The cuts on his wrist never really went away. New cuts and old scars were lined up like soldiers, reminders of his weakness. It was a long time until he could finally put the razor blade down and go to sleep. He kept wondering what Miri would think if she saw him at that moment.
ON THE ISLAND
Claire hadn't seen Charlie yet, and was beginning to worry. Muttering curses under his breath, Jack went off in search of the missing Rock God. For some reason the song Charlie had written, "Monster Eats the Pilot," played through his head on an endless loop. It was starting to creep him out enough to distract him. That's why he nearly collided with the short man at the edge of the beach. "Jack!" Charlie exclaimed, obviously surprised.
"Give it to me, Charlie," Jack said, holding out his hand, "You don't want to start with it again."
Kate, who had followed Jack at a more sedate pace, saw the exchange begin from a ways away.
"Bloody hell, man!" Charlie said, forcing a laugh, "You think I'm crazy or something?"
Jack looked at his pupils, noticing that they were normal. Charlie's speech wasn't slurred or slow, nor were his movements. The doctor concluded that even if Charlie had taken some heroin, he hadn't snorted any yet. "Where is it, Charlie?"
"Lay off, Jack!" Charlie was beginning to feel the old defensiveness come back. It was what got him in trouble before and would most likely do so now. Rather than face Jack, he ducked around him and walked over to Hurley in search of a bottle of water. Jack watched, sighing with resignation.
Kate jogged the rest of the way over, finally picking up the pace. "What was that, Jack?" she asked.
He didn't reply right away, but watched Charlie go and squat comfortably next to Claire. It was a strange feeling to watch a former drug addict possibly on the verge of relapse grin and coo at a little baby. Finally Jack made a decision. He had to know if Charlie took any of the drugs. "Did Charlie carry any of the heroin?"
"He had a couple baggies in his hands when I got down, but he suggested I carry them back." Kate was confused.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Kate relayed the entire story from the time they got lost until they got back to the beach. It dismayed Jack to find that there had been plenty of time for Charlie to stash some drugs on his person. He was at a loss.
"Jack, why does it matter?" Kate asked.
"Charlie was in the bathroom snorting heroin when the plane went down."
Now Kate was the one without words. "Are you serious?" was the most intelligent response she could muster.
"Sadly, yeah, I am. You know, during the cave in,"
"Yeah?"
"He was going through withdrawal. Burned what was left of his stash."
"So it wasn't the flu." Kate fell silent, thinking about their early weeks on the island. Lots of puzzle pieces were falling into place. That was why he had been so keen to find the cockpit: the bathroom was attached. He needed to find his stash. Why he had all of a sudden developed a temper. In the days after the crash Charlie had been very laid back and easygoing. As she though about it, Kate realized that his attitude change corresponded with his bout with "the flu."
Charlie was so happy to see Claire and the baby again. The sun had colored Claire's cheeks with a faint blush in his absence. She was so beautiful. They talked quietly until late at night and sometimes just staring happily at the baby. Sawyer felt the need to make fun of them every time he walked past.
MONTHS EARLIER
Charlie woke up with his cheek pressed against the rough textured carpet of his hotel room floor. With a groan he sat up and fumbled for a fix. His stash was on the vanity in the bathroom where he had left it. Blood, dried to the color of rust mixed with dark chocolate, had pooled where it had landed the night before. As he poured the fine powder into his palm he looked into the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. A thin smear of blood ran along his cheekbone. Charlie wondered how it had gotten there. His hand shook as he snorted the heroin. As the drug took effect, he stumbled over to the small television in his room and switched it on. The artificially cheerful voice of a newscaster filled the room. Some story about two boats colliding. Charlie foraged for some food-type stuff. A stale baguette was all he came up with. He watched the news with half an eye, more concerned about his breakfast than the news.
"And in other news, twenty-four year old Meredith Pace was found dead early this morning in an alley on the south side of Manchester. Though she had several minor injuries, she appears to have died of hypothermia.
"Miss Pace and her twin daughters fled her husband, Michael Green, two days ago on account of domestic abuse and child molestation."
Charlie was glued to the screen. His breath made fog on the glass screen as he fought to get air into his lungs. Dead? How?