Chapter 14

Ana awoke to find Sayid staring at her. Had he remained awake all night? And at what point had she drifted off to sleep? She viewed his countenance with some trepidation: what did that nearly vacant expression mean? Last night she had apologized to him, and he had not rejected her apology, but he had not quite accepted it either.

Sayid, she thought, had every reason in the world to hate her, but he had actually treated her with less callousness and obvious dislike than many of the other survivors had. His magnanimity bewildered her. Perhaps he was only more restrained than the rest; perhaps his vehemence coursed like a suppressed current beneath his thoughts, kept tightly bottled by mantras and displaced anger, anger which took the form of hatred for Gale and which expressed itself in the certainty that they would discover no balloon.

And now he sat gazing at her where she had lain vulnerably for who knew how long while he thought of—what? He could have snapped her neck in the night if he had wanted to. He could have done anything.

"What?" she asked. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, not that the wispy musician would have been much of a deterrent if Sayid had wanted to slay her in her sleep.

"Nothing," the Iraqi answered indifferently.

She drew herself from the ground and watched the Englishman return bearing fruit. She had failed to obtain a gun from Sawyer, who had pointed to his battered face and mocked that her companion ought to be weapon enough. But Charlie had somehow managed to get a gun, and she had perceived its bulge yesterday, although he had of course delivered it to Sayid instead of her.

Why would Charlie have a gun, she wondered, and why had Sayid insisted that he accompany them on this little journey? The musician irritated her, and his choice of the word murder yesterday afternoon had not further ingratiated him with her. She had been relieved and surprised when Sayid had turned back to tell him his words were enough, but the rebuke he gave Charlie also had the effect of further stirring her already churning guilt.

She watched Sayid refuse Charlie's offer of breakfast, and she rose to follow him, leaving the musician in her wake. She did not understand what had given birth to the odd couple, but lately the Englishman had begun to trail after the Iraqi like a ubiquitous little dog, and Sayid evidenced no desire to kick him to the curb. Charlie muttered something Ana did not bother to hear, and then he followed.

When they reached the map's destination, Sayid seemed to smile with arrogant satisfaction, but Ana would not accept his assurance even though it was to her benefit. If all his anger remained directed at Gale, none of it would be deflected back to her. But she nonetheless insisted on looking farther. She would not make the same mistake twice, even if it cost her Sayid's mercy.

She saw him sneer at her insistence, like a man irked by opposition, but he did not deny her. The three fanned out across the field, exploring the grid Sayid had divided for them. Ana lost sight of her companions after an hour, but she heard Charlie's voice rising in the distance with a shout, and she ran in his direction.

Sayid likewise had come sprinting towards the call, and when they reached Charlie he was beyond the open field, a few feet into a spot of jungle, pointing up with wonder at the canopy of the trees. Ana's eyes followed his, and then they turned immediately to Sayid.

The ex-soldier was looking up at the remnants of the balloon that blocked the sun above them. The yellow smiley face seemed to gaze back at him with winking mockery. Ana saw his lip quiver and watched him cinch his jaw tightly closed. His eyes became cold and distant, and his hands formed fists at his side. He looked down from the balloon to the floor of the jungle, and then he took two steps backward, turned, and began to walk away alone.

Ana looked again at the balloon, then at the nervous face of Charlie, and finally back to the retreating Iraqi. His movements were slow but determined, and she could almost see the tension that seemed to course beneath the sinews of his arms; even from this distance, she could sense the thinly veiled rage that emanated from his frame.

And what had she hoped for herself? Not to prove Sayid wrong, certainly. Yet she did feel a sense of relief at discovering the truth, of knowing that she had not again wronged a man before determining who and what he was. But there also rose within her chest a choking fear…Sayid had not wanted this result. He had beaten Gale badly. He had been certain of his own righteousness. He had channeled all his anger at a single object, and now the target of his wrath had been cruelly withdrawn from his vision. And now he was turning on his heels, turning and walking rapidly back in their direction.

When he reached them, he drew close to Ana, his face but inches from hers. "Is this what you wanted?" he spat. "Is this what you hoped to find?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "No. I just wanted the truth. Didn't you?"

He jabbed his finger in the direction of the balloon. "This is a trick," he insisted. "It is only a trick."

"Sayid," interrupted Charlie's hesitant voice, "the balloon is here just like he said it would be—"

Sayid turned abruptly to face the musician. "That does not mean he is not lying. He knew this balloon was here, and he incorporated its existence into his story, but he did not come here in it, and he is one of them."

From behind him Ana spoke with forced confidence. "Sayid, you're taking this too far, you've gotta--"

Her words were cut short by the sound of multiple rifles cocking. She heard it. Sayid heard it. Only Charlie looked bewildered by the sudden silence that befell Ana and by the look of ready caution that overtook Sayid's eyes and stilled his figure. The ex-cop and the ex-soldier were looking at one another, but what they were communicating, Charlie could not guess.

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