The Truth Shall Set You Free (and Other Myths)
Title: The Truth Shall Set You Free (and Other Myths)
Characters: Kate, Jack, Ben, Sawyer, Desmond, Hurley, Juliet
Rating: PG13 or maybe a little more?
Spoilers: Everything up to 4.01.
Summary: A series of vignettes about incarceration, confinement and captivity. Whatever you call it, they’ve all experienced it in some form or another.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to jenthegypsy. A very Happy Birthday to a lovely lady!
x x x
Birdsong at Morning
On day four it briefly occurs to Kate that if all jails were like this, she might not have run. It’s ridiculous and clearly a thought born of dehydration, exhaustion and sheer panic because obviously this is not better, only different. It doesn’t matter if you can reach out and pluck a leaf from a vine or still smell the ocean from miles away, she’s still a prisoner.
Yet there’s something to be said about being able to open your eyes and watch the earth awake around you. The birds start chirping just before sunrise and she’s become familiar with their voices. The first to begin is always a fat little puff of yellow with a shiny black beak who Kate refers to as the conductor. It flies in each morning to sit on the top of Sawyer’s cage and makes a strange honking sound that reminds her of someone blowing their nose. This call brings forth a chorus of twittering replies from birds all around her. After this performance fades, a rooster crows from somewhere deep in the jungle. Only then does the yellow bird fly away.
Sawyer sleeps through all of this, curled in a ball in the corner of his cage, one arm flung out between the bars. He usually doesn’t wake until the sun hits his face. Then he’s up with a start, looking embarrassed to have slept at all.
They’re going to get sick living in the open like this. They might not have been much but at least their shelters on the beach kept them dry and there was a semblance of hygiene and nutrition in their camp. It will be hard to stay strong on dirty water and fish biscuits, especially if they keep the heavy labour up. But she suspects there’s more to the Other’s plan than death by exposure. What that is though, she has no idea.
She wonders what Mars would think of her now, serving her time in a jungle zoo. Would he stand there smirking, pleased that she’s finally caged or would it disappoint him not to be the one responsible?
Besides the fact that she didn’t quite think killing Wayne was a crime, one of the reasons Kate hit the ground running was because she desperately wanted to avoid prison. She valued her privacy too much and she hated knowing every moment of the day would be dictated to her. Most of all, she was afraid of not being tough enough. Somewhere between the verdict being read and her cell door closing, she expected the tears would spill over and she would begin to regret her actions. Then Wayne would have won again.
That’s changed now. Surviving here has proven how tough she can be. If she gets out of this cage and off this island, Kate knows she’ll no longer be afraid of what lies ahead. Whatever happens, she’ll be able to face it.
Breakfast of Champions
The bandage on his shoulder has been cleaned and changed but it appears Jack’s waiting to leave the armoury until he’s finished his breakfast. Ben’s unsure if this is a sign of affection or distrust. Does Jack care if his patient eats or is he just not to be trusted alone with a bowl of fruit and a spoon? Ben takes small bites. He’s stalling, wanting to prolong his time with the doctor, but it’s not much of an act. Sayid’s seen to it that he can barely move his jaw without wincing. Each mouthful goes down coated with a hint of blood.
“Henry, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Jack asks, his polite tone ever so condescending.
Jack’s the least experienced of all Ben’s jailers. Having never been in this position before, he’s not as shrewd as Sayid. Nor has he ever been a victim, so he lacks John’s natural empathy. Of the three, he’s the most carefully detached but Ben hopes he can turn that around soon, so he can really see what the good doctor is made of. That’s one of the goals of his little surrender.
Ben puts down his spoon. “Sure, Jack.”
“Why a hot air balloon?”
“Have you ever been in one?”
“No.”
“It’s the unity of man’s two greatest accomplishments, fire and flight. Defying gravity, keeping that fine balance between heaven and earth, has never been so simple, yet so dangerous.” Undoubtedly this is something Henry would have answered many times but Ben hopes his reply did not sound too rehearsed.
“You just don’t seem like the thrill seeking type.”
“And what do I seem like to you, Jack?”
“Someone who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”
Ben nods and smiles even though he’s about to disagree. “If I was looking for an adrenaline rush I’d take up bungee jumping. Ballooning is about mastering the elements. It’s all about control. In that way, it’s not so different from surgery.”
Jack takes a moment to consider if this is an insult. “Have you ever held someone else’s life in your hands?”
“I’ve been responsible for the lives of an entire community for seventeen years. Every day you’ve been here, on my island, I’ve let you live. Just a few weeks ago I ordered the elimination of Charlie Pace and had she not escaped, Claire Littleton would have never lived to see her son. I may not get my hands dirty but around here, I’m the closest thing to God.”
Of course, this speech does not leave his lips. Instead he drops his eyes to the floor and says meekly, “My wife’s, Jennifer’s. It’s my fault we crashed.”
“She must have understood the risks.”
“Are you married, Jack?”
“No.”
“Ever been in love?”
Jack opens his mouth, then closes it. “Are you done?”
Ben starts eating again, pausing between bites to say, “If you have, you’d know that you would do anything to save that person. When the balloon was failing, I tried to jump out to reduce the weight but she held me back.”
“So you’re a man who would sacrifice himself for love.”
Ben would like to think he’s doing this for his people, for Alex, but he knows he’s doing this for himself. “And you’re not?”
“I’ve watched a lot of people die. Most don’t have that choice.”
“Jennifer loved ballooning even more than I did. She called it waltzing with the wind.” Ben holds out his empty bowl. “I think you would like it, Jack.”
“I don’t like confined spaces.”
Ben leans his head against the cold concrete. “It’s a good thing they don’t bother me, otherwise I’d be crawling the walls in here.”
He knows this last statement has tweaked Jack’s conscience and patience. His curiosity has vanished and he’s already washing his hands of this conversation. “I’ll be back tonight. Bang on the door if you need anything.”
“My life is in your hands, Jack.”
“No Henry, it’s in yours.”
The Duke and the Dauphin
In some ways prison is the ideal place for a con. You’re surrounded by dozens of yahoos who clearly are not as smart as they think and all of them have something to prove. You have all the time in the world to pick your marks and make your play. It doesn’t matter that most of them are broke, for Sawyer, it’s always been a little bit more about the rush that comes with a win than the money.
The problem is the lack of exit strategy. His cons have always revolved around a quick getaway and that’s what stumps him here. He’s not going anywhere. It’s another three years before he can even think of parole and that in itself will be a con and a half. The last thing he wants to do is build up a legion of enemies who will think nothing of shiving him in the shower.
So he sticks to small time stuff: playing on the population’s low math skills when calculating odds on sporting bets, marking cards, skimming a little from the top when he plays middleman between the Greeks and the Mexicans. This gets old real fast. He’s gonna need to do something to keep his mind from slowly dying in here. The work is menial and the library is as pathetic as the company.
One day, just when he thinks it’s possible to succumb to boredom, he finds a guard in a compromising, and surprisingly, consensual position with a fairly influential inmate. Sawyer doesn’t give a damn about how people choose to get off in this joint; this is not about judgement, it’s an opportunity. He keeps his mouth shut and suddenly he’s owed favours from people on both sides of the system. Now, it’s easier to get the things he wants in and out and overnight he’s operating a fuckin’ 7-11 from his cell. He decides it’s not so bad to be the guy everyone goes too. As long as he can get their smokes and booze, their magazines and candy, their hair gel and other lubricants, he can hustle them right there in the open.
Of course the Greeks are none to happy with the competition but they calm down when he gives them a cut and promises to stay away from the drug trade. That’s more trouble than it’s worth.
Then Munson and his ten million fall in his lap. Sawyer senses this could be the biggest con of his life and he doesn’t need the distraction or the attention so he closes up his shop. To make this work, he’ll need help, a shill, ideally someone with connections on the inside and out. The problem is no one he knows has the right combination of brains and loyalty to pull this off. He actually considers asking Cass to be his partner, hoping the money would make up for the bad blood between them but then she comes to him first, waving a picture of a blonde blue-eyed tyke and talking about playing daddy. That closes the door between them for good.
Then it hits him. What the fuck is he gonna to do with ten million dollars? That’s not what he needs at all. So in seeking a new protégé he begins to look up the ladder rather than down and finds a man who is both in and out. It takes him a week to work out all the details and then he makes an appointment to see Warden Harris.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Ouroboros
July 27, 1995
I had the chance to observe Brother Hume today. Despite my initial impression, he is fitting in nicely. He has shed his worldliness quickly and has adapted to our schedule without difficulty. Brother Martin assigned him to the vineyard and says he’s a hard worker. I do not think Hume is a particularly religious man but he has dedicated himself to study and prayer. I suspect he will be full of questions about scripture once his vow of silence ends. I still fear he’s running from something, rather than toward, but who am I to judge a man’s path to God. Of course, these days we can’t picky. Hume is only the third novice we’ve had in five years.
July 27, 1998
Dear Penny,
You’d be surprised to know how much prison reminds me of the monastery. I don’t mean to imply that being a monk was like being a prisoner but there’s something very familiar about the experience. An impulsive decision brought me to both. We keep practically the same hours, rising early with periods for work and study, lights out at ten o’clock. There’s plenty of time for reflection, almost too much. Of course here, the Lord’s name is taken just as often in vain as in prayer and the sense of brotherhood leaves something to be desired. I’ve made friends with the chaplain. He’s trying to help me figure out what to do with myself when my sentence is over. He’s agrees with you that I’m my own worse enemy. At his urging, I’m taking a computer course. Hopefully it will come in useful one day.
At least I’m breaking no vow by keeping you constantly in my thoughts. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. After everything, I know I don’t deserve to hold you close to my heart. Nor do I warrant your attention but Pen, please, if you could take a few minutes and let me know how you are, it would make all the difference. Tell me to go to hell. Tell me you are fabulously happy. Tell me every boring detail of your day. I don’t care, just take me out of this world for a while.
Love, Desmond
July 27, 2003
0.645: D.H. wakes. 0.648: Enters numbers. 0.700: Begins workout. 0.800: Takes shower. 0.815: Shaves. 0.826: Enters numbers. 0.830: Eats cereal, drinks juice. 0.840: Injects vaccine. 0.845: Tightens gears on bicycle. 0.900: Oils rowing machine. 0.917: Tidies up. 1014: Enters numbers. 1020: Unclogs kitchen sink. 1103: Irons. 1202: Enters numbers.
1215: K.I. wakes. D.H. fixes him coffee and oatmeal. 1245: K.I. showers. D.H. makes beds. 1300: K.I. injects vaccine and leaves station. 1301: D.H. stares into space. 1350: Enters numbers. 1400: Puts on Chopin, lies on couch. 1538: Enters numbers. 1545: Masturbates. 1600: Goes to bathroom. 1609: Makes a cup of tea.1646: Enters numbers. 1700: Makes a tuna casserole. 1745: Sets table. 1754: Enters numbers.
1800: K.I. returns. They eat dinner. 1845: K.I. and D.H. play checkers. 1900: K.I. loses. 1911: D.H. loses. 1937: D.H. loses. 1942: D.H. enters numbers. 2000: K.I. and D.H. discuss the rise and fall of the British and American Empires. 2007: K.I. and D.H. debate who would be a better lover, Margaret Thatcher or Princess Diana. No conclusion is reached.
2100: D.H. brushes his teeth. 2107: D.H. reads in bed. 2130: K.A. enters numbers. 2155: D.H. looks at his photo. 2200: K.I. Says lights out. D.H. goes to sleep. 2318: K.I. enters numbers. 2320: K.I. drinks beer. 0.106: K.I. enters numbers and uses computer to communicate with unknown party for thirty seven minutes. 0.248: Enters numbers. 0.300: K.I. carries a rifle into the bedroom and stares at a sleeping D.H. 0.323: K.I. reads. 0.436: Enters numbers. 0.440: K.I. goes to bathroom. 0.500: K.I. goes to bed. 0.620: D.H. wakes. 0.624: D.H. enters numbers.
Heavenly Shades of Night are Falling
When Hurley returns to Santa Rosa, it comes to no surprise that a majority of the patients still gather in front of the television in the dayroom every weeknight at seven o’clock to watch The Twilight Zone. In a place that thrives on routine, this custom is a comfort to many, just as it’s soothing to immerse oneself in a series that treats delusions as reality.
"I wake up in a hotel room in Honolulu, and it's 1941, but I mean I really wake up and it's really 1941.”
Tonight’s episode is about a man who visits his psychiatrist for help dealing with a recurring dream. Every night he finds himself in Hawaii on the day before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He spends the dream unsuccessfully attempting to warn people before he himself dies in an explosion. The man wonders if he could be time traveling, a notion the doctor vehemently denies. At the end there’s a twist, there’s always a twist, the disbelieving doctor wakes in his office to find the patient vanished and no record of his appointment. Later he learns the man died at Pearl Harbor.
If the staff here knew any better they would ban The Twilight Zone because it persuasively argues that just because your paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. That can’t be healthy in this environment.
It doesn’t really matter. He’s not here to get better. Therapy’s impossible when you’re living a lie. No matter how many rainbow coloured pills he swallows or palms, the ghosts keep visiting. He came here to be safe but staying in one place just makes it easier for them to find him: the dead and the living, the friends and the foes.
It’s like when he stepped on Oceanic 815, he entered his own twilight zone. Or maybe it happened before that, when he bought that damn lottery ticket. It doesn’t matter when it began; he just wants to know when it will be over. Is there still time to go back and make it all better? Or is this the ironic twist, that he’s returned home only to find himself more haunted and hunted than ever?
Right now he’s pulling for a different ending, one where no one else gets hurt. The last scene opens with a young husky man pacing his padded cell, mumbling a string of numbers over and over again. Then the camera pulls back outside the room to reveal a doctor who looks remarkably like Jack consulting with another doctor who resembles Locke. They’re discussing how patient 815’s megalomania has only grown since he’s imagined himself rescued, yet isn’t it interesting how in this new chapter of his delusion, he no longer envisions himself as the hero of his story, but a villain, on par with the man he calls Ben.
Dun, dun, da…
A Fortress Deep and Mighty
There’s no curfew, no rules beyond staying within the perimeter, but every time Juliet comes down to the dock at night she feels like she’s sneaking out.
She removes her sandals and rolls up her pants, then dips her feet and ankles into the water. This action scatters the reflections of moonlight across the bay. As she does this, she stops herself from turning to look behind. It may feel like Ben’s eyes are everywhere but she’s never actually caught him following her here. That makes her all the more sure he sometimes does.
If only she could escape his eyes, it wouldn’t be so bad. That’s how defeated she’s become. She no longer thinks of leaving. After what’s she done here, Juliet knows she doesn’t deserve to go home. Now she’ll settle for a reprise from his stony gaze.
At first she was drunk on the freedom. The island’s wildness was mirrored in her work. She had the best equipment and a staff who were as eager as her to push the boundaries. Gone were the precarious funding, scepticism and Edmund’s stranglehold; in its place was a whole community committed to solving a mutual problem. A framed poster with Margaret Mead’s words hung on her office walls: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever does.
A year ago, refusing to watch another woman die, Juliet closed her program. She insisted the only procedure she would perform would be the insertion of IUDs and bearing any breakdown in birth control, an abortion. In the face of what many considered her betrayal, a flood of new pregnancies appeared.
Alex, they all said to her. Look at Alex. It has to be possible. Even so but where’s Alex’s mother, Juliet would respond. No one has an answer for that. Not even Ben. So she made them as comfortable as she could and mumbled words of false hope before their bodies predictably expired.
Today Carrie joins Lois, Norah, Sabine, Crystal and Elaine. And those are only the ones since she’s arrived. That’s why they no longer bury their dead. The cemetery is full.
Suddenly, she's chilled so Juliet pulls her feet out of the water and tucks them under her legs. She remains sitting on the dock, trying to lose herself in the dark.
She’s not sure why she chooses to come here of all places; it only serves to remind her of how trapped she is. Maybe it’s because this is where it all started so it seems like the most likely place for it to end. But a boat or submarine is no longer her destiny. Her only way out is on one of those burning rafts, a broken body leaking hubris and hope and a Joni Mitchell song serenading her goodbye.
Her only satisfaction is knowing that Ben will take that journey first. She will see to it. She owes them that.
x x x
Characters: Kate, Jack, Ben, Sawyer, Desmond, Hurley, Juliet
Rating: PG13 or maybe a little more?
Spoilers: Everything up to 4.01.
Summary: A series of vignettes about incarceration, confinement and captivity. Whatever you call it, they’ve all experienced it in some form or another.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to jenthegypsy. A very Happy Birthday to a lovely lady!
x x x
Birdsong at Morning
On day four it briefly occurs to Kate that if all jails were like this, she might not have run. It’s ridiculous and clearly a thought born of dehydration, exhaustion and sheer panic because obviously this is not better, only different. It doesn’t matter if you can reach out and pluck a leaf from a vine or still smell the ocean from miles away, she’s still a prisoner.
Yet there’s something to be said about being able to open your eyes and watch the earth awake around you. The birds start chirping just before sunrise and she’s become familiar with their voices. The first to begin is always a fat little puff of yellow with a shiny black beak who Kate refers to as the conductor. It flies in each morning to sit on the top of Sawyer’s cage and makes a strange honking sound that reminds her of someone blowing their nose. This call brings forth a chorus of twittering replies from birds all around her. After this performance fades, a rooster crows from somewhere deep in the jungle. Only then does the yellow bird fly away.
Sawyer sleeps through all of this, curled in a ball in the corner of his cage, one arm flung out between the bars. He usually doesn’t wake until the sun hits his face. Then he’s up with a start, looking embarrassed to have slept at all.
They’re going to get sick living in the open like this. They might not have been much but at least their shelters on the beach kept them dry and there was a semblance of hygiene and nutrition in their camp. It will be hard to stay strong on dirty water and fish biscuits, especially if they keep the heavy labour up. But she suspects there’s more to the Other’s plan than death by exposure. What that is though, she has no idea.
She wonders what Mars would think of her now, serving her time in a jungle zoo. Would he stand there smirking, pleased that she’s finally caged or would it disappoint him not to be the one responsible?
Besides the fact that she didn’t quite think killing Wayne was a crime, one of the reasons Kate hit the ground running was because she desperately wanted to avoid prison. She valued her privacy too much and she hated knowing every moment of the day would be dictated to her. Most of all, she was afraid of not being tough enough. Somewhere between the verdict being read and her cell door closing, she expected the tears would spill over and she would begin to regret her actions. Then Wayne would have won again.
That’s changed now. Surviving here has proven how tough she can be. If she gets out of this cage and off this island, Kate knows she’ll no longer be afraid of what lies ahead. Whatever happens, she’ll be able to face it.
Breakfast of Champions
The bandage on his shoulder has been cleaned and changed but it appears Jack’s waiting to leave the armoury until he’s finished his breakfast. Ben’s unsure if this is a sign of affection or distrust. Does Jack care if his patient eats or is he just not to be trusted alone with a bowl of fruit and a spoon? Ben takes small bites. He’s stalling, wanting to prolong his time with the doctor, but it’s not much of an act. Sayid’s seen to it that he can barely move his jaw without wincing. Each mouthful goes down coated with a hint of blood.
“Henry, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Jack asks, his polite tone ever so condescending.
Jack’s the least experienced of all Ben’s jailers. Having never been in this position before, he’s not as shrewd as Sayid. Nor has he ever been a victim, so he lacks John’s natural empathy. Of the three, he’s the most carefully detached but Ben hopes he can turn that around soon, so he can really see what the good doctor is made of. That’s one of the goals of his little surrender.
Ben puts down his spoon. “Sure, Jack.”
“Why a hot air balloon?”
“Have you ever been in one?”
“No.”
“It’s the unity of man’s two greatest accomplishments, fire and flight. Defying gravity, keeping that fine balance between heaven and earth, has never been so simple, yet so dangerous.” Undoubtedly this is something Henry would have answered many times but Ben hopes his reply did not sound too rehearsed.
“You just don’t seem like the thrill seeking type.”
“And what do I seem like to you, Jack?”
“Someone who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”
Ben nods and smiles even though he’s about to disagree. “If I was looking for an adrenaline rush I’d take up bungee jumping. Ballooning is about mastering the elements. It’s all about control. In that way, it’s not so different from surgery.”
Jack takes a moment to consider if this is an insult. “Have you ever held someone else’s life in your hands?”
“I’ve been responsible for the lives of an entire community for seventeen years. Every day you’ve been here, on my island, I’ve let you live. Just a few weeks ago I ordered the elimination of Charlie Pace and had she not escaped, Claire Littleton would have never lived to see her son. I may not get my hands dirty but around here, I’m the closest thing to God.”
Of course, this speech does not leave his lips. Instead he drops his eyes to the floor and says meekly, “My wife’s, Jennifer’s. It’s my fault we crashed.”
“She must have understood the risks.”
“Are you married, Jack?”
“No.”
“Ever been in love?”
Jack opens his mouth, then closes it. “Are you done?”
Ben starts eating again, pausing between bites to say, “If you have, you’d know that you would do anything to save that person. When the balloon was failing, I tried to jump out to reduce the weight but she held me back.”
“So you’re a man who would sacrifice himself for love.”
Ben would like to think he’s doing this for his people, for Alex, but he knows he’s doing this for himself. “And you’re not?”
“I’ve watched a lot of people die. Most don’t have that choice.”
“Jennifer loved ballooning even more than I did. She called it waltzing with the wind.” Ben holds out his empty bowl. “I think you would like it, Jack.”
“I don’t like confined spaces.”
Ben leans his head against the cold concrete. “It’s a good thing they don’t bother me, otherwise I’d be crawling the walls in here.”
He knows this last statement has tweaked Jack’s conscience and patience. His curiosity has vanished and he’s already washing his hands of this conversation. “I’ll be back tonight. Bang on the door if you need anything.”
“My life is in your hands, Jack.”
“No Henry, it’s in yours.”
The Duke and the Dauphin
In some ways prison is the ideal place for a con. You’re surrounded by dozens of yahoos who clearly are not as smart as they think and all of them have something to prove. You have all the time in the world to pick your marks and make your play. It doesn’t matter that most of them are broke, for Sawyer, it’s always been a little bit more about the rush that comes with a win than the money.
The problem is the lack of exit strategy. His cons have always revolved around a quick getaway and that’s what stumps him here. He’s not going anywhere. It’s another three years before he can even think of parole and that in itself will be a con and a half. The last thing he wants to do is build up a legion of enemies who will think nothing of shiving him in the shower.
So he sticks to small time stuff: playing on the population’s low math skills when calculating odds on sporting bets, marking cards, skimming a little from the top when he plays middleman between the Greeks and the Mexicans. This gets old real fast. He’s gonna need to do something to keep his mind from slowly dying in here. The work is menial and the library is as pathetic as the company.
One day, just when he thinks it’s possible to succumb to boredom, he finds a guard in a compromising, and surprisingly, consensual position with a fairly influential inmate. Sawyer doesn’t give a damn about how people choose to get off in this joint; this is not about judgement, it’s an opportunity. He keeps his mouth shut and suddenly he’s owed favours from people on both sides of the system. Now, it’s easier to get the things he wants in and out and overnight he’s operating a fuckin’ 7-11 from his cell. He decides it’s not so bad to be the guy everyone goes too. As long as he can get their smokes and booze, their magazines and candy, their hair gel and other lubricants, he can hustle them right there in the open.
Of course the Greeks are none to happy with the competition but they calm down when he gives them a cut and promises to stay away from the drug trade. That’s more trouble than it’s worth.
Then Munson and his ten million fall in his lap. Sawyer senses this could be the biggest con of his life and he doesn’t need the distraction or the attention so he closes up his shop. To make this work, he’ll need help, a shill, ideally someone with connections on the inside and out. The problem is no one he knows has the right combination of brains and loyalty to pull this off. He actually considers asking Cass to be his partner, hoping the money would make up for the bad blood between them but then she comes to him first, waving a picture of a blonde blue-eyed tyke and talking about playing daddy. That closes the door between them for good.
Then it hits him. What the fuck is he gonna to do with ten million dollars? That’s not what he needs at all. So in seeking a new protégé he begins to look up the ladder rather than down and finds a man who is both in and out. It takes him a week to work out all the details and then he makes an appointment to see Warden Harris.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Ouroboros
July 27, 1995
I had the chance to observe Brother Hume today. Despite my initial impression, he is fitting in nicely. He has shed his worldliness quickly and has adapted to our schedule without difficulty. Brother Martin assigned him to the vineyard and says he’s a hard worker. I do not think Hume is a particularly religious man but he has dedicated himself to study and prayer. I suspect he will be full of questions about scripture once his vow of silence ends. I still fear he’s running from something, rather than toward, but who am I to judge a man’s path to God. Of course, these days we can’t picky. Hume is only the third novice we’ve had in five years.
July 27, 1998
Dear Penny,
You’d be surprised to know how much prison reminds me of the monastery. I don’t mean to imply that being a monk was like being a prisoner but there’s something very familiar about the experience. An impulsive decision brought me to both. We keep practically the same hours, rising early with periods for work and study, lights out at ten o’clock. There’s plenty of time for reflection, almost too much. Of course here, the Lord’s name is taken just as often in vain as in prayer and the sense of brotherhood leaves something to be desired. I’ve made friends with the chaplain. He’s trying to help me figure out what to do with myself when my sentence is over. He’s agrees with you that I’m my own worse enemy. At his urging, I’m taking a computer course. Hopefully it will come in useful one day.
At least I’m breaking no vow by keeping you constantly in my thoughts. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. After everything, I know I don’t deserve to hold you close to my heart. Nor do I warrant your attention but Pen, please, if you could take a few minutes and let me know how you are, it would make all the difference. Tell me to go to hell. Tell me you are fabulously happy. Tell me every boring detail of your day. I don’t care, just take me out of this world for a while.
Love, Desmond
July 27, 2003
0.645: D.H. wakes. 0.648: Enters numbers. 0.700: Begins workout. 0.800: Takes shower. 0.815: Shaves. 0.826: Enters numbers. 0.830: Eats cereal, drinks juice. 0.840: Injects vaccine. 0.845: Tightens gears on bicycle. 0.900: Oils rowing machine. 0.917: Tidies up. 1014: Enters numbers. 1020: Unclogs kitchen sink. 1103: Irons. 1202: Enters numbers.
1215: K.I. wakes. D.H. fixes him coffee and oatmeal. 1245: K.I. showers. D.H. makes beds. 1300: K.I. injects vaccine and leaves station. 1301: D.H. stares into space. 1350: Enters numbers. 1400: Puts on Chopin, lies on couch. 1538: Enters numbers. 1545: Masturbates. 1600: Goes to bathroom. 1609: Makes a cup of tea.1646: Enters numbers. 1700: Makes a tuna casserole. 1745: Sets table. 1754: Enters numbers.
1800: K.I. returns. They eat dinner. 1845: K.I. and D.H. play checkers. 1900: K.I. loses. 1911: D.H. loses. 1937: D.H. loses. 1942: D.H. enters numbers. 2000: K.I. and D.H. discuss the rise and fall of the British and American Empires. 2007: K.I. and D.H. debate who would be a better lover, Margaret Thatcher or Princess Diana. No conclusion is reached.
2100: D.H. brushes his teeth. 2107: D.H. reads in bed. 2130: K.A. enters numbers. 2155: D.H. looks at his photo. 2200: K.I. Says lights out. D.H. goes to sleep. 2318: K.I. enters numbers. 2320: K.I. drinks beer. 0.106: K.I. enters numbers and uses computer to communicate with unknown party for thirty seven minutes. 0.248: Enters numbers. 0.300: K.I. carries a rifle into the bedroom and stares at a sleeping D.H. 0.323: K.I. reads. 0.436: Enters numbers. 0.440: K.I. goes to bathroom. 0.500: K.I. goes to bed. 0.620: D.H. wakes. 0.624: D.H. enters numbers.
Heavenly Shades of Night are Falling
When Hurley returns to Santa Rosa, it comes to no surprise that a majority of the patients still gather in front of the television in the dayroom every weeknight at seven o’clock to watch The Twilight Zone. In a place that thrives on routine, this custom is a comfort to many, just as it’s soothing to immerse oneself in a series that treats delusions as reality.
"I wake up in a hotel room in Honolulu, and it's 1941, but I mean I really wake up and it's really 1941.”
Tonight’s episode is about a man who visits his psychiatrist for help dealing with a recurring dream. Every night he finds himself in Hawaii on the day before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He spends the dream unsuccessfully attempting to warn people before he himself dies in an explosion. The man wonders if he could be time traveling, a notion the doctor vehemently denies. At the end there’s a twist, there’s always a twist, the disbelieving doctor wakes in his office to find the patient vanished and no record of his appointment. Later he learns the man died at Pearl Harbor.
If the staff here knew any better they would ban The Twilight Zone because it persuasively argues that just because your paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. That can’t be healthy in this environment.
It doesn’t really matter. He’s not here to get better. Therapy’s impossible when you’re living a lie. No matter how many rainbow coloured pills he swallows or palms, the ghosts keep visiting. He came here to be safe but staying in one place just makes it easier for them to find him: the dead and the living, the friends and the foes.
It’s like when he stepped on Oceanic 815, he entered his own twilight zone. Or maybe it happened before that, when he bought that damn lottery ticket. It doesn’t matter when it began; he just wants to know when it will be over. Is there still time to go back and make it all better? Or is this the ironic twist, that he’s returned home only to find himself more haunted and hunted than ever?
Right now he’s pulling for a different ending, one where no one else gets hurt. The last scene opens with a young husky man pacing his padded cell, mumbling a string of numbers over and over again. Then the camera pulls back outside the room to reveal a doctor who looks remarkably like Jack consulting with another doctor who resembles Locke. They’re discussing how patient 815’s megalomania has only grown since he’s imagined himself rescued, yet isn’t it interesting how in this new chapter of his delusion, he no longer envisions himself as the hero of his story, but a villain, on par with the man he calls Ben.
Dun, dun, da…
A Fortress Deep and Mighty
There’s no curfew, no rules beyond staying within the perimeter, but every time Juliet comes down to the dock at night she feels like she’s sneaking out.
She removes her sandals and rolls up her pants, then dips her feet and ankles into the water. This action scatters the reflections of moonlight across the bay. As she does this, she stops herself from turning to look behind. It may feel like Ben’s eyes are everywhere but she’s never actually caught him following her here. That makes her all the more sure he sometimes does.
If only she could escape his eyes, it wouldn’t be so bad. That’s how defeated she’s become. She no longer thinks of leaving. After what’s she done here, Juliet knows she doesn’t deserve to go home. Now she’ll settle for a reprise from his stony gaze.
At first she was drunk on the freedom. The island’s wildness was mirrored in her work. She had the best equipment and a staff who were as eager as her to push the boundaries. Gone were the precarious funding, scepticism and Edmund’s stranglehold; in its place was a whole community committed to solving a mutual problem. A framed poster with Margaret Mead’s words hung on her office walls: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever does.
A year ago, refusing to watch another woman die, Juliet closed her program. She insisted the only procedure she would perform would be the insertion of IUDs and bearing any breakdown in birth control, an abortion. In the face of what many considered her betrayal, a flood of new pregnancies appeared.
Alex, they all said to her. Look at Alex. It has to be possible. Even so but where’s Alex’s mother, Juliet would respond. No one has an answer for that. Not even Ben. So she made them as comfortable as she could and mumbled words of false hope before their bodies predictably expired.
Today Carrie joins Lois, Norah, Sabine, Crystal and Elaine. And those are only the ones since she’s arrived. That’s why they no longer bury their dead. The cemetery is full.
Suddenly, she's chilled so Juliet pulls her feet out of the water and tucks them under her legs. She remains sitting on the dock, trying to lose herself in the dark.
She’s not sure why she chooses to come here of all places; it only serves to remind her of how trapped she is. Maybe it’s because this is where it all started so it seems like the most likely place for it to end. But a boat or submarine is no longer her destiny. Her only way out is on one of those burning rafts, a broken body leaking hubris and hope and a Joni Mitchell song serenading her goodbye.
Her only satisfaction is knowing that Ben will take that journey first. She will see to it. She owes them that.
x x x