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stefanie_beanChapter 6: Jack is Laid to Rest
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 2633 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island gets you where you need to be.
Chapter 6: Jack is Laid to Rest
Three of Bernard's big red fish served as breakfast for everyone. After Bernard hung the rest to dry on a wooden frame, he stated what was on all their minds, especially Hugo's. “Time to get to it, I guess.”
“There's a grave already dug,” Ben offered.
Hugo looked over in surprise. “What? Where?”
“Over at your cemetery. It was supposed to be for me, but Jack can have it. Ilana made me dig it, because I killed Jacob.”
“You don't have to act so nonchalant about it,” said Rose.
Desmond said, “Who's Ilana? And where is she now?”
“Dead,” Hugo answered. “She was one of Jacob's ninja fighters. She was supposed to protect us, but she dropped some bad dynamite and got blown up instead.”
“Sounds like she believed in steps of the courthouse justice,” said Rose.
“Which is no justice at all,” Bernard added.
Probably true on both counts, Hugo thought. “Yeah, rest in peace, Ilana.”
The torches at the head and foot of Jack's bier had been burning since sundown of the night before, but Hugo decided not to say anything about it.
Rose folded down the tarp with slow reverence, then took a deep breath. “He looks so peaceful. And Desmond, you were right, it's like the Botanical Garden with that rosy perfume. But we can't bury him all covered in dirt and blood, clothes torn to pieces.” She turned to Ben. “Nobody's going to be using all the stuff around here. Go look through some of those suitcases. It doesn't have to be fancy, just clean and presentable.”
As she tied cloth around her waist for an apron, she continued to give orders. “That big galvanized can over there, fill it with water and set it to heating on the fire. Poor Jack, he won't care if the water's warm or not, but it'll help clean him off. Then we'll get him fixed up good and proper.”
“Rose?” Hugo said in a small voice. “I'm really glad you came.”
“Oh, honey, don't even think about it. On the way down here, Ben told us about that 'Protector' business. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I believe in you. I also believe that you have a cross laid on your back so big you don't even know it's there yet.”
She and Hugo undressed Jack. His limbs were supple, and the fresh rosy scent filled the area around him. He still looked peacefully asleep.
"It humbles you, doesn't it?" Rose said as they sponged away the dirt and blood, letting the pink water fall through the table cracks to the sand below. Jack looked pale and vulnerable. Never had Hugo seen anything so pathetic, so defenseless. Blood from Jack's wound had run down his side into his groin and down his thighs.
When Hugo hesitated, Rose said, "You want me to do that, honey?"
"Nah, it's okay."
"You don't have to be shy. I laid out my daddy and my great-aunt Oleatha both. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus did it for our Lord. It's respectful work that we do."
Jack's legs parted easily, and soon all the dried, clotted blood ran into the sand. As Rose and Hugo patted Jack's body dry, late morning sunlight filtered through the nylon canopy and gave his skin a golden glow. Bernard brought gray slacks and a blue button-down shirt.
Before Rose could dress Jack, Bernard insisted on running skilled fingers over his torso, touching the deep stab wound on his side. “This must have been what did him in.”
The wound had puckered closed, but Bernard pried the skin apart. As he separated the flaps, an especially rosy smell filled the tent. “Acetone,” Bernard remarked, although no one had asked. “Product of decomposition. Oh, take a look here,” though neither Rose nor Hugo wanted to. “It's one entry point, but the knife was really twisted around. As if whoever did it wanted to inflict the maximum damage.”
Rose had enough. “Okay, Bernard, you're done.” To Hugo she said, “The LA County coroner asked him to help with a case that had no dental records. Now he thinks he's Columbo.”
Rose pulled aside the canopy to let in Ben and Desmond, while Hugo buttoned and adjusted clothing. “You know, Bernard, I thought he'd be, well, stiffer.”
Bernard leaned in closer to Jack's body, clearly glad to be asked. “Rigor mortis only lasts about eight hours. He died early yesterday, so this is normal.”
“Hurley, don't encourage him,” said Rose.
“Uh, Bernard, he never got stiff at all.”
“That's not possible. It's a chemical reaction inside the muscles.”
“Bernard, I'm not kidding you. I was with him. There wasn't enough time.”
Bernard gave Ben a long look, as if asking for confirmation.
It was obvious that Ben didn't want to get drawn into this. “There was that huge storm, and several earthquakes. Desmond was unconscious for a lot of it. Hugo and I got separated before we found Jack's body. So I don't think any of us really knows how long it was between when Jack actually died, and when we found him.”
Rose just stood there, arms folded, watching.
Hugo didn't get angry often, but when he did, emotion moved through him like a column of lava up a volcano's throat. Usually he could short-circuit it, but once the lava reached a critical point, out it would spew. Dr. Curtis at the Santa Rosa mental hospital had taught him to imagine little channels spreading on all sides, letting off steam and pressure along the way. Usually it worked.
Bernard adopted the professional tone which usually came with offers of tranquilizers. “Hurley, I understand what you're trying to say. I agree that what we're seeing here isn't quite... usual, even though that floral smell can be explained by bacterial fermentation. And it's true that despite this heat, there's no sign of decay. And the wounds on his side and neck seem to be closing, even more so than what we'd expect twenty-four to thirty-six hours post-mortem—”
Red-faced, Hugo breathed deeply, consciously relaxing his fists. “This isn't a specimen. This is Jack. This is Jack you're talking about. And it's Hugo, not Hurley.”
Bernard went on in the same saccharine tone. “What I'm trying to say, Hugo, is that Jack's dead.”
Hugo sighed, more exasperated than angry. “I know he's dead. I'm not crazy.” He burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. In the past two days he'd been put in charge of the weirdest place on earth. The people who meant the most to him were either dead, or on the other side of the planet. A gigantic blue genie had risen out of the ocean and spit a white rock at him.
And now he was pissed off that Bernard was suggesting he was crazy.
It was so ridiculous. He doubled over, still laughing, while the other four gaped. Finally Rose said, “Honey, don't worry about Bernard's idle speculations. Let's just get ready to toss that first shovel of earth.”
“Hugo, she's right,” said Desmond. “If a grave's already dug, so much the better.”
After the anger and the laughter, Hugo felt light and clear-headed. “It doesn't seem right. It's not what we're supposed to do.”
“It's exactly what we have to do, brother.”
“I know that, Des. But not here.”
“If not here, then where?”
After a few seconds' thought, Hugo said, “The caves. We'll take him to the caves.”
Ben frowned. “Why the caves?”
“There was supposed to be a cave-in,” Bernard objected.
“They're fine. The cave-in, that was around the other side.”
Rose said, “I never liked those caves. I never trusted them.”
“Rose—” Hugo said.
All those years of loss poured out in her voice. “Down here is where our people are, the ones we loved and cared about. Hugo, you of all people should know that.”
“She has a point,” Ben put in.
Rose whirled around to Ben, her eyes flashing. “And the first one we laid to rest there was murdered by one of yours. So I don't see as you have much say in it.”
“Rose, please. This is Jack. You're fighting in front of Jack.” Now everyone was staring at Hugo like he was indeed crazy.
Bernard put on his conciliatory tone again. “Hugo, don't you think Jack would want to be down here with everybody else?”
At first Hugo couldn't answer. It was like trying to describe a brand-new color, or a place you had visited to people who had never heard of it. All he knew was that Jack had never been completely happy on the beach, not really. Less than a week after they had crashed, Jack was like a compass needle drawn to the caves' magnetic north, whether he wanted to or not.
If nothing else, Hugo wasn't going to place Jack in the grave which Ilana had dug for Ben.
Since four pairs of eyes bored into him, Hugo had to give some kind of reason. “It's, um, kind of a Protector thing.”
Still angry, Rose rolled her eyes.
In a soft voice Ben said, “The tomb of the kings.”
It was true. After the crash, the survivors could never have lived in the caves, no matter how much Jack had wanted them to, no matter how hard he argued. The caves weren't for them. They were never meant to be. All Hugo said was, “Ben's right. Look, we can wrap Jack in a tarp, and I can carry him up there.”
Rose gave an impatient shrug. “All right, Hugo, you win, but we're not using some old tarp. We need something better to lay him to rest in. That's why I brought this.”
The silky batik cloth was the size of a large bedspread, its deep green background decorated with gold spirals, shot through with bright pink tropical flowers. Hugo wrapped Jack's body in it, and Rose tucked the excess neatly around Jack's head and feet. They laid him on the makeshift canvas stretcher, then set off for the caves.
* * * * * * * *
So began the long march of Jack Shephard to his final home, the stretcher borne by Desmond in front, Hugo behind. Rose led the procession with one of the torches, while Ben brought up the rear with the other. Alongside him walked Bernard.
These torches had been burning for almost a night and a day now, with no sign of sputtering or winding down.
Picking their way through thick jungle made for slow progress. An hour later they came to the caves, where a cool waterfall dropped its music into a wide, shallow pool, and the earth smelled moist and green.
They crowded into the cave, where Ben cleared away the splintered remains of the coffin lid and smoothed its white silk interior. “Whose was this?”
“Jack's dad's.”
“It seems fitting,” Ben answered.
Into the coffin Hugo and Desmond gently lowered the mortal remains of Christian Shephard's only son.
The torches burned with a clear golden flame which never sputtered. Everyone looked at Hugo, expecting him to say something, but his throat was too choked with emotion. “Rose, could you? I need a minute.”
The uncanny torchlight, the close quarters, and the strong odor of roses seemed to take Rose out of herself. “There's something I remember. Something that fits.”
Hugo nodded for her to go on.
In a sing-song voice, swaying a little, she said,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?
Many bulls surround me;
strong bulls of Bashan encircle me.
Roaring lions that tear their prey
open their mouths wide against me.
You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, honor him!
For he has not despised or scorned
the suffering of his afflicted one;
he has not hidden his face from him
but has listened to his cry for help.”
She leaned against Bernard as if exhausted. “That's all I can remember.”
Hugo stepped forward. The part about the “bulls of Bashan” made his flesh creep, and "descendants of Jacob" sounded a little too close for comfort. He cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn't mess this up. “Jack, amigo, you came to see me when I was at Santa Rosa, and when I told you 'It wants us to go back,' you said you didn't want to, that you never would. Never say never, right?
“Then, just before you fought Locke, I asked you why you came back. You said that it was because you were broken, and crazy enough to think that this Island could fix you. Maybe you thought you were a fool to think that, but you weren't. We're all broken, sure, but the Island fixed you in ways you didn't even know. I love you, man. I love you, and we're all gonna miss you.
“Kate's gonna miss you, too. And Claire. Man, it sucks that you didn't get to know your sister better. But she'll be okay, 'cause Kate and Sawyer and her are all on their way to Tarawara, someplace like that. Wherever that is. They can't be here to say good-bye to you, though, so I'm saying it for them."
Stinging tears clouded Hugo's eyes. He wiped his face, then looked at everyone assembled around the coffin. “That's all I got.”
Desmond rested a close and comforting arm on Hugo's shoulder, and gazed at Jack. “When I went down into that pool, brother, I never thought it would be me standing here instead of you. But I'll see you someday, in a better place.”
Rose sobbed, and Bernard put his arm around her.
After everyone else filtered out of the cave, Hugo knelt by the coffin and placed his hand on Jack's chest. “It should have been you doing this protector thing, not me. But I'll try not to let you down.”
He untucked the shroud and slipped the small white stone into Jack's front shirt pocket. “I figure this is yours as well as mine.”
When Hugo emerged, Ben said, “Maybe we should be concerned about animals.”
Hugo shuddered. In the first few days after the Oceanic 815 crash, wild boar had invaded the plane's wreckage and gone after the bodies. But with a confidence he didn't understand, Hugo said, “No. Nothing's gonna come here.”
"You mean we're just going to leave it open?"
"Yeah, Ben, that's just what we're gonna do."
Ben began to protest, but Bernard shook his head for him to be quiet.
“Here, give me those torches,” Hugo said. He jammed them into cracks on either side of the cave entrance, where their clear gold radiance seemed to draw the light out of the cave itself, leaving the interior full of dim shadows. Despite the dead inside, the quiet cave interior seemed full of life.
Everyone kept silence on the trek to the beach camp. Desmond carried the rolled-up stretcher over his shoulder, walking on ahead as if his journey home had already begun.
They turned onto the well-worn, sandy path, where tiny glimpses of the sea peeked out from between tall, arched cedars. Hanging behind the others, Bernard pulled Hugo aside. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier.”
“Huh? For what?”
“I've never had a torch last much more than a couple of hours. And you were right about Jack's body. As Rose never fails to remind me, dental school isn't medical school, but that was unusual.”
The beach spread out before them with its glittering waves. Hugo put his arm around Bernard and said, “We're cool, dude. It's not like this is any weirder than everything else that's happened.”
(continued)
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 2633 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island gets you where you need to be.
Chapter 6: Jack is Laid to Rest
Three of Bernard's big red fish served as breakfast for everyone. After Bernard hung the rest to dry on a wooden frame, he stated what was on all their minds, especially Hugo's. “Time to get to it, I guess.”
“There's a grave already dug,” Ben offered.
Hugo looked over in surprise. “What? Where?”
“Over at your cemetery. It was supposed to be for me, but Jack can have it. Ilana made me dig it, because I killed Jacob.”
“You don't have to act so nonchalant about it,” said Rose.
Desmond said, “Who's Ilana? And where is she now?”
“Dead,” Hugo answered. “She was one of Jacob's ninja fighters. She was supposed to protect us, but she dropped some bad dynamite and got blown up instead.”
“Sounds like she believed in steps of the courthouse justice,” said Rose.
“Which is no justice at all,” Bernard added.
Probably true on both counts, Hugo thought. “Yeah, rest in peace, Ilana.”
The torches at the head and foot of Jack's bier had been burning since sundown of the night before, but Hugo decided not to say anything about it.
Rose folded down the tarp with slow reverence, then took a deep breath. “He looks so peaceful. And Desmond, you were right, it's like the Botanical Garden with that rosy perfume. But we can't bury him all covered in dirt and blood, clothes torn to pieces.” She turned to Ben. “Nobody's going to be using all the stuff around here. Go look through some of those suitcases. It doesn't have to be fancy, just clean and presentable.”
As she tied cloth around her waist for an apron, she continued to give orders. “That big galvanized can over there, fill it with water and set it to heating on the fire. Poor Jack, he won't care if the water's warm or not, but it'll help clean him off. Then we'll get him fixed up good and proper.”
“Rose?” Hugo said in a small voice. “I'm really glad you came.”
“Oh, honey, don't even think about it. On the way down here, Ben told us about that 'Protector' business. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I believe in you. I also believe that you have a cross laid on your back so big you don't even know it's there yet.”
She and Hugo undressed Jack. His limbs were supple, and the fresh rosy scent filled the area around him. He still looked peacefully asleep.
"It humbles you, doesn't it?" Rose said as they sponged away the dirt and blood, letting the pink water fall through the table cracks to the sand below. Jack looked pale and vulnerable. Never had Hugo seen anything so pathetic, so defenseless. Blood from Jack's wound had run down his side into his groin and down his thighs.
When Hugo hesitated, Rose said, "You want me to do that, honey?"
"Nah, it's okay."
"You don't have to be shy. I laid out my daddy and my great-aunt Oleatha both. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus did it for our Lord. It's respectful work that we do."
Jack's legs parted easily, and soon all the dried, clotted blood ran into the sand. As Rose and Hugo patted Jack's body dry, late morning sunlight filtered through the nylon canopy and gave his skin a golden glow. Bernard brought gray slacks and a blue button-down shirt.
Before Rose could dress Jack, Bernard insisted on running skilled fingers over his torso, touching the deep stab wound on his side. “This must have been what did him in.”
The wound had puckered closed, but Bernard pried the skin apart. As he separated the flaps, an especially rosy smell filled the tent. “Acetone,” Bernard remarked, although no one had asked. “Product of decomposition. Oh, take a look here,” though neither Rose nor Hugo wanted to. “It's one entry point, but the knife was really twisted around. As if whoever did it wanted to inflict the maximum damage.”
Rose had enough. “Okay, Bernard, you're done.” To Hugo she said, “The LA County coroner asked him to help with a case that had no dental records. Now he thinks he's Columbo.”
Rose pulled aside the canopy to let in Ben and Desmond, while Hugo buttoned and adjusted clothing. “You know, Bernard, I thought he'd be, well, stiffer.”
Bernard leaned in closer to Jack's body, clearly glad to be asked. “Rigor mortis only lasts about eight hours. He died early yesterday, so this is normal.”
“Hurley, don't encourage him,” said Rose.
“Uh, Bernard, he never got stiff at all.”
“That's not possible. It's a chemical reaction inside the muscles.”
“Bernard, I'm not kidding you. I was with him. There wasn't enough time.”
Bernard gave Ben a long look, as if asking for confirmation.
It was obvious that Ben didn't want to get drawn into this. “There was that huge storm, and several earthquakes. Desmond was unconscious for a lot of it. Hugo and I got separated before we found Jack's body. So I don't think any of us really knows how long it was between when Jack actually died, and when we found him.”
Rose just stood there, arms folded, watching.
Hugo didn't get angry often, but when he did, emotion moved through him like a column of lava up a volcano's throat. Usually he could short-circuit it, but once the lava reached a critical point, out it would spew. Dr. Curtis at the Santa Rosa mental hospital had taught him to imagine little channels spreading on all sides, letting off steam and pressure along the way. Usually it worked.
Bernard adopted the professional tone which usually came with offers of tranquilizers. “Hurley, I understand what you're trying to say. I agree that what we're seeing here isn't quite... usual, even though that floral smell can be explained by bacterial fermentation. And it's true that despite this heat, there's no sign of decay. And the wounds on his side and neck seem to be closing, even more so than what we'd expect twenty-four to thirty-six hours post-mortem—”
Red-faced, Hugo breathed deeply, consciously relaxing his fists. “This isn't a specimen. This is Jack. This is Jack you're talking about. And it's Hugo, not Hurley.”
Bernard went on in the same saccharine tone. “What I'm trying to say, Hugo, is that Jack's dead.”
Hugo sighed, more exasperated than angry. “I know he's dead. I'm not crazy.” He burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. In the past two days he'd been put in charge of the weirdest place on earth. The people who meant the most to him were either dead, or on the other side of the planet. A gigantic blue genie had risen out of the ocean and spit a white rock at him.
And now he was pissed off that Bernard was suggesting he was crazy.
It was so ridiculous. He doubled over, still laughing, while the other four gaped. Finally Rose said, “Honey, don't worry about Bernard's idle speculations. Let's just get ready to toss that first shovel of earth.”
“Hugo, she's right,” said Desmond. “If a grave's already dug, so much the better.”
After the anger and the laughter, Hugo felt light and clear-headed. “It doesn't seem right. It's not what we're supposed to do.”
“It's exactly what we have to do, brother.”
“I know that, Des. But not here.”
“If not here, then where?”
After a few seconds' thought, Hugo said, “The caves. We'll take him to the caves.”
Ben frowned. “Why the caves?”
“There was supposed to be a cave-in,” Bernard objected.
“They're fine. The cave-in, that was around the other side.”
Rose said, “I never liked those caves. I never trusted them.”
“Rose—” Hugo said.
All those years of loss poured out in her voice. “Down here is where our people are, the ones we loved and cared about. Hugo, you of all people should know that.”
“She has a point,” Ben put in.
Rose whirled around to Ben, her eyes flashing. “And the first one we laid to rest there was murdered by one of yours. So I don't see as you have much say in it.”
“Rose, please. This is Jack. You're fighting in front of Jack.” Now everyone was staring at Hugo like he was indeed crazy.
Bernard put on his conciliatory tone again. “Hugo, don't you think Jack would want to be down here with everybody else?”
At first Hugo couldn't answer. It was like trying to describe a brand-new color, or a place you had visited to people who had never heard of it. All he knew was that Jack had never been completely happy on the beach, not really. Less than a week after they had crashed, Jack was like a compass needle drawn to the caves' magnetic north, whether he wanted to or not.
If nothing else, Hugo wasn't going to place Jack in the grave which Ilana had dug for Ben.
Since four pairs of eyes bored into him, Hugo had to give some kind of reason. “It's, um, kind of a Protector thing.”
Still angry, Rose rolled her eyes.
In a soft voice Ben said, “The tomb of the kings.”
It was true. After the crash, the survivors could never have lived in the caves, no matter how much Jack had wanted them to, no matter how hard he argued. The caves weren't for them. They were never meant to be. All Hugo said was, “Ben's right. Look, we can wrap Jack in a tarp, and I can carry him up there.”
Rose gave an impatient shrug. “All right, Hugo, you win, but we're not using some old tarp. We need something better to lay him to rest in. That's why I brought this.”
The silky batik cloth was the size of a large bedspread, its deep green background decorated with gold spirals, shot through with bright pink tropical flowers. Hugo wrapped Jack's body in it, and Rose tucked the excess neatly around Jack's head and feet. They laid him on the makeshift canvas stretcher, then set off for the caves.
So began the long march of Jack Shephard to his final home, the stretcher borne by Desmond in front, Hugo behind. Rose led the procession with one of the torches, while Ben brought up the rear with the other. Alongside him walked Bernard.
These torches had been burning for almost a night and a day now, with no sign of sputtering or winding down.
Picking their way through thick jungle made for slow progress. An hour later they came to the caves, where a cool waterfall dropped its music into a wide, shallow pool, and the earth smelled moist and green.
They crowded into the cave, where Ben cleared away the splintered remains of the coffin lid and smoothed its white silk interior. “Whose was this?”
“Jack's dad's.”
“It seems fitting,” Ben answered.
Into the coffin Hugo and Desmond gently lowered the mortal remains of Christian Shephard's only son.
The torches burned with a clear golden flame which never sputtered. Everyone looked at Hugo, expecting him to say something, but his throat was too choked with emotion. “Rose, could you? I need a minute.”
The uncanny torchlight, the close quarters, and the strong odor of roses seemed to take Rose out of herself. “There's something I remember. Something that fits.”
Hugo nodded for her to go on.
In a sing-song voice, swaying a little, she said,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?
Many bulls surround me;
strong bulls of Bashan encircle me.
Roaring lions that tear their prey
open their mouths wide against me.
You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, honor him!
For he has not despised or scorned
the suffering of his afflicted one;
he has not hidden his face from him
but has listened to his cry for help.”
She leaned against Bernard as if exhausted. “That's all I can remember.”
Hugo stepped forward. The part about the “bulls of Bashan” made his flesh creep, and "descendants of Jacob" sounded a little too close for comfort. He cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn't mess this up. “Jack, amigo, you came to see me when I was at Santa Rosa, and when I told you 'It wants us to go back,' you said you didn't want to, that you never would. Never say never, right?
“Then, just before you fought Locke, I asked you why you came back. You said that it was because you were broken, and crazy enough to think that this Island could fix you. Maybe you thought you were a fool to think that, but you weren't. We're all broken, sure, but the Island fixed you in ways you didn't even know. I love you, man. I love you, and we're all gonna miss you.
“Kate's gonna miss you, too. And Claire. Man, it sucks that you didn't get to know your sister better. But she'll be okay, 'cause Kate and Sawyer and her are all on their way to Tarawara, someplace like that. Wherever that is. They can't be here to say good-bye to you, though, so I'm saying it for them."
Stinging tears clouded Hugo's eyes. He wiped his face, then looked at everyone assembled around the coffin. “That's all I got.”
Desmond rested a close and comforting arm on Hugo's shoulder, and gazed at Jack. “When I went down into that pool, brother, I never thought it would be me standing here instead of you. But I'll see you someday, in a better place.”
Rose sobbed, and Bernard put his arm around her.
After everyone else filtered out of the cave, Hugo knelt by the coffin and placed his hand on Jack's chest. “It should have been you doing this protector thing, not me. But I'll try not to let you down.”
He untucked the shroud and slipped the small white stone into Jack's front shirt pocket. “I figure this is yours as well as mine.”
When Hugo emerged, Ben said, “Maybe we should be concerned about animals.”
Hugo shuddered. In the first few days after the Oceanic 815 crash, wild boar had invaded the plane's wreckage and gone after the bodies. But with a confidence he didn't understand, Hugo said, “No. Nothing's gonna come here.”
"You mean we're just going to leave it open?"
"Yeah, Ben, that's just what we're gonna do."
Ben began to protest, but Bernard shook his head for him to be quiet.
“Here, give me those torches,” Hugo said. He jammed them into cracks on either side of the cave entrance, where their clear gold radiance seemed to draw the light out of the cave itself, leaving the interior full of dim shadows. Despite the dead inside, the quiet cave interior seemed full of life.
Everyone kept silence on the trek to the beach camp. Desmond carried the rolled-up stretcher over his shoulder, walking on ahead as if his journey home had already begun.
They turned onto the well-worn, sandy path, where tiny glimpses of the sea peeked out from between tall, arched cedars. Hanging behind the others, Bernard pulled Hugo aside. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier.”
“Huh? For what?”
“I've never had a torch last much more than a couple of hours. And you were right about Jack's body. As Rose never fails to remind me, dental school isn't medical school, but that was unusual.”
The beach spread out before them with its glittering waves. Hugo put his arm around Bernard and said, “We're cool, dude. It's not like this is any weirder than everything else that's happened.”
(continued)