Chapter 11: A Knife in the Dark

Jack and Kate arrive at the beach camp at dawn the next morning, panting as if they had run the entire way. Sayid, Scott, and Steve have spent the entire night keeping watch on Danielle.

Although Jack wants to pepper Danielle with questions, Claire and Shannon have already clustered around her. They offer her a pink fish, one of the fat ones which everybody prizes.

Danielle's heavily-accented words come out roughly, as if she's not used to talking. "Merci beaucoup. Je ne mange pas souvent de fruits de mer."

Claire pauses, confused. "Sorry?"

Shannon translates. "Not much seafood in the jungles of Craphole Island." To Danielle she says, "Vous êtes Français?"

Danielle breaks into a bright smile and inundates Shannon with a stream of French, then stops when Shannon protests, "Je ne parle un peu Français, désolé. désolé."

"I have not heard my language in ever so long. Forgive me."

Danielle's gaze roves up and down Claire's pregnant belly. There's a whole story in that glance, and Claire suddenly shivers, as if going on-stage for the first time.

When Danielle slices off a strip of filet and stuffs it into her mouth, Shannon says, "Don't you want to use that fire over there?"

"C'est délicieux comme ça." In a few moments the fish has been reduced to bones, and Danielle snaps off one of the ribs to pick her teeth.

Jack's been watching Danielle like a hawk, waiting for her to finish eating. Before he can dive in, Scott and Steve launch into a rendition of how they found her. Scott commands the center of attention. "So, Sayid spots this weird cable, coming out of the ocean—"

Steve interrupts. "And we follow it into the forest, till it disappears."

"But then there's this trail."

"And it's beautiful out there, man, vines everywhere, big trees all like ropes, with paths through them that you can walk through—"

Their two voices merge into one, so that it's hard to tell who's talking.

"Then, I dunno what comes over this doofus here, he starts to sing—"

"Come on, man, you joined right in. Sayid didn't know the song at first, though."

Steve breaks into a funny kind of dance routine, and Scott joins him. "If there's somethin' strange in your neighborhood..."

"If there's somethin' weird, and it don't look good..."

"Who you gonna call?"

This time Sayid joins in, as well as a few of the crowd. "Ghostbusters!"

Claire doesn't know the song, but Kate bends over, trying not to explode with laughter. Hurley isn't so restrained, and shakes with laughter.

Sayid, Scott, and Steve act out a few more verses, until everyone in earshot is shouting out the one-word chorus.

Hurley chants the counter-melody. "I ain't afraid o' no ghost! I ain't afraid o' no ghost!"

When Danielle clears her throat to speak, everyone falls quiet. "You have to understand, that song... When the film reached France, my Robert took me to see it. We had just met. We laughed so hard, the tears came to our eyes."

She recovers her composure. "That is how I knew these men were not Others. In all of my sixteen years on this Island, I have never heard Others sing."

Sixteen years? Claire can't believe her ears at first. She's been here that long?

Steve pipes up, "We had to do the whole thing over for her, to convince her that we weren't them."

"That's when she put her gun down," Scott adds.

"Much to everyone's relief." Sayid's tone is light, but his expression isn't.

The crowd's attention has shifted. Each person picks up the word, turns it over and passes it on to the next one. "Others?" "What 'Others?'" "What in the hell are 'Others?'"

Above the chatter, Sayid says, "We are not alone on this Island. There are other people, and Danielle has encountered them. We find ourselves in new circumstances."

Sayid pulls Jack over to a quiet spot, where they begin an intent conversation. Nearby, Shannon and Kate put their heads together as well. The sun has risen high and bright now, casting glittering coins of light over the ocean.

As if unaware of the bomb she's dropped, Danielle stands silent and bemused.

Claire wants to make sure she heard Danielle correctly. "You've been here sixteen years? And nobody rescued you?"

Danielle shrugs, resigned. "I've made the best of it. Your child, it will come soon?"

"Another couple of weeks."

Shannon charges up to Danielle and Claire, unmistakable scorn in her voice. "Can you believe that Boone's still up at the caves with Locke? Biggest news we've had since the crash, and they can't be bothered. Today they leave for some kind of 'test of manhood' thing. Charlie and Ethan, too."

Danielle snaps up her head at the mention of Ethan's name, then readjusts her rifle, as if to reassure herself that it's still there.

The tiny movement draws Claire's attention. "Danielle? Is everything all right?"

Danielle's small smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Tout va bien."

Shannon turns to Danielle. "Since God's gift to mankind is on a sleep-over, do you want to share my tent? Just as long as you don't shoot anybody with that."

Hurley says, "I'll second that emotion."

When Claire reaches for his hand, Danielle gives them both the once-over. "Your child will be beautiful, especially if she gets her father's hair."

Hurley glows beet-red, while Claire sputters, "Oh, no, it's not like that... I mean, we're not—"

"Pardonnez-moi. I just assumed."

Now it's Claire's turn to flush. "You're right. He would have beautiful hair."

*:*:*:*:*

That night, the knowledge that they aren't alone on the Island weighs heavily on Claire, and it takes her a long time to get to sleep.

Screaming sea-gulls wake her in the dead of night, but not Hurley. He cuddles her against his belly, sheltering her like a wall, and his maleness pokes at half-mast. Whatever dream he's having, it must be a good one.

Her body has finally given in to pregnancy, and she can barely remember what her old flesh felt like. She's used to it now, except for the getting up at night part. After the baby punches her bladder a few times, she wiggles out from under Hurley's arm with a little sigh.

Before bedding down with Kate for the night, Jack has given an order. They are to use the buddy system, even if only to duck behind a tree. No exceptions.

Claire can't bear to wake Hurley, exhausted as he was from golfing and the ballyhoo over Danielle. He's stopped dreaming and is now deeply asleep, the kind it's hardest to rouse someone from.

It's just a quick trip to the loo. What could go wrong?

Her obsidian knife is sharp enough to shave without a single nick. Cradling the haft in her hand, careful not to cut herself in the dark, Claire heads for her favorite tree.

Rustling noises in the night-time jungle are common, but the creeping sensation of being followed makes the tiny hairs on her arms prickle. Still gripping her knife, she struggles one-handed until her jeans are back up, her shirt down.

The jungle is silent now. Maybe it was stupid to bring a knife just to use the loo. The news about "Others" has gotten to everyone. Everyone expects someone to just—

The ambush slams Claire hard from behind, knocking the wind out of her. Arms like iron bands pin her arms to her sides. Without thinking, she lifts her right knee and kicks backward as hard as she can. All she connects with is a rock-hard shin-bone instead of a knee-cap.

Her flesh creeps at the low familiar chuckle. She stands paralyzed in the tight grip. Her attacker's body is as hard and muscular as his arms, and he's tall, too.

His grip loosens. Her skin crawls with revulsion as he caresses the whole length of her belly, like he was the farmer and she a prize ewe. He pulls her in closer.

Rage whips through her. She slashes downward with the obsidian knife as hard as she can. When she hits resistance, she pushes harder. The knife drags outwards through skin and muscle. He screams like a wounded animal, soaking Claire's jeans with hot blood.

He shakes her violently, and the knife falls to the ground. Then Claire hears a loud click, the release of the safety catch on a rifle.

Claire's captor freezes. From the way he jerks forward, someone must be aiming directly at the back of his head.

"Drop her," comes Danielle's husky voice.

When he does, Claire scrabbles away, screaming. The jungle comes alive with pounding footsteps. Kate drags her away, but Claire keeps screaming until Hurley thumps up with loud, labored breath.

Jack yells, "Sayid! Over here!"

Kate grips Claire securely in her arms, while Danielle holds Ethan Rom at gunpoint.

"Down," Danielle growls. When he doesn't move, she smacks her rifle, crack, against his head. Ethan drops to his knees, the muzzle buried in the back of his neck. Dark crimson blood soaks his right trouser leg, and the stain is growing fast.

Kate passes Claire to Hurley. When he sees the blood on Claire's jeans, he cries out, "Jack, Claire's hurt!"

Claire can barely speak, her teeth are chattering so hard. "That's not my blood."

Danielle regards Ethan like a scorpion under her boot. "Say it. Say what I told you to."

As Jack approaches, Danielle snaps, "Get back."

"Danielle, he could bleed out."

She jabs the rifle harder against Ethan's neck. "'I can do it if you want me to, Ben.' Say it."

Ethan smirks, but he starts to sway, too. Even in the torch-light, he's very pale.

Frustration shreds Jack's voice. "Danielle, please, I've got to put a tourniquet on him—"

Suddenly Ethan speaks in childish, mocking tones. "I can do it if you want me to, Ben. It's my first time, Ben. I've never killed a woman and a kid before."

In the torch light, Danielle's face is as white as Ethan's, but she doesn't tremble, not the tiniest bit. In fact, she seems to relax, as if something which troubled her for many years has just been resolved.

Jack commands, "Hurley, take Claire back to camp. Now."

Hurley lifts Claire bridal-style and starts to run. Branches and hanging vines block their way, but he bends his shoulder forward like a linebacker to push through them.

A single gun-shot rings out, sending night-birds screaming into the air.

Sayid and Jack drag Ethan's body back to camp, and dump it out of sight behind a copse of shrubs. Danielle wanders over to the nearest camp-fire, where she cleans her rifle as calmly as if back from target practice.

Hurley sets Claire down by their shelter, heart thundering from the run, the panic, and a slow-burning rage. He's not even sick from all the blood, because he's so angry.

Tears spill down Claire's face, and when she licks one off the corner of her lip, most of Hurley's rage turns to sorrow. But not all.

With Kate right behind him, Jack kneels beside Claire. He's as composed as if he were in the LA County General ER, calming a frightened patient. "Claire, I'd like to take a look at you, if that's okay."

The hardening blood is thick and Jack can't even see her skin. "We've got to get her cleaned up first."

Kate says, "Come on, honey, let's get these wet things off." Then, to Hurley, "Give us some privacy, okay?"

"No!" Claire seizes Hurley's hand with her blood-soaked one. He winces at the slippery touch, but doesn't let go.

"All right, then." Kate pulls at Claire's resisting jeans, stuck to her skin with congealed blood. "Hurley, give me a hand."

With Hurley on one side, Kate on the other, and some wiggling from Claire, the bloody jeans slide off. Splotches reach half-way up her camisole, and she yanks that off, too. In the pale moonlight, standing there in her bra and panties, Claire's whole right side is a gory mess.

Ice-bucket panic dumps over Hurley. As his rage fades, he shakes like jelly.

Jack dabs at patches of blood with a damp rag. "I don't think she's bleeding. But I can't be certain."

"I told you, I'm not cut," Claire says in a hoarse whisper.

"Oh, my God," Kate says. "It's all over her underwear too. Do you think—"

Before Kate can finish, Claire shakes herself free of Hurley. Stumbling away, she rips off her bra with a tearing sound, then strips off her underpants as if they burn her.

All Hurley can do is stare. Not at how she glows in the moonlight, beautiful despite the blood, the terror, and being so visibly pregnant, but at how much of a wild thing she is.

Claire shoots one fierce glance at them all, then dashes towards the sea. At first, everyone is too stunned to follow her.

Jack and Kate head towards her when Hurley says, "I got this."

He gives chase, cursing his slowness. She's already thigh-high in the churning waves, her buttocks pale and streaked with blood.

By the time he reaches her, she's gone deeper into the pounding surf. He doesn't touch her, just stands watchful, ready to grab her if she goes under. The moon bleaches her skin bone-white, leaving her nipples and stretch-marks as dark as her haunted, tearful eyes. Ethan's blood appears black in the silvery light.

Waves lap in steady rhythm against Claire's enormous belly, and each one carries away more black blood. With each surge of ocean water she grows more pearly, cleaner.

She submerges herself completely, then breaks through the foaming water like a seal. Her sea-washed nakedness shows that there isn't a mark on her.

Hurley does something he never thought he'd do on this beach or any other. Even in LA, he always swam with a t-shirt. Now he strips his off as he leads Claire to shore. When they reach the shallows, he pulls the dark-green shirt over her body. It covers her to her knees.

Together they plow through the shifting sands towards the shore. As he clutches Claire to his side, Hurley tries to ignore the massed crowd and his exposed, quivering nakedness.

Kate charges through, arms outstretched. "Give them some room, all right?"

Back at Hurley and Claire's shelter, Jack fights to keep his voice neutral. "May I?"

"Okay."

With Kate and Hurley as a screen, Jack lifts the long green t-shirt to examine Claire's hip and side. When a thought flickers across Jack's face, Kate and Hurley exchange looks, thinking the same thing.

Jack's casual tone is clearly forced. "So, Claire, no contractions? No bleeding?"

She shakes her head, appealing to Hurley. He squeezes her hand, full of dread.

"Good," Jack says with a warm smile, before lowering the boom. "Claire, one last thing. I have to ask this. Ethan, did he—"

At this monstrous suggestion, Hurley's heart almost breaks.

Claire stares at Jack for a second, then bursts out, "No! Nothing like that! That wasn't what he wanted. It was the baby. He was after the baby."

Hurley's about ready to boil over.

Whatever Jack was going to say, he sees Hurley's face, and thinks better of it. "Okay, Claire, that's all I need to know. Try to get some rest."

All through this, Danielle has been sitting alone by the fire, wearing a Mona Lisa smile and looks pretty pleased with herself.

Jack and Kate find their usual talking spot by the tide pool, and put their heads together. Their quiet presence soothes Hurley's anger like a balm. As far as he's concerned, when the two of them sit by the shore like that, everything feels so much more under control.

One last thing, though. Claire's blood-stained clothes lie in a lump by their shelter, so he drags them away and covers them with sand. Tomorrow, when they plant Ethan in the ground, Hurley will have a little burial of his own.

He crawls into their shelter, that cramped space almost too small for the towering emotions which swamp him like waves. She's huddled under a blanket, but as soon as he sits down, she crawls into the circle of his arms. In all the hullabaloo, he's forgotten to put on a new shirt, and he trembles as her hands slide over his naked skin. Her sea-dampened hair tickles his chest.

He's about to kiss her when the tone in her voice stops him. "I'm going to have my baby here, aren't I?"

Lying isn't an option. "Yeah, I guess so."

"With people out there who take kids."

"A long time ago. Maybe, um, there are different people now."

"Maybe."

"Jack's gonna do an awesome job, even if he's a surgeon."

Her soundless chuckle vibrates through his body. "Obstetricians are surgeons, silly. And all doctors practice delivering babies."

He doesn't mind one bit if she calls him "silly," or smiles when he doesn't know something, especially in the baby department. Her simple trust in Jack comforts them both.

Her voice comes out even smaller than before. "Will you, uh, be there? I mean, with me?"

At first he doesn't know what she means, and then he does. He puts everything into his answer: heart, body, soul. "Totally."

With a contented sigh, she cushions herself on his breast before fading into sleep.

As Hurley drifts off, he tells himself that maybe this St. Joseph deal isn't so bad after all. There are worse mangers in which to shelter this tender Madonna of the Island in her over-sized shirt green as Guadalupe's robe. There are worse places to rest than at her feet, holding her up as she balances on the slender curve of the moon.

His last conscious thought is, I can do this.

(continued)