Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews! This story is turning out much longer than I had originally anticipated. This chapter is rather intense, and it was an uneasy experience writing it; but things will get better. I have four more chapters in mind, but have to invent something to connect to them. As for finding out about updates, there is a feature "Add Story to Story Alert" as a button on the same menu as "Submit Review."

The Others attempt to quash any further thoughts of disobedience by Walt

Walt woke to a drop of water splashing on his forehead, right between his eyes. His mind slowly cleared, and he remembered that his last thought was that he was going to be in trouble, but hoped that by keeping his eyes closed it would go away. Maybe this was a bad dream, and he would wake up all better. If it wasn't a dream, he didn't want to open his eyes for fear of discovering what the Others had in store for him for trying to make contact with his friends. A couple of seconds later another water drop smacked him right in the center of his chest. No big deal yet, but then another drop landed in his belly button, creating an odd sensation. "I don't want to know what's going on," thought the still groggy Walt, when another drop landed between his eyes. A pattern was developing. Walt was tired, and didn't feel like moving, but reluctantly decided to move off to the side to avoid the annoying trickle.

The next thing Walt realized was that moving was not an option. He opened his eyes, and found that his arms and legs were stretched taut toward the corners of a heavy table in an unfamiliar room. His hands and feet were manacled, although again there was padding on the interior surfaces, so that the edges of the manacles were not digging into his skin. Remembering Alex's words that the Others didn't want him physically harmed, he reasoned that this was to prevent injury so that he could still be productive after this ordeal. But was he going to get through this ordeal? Looking up, he could see that he had been positioned under a leaky pipe that ran parallel to his body. Walt thought it was incredibly mean of the Others to do something like this. After further thought, it wasn't so incredible; if they were mean enough to kidnap him for slave labor they must be capable of doing any number of nasty things to him.

"Hey!" he yelled out, but there was no one else in the room.

Walt tried turning his head to the left to avoid the next water drop, but it hit him in the outside corner of his right eye. Turning his head as far as he could to the right produced the same result for his left eye. If he didn't turn his head far enough, the drops would hit his eyelids, at least if he closed them in time. Furthermore, the simple act of rotating his head increased the strain on his limbs, making them feel like they were being pulled out of their sockets. Walt figured it was best to tough it out by keeping his head centered and still. Maybe it was best to regard this as a challenge, and prove his toughness.

The next difficulty was a sudden realization that his arms were going numb. All he could do to alleviate this was to clench and unclench his fingers. This helped, but if he didn't do it often the uncomfortably numb feeling would return. Walt also thought of wiggling his toes to help keep his legs from a similar fate. He could keep this up for some time, but had no clue as to how long he was going to be here.

The feeling of helplessness and vulnerability was close to unbearable. Walt tried pulling on the chains, but that only caused pain while he couldn't budge a millimeter. Even taking a deep breath caused discomfort. Only by holding still would most of the pain cease, but he was still subject to those annoying drops of water, inexorably hitting his body. Without freedom of movement or anyone to talk to, Walt could only think to himself. He wasn't going to be physically harmed? He found that hard to believe. His joints would surely be aching when the Others let him go. Of course they would let him go eventually, they still needed him right? They wouldn't want to wait for baby Aaron to grow up in ten years. No, what the Others were probably doing was to damage him mentally. He would have to keep his mind constantly occupied.

While keeping his eyes closed to avoid the drips on his head, Walt thought again about his insistence on going on the raft. There had to be a reason for that feeling, but it was most probably not so that he could wind up like this. He might gain another centimeter in height because of this, but that also was not a good reason. Maybe he was destined to defeat the Others, or perhaps what was more likely rescue Alex. It was also possible that Locke's ignoring Walt's warning against opening the hatch was the cause of this. No! It wasn't fair to blame Locke; the blame was entirely with those sick, depraved Others.

As Walt tried to think of anything to keep his mind occupied, the endless dripping was really bugging him. His brain was starting to function abnormally. After an hour Walt got an overpowering impulse to move, but the best he could do, after shaking his head to clear the water that had pooled in his eye sockets, was to raise his head a little and look down the length of his body. That strained his arms again, but it was worth it. His navel had filled with water, and was now overflowing. Walt guessed that that was an instance of the Other's warped sense of humor. But now Walt himself was beginning to find it amusing, feeling the splashes in the tiny lake and being powerless to do anything about it. Soon, there was a little river running down the center of his body, as some of the water hitting his chest trickled down to his belly button, while some trickled up to a small pool at his throat.

Walt lost track of time, though hours had been passing. Hour after hour he tried to keep his mind sharp, but was losing control thanks to the incessant dripping. His thoughts had turned to observations like the Others had done a magnificent job in immobilizing him. How exactly had they done that? Turning his head the limited amount that he could, he ascertained that the manacles were connected to chains that had been wrapped tightly around the side edges of the table, and then apparently anchored to the table legs. This solidly pinned his shoulder blades to the table, as well as his rear end, the sides of his calves, and the backs of his forearms. He might have well as been glued to the table.

Another thought was that he had overheard that the French lady had done something like this to Sayid, but gave him electric shocks. At least Walt's treatment didn't involve electricity, so he felt it could have been worse. Then he again thought about the times when Locke treated him like an adult while Michael was treating him as a child. Now Walt wished that he could be living like a normal child in a normal place, who would never have to worry about anything like this. On this island he had been growing up too fast, and very little was normal.

That still wasn't a particularly healthy way of thinking, but there wasn't anything else to do. Walt sorely wanted to fall asleep, and have this done with when he woke, but the incessant "drip, drip, splash" pattern prevented his hope of slumber. Now the water was overflowing the pools in his navel and on his throat to such a degree that it was running down his sides and the sides of his neck, causing a tickling sensation. The Others were winning, but it wasn't fair. They could keep him secured like this indefinitely, say until his mind snapped. It looked like this might not be too far off now. Walt had a difficult time thinking of anything other than the irritating dripping.

Desperately trying to think of anything else to preserve his sanity, Walt wound up thinking about his cartoons and comic books. Characters got tied up all the time in those, and what was his typical reaction? He laughed at them. He had laughed at the bad guys being tied up, and he had laughed at the good guys being tied up. Now maybe it wasn't so funny when it happened in real life. No longer thinking rationally, Walt felt that maybe this was some kind of poetic justice. No, that wasn't enough; he deserved to be laughed at as well. But there was no one else there. Could he laugh at himself? He pictured what he must look like, wearing only that silly little boarskin loincloth and helplessly spread-eagled on the table. Would he laugh at that image in a comic book? He had to admit that he would, and starting laughing for real. That induced a painful strain on his arms but it didn't matter. The harder he laughed, the more hilarious that image became. In a state of delirium, Walt was roaring uncontrollably, somehow oblivious to the pain, when mercifully he passed out.

Walt awoke curled up on the floor in his room, shaking. There was an intense ache in his shoulders, which partially dissipated as he rubbed them. His legs and back also ached, but not as badly. Slowly his brain recalled his ordeal of the past several hours. He had lost track of time; he had no clue as to how long he had been tormented, nor how long he had been unconscious. He struggled to the bathroom, and noticed that his possessions, like the toothpaste and nail clippers, were still there. Except that the shorts and underwear he had when he first came here, but hadn't worn in weeks, were gone, and there was now just the other loincloth, his change of clothes, on the clothesline. He guessed that the Others might have some demented plan for his old garments, hopefully not another ruse to throw his rescuers off the track.

After washing up, Walt curled up on his bed, but couldn't sleep, despite the fact that this would be the first time he wasn't going to be chained to it. There was still too much pain in his joints. He knew better than to try to run and escape now; the Others would certainly be nearby, and running would be painful. All he wanted was to fall asleep and have the pain gone when he woke up. But that experience was too recent and overwhelming and horrible to not think about it. He just could not go through anything like that again.

However, that observation did not answer a very important question. Was the communication attempt worth the ordeal? If he knew beforehand what the Others would do to him, would he still have sent those messages through the rock? It didn't take him long to decide that the answer was "yes." Not just yes, but unquestionably "yes." The chance to indicate to his fellow castaways that he was alive and on the island was worth the temporary pain and humiliation, regardless of the intensity. Walt had not been broken.

That realization gave him a warm feeling, and allowed him to drift off toward dreamland. However, he would be a lot more careful in the future. If the Others found out he still was in full possession of his wits, he could be in bigger trouble. Consequently, he determined his best course of action was to pretend, even to Alex, that he had been completely broken and had given up hope. He would passively do everything she or the Others asked, and not ask for anything himself. No comments or questions about anything, like the workload, or the machine behind the metal door, or even haircuts. He would put on the acting performance of his life.