She looked down at her boots, eyes falling along the lengths of black-soaked denim that covered her legs, I don't need to go find him, she looked away from her feet and back to the bubbles in the ocean, her brows knitting together slightly, it's not my problem. Cheeks aching from the cold, she tensed her jaw to keep her teeth from clattering against each other, focusing her energies on keeping the noise from escaping her mouth again.
A sloppy, wet, sliding sound came from several feet away. Which direction? She turned slightly, peeking over her shoulder. The sloshing steps came closer, tired, constricted breathing reached her ears amidst the many sounds of rain. She felt a black shadow hovering over her: it was like the nights she'd spent at home as a child, while her mother worked at the diner into the early hours of the morning, there was an ominous, black presence at the door, just as there was one waiting for her, standing over her now. A puff of white air wreathed her face, clouding her vision, warming her neck. She swiveled around to see whose breath had been cast upon her, though she already knew who was standing above her.
"Kate," said the breathless voice, as though reprimanding her for a twice-repeated offence, "your bandages are soaking."
Kate looked away from the hulking, soaking wet man, regarding the bubbles on the water seriously, "I feel fine," she said, somewhat haughtily, feeling color rise in her cheeks, despite the icy air.
"No, Kate," Jack said assertively, this time less breathless, "you're going to get sick if you spend much longer out here..." his voice trailed into a small sigh as he droninglly repeated the inevitable, "you have to come back to the hatch. It's warm down there, at least."
"I'm not cold," Kate lied simply, clenching her jaw again.
Jack made a noise that sounded strangely like a forced laugh, "Yes, you are," he insisted, resting a hand on her shoulder, "come on."
"I'm fine here," Kate said again, trying to control her voice, so as not to show the irritation she was feeling, "I like the rain."
"Maybe so," Jack said, sighing again, this time more deeply, "but I'm not letting you get sick," he paused, moving his hand down her arm to grip her wrist, "let's go."
Kate stood, indignantly wresting herself from his grasp, "okay," she said quietly, in resignation. I'm not one much for the cold, anyway.
"He left," she said uncomfortably as they found their way, again, into the dripping canopy of the jungle.
"Wh-who?" Jack stuttered, clearly faking concern, looking round at her, "in this weather?"
"Sawyer left," Kate finished matter-of-factly, "before it started raining."
"He'll come back," Jack said, uncaring, mimicking Sawyer's words of the previous night, "he's just trying to get your attention."
Kate stared at Jack, stopping stiffly in her tracks as he continued to walk, "My what?" she asked, incredulous at his gaul.
"Your attention," Jack repeated, stopping and shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "He'll come back." He continued walking, as if his statement meant nothing.
"He doesn't care about--" Kate paused, suddenly a bright light shone through the foliage above them, dappling the sodden ground with bright spots and streams of light. She looked around in awe, this certainly hadn't happened in a while, "It's not raining anymore."
Jack said nothing, continuing to walk forward, head lowered. Kate reluctantly shifted her feet, following in his wake, unable to resist a glance over her shoulder. She couldn't see the beach, but she knew it was just beyond the fringe of trees, and she couldn't help but think of the ocean. The now calm water, and of, now that the rain had ceased, all those little timebombs exploding at once.
Biting cold, maybe, but exhilarating, yes. She relished the feeling of the fast air rushing into her nose, her eyes, her mouth, brushing against her cheeks, laughing at the sting of the occasional thorned stone or pebble kicked into her face by her own wheels. The humming purr of the bike's motor soothed her, muffling the fading sounds of the city. The last car she'd passed had been quite a ways back, and now she was alone, speeding along the freezing country road, fearing, but loving, all the same, every little bump and jolt the bike made as its tires collided with the rugged lane's sharp rocks. She grinned a little, the flowing stream of cold air surrounding her helping to clean her mind, the grove of trees was just ahead.
There was no home. There was no anything, just that dark little fringe of evergreens, and the warm pool of light that spilled from the miniscule spaces between their trunks. She braked the bike hastily as she pulled up to the outermost ring of trees, kicking the bike-stand down in elation as she leapt from the bike. Pushing branches out of her path, she fought through the trees and into the center of the grove. A warm, comforting wave of air tickled her chilled skin, as her eyes drank in the roaring fire in the clearing's center. She took a step towards it, grinning again.
"Katie!" Came a cry from the opposite side of the fire.
Kate grinned more broadly now, making her way around the fire, to where several teen boys, about her age, stood, "Tom," she answered, wrapping her arms around him.
"Why'd you come down here?" Tom asked, surprised at her appearance, but still revelling in her presence.
She looked up into the laughing face, studying it, "I came because..." her eyes fell, "I need to talk," she shuffled her feet awkwardly, the moment's elation forgotten.
The other boys, standing behind the dark haired man, looked on, the fire's flames lighting their faces with strange patterns of light. One boy, with particularly long hair, sneered in Kate's direction. Kate turned away, looking back up at Tom, whilst gesturing absently at the large fire, as though it was nothing, "I knew you'd be out here, but what IS this?" she asked, laughingly.
Tom's face took on a particularly smug, omniscient position, he turned his eyes back to the fire, dazed, as its shadows danced across the clearing, "It's a step forward," he said vaguely, blinking, stupefied, "a step out of the past."
Kate bit her lip, casting the fire a sideways glance, "what have you thrown in?"
The sneering boy stepped out of an especially large tree's shadow, arms crossed, he shook long, waving hair from his eyes, "some old photographs, memories. You know, things we don't need. Things we need to get past," he said unfalteringly, "and you are...?" The boy's voice rang with the injustice of having been removed from Tom.
Kate looked away from the boy again, and back to Tom's questioning face, she nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, in his direction, "who's he?" she whispered.
"Dylan," Tom said warily, "just a friend from highschool, I have English with him," Tom paused, "What did you need to talk about, Katie?"
Kate turned again, this time away from everyone, her cheeks aglow with the warmth of the fire, "It's..."
"Katie?" Concern marked Tom's cracking voice.
"It's mom..." Kate whispered quietly, unaware of the other boys' prying eyes, "he..." she paused again, turning back to Tom, eyes brimming with tears, "he... made her bleed," Kate coughed, murmuring the last words in a hoarse, distrustful whisper.
"Oh Katie," Tom breathed, leaning over to hold her, "what are you... going to..." he spoke over her shoulder, staring again into the fire, afraid to finish the question.
The fear in Tom's voice momentarily paralyzed Kate. She couldn't move. Her idol, her rock, the only one who listened, he was... afraid? The deadly silence continued, the air filled with nothing but the dry, hungry crackle of the bonfire.
"I'm going to leave," Kate said finally, tearfully.
"Wh-Kate..." a sudden, unreadable emotion passed over Tom's face as he drew away from her, "You wouldn't."
Tom's sudden change from fear to certainty was jarring and unpleasant, Kate looked up at him again, "I have to," she answered, setting her eyes on him.
"Katie," he chided softly, "you've said this before," he softened his voice a touch, "I know you won't."
Kate looked away, trying, vainly, to hide her tearstained face from the other boys. It had happened five years ago, when she was twelve. And then a year after that... and two years after that. She gnawed the inside of her cheek, feeling her eyes sting again as they began to water once more, "I'm going to do it this time."
A loud, invasive sound crushed the pleasant crackling of the fire, a boy, Dylan, had cleared his throat. Again, he stepped closer to Kate and Tom, shaking his long, caramel locks away from a high, fine forehead, "If you're quite finished," he began airily, "we were carrying on a discussion."
Tom cast the boy a warning glance, glaring at him up and down, "Dylan. Go. Now," he said commandingly.
Kate turned her reddening eyes to the boy, coming level with a shoulder of his black, woolen jacket, she choked out a response, "I don't care."
The boy laughed, blue eyes widening in innocence, "Running away, are we?"
"Tom..." Kate began, turning her hurt, crying face to him once more, how could he befriend someone like this?
"Dylan," Tom said again, this time taking a step away from Kate, and towards the tall, angular boy.
"Well, I don't think any of us here really cares," Dylan continued, shoving Tom and Kate's comments both aside, "There's really no use dumping your problems on a poor guy like Tom. If you want to run away, do it. If you don't, and you want your boyfriend to talk you out of it, then save yourself the trouble and leave now," he finished, smirking as he delivered the final words with a disgusting, cold efficiency.
"Hey!" Tom nearly shouted, "Piss off!"
"Touchy, are we...?" the arrogant boy's voice taunted again.
"What's your problem, why--"
"Who invited Miss Priss to the party?"
The voices were fading, as the lights of the fire already had. Kate's ears were once more filled with the purring of the bike's motor. In an instant she was turning back onto the country road. Loud, thudding footsteps came from the nearby grove, "Katie!" called the familiar voice, "Katie, STOP!"
There was no answer for that one, she thought, speeding out onto the jagged road again. She knew, in a matter of mere minutes, Tom would be speeding after her. It didn't matter, now, though. The world is full of jackasses. That was the only way to describe it, to describe him. Strangers can change so much, she thought, almost laughing at how ridiculous all this was. She continued to speed back down the little road, denim jacket flapping, the wind cold and harsh in her eyes, tearing angrily at her hair as it passed over her.
Only one question remained unanswered now. Where to go?
It was, indeed, much warmer in the hatch than it had been outside, she realized once they were inside. The sun was out now, in any event, it would be warm soon. Away from Jack's eyes, Kate shed her wet, sopping clothes, exchanging them for fresh, dry ones, not caring as the wet length of her hair immediately soaked the back of her tee shirt through and through.
"Sit down," Jack's voice came from behind her.
Kate whirled around, his dark figure stood propped in the doorway, arms crossed. What a lovely, familiar, gesture.
"I have to change your bandages," Jack said frankly, pointing to her head.
Slowly, Kate sat on the bunkbed's edge, watching as Jack returned, a roll of gauze clutched in one hand. Removing the sodden bandages, he tore several new lengths of the thin, scratchy cloth, beginning to carefully weave them about her forehead, "you're going to stay down here the rest of the day," he said imperatively, "you shouldn't have even gone out to the beach this morning."
"I can't leave?" Kate asked, incredulous, "you can't make me stay."
Jack secured the final bandage, stepping away from Kate to survey his work, "You're not tired?" he asked, turning away from her.
A horrible feeling of fatigue swept over Kate. She was overwhelmed by the urge just to lie down on the pillows and fall into a slumber. Stammering uncomfortably, she managed to speak, "I... I'm tired," she admitted, ashamed of the human weakness, "but you have to promise..." her throat constricted painfully, "to wake me up if he comes back," she finished tensely, avoiding his eyes.
A hush fell over Jack, he seemed to busy himself straightening his shirt and collecting torn scraps of gauze. Looking down to her, abruptly, he caught her eyes as they lingered on the shock of gray hair along his jawline. Not, to his dismay, in admiration, but in a wary, misgiven way.
"Will you do that for me?" Kate asked again, turning her eyes down, ashamed at the blunt question.
"Yeah," Jack said shortly, shuffling out of the room without a parting glance in her direction.
In exhaustion, Kate flopped back against the pillows, turning over on them so she was face down in the cloth pillow casings. She always could have asked Jack, right? Could have asked him what Sawyer would never agree to. To protect her. He would have, moral obligations aside. He would have. She turned onto her side now, restlessly, but did he have any idea what it was like? Sawyer was no stranger to guilt. No stranger, most of all, to pain.
Her thoughts carried her away from that morning, away from Sawyer's abrupt leaving. It could have been hours, it could have been just seconds, but soon, she was gripped in the snare of sleep.
A lovely bird. Jet black as night. It perched gracefully in the uppermost branches of the tree. It was not a fruit bearing tree. Kate had no business climbing it, yet still, she could not draw her eyes away from the large, stunning raven that sat, statuesquely ,on a thin, spidery branch. The sky above bore a deep purple message. Rain was coming, you could smell it, almost taste it, on the thin air.
What was that? A peculiar clicking sound reached Kate's ears. It was faint, at first, but as she made her way past tree after tree, the sound grew louder and more pronounced. Tick, tick, click, click. It was almost like the sound of dripping water, if only more metallic, darker. More hollow. An empty sound, in whole, it left her feeling drained, alone as she travelled further into the jungle, searching for what produced the noise, unaware of which way she was walking.
The sound grew louder and louder with each step, every bewildered turn she made drew her closer to it. A little gasp caught in her throat, there was the huge, black ship. The one from which they had harvested dynamite. But... something was out of place. It didn't look broken, at all, as she last remembered it. Rather, it sat up straight, balanced, and whole, standing proudly on its keel. A creaking of timbers interrupted the continued clicking sound that was now pulsating in her mind. The ship was... moving? Moving. Dragging itself along, tiredly, on dry land, sails limp as the great ship scooted itself forward.
She looked up again, the taste of rain was gone, the sky's blackness was not the clouds. It was the night. Tick, tick, click click. A peculiar sound cracked the air, though, oddly, Kate felt as if she'd known it was coming all along. What was it? It howled and groaned in a high-pitched, urgent way. She remembered it, from the farm in Australia.
Oh. The crowing of a rooster.
But at this late hour? A vague, yet familiar thought struggled in her mind, didn't roosters only crow in the morning?
Tick, tick, click, click. She turned tensely away from the groaning ship, stumbling past another line of trees. The sound was huge here, resonating in every corner of the tiny clearing in the jungle. She looked down at her feet instinctively as she stumbled about, in search of the source. The ground was soft, dark, rich. What was she standing on? A garden, it was a garden. Sun's? But what were these rows and rows of queer, leafy green vegetables? She stumbled about, trying desperately to recognize their type. Suddenly, in the middle of the patch, she stopped, staring absently down to the plant nearest her feet. It was white. Bright, burning, purest white. In the midst of this sea of luscious green, it was white. Tick, tick, click, click.
Her eyes opened suddenly, chest heaving. She was still in here, in the hatch, on the bunk bed. It must be night, the only light was that which issued from the computer-room. Her heart was thundering. But why? The odd dream was slipping quickly away from her thoughts. The only thing that recurred, again and again, in her mind was Sawyer. She had to go.
It was night, no one would notice, she thought fervently, it was just a matter of quietly slipping past Jack at his post by the machine. She wasn't going to make the mistake of asking to be talked out of this again. She was going to run away, this time, and she was going to make it out, into the world, and away from everyone else, and no one, no one could chase her down and tell her no. She rubbed her bandaged head, quietly rising from the bed. Besides, it was different now, she had a reason to go.
Slinking past Jack had been terrifically easy, and now, as she stumbled back, after ten minutes or so of walking, out onto the pristine, white, night-shadowed beach, she couldn't help but wonder, again, about all those little bombs, and how they had exploded with no sound or fire. Snuffed out, as candles in a wind, without the slightest resistence.