Hello. Okay, so it's been way too long for this story, and those following it have most likely moved on by now, but I want to complete it, for whoever is left out there to enjoy it. With that being said, Monica (aka emerson023) set a pretty big standard recently, when she demanded something that is pretty common sense of her readership: TO LEAVE REVIEWS. I have adopted the same standard for my stories as well.
For me, this kind of goes without saying for anything that I read, regardless of if I enjoyed it or not, to leave a review. I have had follows and favorites for this story sprinkle in over the past few months, but those that have hopped on, haven't left a single review, except for a select few (LilyKathryn, cubimo, alwaysLOST12, VivaGrazia and Jate4life, thank you sooo much!). Do you know what a writer gets when you follow or favorite their story? A notification email from the website. THAT IS IT, and that to a writer does not translate into, "I love this story! And here are all the reasons why…" It's pure laziness to think that pressing a button tells the writer anything about your opinion.
I get it, my absence from this story doesn't exactly bode much confidence for investing in its conclusion, but I guarantee you, this story has been mapped out since its conception. I outlined it before I wrote a word. It has an end. Everything comes together.
To anyone new to this story, I highly advise you to go back and read every chapter. THIS STORY BUILDS. The plot in one chapter intimately bleeds into the plot of the next chapter. What I always loved about LOST is that it was always a story that was set up in such a way that everything meant something. I wanted this story to reflect that. You can't follow any big storyline on LOST by coming on at Season 3, with not a single look at Seasons 1 and 2. That's criminal, and that's the case with this story.
Don't jump on at this chapter. Go back. Read, absorb, and let me know what you think. I'm not asking for reviews for every one of the older chapters, but I am asking for feedback. I will no longer write in silence. I myself have a busy and fulfilling life that I will cut corners from to finish this story. Be respectful enough to leave a review letting me know that you appreciate the time and energy I put in. If not, I'll just stop posting stories here.
Monica is absolutely right in how she approached the appalling lack of support in the LOST community here on . It's ridiculous to count the follows and favorites, but go to the review page and see how far and between they really are. It's so pathetic that we have to dull out ultimatums to get you all involved, when you should be willing to do so anyways. A review means more to me than any follow and favorite. It's finally time to show me that you want this story as much as I want to complete it, because if you don't, I'll just stop writing it.
Enjoy!
"He wasn't there." Richard explained, standing over Ben's desk, watching him take in the news with surprise in his eyes.
"And how is that possible?" Ben asked, anger in his tone.
"He has two legs like the rest of us, Ben. Maybe he decided to take a stroll." Richard said, shifting his position. Ben studied his face, but nothing. The one thing he could never read about Richard was if he would ever lie to him. He had the distinct feeling that he was now.
Swallowing his suspicions, he spoke again, calmly this time. "For where? And why?"
Richard shrugged. "I don't know, but I did what you asked, and he wasn't there."
Ben, lit by an idea, stood slowly, his cane bearing the weight of his movements, and retrieved a bundle of maps that had been rolled up from nearby. He unrolled one map in particular onto his desk, setting paperweights at the edges and went in search of something he'd seen before, but had simply disregarded, until now. Richard watched questioningly in silence, unsure of what was unfolding before him. He stepped closer as Ben took his magnifying glass and honed his focus onto the print of the map.
"Ben, what is it?"
After roaming over it for a few moments more, Ben dropped the magnifying glass and planted his hands flat on the desk. He hadn't looked up at Richard yet, his eyes still searching. "What about that cabin?"
"I'm sorry?" Richard asked.
Ben looked up at Richard then. "There's a cabin on one of these maps." He unraveled another map from its tightly curled grip and placed it over the other one, repositioning the paperweights as he did so, and picking up the magnifier again. "It used to be where Jacob dwelled when he travelled, right?"
"Yes. He built it with his own two hands." Richard explained, his hands on his hips, watching as Ben's obsession with it took hold. "To my knowledge he doesn't use it anymore, hasn't for a very long time."
"I suppose not, since he has you to do his bidding all over the Island now," Ben reasoned. "There's not much of a need for him to go much of anywhere."
"The last I saw of it was maybe twenty years ago. The Hostiles were using it as safe house. It's small, so not very many people could fit, so we abandoned it, but eventually it just became a kind of geographical landmark. We'd meet outside of it to find each other if we ever had to split up." Richard confessed.
Ben was unaffected by the history lesson. Richard wasn't even sure he was listening to him anymore, his concentration captivated with this cabin all of a sudden. "What are you thinking, Ben?"
Sighing, Ben lightly released the handle of the magnifying glass, trading it for the handle of his cane instead. He mulled over the map once more, but his face feigned defeat. "Nothing," he said as he looked up to Richard, a fake grin pursing his lips together, "nothing at all."
He eased back into his chair, giving Richard the impression that he was done with his quest. "Thank you for going to him, Richard. I know it was against the 'rules', but I had to try something."
Richard nodded, his face and tone somber and regretful, or was he putting on an act? He wasn't sure anymore. He felt in his bones that the request was odd. Ben had always been content to do what was asked of him, and nothing more. Things were changing, and Richard knew it.
A big part of him, growing from the moment Ben came to his camp with his request, knew that something was …off. He wanted him to find Jacob, for how to protect the Island from Locke, but he always gave him instructions that ensured just that, the protection of the Island, but at that time, it'd been quite awhile since the last list. If Locke was such a threat, why had Jacob grown so mum towards Ben?
Richard wanted an explanation from Ben about just why it was so imperative in that moment, but looking back, he found that Ben did a lot of talking, persuading, but no explaining. He brought up the past; he flowered the moment with emotional rhetoric that distracted from the true issue. He had Tom posted there, waiting for John Locke to come knocking. Oddly enough, Richard found Locke on the mission Ben set him out on, and he was up to no good, but would he share this with Ben? He wasn't sure.
His allegiance was splitting in half, and he couldn't stand it. When did the black and white of his existence become so gray?
"I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you planned."
Ben snorted a deprecating laugh, as if he had just read Richard's scattered thoughts. "No, you're not."
"Excuse me?" Richard asked, affronted.
"I thought you at least had enough respect for me not to lie to my face." Ben leaned into his desk, anchoring himself on his folded arms. "You still don't believe a word I'm saying, Richard, about not having any other motives besides wanting to protect my people. Deep down, you're relieved that Jacob wasn't there. You don't want me to talk to him."
"Is that what you think?" Richard asked, nodding his head incredulously. Unbelievable, he thought. He looked Ben squarely in the eyes as the words came tumbling out, pushed by his outrage. "The only person on this Island who doesn't want you to talk to Jacob is John Locke."
Richard found satisfaction in the change in Ben's facial expression, more words spilling out in the heat of the moment. "I ran into him. He was at the Black Rock, planning something, maybe an attack against you and the people you're so invested in protecting, but whatever it was, it didn't look good."
"And you're just telling me this now?" Ben asked, picking the last straw of Richard's patience.
"Yes, Ben, I'm just now telling you, because honestly, this is what you did. You cut him loose and now he's up to something…again. He thinks that you're lying, and that you're hiding something. He actually tried to recruit me in finding out just what the hell it is he believes you're up to!"
Exasperated with the situation and finding himself caught in the middle, with his temper getting the best of him, Richard stepped back. He paced towards the door, and then back, his hands on his hips, and his breathing more controlled.
"I looked at that ship, how old and weather-beaten it is now, and I think about how different my life would have been if it weren't for meeting Jacob, if he hadn't granted me a wish that I never thought he had the power to."
"I've spent years believing in Jacob, in what he stands for, and for some reason, he chose you to be his proxy, to set his aims into motion. I don't have to agree with that choice, all I have to do is believe that the past two centuries of my life wasn't for nothing." Locke's words taunted him, made him question everything.
'One day Richard, one day very soon, you're gonna wish you'd paid more attention, but by then, it'll be too late.'
There was only one way to end this tug-o-war that was brewing inside of him. Someone had to be eliminated.
"You need to kill John Locke." Richard said it so suddenly, that shock lifted Ben's eyebrows as he watched him pull the words out of his chest. Richard was never an advocate of violent or deadly means to get the job done. He wasn't motivated, he was scared. Ben wondered what else Locke said to him, but didn't let that question distract him from Richard finally admitting that Locke needed to be stopped…permanently.
"What about this feeling you've had about him? The one you said almost compelled you to tell him the truth?" Ben prodded.
"I don't anymore." Richard lied.
Ben cocked his head, unconvinced. "It's gone, just like that? That's not just blood on my hands, Richard. It's blood on yours too. Are you willing to live with that?"
Richard let go of a long sigh. Did Ben really think him so weak and unable to co-exist with this choice? "This is only one of many decisions I've lived with, for a verylong time. This is me trusting you Ben, not only about Locke, but about everything. Do what you have to do, just do it quietly. I'll see my way out."
Ben sat there, mulling over Richard's sentiment. Mikhail walked in soon after Richard departed, his one eye taking in his boss' face from behind his desk.
"So?" Ben asked, momentarily distracted from his suspicions.
"Richard was telling the truth; John tried to recruit him and undermine his allegiance to you." Mikhail reported, having successfully followed Richard, and did so undetected.
"You followed Richard all the way?" Ben asked.
Mikhail nodded. "Yes. It took everything inside of me not to follow John, and kill him."
"Like I told you before, I have something far more damaging than death in store for John Locke. You'll get your vengeance, Mikhail. We both will." Ben said, in a tone that spoke finality on the topic. He knew Mikhail was growing impatient, but Locke would live, and he wouldn't find anything. His last hours on the planet would be filled with having tried and failed…only then, would he die.
"He was at the Black Rock. He could have taken a few sticks of dynamite and is on his way right no—"
Ben cut Mikhail short. "He isn't. He tried that already, and he knows that we'll be ready for him. What about Jacob? Was Richard telling the truth about that too?"
"Yes. Jacob wasn't there when he arrived." Mikhail confirmed, getting the idea that Locke was not on the top of his list of goals.
Ben smirked. "He will when I arrive."
"And when will that be?" Mikhail asked.
"When all the pieces are in place." Ben informed him.
Mikhail nodded, but if it wasn't for Ben's insistence that they wait things out, he would have John Locke's head on a silver platter. He spoke his honest opinion in spite of it. "Waiting certainly won't make matters easier to keep under wraps."
"No, waiting is exactly what I should be doing. If I strike now, it'll be too premature, too hasty." Ben said.
Mikhail kept forging ahead to get a better handle on Ben's plans. "What about Richard? If you don't move against Locke, he'll suspect."
"He already suspects. He's trying his best to hide it, and the only solution he can find is to eliminate Locke for good." Ben turned to Mikhail before he said, "Richard has been compromised. He didn't go with Locke, but he didn't have to."
"What are you going to do about it?" Mikhail asked.
"Absolutely nothing. He's my only connection to Jacob, and that is all he means to me." Besides, the man was immortal, ageless, Ben thought, so there was no killing him, even if the thought had crossed his mind, which it hadn't.
"My goal is Jacob." Ben said, with all the force he had to give.
"I want him to wait, and I want him to know that I've spent the last twenty years of my life preparing for a position that he was never going to give me. When I show up, when he realizes that his secret hole is no longer a secret, I'll kill him, but not before he knows with absolute certainty that this Island has always belonged to me, no matter who he brought here to take his place."
Everything was a blur. The leaves, the ground, the sky above. Kate moved with anger twisting through her limbs. She just couldn't stop moving, reaching for the cabin, for where she knew she could be close to him, talk to him, cry to him and beg him to forgive her. If she could hear and feel him, it had to work the other way, right?
Jack saw. It was like a repetitious chant whirling through her head as she moved furiously through the leaves. He knew.
There were cameras that much she knew, but judging from how grimy and run-down those cages were, she didn't think they were working. A foolish assumption. How could she have been so stupid?
In her hurried stride, her boot got caught below the underside of a tree root that poked through the ground at the bed of the tall grass. She cursed as she tried to pull herself free, but it wouldn't budge. She was truly stuck, and no matter what she did, she wouldn't go free, the pain wouldn't stop. There was nowhere to go.
The longer she pulled and tugged, the more hysterical she became. Silent tears moved down her face as she used her strength to pull her foot loose. She finally freed herself with a solid grunt, and moved to keep going, but found that she couldn't. She couldn't keep this up. She couldn't walk fast enough, or move far enough from the knowledge that she'd broken another man, the only man who mattered. She let the storm inside of her crack.
She folded against the side of a tree trunk, the breakdown coming through a sea of tears and sobs. She covered her face with her dirtied hands, embarrassed to be seen, even though no one was watching. She slid down to the trunk's base, on the ground, heaving. She kept playing their last moments together in her head, over and over again. Jack was so cold, steady in his resolve not to make the moment personal, to not let her in.
'What did they do to you?' She remembered asking him, and he wouldn't say, because it wasn't them.
It wasn't them. They hadn't done a thing. It was her. She broke his heart. She cried until her temples burned with a searing headache. She had no idea how she was going to find him, but she knew she needed to, but she was so so so tired. The trek to the beach had drained her, but the thought of seeing Jack again was her fuel, but now, she let her achy bones sag. Jack knew. All the motivation she had died with this knowledge, this sadness.
Through puffy, red eyes, she suddenly saw it in the distance. The cabin.
Her mouth dropped with amazement and relief as she wiped at her face. How could that be? She thought. The last time she came from the beach to find it, she calculated that she'd been travelling for hours, a couple of good, long miles between her and it. Had she been walking that fast to have gotten to it so quickly? She found she didn't care for an explanation, as she rose and dusted herself off, stumbling towards it.
She came through the door. The bed was still unmade, which reminded her of before the beach, before Juliet and the humiliation she was determined to dish out. She hated that woman, but she was right, Ben played her. She was nothing but a means to push Jack away from the Island, and she played right into it.
Not everything was the same. She began to realize that she couldn't feel him there anymore, as if the revelation of what she'd done to him made her unworthy of it, of any part of him and the connection she felt to him through this cabin. She didn't deserve his comfort, but she still craved it.
She refused to believe that he was dead. Jack was too stubborn to die; a small, nostalgic smile rode her lips at the thought. So, she would wait. She wouldn't move until she felt him there again, and then she would find him, wherever he was. She let the pack fall from her shoulders, and carefully sat the rifle down.
Eventually, she lowered herself onto the bed until her wild curls were scattered about her head. She was in her white tank top and panties, getting comfortable on the wire-thin mattress. Once she stopped squirming, she reached over and brought her hands up above her, the face of Jack's watch dangled from her fingers. She had cleaned it the best she could after she dropped it in the jungle, as the Smoke Monster was determined to kill her, but she could see some of the polished finish wearing off. It exposed how much time had passed since Jack left. She missed him so much.
She had so much to tell him, to apologize for. Hope sprung inside of her as she gazed at it. It was all of him she had left now. He knew about her and Sawyer and she had still given it to her, entrusted it to her. She had to hold on to that. She brought it down to the valley between her unhampered breasts, held it there and closed her eyes. The tick of the clock sounded in perfect harmony with her slumbered heartbeat.
It was nightfall, the beach had calmed considerably, the news of Jack and the arrival of Juliet kicked up dust that was now settling into the darkness around them now. Rose had thought it best to set Juliet up with shelter and some supplies, food, water. She'd traveled all that way to tell them about Jack, that he hadn't given up on them. She deserved that much, even if they couldn't trust her fully just yet.
Sawyer sat on the beach's edge, looking out at the water, the light of the bonfire nearby casting a warm glow over his angry, disappointed face. The memory of Kate's reaction to him was devastating. She balked from him, like he was radioactive. His feelings weren't hurt easily; he was never this easily bruised, but this hurt like hell. It still hurt.
He sensed someone plop down next to him. He turned, took in her profile, her sharp, yet pretty and feminine features were touched by the firelight, and her long blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, while a few strands danced about her face.
He smacked his lips and turned back. "Go away."
"Sorry, but I can't do that." Juliet took no time in replying, turning to him, watching his jaw set into a stubborn clinch as his teeth ground together.
"And why the hell not?" Sawyer asked, not looking at her, but the snippy and surly tone rang loud and clear.
"Because I haven't apologized yet." She snipped right back, catching the slight defeat in his features, as he still ignored her presence. She crossed her long legs together, digging her fingers in to play with the sand at her sides.
"What I did earlier…" she didn't elaborate, because she knew that he knew what she was referring to, that moment, "it was wrong." In her successful attempt to embarrass and humiliate Kate, kick her off her throne to be frank, she had caused great pain to him. She hadn't thought about that. In her ire, she could be pretty short-sided and vindictive. He hadn't deserved that. Kate? Well, she was another story.
"You have every right not to like me." She continued, stealing glances at him. She was oddly caught off guard by how his chopped, dirty blonde hair swayed in the light breeze.
She was about to continue, when his voice filled the space immediately around them. "I knew the second after we left. Hell, I knew when she was on the walkie with him, beggin' him to tell her where he was." He was so foolish. All those moments he spent pining for her, getting in her way, trying to stop her from going out in that jungle by herself.
Some conman he was. He didn't even realize that the mark was never going to bend to his love for her. He closed his eyes with a self-deprecating scoff. "How could I have been so damn stupid?"
Juliet felt such sympathy for him. She remembered their interactions from before, vividly. He was such a lively…asshole. He was a handful, disobedient, ornery and….strong. He'd taken a hell of a beating and never backed down, but he was just bowed over now. Kate had cracked him. She hadn't broken him, but tonight, he was on the edge, as close as he'd ever been before.
"Jack kissed me." The words were so unexpected that Sawyer turned to her, watching her eyes spark behind the firelight. She met his gaze. "He was drunk and out of it, but he kissed me. And when he pulled back, I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was her; he wanted me to be her. Even after what he saw on those monitors, even after leaving her behind."
"So, I get it." Juliet nodded. Sawyer couldn't even be cross with her after that. It was obvious in how she recounted the memory that it hurt her, it really cut deep that she wasn't Jack's desire. She really understood, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had to.
"But he came back. For all of you. He wanted to make things right."
Aw hell, Sawyer thought. If only she hadn't said that. He couldn't help but let go of a deprecating snort, watching her through slitted eyes. "Do you actually believe the bullshit you're sayin' to me right now?"
What was it with women and Jack? They tripped over themselves to believe in him, to praise his selfless efforts, to be utterly taken with him and everything he did. It was so fucking infuriating to him. Why wasn't Juliet mad at him for what he did? Why was she making it seem like a passable offense?
"He kissed you. He wanted you to be someone else. He used you just like she used me, so I don't really want to hear about what a big damn hero he is, because he's just as selfish as the rest of us."
Sawyer stood then, his movements brimming with attitude, quick and taut. He dusted the sprinkles of sand from his jeans as he looked down at her, the moment they were having, the genuine understanding he felt from her dissolved away in more frustration. He was suddenly reminded that she wasn't one of them, that she wasn't his friend, and that he didn't have any friends.
"The Doc risked his ass for one person and one person only, and she's out there ready to die for him, too. So I guess that makes us the odd ones out." To add emphasis, he bent down, his face inches away from hers and his voice scratchy, faintly menacing, but sad all the same.
"Welcome to the club, Blondie." And with that, he marched up the stretch of the beach to his tent.
Juliet shook her head as she bent her legs, and hugged them to her chest. She knew what he was doing. He was keeping his anger close, because it was better than sulking, which he had too much pride to partake in for too long. Wasn't that why James Ford was walking around with a different name? Because it was easier to be angry than to give in to the pain, to the loss.
She read his file, word-for-word, out of interest more than necessary. He had lived a tragic life, but found purpose in the dark shadows, in his revenge, running cons from the age of thirteen, until he made a career out of it. She had to admit, he was right. They were in the same boat, hopelessly in love with two people who would never stop being desperately in love with each other. She looked out at the waves, watching them flip and flop under the moonlight.
She never thought she'd find herself on common ground with a man like Sawyer, but life was full of surprises.
The torch that Locke held in his hands lit the way. Damn, he thought. He felt like nightfall came a little too quickly, as if the Island didn't want him to find what he was so determined to. On his own this time, he reminded himself, constantly. He was doing this on his own this time, and he had a plan.
He thought about stopping an hour ago, set up camp, call it a night, but he wanted to keep going. He needed to. Everything was so pressing, even the air he breathed had a different taste to it. He couldn't track in the dark, but he felt a sense of rightness about where he was headed. Eventually, he saw the strong stone edges of a barricade of some kind, a wall, up ahead. So, he moved to it, its presence settling his nerves about where he might be going, and if his internal compass needed recalibrating.
The barrier finally came into full view, and his tired smile grew and widened. The Temple. He found it. The tall, outer wall, peppered with symbols was like an old friend. Locke's hand smoothed over it fondly as he chuckled happily. He walked around the enclosure to find the door he left cracked and slid his way through. He made a beeline for the chamber Jack's father had led him to before, in hopes of finding answers.
The fire still burned in the central point of the space, illuminating every corner in an intimate glow. He gleamed at the walls, the art work, and the history. The Smoke Monster's history. He realized that this was the only way to take Ben out for good. He had no other play in motion. Richard spotting him at the Black Rock no doubt found its way back to Ben, so he was desperate.
He eyed the olden mural of the Monster, chained and leashed the hands of men, and knelt down next to it. Murky, dingy water hid the knob underneath it. He dipped his fingers in, and was ready to turn it, to watch all the water drain away, and the Monster to swirl from his cave, when he heard someone speak up from behind him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Locke was quick on his feet. He rose, turned, grabbed and aimed his gun all within a few seconds. He took in the man who was encased in firelight. He was barefoot, dingy collared button-up, dark trousers. Sandy blonde hair. This time, it wasn't Christian.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Jacob." He spoke, his voice somehow rumbling off the walls, calm and inviting. "You can lower your gun. I'm not here to hurt you."
"You're the one who sent the Monster to attack me, and drag me here. You're the one who's in control of it." Locke stated, stepping closer to the fire, letting his gun fall. Christian never answered him one way or another about how it all happened.
"No, I'm not. I used to be, but I have a limited amount of power over it now, and I used every drop to get you here that day, but only to show you, to give you the tools to fight against Ben when the time comes."
Jacob stepped closer. "It's best that he never know that you ever came across this place. You turn that knob, and you're the first person on his list of suspects and there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in, which doesn't exactly work with my plan."
"What is your plan exactly?" Locke asked.
"To keep you and Jack alive, John." Jacob said. "If you make this move against Ben, he will have no choice but to kill you."
Locke tilted his head. "How do you know he doesn't already have a lynch mob out looking for me right now?"
"Because I know him. He is waiting for you to do something drastic, desperate and then he'll strike. He'll kill you when you're finally broken, and you're not broken yet, are you John?"
Locke ignored his question and asked one of his own, his tone deep and biting with sarcasm. "You know him, hmm? You trusted him, for years and he betrayed you. Did you know that too?"
Jacob remained cool, because he deserved it. His inability to see Ben for what he was really after caused all of this. "No, not at first, and by the time I did, it was too late."
Locke asked another question, one he'd been waiting for ask for awhile. "Why did you have Christian come to me? Why not tell me all of this yourself?"
"I have to stay as elusive as I possibly can, which is why Christian has been such a valuable asset to me, but I can't afford to do that any longer."
"Go back to your people, John." Jacob made it clear that it wasn't a suggestion.
"No," Locke's voice rumbled with confusion and impatience. "Christian told me to figure out Ben's next move and to stop him. I was just in the process of doing that, so why—"
"The circumstances of those instructions have changed. He is on to you, which is why you need to go back to your camp. The longer you're out here, the more opportunity there is for him to get to you."
"Benjamin Linus can get to me from anywhere on this Island, that is not a problem for him, and he is very satisfied with that. So, with all due respect, the longer we wait, the more of an advantage he has to—"
"Jack is the advantage," Jacob interrupted him, his voice still even level, yet stern, but its edges fringed with a bit of impatience. Locke's face fell into a spell of surprise…and suspicion. Jacob was keeping something from him, something big about Jack.
Jacob must have sensed his thoughts, because he then said, "And he won't succeed without your help, and you cannot help if you are dead. That is all you need to know."
"Where is Jack? Is he here? Is he back on the Island?" Locke asked, a bit too eagerly, tired of being told half the story.
"You need to trust me." Jacob urged, having already said too much, but reeled himself in before he said anything more. He once told Jack that he allowed John to know very little, and he would keep to that. The less he knew at the moment, the safer he was, and the sooner he got back to his camp, the longer he hoped he would stay that way.
Jack was the Savior, lost in space and time, with a journey he needed to embark on before he could take his place. Jacob made sure he was on that voyage, everything depended on it. John was the Soldier, on the ground, in the trenches, fighting restlessly to win, to ensure there was an Island left to protect. All he saw was the mission, the enemy and that he needed to be stopped. Like any good soldier, Locke needed to realize that no war was won with a single action, but a series of steps that required patience for the proper moment. Jacob was here now to make sure he understood that.
"Everything is in its place. Go back. You'll know when you need to do this. Goodbye, John."
"Wait, you can't just—" Locke started, his voice into an angry growl, but it was too late. Jacob was gone as abruptly as he'd appeared.
Should I keep going? You will need to let me know via a review. I won't assume that you're enjoying this story, nor will I accept passive interest, not anymore, not with all the work it takes writing it. I want to finish, but it is up to you whether or not I do.