Author's Note: Well, I started to write this chapter and was taking it in a completely different direction than the one you are about to read. I sat down to start typing it up, as I had written it in a notebook, and for whatever reason, this version came out instead. I only hope this works the way I want it to. Read away, and as always, reviews greatly appreciated!
Chapter Six: Ultimatums
"It's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…"He must have heard that phrase a million times as a boy. And that was the low estimate. It seemed to be the punchline to a joke he was never really meant to understand. Every visit to his father's study ended in that meaningless phrase lingering in the air between a pair of hazel brown eyes and a pair of steely blue. Just like the faint stench of alcohol as the last word left his father's mouth. Every visit, except one.
Jack never did figure out why his explanation of standing up for Marc Silverman on the playground that spring day didn't merit the saying. Walking into that big meant-to-impress study, he had expected it to come out first, last and probably between every other sentence of his father's inevitabe lecture. Instead, he had been shown the backs of two closed fists and had been commanded to choose, to gamble on which held the quarter. He never heard it that day, but he hadn't really ever needed to. It was implied; whether he understood it's meaning or not, it was always there.
Now, it seemed to cycle through his mind on a vicious loop, over and over, repeating its mantra in a last attempt to make its sole audience member finally understand. Though they tried and tried to be the best, the Red Sox would inevitably fail. They just never had what it took. Just like him.
The hot sting of tears burned at the backs of his eyes and the raw tightness in his throat demanded a drink to wash away the mounting tension. Jack felt like he was losing his sanity, the endless tumble of circular logic led back to rounds of rapid-fire questions he wanted answers to that merged with thoughts of escape and the planning needed which connected with the logic again… STOP! His breathing was deafening in his own ears but somehow he managed to hear them enter.
The last of the four hadn't even passed through the doors before the shock of their sudden appearance wore off his bound and gagged fellow prisoner. Sawyer immediately started spitting all sorts of fiery unintelligible sounds at them, probably obscenities he made up right there on his dirt stained knees. They didn't even give him the time of day.
Instead, Henry moved to stand directly in front of him with Bea at his side, while Tom and the burly man took up positions flanking him from behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack let himself take stock of their intentions but tried his hardest not to allow his anxiety show.
"It's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…"One look in Henry's eyes told Jack his uneasiness may as well have been written on a yellow Post-it not and stuck across his forehead. He kept his gaze steady, waiting for the man to speak. Bea squatted, dropping to eye-level and spoke instead.
"We would like to ask you a few questions, Jack," she started, her voice never faltering from that same smooth quality he had heard on the docks. There was authority in it, but no feeling, like she'd rather be anywhere else but here.
He only stared.
"How did you and your friends come to be on this island?"
There was a tense silence as Jack considered his options. They already knew that. He responded slowly in a barely controlled voice, but did not answer.
"Where's Kate?"
She didn't even flinch. Just crossed her arm across her bent knee and asked another.
"How old are you?"
It was an odd question, but Jack could feel the anger simmering in his chest, burning away all curiousity.
"Where's Kate?" he repeated.
The second time got more of a response, but the tell didn't show in her voice or in her at all. He could hear Sawyer wrestle against his bonds, and the two men behind him scuffling in the dirt.
"Jack, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Right now, you're telling me you've chosen the hard way. So I'm going to give you a chance to reconsider that decision and I'm going to ask you one more time. How old are you?"
"It's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…""Where's Kate?"
Bea turned her stare to the floor, shifted slightly and then fixed him again with her indifferent yet direct scrutiny. She nodded once as Henry approached him, coming even closer than she had been, and the burly man not named Tom exited the hut.
"I knew you were stubborn, Jack," he said, an unnerving grin pulling across his sallow face. "I just didn't realize how stubborn. Pickett! Alex!"
The man and the dark-haired girl entered the hut, and at first Jack couldn't determine what they were dragging between them. The instant they let go, and he watched the tumble of waves and blue t-shirt fall helplessly to the ground, a deep gnawing dread began to work alongside the anger in the pit of his stomach.
He barely heard Henry command Pickett for some unknown reason and watched powerlessly as he roughly pulled her to her knees and fisted her hair, supporting her head to force her eyes on him. There was a disturbing panic begging him for help and Jack wondered briefly why she didn't fight back. She acted like she had no control over anything, like she was incapable of movement or support. Something was very very wrong.
A entire catalog of medical knowledge went streaming through Jack's head, his mind searching frantically to match the symptoms with whatever they had done to her. She was alert, the fear in her eyes told him that much. She seemed incapable of her own support. Maybe a drug of some sort? Another sedative? Before he could continue his assessment, Henry filled him in.
"We gave her a temporary muscle relaxant. For the next three to four hours, she'll be completely at our mercy. She can see and hear everything that we do in this room. But we're going to let you decide what happens to her, Jack."
He paused letting his prelude to his ultimatum settle in the room
"You're a doctor, Jack. What do people use gamma hydrobutrylic acid for?" Henry glanced over at Kate and then cocked his head toward Jack, waiting.
Even if he had wanted to answer, Jack suddenly found his mouth had filled with cotton and the urge to scream his fury had been muted by something not in his control. He knew this whole set-up was more for Kate's benefit than his own. He knew exactly what GHB was used for.
"Let me put it this way, Jack," Henry said, looking Kate over with an appreciative eye. "We've been stuck on this island for a long long time. Too long but we've been kept comfortable. There's food here, clothing, shelter… but the female companionship has definitely been lacking. Now, Kate is a very attractive young lady in a very vulnerable position, wouldn't you agree?"
There was a low growl coming from somewhere in the room and Jack was surprised to find it was coming from his own throat. Outward aggression was something he tried to distance himself from. But what they had just proposed cried for murder in his racing heart. Suddenly he found his voice.
"Son of a bitch! You promised you wouldn't hurt her," he snarled, hearing the hatred grating against his vocal cords.
Henry leaned closer and laughed, "We haven't Jack. Just answer our question and we'll leave her be. So we'll ask you again… how old are you?"
"It's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…"He felt like he was betraying them, and he looked Kate full in the eyes, desperately trying to get her to understand. He was sorry to put her through this and he still was going to do anything and everything to keep her safe. He had no choice but to cooperate.
"How old are you?"
Please understand, Kate. I don't want them to hurt you. Please understand I have no choice here.
"How old are you?"
Kate, I'm sorry.
"It's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…""How old are you, Jack?"
Her green eyes softened slightly and she blinked once, slow and deliberate. Thank you.
"Thirty-three," he answered, his brown eyes locked with Kate's green stare. "Thirty-three."
"And that's why the Red Sox'll never win the damn Series…"