Chapter 7 - Cocooned
26/10/5

He's here. You can sense him through the fog in your brain, through the silence and confusion which surrounds you… that strong body, those hands which will lead you to freedom, and safety, and life. You stir, send pulses from your brain to your limbs; get up, move, reach out. But nothing happens. Nothing stirs. It's like your hands are tied, outwith your control, and through the fog you can remember screaming, a struggle, trying to run away, or run back. There was excitement, a vague feeling of joy, or something new; suddenly run down by fear and anger and confusion, crushed by the roadside. But here's the fog again, that mist which swirls in and means you can't open your eyes, or articulate, or even dream. You would smile, if you could. It's been a long, long time since you dared to dream.

The cave was dark as she woke… dark and rancid, a stench like damp or trapped air; Kate gagged on it, choking on the wad of fabric knotted into her parched mouth. Her whole world seemed to spin and collide, eyes dipping back and forth; too many drinks, or a carousel ride. But she wasn't five, and there was no fair in town; no cotton candy and no safe hand to hold. Just darkness, stretching for as far as she could sense… darkness and unknowing of what lay in wait. The confusion rocked through her, the endless lengths of time that could be minutes or weeks, the drowsiness that seemed to seep into her without warning. She wondered when she last ate, drank, spoke; how long had passed between then and now. She closed her eyes, pressed the lids together; so hard that colours started to dance in her conscious, scarlets and pinks and tangerines. She stared at those dots of pain for long moments, followed their floating forms over her retina; like precious jewels after the endless waking to black, and no spectrum of light. They stirred something within her, a memory she thought lost; standing on the shore, that finite line between land and sea, watching the sun rise and fill the day with light and hope. She could see the water rushing over her feet, eager to reach inland… could imagine a map, the outline of the island against the ocean, and she merged into both. And Jack wandering over, like a hallucination or early morning dream. And being so very real.

Was it day? Night? Dusk? Kate craned her neck, tried to see that vein of light, that lifeline to her timeless world. There was nothing and no-one; no rustle of leaves, no inhalation, no bubbling water. She was cocooned here; but not cocooned as she felt with Jack, not safe and protected and secure… but trapped, held against her will and feeling ever more out of control of her destiny. No matter what had happened in the past, Kate had known that she was in charge; of all those running days, the endless identities and lost friendships. She had made her own tears. She had some say upon arrival at the island even; with nowhere to run she stayed, ensured she involved herself with every activity, those virgin hikes and Sayiid's antennas and the garden. She was beginning to enjoy her cocoon back at camp… the feeling of being part of a community again, an important part even. Having friends and shared jokes and being relaxed; those little things she had missed out on her whole adult life. Hell, a steady job even; picking fruit wasn't exactly highly paid but she was respected and thanked for her efforts, and knew the others appreciated it. Of course, she always saved the plumpest, juiciest fruits for Jack… would hide them in his supplies or fresh clothes, like a surprise or a love letter. A little something; like a consolation prize instead of all those letters she had written in her head, those endless times she had told him everything, his thousand different reactions. He hugged her. He stormed off. He shook his head, disbelief and disappointment flooding his features. She chickened out, and didn't tell him at all.

But now… would she ever see him again? Have the chance to fall to his arms, to be honest, to cry out all her woes? A slow trickle appeared down Kate's cheek; her body which could no longer provide saliva, somehow still so full of long lost tears. A sob escaped her cracked lips, echoed through the desolution of the cave; bounced off those invisible boundaries and came back to haunt her. She tried to bring her hand up to wipe away the tears; forgot for a second that she was gagged and bound, unable to do even the most basic instinctive action. And so the tears remained, engraved into her fragile skin… but like so many tears before, she didn't fight the grief or deny it. Kate sank into herself, her body visibly jolting with weakness and uncertainty… uncertain of the date or time or if she was even still alive. Maybe this was limbo. Maybe this was punishment for all the harm she'd done.

Maybe this was hell.

"Jack…" She croaked out. She was beyond caring about dignity or who was out there. Anything was better than this, this infinite not knowing, this continual bewilderment. "Jack…"

Kate caught her breath. Was that another's breathing she had heard? A footstep, a broken twig? Had someone been hiding, waiting in those devious shadows all this time… the haze was filling her again. "Jack?" She cried one last time, lost and desperate, longing to wake and find herself in the midst of nothing but a nightmare, and he there beside her.

There was no reply; just stillness and silence. Nothing but that silence that drowned her, suffocated her… nothing but hallucinations, now, to mock her. A scrape of a boot against the ground… the movement of air through the cave. And then… a voice. And she wasn't hallucinating at all.

"He ain't here for you now, princess."

Kate jerked in fright. She physically felt her body react against the constraints, tightening as she struggled; the fear, that with nowhere else to go, dived right back inside her heart and rippled through her, a wave that crashed. She tried to count to five. She tried to calm herself, stop the vulnerability from being exposed… but then, what was the point? She was gagged and bound, had been for god knows how long; locked and lost. She had cried; surprised even herself in realising she was still crying. She had no energy left, not a single drop, to break free or break down or put up that mask she carried like a familiar friend.

"Who are you?" She whispered thickly through the material clogging her throat. It was the first question to reach her lips; the first of the queue that stretched back and back in her mind.

"Who am I?" The voice mocked. Female, Kate noted this time, with surprise. Something bassy in her voice, something that boomed like dynamite through the air. "Honey, you trust me on this one. You don't wanna know."

Kate processed this, turned it over in her mind. The Others? She had no fuel left to think or develop rational thought. "Why am I here?" She swallowed, awkward against the constraint, but her whole mouth was a desert; dry and tacky, her tongue swollen. She dissolved into a coughing fit, the irritation of the dusty air exacerbating, long ago in the distant past. It takes all your energy. You lift a finger, your index finger, scrape it like a whisper along the back of his hand, which rests atop yours.

"Katie…" He looks from your pale hand, to your face, your eyes which ask a thousand questions. He sees you try to speak.

"Katie, hunny, they put a tube down your throat to help you breathe. It's okay, you just can't speak right now." His whole body is clenched in fear and concern. His eyes; those eyes you have never seen cry before, those eyes which flit, glassy before your own… they cut through the smog of the sedatives. You implore of him, silently. What happened… help me put these pieces all together, Daddy…

He takes your hand, smoothes your bangs back from your face. "The doctors… they say you might not remember exactly what happened, sweetie. No-one knows, except you and … Richard." He says your stepfather's name cautiously, gauging your reaction. You give the tiniest of nods.

"There was a pretty big fire, at Richard's company offices, two nights ago. Someone called the fire brigade after seeing the flames and hearing arguing from the street." He swallows. "They managed to drag you out of the lobby… they think you were trying to get out but the smoke inhalation overwhelmed you."

Richard? Your eyes beg.

"Richard… Richard was upstairs in the boardroom. They think he went there to try and escape the flames but then got trapped. They couldn't get to him so easily, Katie. The fire was out of control in the main stairwell…"

Oh god, this can't be happening. Clarity is filling you, seeping into you too much now; you clamber to find ignorance once more, but it is lost.

"He's alive, Katie, but barely. He's pretty badly burnt and like you he had massive smoke inhalation. That's why you're intubated." Your father looks sad, and something far, far worse… he looks so disappointed in you, disappointed and lacking motivation or belief in you. Relieved you are alive, but with something like shame in his irises. "They say the fire was started deliberately. With gasoline."

He says this last part slowly, quietly. He scans your eyes. He wants to find the five year old again, the one who can curl up on his knee, the one who's biggest fault is being too cute. He searches for her, and though you know she is in here somewhere… she's lost, even to you.

It's all rushing back to you now, the pieces colliding violently and crashing into place; those memories you want to record over, instead playing back over and over, on loop. The years of torment and criticism… the excitement when Richard had invited you to the advertisement offices that night, the promise of an apprenticeship and your silent vow to try and make the best of this opportunity, not for Richard or your Mom but for your Dad. Because he hasn't deserved any of the you've gotten messed up in these last two years, all the accompanying grief he's been landed with; the move to Iowa just to be near you, and despite the grounding influence of Tom, you still getting into endless trouble at school and with the police. How you'd arrived at the building, smart and bubbling with enthusiasm to be shown round after everyone else had finished work; and then that smarmy grin on his face, that this had all been a cruel joke and he wouldn't let you join the team if you got a degree from Harvard. How the anger frothed inside you. How it bubbled and curdled, boiled over; treated this way by him since childhood, through no fault of yours other than existing. Exisiting and bringing with you the baggage of your father, and the life your mom had before.

You lost control; drove to the nearest gas station and filled two portable tanks with gasoline. Your mind was spinning, unsure of what you were doing… rationality buried under all those years of silence and pretence, lies to your father that no, Richard was never mean to you. Those words, those words he murmured at every opportunity, like a scratched CD in your mind; you secured the gas in the back, drove to the offices, sat with the engine running. Considered what you were planning. Richard's car wasn't visible; he must have gone home. He didn't know you had a key cut a year back to steal stationary supplies to sell on. That you overheard the alarm security code is your mom's birthday. Maybe just put the gasoline down. Maybe just give him a fright. Maybe just give him some of his own medicine.

You worked systematically. The stairwell. The boardroom. The main partner's offices. All along the corridors. And then, the final prize; Richard's office. The smell of the liquid was becoming intoxicating, childhood memories of road trips and service stations, filling up on gas and milk duds and Hershey's kisses. You in the back seat of the car, endless plush toys; and you hidden amongst them all, reading Hiking: Where, Why and How.

And then it was done, all his precious work soaked through; the computer, his prize possession, ruined. You backed out, surveying your handiwork; smiling maybe. You turned to leave. Richard.

You hated how calm he was. You wanted him to be fuming, angry, upset; all those things lying dormant within you, silenced by his eyes. He wandered into the glass box, picked up some papers, tossed them to one side; found his computer keyboard; turned it upside down and let the liquid pour out of it, splashing to the carpet. And that's when the anger started.

He smashed the keyboard against a filing cabinet. Smashed. You heard the plastic splinter. He ripped the monitor plug from the wall, plummeted it to the floor; the screen shattered against a chair leg, the glass scattering and falling. He called you every name he could think of, all the ones you'd heard before and some more beside. He screamed about you were a failure, how just because you'd not made anything of your life and you didn't bother going to school, you wanted to wreck his too.

And then he said it. He stopped shouting. He walked up to you, too calm and too complacent. "You're not good enough… You're just not good enough, Katie."

You flipped. You absolutely flipped. "Don't you dare." The words were seething, dripping with threat. "Don't you dare call me that. Only my father calls me that."

"Precious daddy dear? Your little saviour?" He sniggered. "How touching."

"What do you have against me, huh?" You were screaming now, shrill and uncontrolled anger seeping from you. "What did I ever do to deserve all the you give me?"

He just looked at you. Just looked you up and down, and smiled like the victor. Like you were some troublesome competition he could flick away with his little finger.

That was it. You could feel the power soar within you. The hate overwhelming everything you knew, all of rational Kate gone and forgotten. Your trembling fingers lifted the lighter from your pocket; that smooth silver, the scorch of the mechanism. "I'll show you just how good I am."

But that's as far as you can remember. You cannot squeeze the next detail from your smoke-fogged brain; did you flick the switch? Was there a struggle, was it accidental? The tears fill your eyes, pool over, spilling down your cheeks. Why didn't you mention Richard's endless put downs and criticism before? Why have you left your Dad ignorant all this time? He sees your grief; leans in and, ever so gently, surrounds you in that familiar bear hug. But this one is tinged, broken.

"The police… they found your fingerprints on the lighter, Katie. And they've got video footage of you buying six litres of gas, and entering the offices without permission or supervision." His voice is sad. Just heartbreakingly, achingly, sad.

And the cocoon you have formed with him, suddenly breaks and shatters; he pulls away before you do, for the first time since you turned into a teenager. He refuses to meet your eyes, and you have no words. You want to rip this tube from your throat, tell him everything, explain; but your Dad walks from the room, his figure hunched and mutated in grief.

And that's when you realise; you must run. Run away from this life that you've wrecked, from his life that you've wrecked, from all the barrage of criticism and blame you know is awaiting you when you see your mother, or Richard, or when the inevitable trial begins. From the inevitable guilty verdict; kid who got on the wrong side of the tracks, a shoplifter, a known truant, isolated and crying for attention.

That's not who I am, you want to scream. I am good enough.

"I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky
Make a wish, take a chance,
Make a change, and break away
Out of the darkness and into the sun"