Another Morning
I woke with a start, my heart racing, sweat trickling down my back, her scream still ringing in my ears. It was dark, I was on the beach and I could feel the cold sand beneath me. I gasped for breath, the memory of the dream still fresh in my mind; the tangled mess of bent metal and broken limbs, the smell of gasoline and blood, her screams. I should have died that day, thirteen years ago, but instead she died whilst they pulled me from the wreckage and put me back together so I could return to an empty life; meaningless without her. I peered into the dark, there was no sign of the approaching dawn, I was isolated a single body in a sea of darkness. Somewhere down the beach a fire burnt, figure hunched around it, I was not the only one that could not sleep on this god-forsaken island.
When the plane had fallen from the sky three months earlier, I had thought for moment that my release had finally arrived. I had almost grinned, as we plunged towards oblivion, her smile, her face alive in my mind. But the bastards wouldn’t even grant me that, the one thing I craved and once again I crawled out from twisted wreckage, bloody and disorientated. I had survived only to find myself stranded, Lost on this accursed island; my exile here a perfect metaphor for my wretched life. The dreams returned on my first night here. Despite everything I had slept, but without those glorious drugs, I was helpless against their onslaught. The drugs had kept the nightmares at bay, they had achieved what counselling and therapy could not, but now without them I became their victim once more.
I scanned the horizon, my eyes straining in the darkness. It was in this dead time that I had first seen her in the trees, first seen it, playing its games, its dark tendrils reaching out, feeling for my thoughts. I had seen her standing smiling in the trees, beckoning, but I knew it was not really her. I had seen her broken body crushed under that truck, I had watched her coffin being lowered in the rain and I felt her loss with every breath. This was not her; it was her shape, there in the trees, her face, but it was not her. As she stood there I could sense its dark shape, behind her eyes, radiating malevolence, the island laughing at me. I had cried at first, resisting the temptation to run to her, to throw my arms around her; but I had seen Jack chasing phantoms through the trees. I had seen what it had done to Barbara, how it had drawn her out to her death. How it had left her crying in her sleep, mumbling about the bodies in the water and I saw the haunted look on her face the day she swam to her death while it watched from the shadows.
I stepped from under the tarpaulin, today was different. The forest was silent and I could not feel its presence. The tree line was empty; no, not today, I had become used to this terror, and my fight against it was what kept me alive, what allowed me to struggle from one day to the next but now it had deserted me, discarded as though I was just some plaything with which it had become bored. I had played its game for too long and today it was time to end. I dropped down, feeling beneath the ragged cloths that covered the sandy floor of my shelter, my hand closing round a smooth wooden handle, pulling out a machete I had secreted there. It was a prize, stolen and hidden, waiting in silence until it was needed. Each night I had pulled it from its hiding place, cleaning it, sharpening the blade, caressing it as I had pondered my own mortality. I lifted the machete and ducking under the canvas ran up the sand, past the crude shelters of the other survivors who slept in blissful ignorance. Someone called out but I ignored them, I knew what I had to do.
I crashed into the dense foliage, plunging into the depth of the forest; it was going to end one way or another. I ran pushing through the trees; my bare feet against the damp forest floor, my mind focussed, rage driving me onwards. I no longer cared what the other survivors thought of my actions, I no longer cared what happened to me, I only knew it was time to do what I should have done a long time ago. Today the demon would die. I struggled through the jungle, slashing, wildly at first and then as the first grey light of dawn filtered through the canopy I picked my way more carefully, feeling the ground beneath my feet, becoming a hunter. I must have walked for most of the morning before I felt its presence, it was subtle at first, a slight drop in air pressure, an almost undetectable odour on the breeze, then it was there, the forest had gone silent and I could sense its dark brooding shape watching me.
I stopped, turning slowly, the only sound the gentle chattering of a stream hidden amongst the trees. Something moved, swift and silent through the foliage. Then I heard it, clicking and whirring and I stood waiting to face my nemeses in its true form and suddenly it was there, a dark boiling cloud, pulsing, tendrils flicking out tasting the air. I could feel the temperature drop and I let go of the machete, useless against what rose in front of me. The monster towered above me and I felt paralyzed in its grip. I tried to shout but my voice would not come. I could feel its poison flood into by mind, probing and digging, I felt it picking at my memories, turning them over as it searched, forcing its way deeper into my thoughts. I felt pain and sorrow and even joy as long forgotten memories rose, surfacing briefly before being overwhelmed by others, laughing over dinner, running through autumn leaves, a beer with an old friend, and then it found what it was looking for; the crash , the pain and the loss of my wife and with her my unborn daughter.
I fell to my knees, ready for death, for judgement, for something but as I raised my eyes it backed away, wisps of smoke flowing through the trees. I lurched to my feet, shaking and confused as the beast withdrew into the forest. I took a step towards it, and then another and another. It had fed on my memories and sated it was leaving. Was that all it had ever wanted? I started to walk towards it, then running I pursued it through the forest, , branches slapping at my hands and face and then it stopped, and turned and as it did I slipped, the ground dropping way and I tumbled forward, falling, down through the undergrowth. I felt something strike my side and as I slid downwards I felt a crack then searing pain before everything passed into oblivion.
I awoke some time later, the sun was lower in the sky and I was lying in the bottom of a ravine. I tried to move but excruciating pain shot up my leg which I must have broken in the fall. I lay for some time, staring upwards, my mind blank, unaware of anything except the agony. As I lay there I started to focus on the canopy above and realised that there was something odd hanging in the branches. Very slowly I pushed myself up slightly and shielding my eyes I peered up, at first I could not understand what these object were, strange shapes draped among the branches and then slowly the shapes resolved and I realised that the branches were strung with clothes that must have fallen from plane as it broke up over the Island. T-shirts, bras and sweaters hanging from the branches at odd angles, I would have laughed if my leg hadn’t hurt so much; all those objects from another world hanging there. Then something caught my eye, a glint, light reflecting off something in the bushes above me. I tried to grab for it but instantly regretted it as I almost passed out with the pain.
I lay there just staring upwards, but every so often the glint would catch my eye and my curiosity started to get the better of the pain. Very slowly I raised myself up, looking around until I found a long stick just within reach, I stretched very slowly, extending my fingers little by little until they made contact, my hand slowly closed around it. It took what seemed like an age of poking and prodding the branches above me until I was rewarded by the soft metallic clink as whatever it was fell onto the stones under the bush. I slowly pulled myself towards the base of the bush until I could push my hand through the thick green leaves, my fingertips blindly searching among the stones and dead leaves until at last my hand closed around what felt like a thin chain.
I pulled it free and held it up to the light, squinting. It was a gold chain and hanging from it was a ring, and suddenly with a mixture of grief, joy and anger, I realised what it was, it was not just any ring but my wedding ring that they had cut from my finger thirteen years before, the ring that I had had repaired and had put on the chain that she had given me. I smiled, tears streaming down my face unaware of the pain in my leg or the stones at my back. It had led me here, it was no random chase, no accidental fall, just as it had led Barbara to her death, Jack to the fresh water, I and it had led me here to face my past, to die alone in this gully.
I hadn’t noticed the rain before, but now it started in earnest, as if from nowhere the heavens opened and in minutes I was drenched, not content to leave me here to die the island had decided to add to my misery. As I lay there, muddy and tear stained, bloody and broken I heard a sound. To begin with I thought it was the wind, but there was no wind down there in the ravine. The noise grew in intensity, individual sounds slowly becoming more distinct until I realised what I was hearing; voices, whispers, garbled and confused. At first I could only hear snatches, odd words, meaningless and then one voice became clearer and clearer.
“Live, Live to remember me, Live to remember us, Live to keep our love alive”
Over and over the voice repeated and I knew who it was, this time it was no illusion, no dark phantom, this time it was her and at last my eyes were opened. As the rain poured down my face washing away the tears and the blood, washing away the last 13 years, I knew that I had to live. It was going to be a very long crawl back to the beach.
© Dark Angel / Chris Procter 2006
