Chapter 8 - Two Specks Upon This World
29-30/10/5

She watched her. She watched her chest rise up and down, slow and shallow; watched her face twist in untold dreams, nightmares unfolding into reality. She watched her from the corner of the cave, hidden in the black ink of shadow; hidden in her own thoughts and from those tears which occasionally threatened. She watched her face, growing paler daily, now a shock of white against dark curls; and wondered why he hadn't come to her yet.

She could remember so clearly that first flash of consciousness, opening her eyes to such immense pain; juxtaposed by that slick of blue sky, white beach, the flaming tail of the plane burning and breaking up maybe a half mile away from her. Her first thought - of him; not the deep gash in her thigh or blood flowing from her temple, but him; and then that terrible memory of him kissing her forehead, "I'll be right back…"; his footfalls to the cabin crew station in between the two economy class sections to ask for some napkins for his spilt drink. And then the turbulence; that first shudder of the plane against invisible forces, just as he fell from her line of sight. She had been just about to get out of her seat to find him when the second wave had hit, and the third; luggage falling like candy from the overhead lockers, screams from strangers, terrified eyes which darted around. Her eyes never leaving that dividing curtain, praying over and over for him to dash through it, hurdle over the blocked aisle back to his seat… but the plane kept falling, and his oxygen mask went unused and redundant, and the curtain moved only with the turbulence. Her heart felt on fire. She strained her eyes, past all the chaos and terror, convinced that if she pictured it for long enough, the vision of him coming to her would appear as fact. And then, all thoughts but her own survival gone, as the plane plummeted and broke apart… her breathing lurching, filled with terror, wanting to vomit and cry and just live. And that horrid, petrifying vision of the plane splintering and erupting, dividing and taking him from her… and she staring to the front as the whole tail section broke off, and she within it; falling, and unable to breathe, suffocating on her own terror, and blacking out.

Faith has known he was dead; he had to be, surely? He wasn't strapped in as heavy cases fell, as that huge unbreakable vehicle did the unthinkable and shattered. He was too near where all that suction would have been as her tail section ruptured and departed. But she could close her eyes. She could still close her eyes and see that vaguely unshaven chin, his number one close crop, the suits that always adorned his muscular frame. She and Aidan had been married just four months. They were off to Los Angeles to visit his grandmother, this tiny frail woman in a tiny frail nursing home, who was losing her battle with myeloma. Her bone marrow was failing her, day by precious day; and Aidan, raised in Montana with his grandparents living in the same house, had needed to see her that one last time before she died. And he wanted Faith to meet her, this woman who had taught him all those tiny things which made him Aidan. How to hold out a chair for a lady as she sat down. How to bake cookies. How to make snow angels in the powdery white landscape of harsh Montana winters. So again they delayed the honeymoon. And boarded Oceanic Airlines Flight 815.

And that's when she lost him.

That's when her world began to fall apart, layer by layer, until all she knew were days and nights filled with hot, scalding tears. The days passed them by… others built shelters and shared meagre rations of an unidentified fruit, spelt out 'SOS' in huge letters of wood and rocks. Faith wandered in and out of consciousness, to some new stranger offering her muddy water and a shoulder to cry on. She blinded herself to any kind of reality. She wandered in starved circles, calling his name. She collapsed, countless times, and woke to find herself again being carried back to camp by Steve, or Riley, or Adam. Never him. Never her husband. Never again.

"I can't be
Losing sleep over this
No I can't
And now I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours
I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing

This cannot be happening

This is over my head
But underneath my feet
'Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to way that it was"

Then he came back to her, suddenly and just when she had begun to truly leave hope behind her. He would never speak, never run to her; just appear behind a tree, along the beach. And she knew, how he was just waiting 'til they could be alone, to explain away the weeks he had been missing. Oh, she told the others, but they lied and said they couldn't see him; would give her a concerned look, offer water and ask if she wanted to talk. But she knew, knew they were tricking her; how they didn't want another mouth to feed, how they were jealous that she she found him when they had lost so much themselves. She would sit alone in the sand, tracing his name into the grainy particles over and over, trying to make it perfect for him. She'd forget how the tide was rising. She'd forget how the sun was beating down upon her, how she hadn't eaten in days; just sit and carve their names into hearts, and wait for him to come back to her. And then just as she made it perfect; a symmetrical heart and the 'F' of her name intertwining exactly with his 'A'… the sea would come in and engulf her, engulf them; and the beach would be smooth again. And Faith would sigh, scoot three feet up the beach on wasting limbs; and start all over again.

Sometimes it would be days between his visits, sometimes just minutes… and then, Faith didn't know when, a week ago maybe; he hadn't come to see her in days, no matter how perfect she had made her engravings. Dawn was just appearing on the third day, that slick of gold like gift wrap to a new day; and she had suddenly known what he wanted. He wanted her to follow him, through that spot in the jungle where she had last seen him. She scrambled to her feet for the first time in days. She fell. She rose again. And fell. There was no strength left in her.

And so she ate for him; wolfed down whole chunks of the star fruit and papaya the others religiously lay down beside her each morning and night, the fruit she usually barely nibbled at. She could physically feel herself being restored as those sweet, juicy, greedy chunks slid down her throat. She barely bothered chewing. Faith ate until she needed to vomit, and continued. Who knew how far away he would be waiting for her. She'd go to the ends of the earth.

She walked for every hour of daylight that first day. She was clever, she told herself, finding all those subtle clues he left her that no-one else would have noticed. A broken branch, some fallen leaves, the angle of a certain plant. Faith slept in a clearing, and woke before the night had even passed; picked her way down the steep hillside by the moonlight. She had crossed the middle of the island by the end og,
I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy

'Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real and just a dream"

How could a week have passed? How could forty people be searching near enough every inch of daylight the gods sent, and still seven days have passed with no sign, no trace? Forty times seven. Easy, thought Jack. Four times seven is twenty eight, so forty times is two hundred and eight. Two hundred and eighty days, effectively, of searching, if one took each person separately. And still… nothing and nobody, no scrap of fabric, no footprint encased in mud… no Kate. The original circular perimeter had been doubled, and tripled until the search area was effectively the whole island, or as much as they could safely reach. Ever expanding circles, and Jack didn't care for safety, not anymore.

Today was the seventh day. Sunday. The Sabbath day, Jack pondered as dug his sharp walking stick into the moist ground and clambered through the waist high foliage. Religion never had been high on his list of things to indulge time in, but what the hell. He sent a quick prayer to the gods, to whichever felt so inclined to hear his pleas. Send her back to me. Just send her back to me…

He was a physical and mental wreck. Jack hadn't been back to the camp for three days; had set out on Thursday with his pack stuffed with medicines, fruit, bottles of water, clothing. And that tiny box of plastic; his hidden treasure of the disposable camera, his constant reminder that Kate would, one day, be back. Sawyer had tried to stop him from going off alone; but Jack knew he had to be alone for the kinds of stunts he was likely to try in hope of finding Kate. The kinds of danger he would willingly put himself into. He couldn't ask someone else to do that for her. He'd tried to explain, tried to explain without giving away all his heart.

"So let me get this straight." Sawyer had swallowed, tried to keep the harshness from his voice, aware that Jack would be straight back on the defensive. "You're gonna wander into lost freakin' world, with our good neighbours the giant polar bears and… the other thing, all by yourself with some aspirin and a nine millimetre? Now why the hell didn't I think of that?"

It had been all Jack could do to stop himself from pacing. He had one more night to wait until he could leave, eight more hours to sit and know that somewhere out there, Kate was wondering why he hadn't found her yet. He had wanted to sit in peace and prepare his mind, his strategy, his plan of action. He hadn't wanted to have to explain himself to an arrogant southerner.

"Look, Sawyer. I know you don't understand why I've got to do this but just leave me to it."

"I'm coming with you."

"You can't." Jack had stated firmly.

"And why's that Doc? Am I under house arrest all of a sudden? I haven't let you wander off any of the other days by yourself, but you think it's a good idea to skip on over to the other side of death trap island when your whole mind's on anything but being careful? No offence now but I'm kinda thinkin' one person lost is enough for one week. You go marching off into bear village alone and it's gonna be two pretty quickly."

"So what do you propose I do, Sawyer?" Jack had shouted at the other man across the clearing. "Sit around here and hope that whichever sicko has Kate decides to drop her home in time for bed one night? We've searched as far as we can with still being able to get back to camp before sundown. You and I, we've been over every inch, and you know as well as I do that she's not there." He had felt the emotion hitting the edge of each word, a knife blade glinting in the sun. "I can't ask you to take the risks I'll be willing to. There's no point two of us going up against the likely dangers when I can do it by myself."

Sawyer had strode over to him, straight through the ashes of the fire, spilling the grey dust like thick smoke into the air. "Look, Doc. I get that she's your girl and all that jazz. But there ain't no danger I wouldn't face for anyone I care about, whether it's Kate or my great aunt Jeannie. What makes you so sure you'll be able to push yourself so much further than me?"

"Because, Sawyer." Jack had tried to leave the conversation there. Tried to walk away. Tried to stop the tears that threatened to spill.

"Because what, Doc?"

"Because you're not falling in love with her."

Jack pushed on through the endless tall reeds, these razor sharp daggers that stretched on up into the sky, puncturing the clouds. The others had all promised him before he'd left the next day, that they'd keep searching as far as they could; and Jack knew they could, but doubted it would be to any avail. He doubted whoever had Kate had crossed the line of steep hills and precipices; virtually impossible with Kate unconscious, and not something she would ever agree to do without putting up what Jack knew would be a hell of a fight. Kate was nothing if not a fighter, and strong willed. But then there might have been a gun, maybe more than one person, maybe… maybe anything, there were just too many possibilities and horrific outcomes. Jack stopped briefly, took a long drink of water, took time to once again drop his pack and leap up to the first few branches of the nearest tree, to gain height and perspective upon his position. He stared at that line of impenetrable rock faces, the hills which ran like a scar through the island. And he was terrified.

Terrified of things he knew he mustn't think about, for they might never happen and he might find Kate at any moment. But those two ideas, they played on loop in his mind, a never ceasing reminder to keep moving forward. Away from the day, if it ever came, that he arrived back in camp to find people had stopped searching. To find people sitting around relaxing, looking up at him sadly; the day he'd have to give up hope, because there was none left to be found.

And the other fear; the one that seemed irrational even to him. Jack was petrified of forgetting what she looked like. Scared he'd wake one morning and not be able to see Kate's face, the way when it occasionally cracked into a smile, she had delicate dimples and eyes that sparkled; those pieces of hair she used like a barrier, the curve of her cheek. It had happened when his father died; as soon as that body bag had been zipped up again, Jack had lost him. Lost that face he knew better than his own, the one he'd longed to see pride in his whole life. It just seemed to disappear from every memory he owned, every picture he held in his mind. Her voice too. What if he forgot what she sounded like? The way she pronounced his name? The edge of worry he always wanted to bury in the folds of his shirt, hold her and rock her 'til she felt safe again. Kate, he whispered to the wind. I'm coming.

Jack turned in circles as he reached the ground again, turned and spun and made himself dizzy with want to see a colour other than green. See an artificial colour, manmade and dyed, fabric or a shoe or just anything. He rotated on an axle; and thought not for the first time how in all the world, he was looking for one tiny person, one tiny speck upon this planet. The two of them, two invisible specks upon the world; and Jack circled and the fear grew within him at the thought of it. How they'd somehow collided once, in all the million paths they could have taken, theirs had crossed; and how he maybe didn't deserve to find her again, because he already lost her once.

Hours later, the sunset was hitting the peaks; Jack found himself in a small rough clearing beside what looked to be another large system of caves. He was soaked through; a freak shower had suddenly burst through from the heavens a half mile back, and the only shelter he could find was a slim concave dimple in an large teak tree. The shelter had proved less use than standing out in the rain itself, as huge droplets flooded down on him from the network of branches above; and so Jack gave up and pressed on, his grey t-shirt saturating and sticking to his sculpted chest and abs. And then as ever, as soon as the shower had started it stopped, leaving him sopping, the ground boggy and tiring.

Jack unrolled the tarpaulin he had taken from camp for this kind of weather, sat down upon it with his arms resting on bent knees. He knew he would have to start heading back tomorrow afternoon if there was no sign before then. He was getting desperate. He knew, that he'd gotten his hopes up too much, let himself believe Kate would wander out of the jungle towards him, unscathed and having just taken a wrong turn. He'd expected something. But it was like she'd vanished; like instead of both specks there was now just his, circling lonely upon a pivot, searching for his partner when she was no more to be found. Leaving nothing but a rainstorm and a memory, puddles in his footprints that turned orange in the sunset.

But then… Jack squinted, reassessed his vision. One of those patches of orange wasn't a footprint at all, the wrong shape, too synthetic a colour. Jack leapt from his exhausted position, suddenly awake and full of adrenaline and something like hope. He near tiptoed to the apparition, terrified it nothing more than a broken heart's mirage.

A morsel of cotton, like half a sleeve ripped in effort; threads trailing and the edges curling up. It was muddy and ripped but he knew exactly where it was from. Kate. Her favourite orange skinny top. His Kate; Jack whirled on the spot, twisting, not knowing what he expected to see. One thing he could see in his mind more clearly than anything; her face, worry lines, calling out to him. His heart thudded with hope and anticipation and terror, pure unabating terror. Those caves. Maybe?

Aware of the probably danger, Jack grabbed his pack, his sharpened stick and tucked the butt of his fully loaded nine millimetre firmly into the waistband of his jeans.

And those two specks upon the world, they moved ever so gradually closer again.

Kate awoke with a start. Her mind was clear, for once in as long as she now cared to remember. There was none of that now familiar cloudiness, the confusion which had hibernated within her. Her mind was clear and alert instantly. She spluttered against arid, pasty saliva, and it suddenly occurred to her also that her gag had been removed. How long have I been here now?

Her eyes gradually adjusted to the never ending darkness, blinking against the dryness and dust in the air. The shadows gradually formed, edges of grey in the pitch black.

Her captor was directly over her. Kate nearly screamed, that terror of a face forming in the dark where Kate had assumed there was only air and space. Her heart jerked, screamed into her rib cage, bolted. Her eyes were dark, inches from Kate's own wild irises. Her hair was greasy and fell in clammy strands right above Kate's face.

"Hello Kate."