Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.

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"I had a vision last night," Simon says, staring at the pavement below their feet. "I saw a little room and Sam's brother. There was someone else too; someone dark. I think that was the kidnapper." He does a double step to keep up with Jack. "We can't storm the base and save Eric, like what Sam wants. I'm not sure what they want with Eric, but whatever it is, they're not going to hurt him."

"Why are you following me?"

Jack has been wondering this ever since he left the bookshop and found Simon waiting for him on the pavement, school bag on one shoulder. He is about to ask how the boy knew he was there, but considered it a stupid question with the whole psychic thing and all. He had said hi and turned and tried to walk away but Simon has not stopped walking with him since. Simon looks at him incredulously.

"But Jack, I thought…"

"I went with you to meet with that twin because you included me on the plans. I have had no intention of keeping in contact with you ever since that…that night. Saving the world and everything sounds great, but I just do not have the time to be running around with you. Okay?"

"You don't believe me, is that it? I thought those flying disks were proof enough!"

"They only proved that hanging around with you is dangerous! I don't know what The Island has to do with you, but you can count me out. I've been thinking and this whole idea that there's someone out to get us is completely crazy! Why would they go and confound Sam's parents if they didn't have a reason to!" He narrows his eyes as he turns to Simon. "Maybe it's you who's the problem."

"Me?" Simon looks frantic. "I've told you what I've seen!"

"And I don't see anything happening, do I?" Jack waves his arms around, at the stores and the street around them. Cars speed by and people begin to head home. The sky is blue and the towers are tall and sturdy. To Jack, Simon's claims sound about as realistic as screaming 'fire' in a swimming pool. While he admits he was taken by the first claims, when he begins to use reason and logic, the whole scheme seems preposterous.

Simon gives him a scathing hurt look. "We slept together…" he begins in a low voice.

"Which was your fault!" Jack shouts, turning on him. They are making a scene, screaming along a college town strip. Jack is slightly aware he looks like a bully picking on a boy in a prep school uniform, but one has to be firm with children. They won't listen otherwise. "You initiated it, and I'm not sure what got into your head that suddenly that was enough to tie us together!" He scoffs loudly. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love with me."

Simon makes a strangled sound, like a goose being choked. "Is that what you think!" He actually stops for a full second, rooted onto the pavement. When he starts again, he looks murderous enough for Jack to be a bit frightened. "I'm sorry to burst your ego, Jack Merridew, but you are not a catch."

"Oh, is that what you were thinking when you decided to come on to me?"

Jack swings around a rather large boy to avoid running into him, but finds himself meeting the pavement in greeting. Pushing himself up in a fury, he looks out to see what on earth he has tripped on, and finds nothing but gray sidewalk. The boy's shoes are too far away for him to have fallen on; surely Jack would have bumped into that large stomach of his first. Confused, he brings his wrath on the unsuspecting fat boy. "Watch where you're standing, fatso!"

The boy adjusts his glasses. "Maybe you should focus on walking instead of shouting at someone younger than you."

Jack turns to Simon to see if the boy has had anything to do with it; but the way Simon shies back suggests he does not know the fat boy. Standing with a huff, Jack grabs Simon's arm and leans into the fat boy's face. "Maybe you should mind your own fucking business," he snarls, pulling Simon along. The fat boy makes a face at him that is unnoticed as Jack storms off.

Piggy wonders if it was wise to extend his foot just a teensy bit at that moment, but it was really worth it. He doesn't know what sort of argument the two boys were having, but it did not look fair for the ginger to be bearing down on that other boy. He turns as Ralph comes out of the drugstore he is standing out of, a packet of gum in one hand and a soda in the other. "I heard yelling. What happened?"

"Nothing."

[=]

Eric stares up at the smooth, blank ceiling above his bed. He has so far counted seven nights since he has been kidnapped. He wonders if his parents are frantic and imagines them crying dramatically at his disappearance. A part of him is amused by this. Although logic has since overridden those thoughts; if whoever had kidnapped him didn't want to be discovered, wouldn't it have been more beneficial to take Sam as well? Sam was a witness, wasn't he?

The fact that he has not been tortured or killed yet assures him he is not under the care of a crazed serial killer. They are probably holding him for ransom or something. But for what, he wonders. His family is an ordinary middle class family without a fortune under their name; his mother stays at home and his father has a desk job. He is completely normal – save for his powers, of course.

Roger had said something about using his powers to lure out Sam and the company he kept. Something about destroying someone before they destroyed The Island. Was there really someone who had the power to crush the massive, powerful Island? Eric entertains thoughts of a buff hulk who can split streets with a pound of a fist. Supervillians really do exist, he thinks, a bit excitedly.

But, of course, if they were trying to save The Island, why did they kidnap him in such a sketchy way? Why did they have to use under-the-table methods of drawing out someone using his brother? And in the event of destroying this so-called destroyer, if Sam was involved, wouldn't there be a chance his twin might get hurt too?

No, Eric concluded, what he was wrapped up in was not all it seemed.

The lock to his room clicks and he raises his head off the pillow to see Roger come in. "You're awake," the dark young man states lowly. "The Lord of the Flies would like to see you," he says before Eric can say anything. He stands at the door and waits. Eric gets to his feet and studies Roger. He has only heard about this so called Lord of the Flies in passing and he knows enough that he is his captor. Perhaps he might know the man? As they step into the hallway, Roger grabs his arm, as if he thinks Eric might run away.

They make their way down the long corridor and into a sleek, silver elevator. Eric notes almost comedically that there is soft elevator music. It brings a slight grin to his lips, even though the numbers lighting up increase as they climb the building. He gulps as they reach their stop – the top floor – and Roger jostles him out.

"You don't have to be so rough," Eric gripes, trying feebly to shake himself free of Roger's grip. "I'm not going to run away."

Roger looks almost apologetic for a second but says nothing as he continues marching Eric to the large, oak doors on the other side of the hall. Eric doesn't know what or who he is heading toward, but the carpet under his feet is grainy and he's feeling an unnatural chill. A strange smell enters his nose; a twist of a petting zoo and something rotting. "What is that?" Eric asks, his voice faltering.

Roger doesn't answer.

They reach the door and Roger knocks once. A voice from inside the room says, "Come in," and Roger opens the door. The room is slightly dark because the only light is coming from the window behind the large desk. The room itself is mostly bare; a couch sits on both sides of the room, facing each other like opposing teams. Where there might have been pictures of previous corporate presidents, the walls are green and dull. Flanking the window on either side of the walls are two tall bookshelves with books that don't appear to ever have been read. The chair is turned toward the window, with its back toward them.

"Here is the twin, my Lord," Roger says flatly, pushing Eric forward. He stands behind him, blocking his exit.

"Excellent." The disembodied voice frightens Eric. It sounds a little high pitched, like a struggling animal. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here. I am called the Lord of the Flies; and we are quite similar."

"Yeah?" Eric says, squirming.

"You can help us, Eric Whiting. We believe your brother has been in contact with an undesirable of The Island. He has interacted with someone named Simon Green. In the interest of preserving our existence, we must take him into our custody."

"What did he do?"

"That is not important," the Lord of the Flies dismisses. "All you must do is send a message to your brother to bring Simon Green to us and we will let you free."

"Ah…" Eric licks his lips nervously. "I've tried to talk to him, but I haven't been able to…"

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Whiting. This building you are in is surrounded with a force field erected by one of my very talented specials; interference stops anything that can get in or get out. Roger will direct you to a room free of such interference. My apologies again; I should explain. Here in his building, you are in the presence of many such people like yourself – specials, who have extraordinary powers. You can communicate with your brother telepathically and have the ability to read other's minds at an extent. Roger, your guard, has probably already demonstrated his powers to you. I, on the other hand, have a special case." The chair swivels abruptly and Eric gasps.

There is a man in the chair – a man with a pig's head. Eric stumbles back and feels Roger's hand on his back, but he feels no pain. This is much stranger than any abstract painting he has every laid eyes on. "Grotesque, isn't it," the Lord murmurs, tapping his fingers together. Flies swirl around the head, with droopy ears and dark, empty eyes. "My powers have backfired on me to give me this hideous appearance. But no matter. I bring you no harm."

"Oh," Eric manages to get out, but that is all. The Lord of the Flies seems not to notice.

"Now, please contact your brother," the Lord says. "We must get Simon Green off the streets as soon as possible."

[=]

Jack wonders if the students streaming out the gates next to him think he is a stalker. He might look like one, maybe. It isn't if he's wearing sunglasses or all black. But he is older than even the oldest, tallest boy coming out from the school. He is standing around and looking very nonchalant. Girls in skirts shorter than dress code allows give him glances and shy smiles. He pretends not to see.

He checks his watch again. School should be out. Boys have sauntered by for their cars, carting around giggly girlfriends. Girls have been picked up by mothers. Children have run out with their art projects. Jack almost reminisces about middle school again. Almost.

The Catholic school building is brick; solid like the religion it houses. Windows litter the walls and if Jack peeks around the wall around the school, he sees green fields and trees. The prep school of rich kids, he thinks. Strange; he never saw Simon in a place like this at all.

Finally he sees the doors open and Simon comes out. While Simon does not radiate the sort of atmosphere a popular boy with lots of friends would, Jack is slightly surprised to see a small band of boys with him. Simon is not the joker of the group; a sandy-haired youth is leading the conversation, picking on another friend. There is a tall, lanky blonde who looks rather disinterested. Simon is smiling at something the sandy idiot is shouting.

They hit the gates at the same time and Simon turns to see Jack, standing there stupidly. "Oh," he says, and his friends turn to look at him too. Simon has not gone to see him since the day Jack told him off, and Jack found this unusual except, of course, Simon could see the future and probably saw him coming anyway.

"Simon," Jack begins, only to have the sandy-haired boy cut him off.

"Do you know this guy, Simon?" Sandy asks, trying to pull himself up to look like a punk. Jack scowls at him. He doesn't know the kid's name, but he's already pretty annoying. "You look too old to be hanging around this kind of school, pops."

Pops? Jack resists an urge to pop the kid in a completely other way. Simon quickly mediates, assuring his ragtag group of friends that he'll handle this quickly and they can go home together. Sandy glares at Jack and pulls along Sidekick (Jack nicknames the shrimpy boy this as Sandy is always dragging him along) and they meander their way to a rather battered looking car in the parking lot. The lanky blonde (Jack names him Beanpole) stays behind.

"I'll be alright, Charlie," Simon says, glancing at Beanpole (fine, Charlie). "It'll only take a moment."

Charlie slinks off, but only after shooting them furtive glances. There's something about this Charlie that Jack doesn't really like. Simon is well able to take care of himself. What does Beanpole – Charlie – think he is, his savior or something? "If it's not going to be an apology, I don't want to hear it."

Jack blinks. Apology? "That's really hypocritical of you, Jack," Simon continues, claws unleashed and no longer the meek boy he was in front of his friends. "Telling me to stop following you, and yet here you are looking for me. I bet you've fallen in love with me."

"Rather Sandy than you," Jack mutters.

"Who?"

"Never mind. I'm not here to apologize. I didn't do anything wrong." Jack is going to go into what he actually is here for but Simon turns away, disinterested.

"Hit the road, Jack. Since you don't care, I don't need to hear it."

"Sam called me. He told me Eric got through to him." Simon stops, and Jack thinks he should get back on the sidewalk or he'll get run over by cars in the parking lot. "He said he tried to call you but you weren't home yet. Eric wants to set up a meeting – the guy who's kidnapped him, with us." Simon turns slightly toward him and Jack continues, slightly hesitating at the remainder of the message. "The kidnapper wants to offer a trade – he'll give Eric back if we give him you."

To be continued

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Note: I was planning on updating much sooner…but this chapter gave me problems. I can always write when I'm on a deadline…but it appears school has come upon us again! Hmm. Thanks for reading!