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stefanie_beanChapter 7: The Monster in the Mirror
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: 3917 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 has a way of getting you where you need to be.
Chapter 7: The Monster in the Mirror
On the morning when her brother lay decked out for burial, Claire awoke to the rat-a-tat rhythm of heavy rain. Pre-dawn light fought its way into the motel room through grimy, colorless curtains. Claire stretched like a cat, stiff from sleeping on the floor on the thick pandamus mat with only her wadded-up outer shirt as a pillow. In the queen-sized bed, Kate slept under a sheet worn thin from many washings.
Claire let herself be hypnotized by the rotating ceiling fan. Rain splashed against the windows, and above every other sound throbbed the relentless, bass hum of the ocean.
The mat hadn't been that great to sleep on, but it beat a damp pile of blankets in the middle of the jungle, or crawling stained and filthy into bed next to Kate. Claire didn't need Kate's badly hidden, appalled glances to tell her what terrible shape she was in. She almost hated Kate's clear skin; her soft and glossy hair which Island weather hadn't managed to frizz; the way she moved, full of health and well-being. Of course Claire wasn't going to climb into that bed, even if it was the only one in the room. She wasn't that crazy.
Claire skirted around to the lavatory and relieved herself in darkness. Soon it would be impossible to hide in the dark, because daylight was already starting to fill the bathroom. And from groping around blindly, Claire knew that there was a mirror over the sink.
Back on the mat, Claire shivered, more terrified of that mirror than almost anything of the past three years.
Yesterday evening, she and Kate had been given a corner room at the Bikenibeu Lodge, a motel a few kilometers west of Bonriki International Airport.
The hour-long drive to the motel had led through the strangest landscape Claire had ever seen. The narrow strip of road sat close to the ocean, with scrubby bushes, slender palms and mangroves, as well as cinder-block houses and shabby shops. The land was so flat that sea-winds rocked the van every time they drove through a clearing. The ocean gleamed like a pale blue plate on either side of the narrow atoll.
The drive took a long time because people, carts, goats, children, and chickens all meandered back and forth across the road, oblivious to vehicles. Every few minutes the driver stopped, then leaned out the window to chat with someone in the I-Kiribati language.
In the back of the van with them sat the fat young policeman, Officer Nariki, who never stopped smiling. He treated the trip as if it were one of the greatest adventures he'd ever had, and maybe it was. At the motel, he offered his arm to Kate and Claire as they climbed out of the van, while Sawyer and the others sat stone-faced.
Nariki first showed the women to their room, then opened the adjacent door, gesturing to Sawyer and the men. “You fellows get the bridal suite,” he said, still smiling, and it was hard to tell if he was teasing or not. Even Kate was too weary to crack a joke at Sawyer's expense.
Now, the hot morning sun practically leapt into the sky. Claire positioned herself by the motel door, listening to people moving about and talking in soft tones. When she cracked the door, an elderly couple were carrying trays of food towards a picnic shelter on the far end of the motel patio. The woman said, “You have to stay in your room till breakfast is ready.”
The man said, “You're our guests. But you stay put now.”
Near the road, Chief Biribo was talking to a group of older I-Kiribati men in wrinkled suits. When they stared over at Claire, she ducked inside and quickly shut the door.
“Morning,” Kate said in a sleepy voice. “What's up?”
“I dunno. Four, five blokes are having a convo outside, probably about us.”
“Wonder what they're going to do with us?”
“Feed us, I hope. Smell the tea?”
Kate pulled on her jeans and shirt. “It's driving me crazy. Let's go get some.”
“I, um, think they—”
But Kate had already dashed across the room, boots and socks in hand. She opened the door just as the older woman was about to knock.
“Time for breakfast,” the woman said.
Claire and Kate peeked into the men's motel room, which was far larger than theirs. Its small living room sported a narrow couch as well as a pandamus mat, and they had a larger bedroom with two queen-sized beds. From the look of the piled-up cushions and blankets in the living room, at least two men had camped out there.
“I'm Maleaua,” the man said. “Welcome to our hotel. And this is my wife.”
“We had to ask the other guests to move out, so it's just your group,” Mrs. Maleaua explained. “Orders from the government.”
“But they're paying us for the whole hotel anyway,” Mr. Maleaua added, clearly happy with the situation.
Sawyer slid next to Kate and said, “Guess they think we're still dangerous.”
Claire scrutinized Sawyer as he walked over to a table covered with warming trays. She had a sneaking suspicion that something terrible had happened to him, something which he hadn't talked about to anyone. Not while they were in the Hydra Island cage, not while he piloted the Elizabeth like a sailing pro through choppy waters. Certainly not now, as he tried hard to look brave. But there was something there, and Claire would bet that Kate knew what it was, too.
Kate kept darting glances over at Sawyer when she thought he wasn't looking, the way Claire herself did if she thought her friend might descend on her from the highest tree-tops.
The pitch-black tea was hot and strong, and Claire burnt her tongue when she gulped it down. It beat boiled herbs, for sure. Mrs. Maleaua broke a raw egg on each of their scoops of rice, and Claire ate this first, pushing aside the pickled fish and vegetables.
It wasn't until the Maleauas had ducked out of sight, Biribo got into his police cruiser, and the other men had driven away in a Toyota van, that everyone felt free to speak.
“So, you got a phone in your room?” Sawyer said to Kate.
“Nope.”
“Us neither. We got a jack, one of those old-fashioned kinds, but no phone.”
Frank spoke up. “They're probably still checking us out, calling embassies. And from the looks of it earlier, there are differing opinions what to do with us.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” said Kate.
Miles blotted the last few rice-grains with his finger. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm settling in to enjoy a nice tropical vacation. Of course, a few more congenial room-mates might be in order.”
Richard gave a half-laugh, half-snort.
Kate fixed both Sawyer and Miles with a steely glare. “Speaking of which, what was that nonsense yesterday about us being 'engaged?'”
Frank poured himself some more tea and added a few spoonfuls of sugar. “Don't blame them, Kate. It was my idea. This isn't Hawai'i or Tahiti, if you hadn't noticed. Folks here are pretty conservative. You see that big Catholic church we passed on our way in?”
Kate's tone was pure ice. “No, I can't say that I did.”
“I just thought it might make things go better.”
“Well, the next time you get a bright idea like that, Frank, run it by me first.”
Sawyer laughed, even if his eyes weren't amused. “Freckles, you're just mad 'cause I got Missy Claire here, and you're stuck with Miles.”
“Hey, I'll swap anytime,” Miles said.
Nobody laughed, and Claire ignored him. She pointed to Sawyer's plate, with its rice and egg untouched. “You mind? I'll trade you.”
He handed her his plate with a grimace, and she passed him her fish and vegetables.
As she slurped down the egg, Frank said, “You know, Claire, you can get pretty sick from those. And that reminds me, don't drink the water, either.”
Claire stared at him blankly. “Frank, if I'd worried about bad water or raw eggs, I'd have been dead three years ago.” Her companions felt like they sat on the other side of the world, rather than just across a table. Even if Miles and Sawyer had lived on the Island for three years in the 1970s, they still seemed pampered and spoiled.
Which reminded Claire of something else. “By the way, did Sayid decide not to come along with you?” She wanted to ask if they'd ditched him as they had her, but thought better of it.
The long look between Sawyer and Kate told Claire all she needed to know. “He didn't make it, did he?”
Sawyer was the first to speak. “Your friend there blew up our sub. Sayid was the only reason we got out alive. Some of us, at least.”
“Claire, I'm sorry,” Kate said. “I know you were close—”
“We weren't close. He wasn't close to anybody.” In her mind, Claire ran down the list of everyone who had gotten onto that doomed ship. “Sun and Jin too, I guess?”
Kate just shook her head.
At first Claire didn't even want to speak the final name. When Kate talked Sawyer into letting her climb on board the Elizabeth, Claire had crossed the deck to sit by Hurley, as a kind of challenge. Sure, it hurt when everyone ran away from her, leaving her behind in the bush. But that he could leave her too, that was almost too much to bear. Claire knew whose idea it had been, and it wasn't his. Still, he'd gone along with it, hadn't he?
So even before the Elizabeth's anchor was raised, Claire had squatted down by him as a kind of challenge, and just glowered, waiting. She had no idea what she had specifically in mind. She just wanted him to see her, and maybe tell her why.
She had expected him to just get up and move away, but he didn't. The two of them sat like guardians on either side of the door which led below-deck. His eyes were big and sad. Finally he said in a low voice that he was sorry, they should have never left without her and Sayid.
It wasn't okay, not really, but she told him that it was, because the gentleness in his tone broke her resistance. For three years she had heard sweet seductiveness and clever lies, harsh shouts, curses and foul names.
But never tenderness. No tenderness, for three long years.
Then, when they had gotten locked in the Hydra Island cage, she didn't know what to do with herself. Except for Hurley, everyone stared at her like she was a bomb ready to go off. She crouched in a corner and tried to ignore the stench of urine and mold.
He filled their end of the cage with heavy, stolid assurance. When she approached him, still full of challenge, he invited her to sit and it about broke her heart. Before she knew it, she had taken his hand, and he didn't shrug it off. Instead, he just let her rest her head on his soft shoulder.
When her trembling stopped, he asked her what had happened. She blinked back tears as she told him tiny bits and pieces, waiting for him to turn his head, push her away. But he stayed.
The last glimpse she'd had of him was when he beat a clumsy retreat from the gunmen into the submarine. When her friend rushed the sub, Sawyer shut the hatch door, and the sub slipped away from the dock as easily as her hopes.
Screwing up every bit of courage she had, Claire looked Sawyer full in the face and said, “What about Hurley?”
The dead look in Sawyer's eyes vanished, and the small crinkle around the edges of his mouth told her all that she needed to know.
Kate was the one whose words brought hope to life. “Hurley was with Jack. He and Ben. They were taking Jack somewhere, I don't know. So they could keep the Island from breaking apart.” Kate drew in a deep breath like a sob. “Jack was wounded, bleeding. I'm hoping—”
Claire couldn't hold back. “I just found a brother, OK? I don't want to lose him just yet.”
That might not be all she'd lost. She suddenly, desperately wanted to believe that Hurley was alive and well on the Island, even if she was traveling in the opposite direction.
Kate gave Claire a small, encouraging smile. “We can hope together." But that didn't wipe out the haunted look in Sawyer's eyes.
* * * * * * * *
Later that day, in the motel room, Kate went through the suitcase she'd brought from the plane. “They must have rifled through it, but everything's here. It's just a mess.” She began to lay clothes out on the bed. “Want to help?”
“I'll pass.” There was still something Claire had to do, something she'd been struggling with since the night before, even as she helped Mrs. Maleaua clear away the breakfast dishes, even as Frank, Miles and Richard had talked away the morning with their stories. Sawyer, though, had sat in silence, saying nothing of himself.
These distractions did nothing to get rid of the monster who lurked in the bathroom. Now it was time for the showdown. It had to be done in just the right way, though. If Claire darted her eyes in the wrong direction, or looked up at the wrong angle, it would catch her between its toothy jaws, crunch her into pieces, and break her beyond repair.
She'd managed to hide from the monster in the airplane lav by keeping her eyes scrunched tight, sightlessly feeling her way around in the tiny stall. Like all creatures of the shadows, the monster couldn't come out into the light. Claire would have to drag it out into the bright mid-day, force it into the sun, and maybe then, just maybe, if it didn't destroy her first, it would melt away, and she might actually remain.
Time to do battle, then. She scrunched up her courage and backed into the small bathroom, pulling the door shut.
Claire screwed her eyes shut and felt for the sink. She bowed her head, supporting herself with her hands in case she fell over. If she didn't do it now, she never would. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared into the cracked sink with its rust-streaked drain. She then raised her eyes to face the monster, which stared back at her from the mirror.
For the first time in three years, Claire saw her own face.
By feel she knew how sharp her cheekbones were, that her hair was a rat-tailed wreck, that the bones poked through her hips and chest. In her mind, though, she always saw herself as she was that last morning in the Barracks before her house blew up, when Hurley reached for Aaron and said, “Get some more sleep, Claire. I've got this.”
It was the last clear memory of herself, her old self, and she clung to it as tightly as she had clung to her passport.
The pale, washed-out witch who stared back at her was almost unrecognizable. She lightly slapped her rough, chapped cheeks. It hurt when she pulled the shaggy hair, which meant that it must be hers. Haunted blue eyes with puffy bags stared back at her. Tiny lines etched their way across pale, fragile skin. In her temple a blue vein pulsed, and her left eye twitched.
She had a mad, violent thought. This wasn't her face, not the one she remembered. This wasn't the same cheek on which Hurley had planted a small, shy kiss right before taking Aaron into his arms. On that day of the explosion, nestled against a cool linen pillowcase, her old face had flushed when she touched the spot he had kissed.
He had done this to her, the one who called himself her friend, the one whose name she refused to speak even now. He had somehow glued this cheap Halloween mask over her true face. All she needed to do was tear it off with her ragged nails, toss it to the cracked linoleum floor and kick the pieces aside like garbage. Then her true face would shine once more. Because this wasn't her, it couldn't be.
She stuck her nails into her cheeks, hard, and the sudden shock of pain made her halt. This was no mask, no trick, no illusion. What had started out as a scratch turned into a stroke as her hands traveled down over her cheeks, slid past her chin to her scrawny neck and prominent collar bones, to the torn, filthy layers of shirts below. This was her, all of her, what Aaron and her mum would see (how was that possible, she still couldn't wrap her mind around it), what Kate and Hurley had seen.
Claire first began to cry, and then to sob.
* * * * * * * *
At first Kate kate ignored the torn, wrenching sounds in the background. South Tarawa was loud, with the constant hammering sea-wind, the rumble of vehicles, the yapping dogs. In the next house over, some men were having a loud argument in I-Kiribati. Children laughed and shouted as they played soccer in the roadway. Between all that and the clattering ceiling fan, it took a moment for Kate to recognize the choked sobs as Claire's.
She ran in to find Claire lying in a tight heap on the smeared linoleum. As she rocked back and forth, face buried in her hands, panic surged through Kate. Was Claire sick? Worse, had she tried to hurt herself?
She shook Claire's shoulder gently. “Claire? Honey, what's the matter?”
“It's me, oh God, it's me, it's really me, what am I going to do?”
“Come on, let's sit down.” She pulled Claire to her feet and lowered her onto the pandamus mat in the living room.
Kate had soothed many skittish horses in her time, including one mare in labor which her father was convinced was going to panic and maybe even break a leg. Back then, Kate had let her mind go blank as she placed her hand on the mare's side. In that dim space without words or thought, she sent pure comfort through her to the terrified horse's body. An hour later the foal was born.
Now Kate did the same for Claire. She sat there with no words, no thoughts; didn't tell Claire to relax, or that it would be okay. She gave Claire nothing but a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder until the sobs stopped.
Still sniffling, Claire wiped her nose across the back of her hand. “Look at me, Kate. Look what he did to me.”
Running her hand through the shaggy mat of Claire's hair, Kate said, “Claire, listen. I already tried the shower. It's not great, but there's not a lot that warm water can't fix. Come on, I'll help you.”
With practiced hands used to giving a child his nightly bath, Kate helped Claire out of her clothes. She got a good look at what Auntie Merey had already seen: the gunshot scar, the brand, the whole host of smaller ones spread over Claire's body like faint pink tattoos.
The water pressure was lower than earlier, but thank God something still sputtered out of the rusted old shower head. Claire closed her eyes as brackish, smelly water ran over her face, while Kate grabbed a tiny bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. She washed Claire's hair, and like a child Claire let Kate wash her face, neck, and the rest of her. Brownish-grey water streamed down over Claire's bony body into the drain below.
“Feels good, doesn't it?” Kate said.
Claire grinned at the warm, slow baptism of running water. Toweled off and fresh for the first time in years, she sat on the bed while Kate pulled a styling comb from the suitcase.
Tentatively, Kate picked the comb through Claire's hair, but it was a rough go. Finally Kate said, “There are scissors, too. You know, it might be easier to—”
“Cut it off, all of it. I don't want to see it any longer.”
“You sure?”
Claire nodded. So, instead of trying to comb through the mat, Kate cut away at it. Great clumps snarled beyond redemption fell to the linoleum floor, until nothing was left but a fluffy bob which fell right below Claire's ears.
Putting her hands to her head, Claire said, “It feels so light, like a huge weight's come off.” Then she gave the pile of discarded hair a little kick. “I wish we could burn it. And those old clothes, too.”
“We can. There's a rubbish fire going out back.”
“I want to see my new haircut, what it looks like.”
“Let's get you dressed first. And I've found something else in the luggage.”
The woman's cosmetics bag was zipped full to bursting. Kate and Claire spread out the little bottles, tubes, compacts, and brushes all across the bed, like a couple of young girls exploring make-up for the first time.
Claire frowned at the olive and coral hues. “These are more your colors than mine. I always fancied the pinks and light blues.” But she let Kate paint her face, then lightly powder it, and to Kate it seemed that with every daub and stroke, Claire brightened.
“OK, now you can look.”
The change was remarkable. Claire still wore a haunted expression, but her face had softened around the edges as much as her hair. “You probably think I'm silly and vain,” she said.
“No, I don't. I can't begin to imagine what you've been through.”
The back of the motel was a disaster, strewn about with empty bottles, corroded barrels and scraps of tin roofing. Only the sea shone pure and beautiful, after the driving rain. One of the Maleauas must have started the fire recently, because it still put out an oily black smoke.
Claire got as close as she dared, then tossed in the filthy bundle of hair and clothes. As it caught fire, the air filled with a burning chicken-feather smell, and some loose hair got caught in the updraft.
As she watched the mess burn, she said to the fire, “That's the last of him.” Then she turned to Kate. “He was going to make me his moll.”
“His what?”
“You know. Girlfriend, mistress. When he got his body. I mean, Locke's body.”
“Oh, my God, Claire. Did he—”
“No, actually he didn't, in the end. I have no idea why. It was all he talked about, before. After that, nothing. Like he'd lost interest or something.”
“Thank God.”
“Yes,” Claire said.
Back in the room, they tidied up while Kate waited for the real questions to begin, the big ones which hadn't come up before now. They were going to cool their heels here in Tarawa for what might be a long time, and there wouldn't be much else to do but talk. By the time Claire settled herself on the mat and leaned over to Kate, Kate was ready.
“Okay,” Claire said. “Tell me about Aaron.”
So Kate did, all of it.
(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: 3917 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 has a way of getting you where you need to be.
Chapter 7: The Monster in the Mirror
On the morning when her brother lay decked out for burial, Claire awoke to the rat-a-tat rhythm of heavy rain. Pre-dawn light fought its way into the motel room through grimy, colorless curtains. Claire stretched like a cat, stiff from sleeping on the floor on the thick pandamus mat with only her wadded-up outer shirt as a pillow. In the queen-sized bed, Kate slept under a sheet worn thin from many washings.
Claire let herself be hypnotized by the rotating ceiling fan. Rain splashed against the windows, and above every other sound throbbed the relentless, bass hum of the ocean.
The mat hadn't been that great to sleep on, but it beat a damp pile of blankets in the middle of the jungle, or crawling stained and filthy into bed next to Kate. Claire didn't need Kate's badly hidden, appalled glances to tell her what terrible shape she was in. She almost hated Kate's clear skin; her soft and glossy hair which Island weather hadn't managed to frizz; the way she moved, full of health and well-being. Of course Claire wasn't going to climb into that bed, even if it was the only one in the room. She wasn't that crazy.
Claire skirted around to the lavatory and relieved herself in darkness. Soon it would be impossible to hide in the dark, because daylight was already starting to fill the bathroom. And from groping around blindly, Claire knew that there was a mirror over the sink.
Back on the mat, Claire shivered, more terrified of that mirror than almost anything of the past three years.
Yesterday evening, she and Kate had been given a corner room at the Bikenibeu Lodge, a motel a few kilometers west of Bonriki International Airport.
The hour-long drive to the motel had led through the strangest landscape Claire had ever seen. The narrow strip of road sat close to the ocean, with scrubby bushes, slender palms and mangroves, as well as cinder-block houses and shabby shops. The land was so flat that sea-winds rocked the van every time they drove through a clearing. The ocean gleamed like a pale blue plate on either side of the narrow atoll.
The drive took a long time because people, carts, goats, children, and chickens all meandered back and forth across the road, oblivious to vehicles. Every few minutes the driver stopped, then leaned out the window to chat with someone in the I-Kiribati language.
In the back of the van with them sat the fat young policeman, Officer Nariki, who never stopped smiling. He treated the trip as if it were one of the greatest adventures he'd ever had, and maybe it was. At the motel, he offered his arm to Kate and Claire as they climbed out of the van, while Sawyer and the others sat stone-faced.
Nariki first showed the women to their room, then opened the adjacent door, gesturing to Sawyer and the men. “You fellows get the bridal suite,” he said, still smiling, and it was hard to tell if he was teasing or not. Even Kate was too weary to crack a joke at Sawyer's expense.
Now, the hot morning sun practically leapt into the sky. Claire positioned herself by the motel door, listening to people moving about and talking in soft tones. When she cracked the door, an elderly couple were carrying trays of food towards a picnic shelter on the far end of the motel patio. The woman said, “You have to stay in your room till breakfast is ready.”
The man said, “You're our guests. But you stay put now.”
Near the road, Chief Biribo was talking to a group of older I-Kiribati men in wrinkled suits. When they stared over at Claire, she ducked inside and quickly shut the door.
“Morning,” Kate said in a sleepy voice. “What's up?”
“I dunno. Four, five blokes are having a convo outside, probably about us.”
“Wonder what they're going to do with us?”
“Feed us, I hope. Smell the tea?”
Kate pulled on her jeans and shirt. “It's driving me crazy. Let's go get some.”
“I, um, think they—”
But Kate had already dashed across the room, boots and socks in hand. She opened the door just as the older woman was about to knock.
“Time for breakfast,” the woman said.
Claire and Kate peeked into the men's motel room, which was far larger than theirs. Its small living room sported a narrow couch as well as a pandamus mat, and they had a larger bedroom with two queen-sized beds. From the look of the piled-up cushions and blankets in the living room, at least two men had camped out there.
“I'm Maleaua,” the man said. “Welcome to our hotel. And this is my wife.”
“We had to ask the other guests to move out, so it's just your group,” Mrs. Maleaua explained. “Orders from the government.”
“But they're paying us for the whole hotel anyway,” Mr. Maleaua added, clearly happy with the situation.
Sawyer slid next to Kate and said, “Guess they think we're still dangerous.”
Claire scrutinized Sawyer as he walked over to a table covered with warming trays. She had a sneaking suspicion that something terrible had happened to him, something which he hadn't talked about to anyone. Not while they were in the Hydra Island cage, not while he piloted the Elizabeth like a sailing pro through choppy waters. Certainly not now, as he tried hard to look brave. But there was something there, and Claire would bet that Kate knew what it was, too.
Kate kept darting glances over at Sawyer when she thought he wasn't looking, the way Claire herself did if she thought her friend might descend on her from the highest tree-tops.
The pitch-black tea was hot and strong, and Claire burnt her tongue when she gulped it down. It beat boiled herbs, for sure. Mrs. Maleaua broke a raw egg on each of their scoops of rice, and Claire ate this first, pushing aside the pickled fish and vegetables.
It wasn't until the Maleauas had ducked out of sight, Biribo got into his police cruiser, and the other men had driven away in a Toyota van, that everyone felt free to speak.
“So, you got a phone in your room?” Sawyer said to Kate.
“Nope.”
“Us neither. We got a jack, one of those old-fashioned kinds, but no phone.”
Frank spoke up. “They're probably still checking us out, calling embassies. And from the looks of it earlier, there are differing opinions what to do with us.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” said Kate.
Miles blotted the last few rice-grains with his finger. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm settling in to enjoy a nice tropical vacation. Of course, a few more congenial room-mates might be in order.”
Richard gave a half-laugh, half-snort.
Kate fixed both Sawyer and Miles with a steely glare. “Speaking of which, what was that nonsense yesterday about us being 'engaged?'”
Frank poured himself some more tea and added a few spoonfuls of sugar. “Don't blame them, Kate. It was my idea. This isn't Hawai'i or Tahiti, if you hadn't noticed. Folks here are pretty conservative. You see that big Catholic church we passed on our way in?”
Kate's tone was pure ice. “No, I can't say that I did.”
“I just thought it might make things go better.”
“Well, the next time you get a bright idea like that, Frank, run it by me first.”
Sawyer laughed, even if his eyes weren't amused. “Freckles, you're just mad 'cause I got Missy Claire here, and you're stuck with Miles.”
“Hey, I'll swap anytime,” Miles said.
Nobody laughed, and Claire ignored him. She pointed to Sawyer's plate, with its rice and egg untouched. “You mind? I'll trade you.”
He handed her his plate with a grimace, and she passed him her fish and vegetables.
As she slurped down the egg, Frank said, “You know, Claire, you can get pretty sick from those. And that reminds me, don't drink the water, either.”
Claire stared at him blankly. “Frank, if I'd worried about bad water or raw eggs, I'd have been dead three years ago.” Her companions felt like they sat on the other side of the world, rather than just across a table. Even if Miles and Sawyer had lived on the Island for three years in the 1970s, they still seemed pampered and spoiled.
Which reminded Claire of something else. “By the way, did Sayid decide not to come along with you?” She wanted to ask if they'd ditched him as they had her, but thought better of it.
The long look between Sawyer and Kate told Claire all she needed to know. “He didn't make it, did he?”
Sawyer was the first to speak. “Your friend there blew up our sub. Sayid was the only reason we got out alive. Some of us, at least.”
“Claire, I'm sorry,” Kate said. “I know you were close—”
“We weren't close. He wasn't close to anybody.” In her mind, Claire ran down the list of everyone who had gotten onto that doomed ship. “Sun and Jin too, I guess?”
Kate just shook her head.
At first Claire didn't even want to speak the final name. When Kate talked Sawyer into letting her climb on board the Elizabeth, Claire had crossed the deck to sit by Hurley, as a kind of challenge. Sure, it hurt when everyone ran away from her, leaving her behind in the bush. But that he could leave her too, that was almost too much to bear. Claire knew whose idea it had been, and it wasn't his. Still, he'd gone along with it, hadn't he?
So even before the Elizabeth's anchor was raised, Claire had squatted down by him as a kind of challenge, and just glowered, waiting. She had no idea what she had specifically in mind. She just wanted him to see her, and maybe tell her why.
She had expected him to just get up and move away, but he didn't. The two of them sat like guardians on either side of the door which led below-deck. His eyes were big and sad. Finally he said in a low voice that he was sorry, they should have never left without her and Sayid.
It wasn't okay, not really, but she told him that it was, because the gentleness in his tone broke her resistance. For three years she had heard sweet seductiveness and clever lies, harsh shouts, curses and foul names.
But never tenderness. No tenderness, for three long years.
Then, when they had gotten locked in the Hydra Island cage, she didn't know what to do with herself. Except for Hurley, everyone stared at her like she was a bomb ready to go off. She crouched in a corner and tried to ignore the stench of urine and mold.
He filled their end of the cage with heavy, stolid assurance. When she approached him, still full of challenge, he invited her to sit and it about broke her heart. Before she knew it, she had taken his hand, and he didn't shrug it off. Instead, he just let her rest her head on his soft shoulder.
When her trembling stopped, he asked her what had happened. She blinked back tears as she told him tiny bits and pieces, waiting for him to turn his head, push her away. But he stayed.
The last glimpse she'd had of him was when he beat a clumsy retreat from the gunmen into the submarine. When her friend rushed the sub, Sawyer shut the hatch door, and the sub slipped away from the dock as easily as her hopes.
Screwing up every bit of courage she had, Claire looked Sawyer full in the face and said, “What about Hurley?”
The dead look in Sawyer's eyes vanished, and the small crinkle around the edges of his mouth told her all that she needed to know.
Kate was the one whose words brought hope to life. “Hurley was with Jack. He and Ben. They were taking Jack somewhere, I don't know. So they could keep the Island from breaking apart.” Kate drew in a deep breath like a sob. “Jack was wounded, bleeding. I'm hoping—”
Claire couldn't hold back. “I just found a brother, OK? I don't want to lose him just yet.”
That might not be all she'd lost. She suddenly, desperately wanted to believe that Hurley was alive and well on the Island, even if she was traveling in the opposite direction.
Kate gave Claire a small, encouraging smile. “We can hope together." But that didn't wipe out the haunted look in Sawyer's eyes.
Later that day, in the motel room, Kate went through the suitcase she'd brought from the plane. “They must have rifled through it, but everything's here. It's just a mess.” She began to lay clothes out on the bed. “Want to help?”
“I'll pass.” There was still something Claire had to do, something she'd been struggling with since the night before, even as she helped Mrs. Maleaua clear away the breakfast dishes, even as Frank, Miles and Richard had talked away the morning with their stories. Sawyer, though, had sat in silence, saying nothing of himself.
These distractions did nothing to get rid of the monster who lurked in the bathroom. Now it was time for the showdown. It had to be done in just the right way, though. If Claire darted her eyes in the wrong direction, or looked up at the wrong angle, it would catch her between its toothy jaws, crunch her into pieces, and break her beyond repair.
She'd managed to hide from the monster in the airplane lav by keeping her eyes scrunched tight, sightlessly feeling her way around in the tiny stall. Like all creatures of the shadows, the monster couldn't come out into the light. Claire would have to drag it out into the bright mid-day, force it into the sun, and maybe then, just maybe, if it didn't destroy her first, it would melt away, and she might actually remain.
Time to do battle, then. She scrunched up her courage and backed into the small bathroom, pulling the door shut.
Claire screwed her eyes shut and felt for the sink. She bowed her head, supporting herself with her hands in case she fell over. If she didn't do it now, she never would. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared into the cracked sink with its rust-streaked drain. She then raised her eyes to face the monster, which stared back at her from the mirror.
For the first time in three years, Claire saw her own face.
By feel she knew how sharp her cheekbones were, that her hair was a rat-tailed wreck, that the bones poked through her hips and chest. In her mind, though, she always saw herself as she was that last morning in the Barracks before her house blew up, when Hurley reached for Aaron and said, “Get some more sleep, Claire. I've got this.”
It was the last clear memory of herself, her old self, and she clung to it as tightly as she had clung to her passport.
The pale, washed-out witch who stared back at her was almost unrecognizable. She lightly slapped her rough, chapped cheeks. It hurt when she pulled the shaggy hair, which meant that it must be hers. Haunted blue eyes with puffy bags stared back at her. Tiny lines etched their way across pale, fragile skin. In her temple a blue vein pulsed, and her left eye twitched.
She had a mad, violent thought. This wasn't her face, not the one she remembered. This wasn't the same cheek on which Hurley had planted a small, shy kiss right before taking Aaron into his arms. On that day of the explosion, nestled against a cool linen pillowcase, her old face had flushed when she touched the spot he had kissed.
He had done this to her, the one who called himself her friend, the one whose name she refused to speak even now. He had somehow glued this cheap Halloween mask over her true face. All she needed to do was tear it off with her ragged nails, toss it to the cracked linoleum floor and kick the pieces aside like garbage. Then her true face would shine once more. Because this wasn't her, it couldn't be.
She stuck her nails into her cheeks, hard, and the sudden shock of pain made her halt. This was no mask, no trick, no illusion. What had started out as a scratch turned into a stroke as her hands traveled down over her cheeks, slid past her chin to her scrawny neck and prominent collar bones, to the torn, filthy layers of shirts below. This was her, all of her, what Aaron and her mum would see (how was that possible, she still couldn't wrap her mind around it), what Kate and Hurley had seen.
Claire first began to cry, and then to sob.
At first Kate kate ignored the torn, wrenching sounds in the background. South Tarawa was loud, with the constant hammering sea-wind, the rumble of vehicles, the yapping dogs. In the next house over, some men were having a loud argument in I-Kiribati. Children laughed and shouted as they played soccer in the roadway. Between all that and the clattering ceiling fan, it took a moment for Kate to recognize the choked sobs as Claire's.
She ran in to find Claire lying in a tight heap on the smeared linoleum. As she rocked back and forth, face buried in her hands, panic surged through Kate. Was Claire sick? Worse, had she tried to hurt herself?
She shook Claire's shoulder gently. “Claire? Honey, what's the matter?”
“It's me, oh God, it's me, it's really me, what am I going to do?”
“Come on, let's sit down.” She pulled Claire to her feet and lowered her onto the pandamus mat in the living room.
Kate had soothed many skittish horses in her time, including one mare in labor which her father was convinced was going to panic and maybe even break a leg. Back then, Kate had let her mind go blank as she placed her hand on the mare's side. In that dim space without words or thought, she sent pure comfort through her to the terrified horse's body. An hour later the foal was born.
Now Kate did the same for Claire. She sat there with no words, no thoughts; didn't tell Claire to relax, or that it would be okay. She gave Claire nothing but a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder until the sobs stopped.
Still sniffling, Claire wiped her nose across the back of her hand. “Look at me, Kate. Look what he did to me.”
Running her hand through the shaggy mat of Claire's hair, Kate said, “Claire, listen. I already tried the shower. It's not great, but there's not a lot that warm water can't fix. Come on, I'll help you.”
With practiced hands used to giving a child his nightly bath, Kate helped Claire out of her clothes. She got a good look at what Auntie Merey had already seen: the gunshot scar, the brand, the whole host of smaller ones spread over Claire's body like faint pink tattoos.
The water pressure was lower than earlier, but thank God something still sputtered out of the rusted old shower head. Claire closed her eyes as brackish, smelly water ran over her face, while Kate grabbed a tiny bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. She washed Claire's hair, and like a child Claire let Kate wash her face, neck, and the rest of her. Brownish-grey water streamed down over Claire's bony body into the drain below.
“Feels good, doesn't it?” Kate said.
Claire grinned at the warm, slow baptism of running water. Toweled off and fresh for the first time in years, she sat on the bed while Kate pulled a styling comb from the suitcase.
Tentatively, Kate picked the comb through Claire's hair, but it was a rough go. Finally Kate said, “There are scissors, too. You know, it might be easier to—”
“Cut it off, all of it. I don't want to see it any longer.”
“You sure?”
Claire nodded. So, instead of trying to comb through the mat, Kate cut away at it. Great clumps snarled beyond redemption fell to the linoleum floor, until nothing was left but a fluffy bob which fell right below Claire's ears.
Putting her hands to her head, Claire said, “It feels so light, like a huge weight's come off.” Then she gave the pile of discarded hair a little kick. “I wish we could burn it. And those old clothes, too.”
“We can. There's a rubbish fire going out back.”
“I want to see my new haircut, what it looks like.”
“Let's get you dressed first. And I've found something else in the luggage.”
The woman's cosmetics bag was zipped full to bursting. Kate and Claire spread out the little bottles, tubes, compacts, and brushes all across the bed, like a couple of young girls exploring make-up for the first time.
Claire frowned at the olive and coral hues. “These are more your colors than mine. I always fancied the pinks and light blues.” But she let Kate paint her face, then lightly powder it, and to Kate it seemed that with every daub and stroke, Claire brightened.
“OK, now you can look.”
The change was remarkable. Claire still wore a haunted expression, but her face had softened around the edges as much as her hair. “You probably think I'm silly and vain,” she said.
“No, I don't. I can't begin to imagine what you've been through.”
The back of the motel was a disaster, strewn about with empty bottles, corroded barrels and scraps of tin roofing. Only the sea shone pure and beautiful, after the driving rain. One of the Maleauas must have started the fire recently, because it still put out an oily black smoke.
Claire got as close as she dared, then tossed in the filthy bundle of hair and clothes. As it caught fire, the air filled with a burning chicken-feather smell, and some loose hair got caught in the updraft.
As she watched the mess burn, she said to the fire, “That's the last of him.” Then she turned to Kate. “He was going to make me his moll.”
“His what?”
“You know. Girlfriend, mistress. When he got his body. I mean, Locke's body.”
“Oh, my God, Claire. Did he—”
“No, actually he didn't, in the end. I have no idea why. It was all he talked about, before. After that, nothing. Like he'd lost interest or something.”
“Thank God.”
“Yes,” Claire said.
Back in the room, they tidied up while Kate waited for the real questions to begin, the big ones which hadn't come up before now. They were going to cool their heels here in Tarawa for what might be a long time, and there wouldn't be much else to do but talk. By the time Claire settled herself on the mat and leaned over to Kate, Kate was ready.
“Okay,” Claire said. “Tell me about Aaron.”
So Kate did, all of it.
(continued)