(no subject)
They'd searched for what seemed like eons, though in actually it had only been a little over a day. The others were still searching and John would rejoin them shortly, but he had a feeling that, deep down, they all knew it:
Sam was gone.
The island had taken him, had sent him back to a place where Jessica was dead, John himself was dead, and he had no real home to speak of save for the open road. Would he remember this place, how normal his life, for once, had been?
John doubted it.
If Sam was still here, they'd find him. John would go back out and meet up with them again, turn over every rock and leaf he'd come into contact with. But for now, he had to do what he should have done yesterday morning.
Exhausted and feeling gutted (and still armed to the teeth), John wearily pushed the door open to the hut. He'd gone out yesterday morning without leaving word of what was going on. That had been a mistake, but time had been of the essence.
"Sharon?" he called, a duffel bag dropping heavily to the ground beside his feet.
Sam was gone.
The island had taken him, had sent him back to a place where Jessica was dead, John himself was dead, and he had no real home to speak of save for the open road. Would he remember this place, how normal his life, for once, had been?
John doubted it.
If Sam was still here, they'd find him. John would go back out and meet up with them again, turn over every rock and leaf he'd come into contact with. But for now, he had to do what he should have done yesterday morning.
Exhausted and feeling gutted (and still armed to the teeth), John wearily pushed the door open to the hut. He'd gone out yesterday morning without leaving word of what was going on. That had been a mistake, but time had been of the essence.
"Sharon?" he called, a duffel bag dropping heavily to the ground beside his feet.