Lost: The Novels

by Catherine Hapka

  “I know a better way to get back,” Walt spoke up. “It’s a shortcut. I found it today.”

  Michael shot his son a slightly disapproving look, but then he nodded. “All right, lead the way.”

  Walt rushed forward eagerly, pushing his way through the underbrush. “This way,” he called back to them. “Follow me. Or wait—maybe it was through here…”

  His voice faded as he plunged headlong into a bamboo thicket. “Walt!” Michael called. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  Dexter hurried forward to catch up with him. “Maybe we should just—oof!” His foot hit something solid and he felt himself flying forward. He caught his balance on a handy tree trunk, the rough bark scraping skin off his palm.

  “You okay, man?” Michael asked, stopping and turning around.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just tripped over a root or something.” Dexter glanced down at whatever it was that had made him stumble.

  When he saw it, he did a double take. Instead of a tree root or a fallen branch, a human leg was lying across the path, clad in jeans and ending in a foot encased by a white athletic shoe, its thigh disappearing into a thicket of brush that hid the rest of the body from view. Dexter felt the world tilt slightly; for that dizzy moment he was suddenly certain that this was his doppelganger, lying in wait to trip him up.

  Then he regained his composure. “Yo, Michael,” he called. “Check this out.”

  Michael cast a slightly worried glance in the direction Walt had gone, but he came back to join Dexter. “What’s the—hey now!” he yelped as he spotted the leg. “What the heck is that?”

  “What do you think?” Dexter shuddered. “I guess no one’s found this guy yet.”

  Michael looked uncertain. “I guess we should pull him out or something,” he said. “Maybe carry him back to the beach, or—”

  The sound of running feet interrupted him, and a second later Walt careened around the corner of the trail. “Hey! Where did you guys— Whoa!” The boy’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. “Is that guy dead?”

  “Yeah.” Michael cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead, man.”

  “Come on,” Dexter said grimly, recalling how long he’d been unconscious. “Let’s drag him out and make sure.”

  Michael made Walt stand back as they brushed aside enough of the foliage to uncover a second leg. Then the two of them each grabbed a foot and pulled.

  The body was surprisingly heavy. A thick swarm of flies erupted out of the brush as it emerged into sight. Panting with exertion in the humid tropical air, Dexter gave one last yank, and the body’s face came into view as well. Dexter’s heart stopped. “Jason?” he murmured.

  It was a young man, and there was no question that he was dead. His sightless eyes stared up at the treetops, and an unpleasant smell drifted up from his mouth. His face was splattered with dried blood and one hand was missing.

  “Whoa…” Walt whispered in fascination as he inched forward for a better look.

  “Ugh,” Michael said, straightening up and wiping his hands on his pants. “Poor bastard.”

  Dexter’s stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop as he gazed more closely into the young man’s twisted, bloated, yet thankfully unfamiliar face.

  6

  DEXTER’S STOMACH JUMPED LIKE a nervous frog as the bus pulled to the curb with a loud wheezing of brakes. It eased to a halt in front of an ivy-covered brick building on a tree-lined street.

  “Here you go, darlin’,” the bus driver said, glancing up and meeting his eye in her large rearview mirror. “This is your stop. Good luck, college boy.”

  College boy. Dexter shivered slightly at the words. He had the sudden urge to explain to the bus driver, a rail-thin older woman with a face that belied a lifetime of hard work and hard luck and too many cigarettes, that they had much more in common than she knew.

  Not that she could tell by looking at him—not anymore. As he stood up, he glanced down and nervously smoothed the creases in his brand-new khaki pants. They’d cost fifty-nine dollars—more than he’d ever spent on a single item of clothing in his life before this past summer. But that wasn’t the half of it. The suitcases now resting in the bus’s overhead rack held more new pants along with designer shirts, several pairs of leather shoes and name-brand sneakers, new underwear and socks from an upscale department store he’d never even entered before this summer, a wool coat so expensive and luxurious that he was afraid even to think about wearing it.

  At least Aunt Paula understood about the clothes, Dexter thought as he stood and reached for the bags. Not like the tuition price…

  He grimaced, recalling the hours of debate: “Why can’t you learn just as much at the state school?” Aunt Paula had demanded on countless occasions. “I don’t see why you got your heart set on some snobby Ivy League place. Those people ain’t like us, boy. You won’t fit in there.”

  “Your aunt’s being so generous, Dexy,” his mother would put in timidly, her meek eyes pleading with him to let it go. “Why can’t you be happy with that?”

  A few times he had wondered that himself. Why not just go with the flow, let them send him to State U, and go from there? It was still a hundred times better than anything he’d ever expected.

  But it wasn’t good enough, and deep down inside, he knew it. For one thing, Zach Carson and several of his buddies were going to the state university. How was he supposed to escape his past with those guys reminding him of it every chance they got? It would be nothing more than a way of extending the misery of high school.

  Besides, why shouldn’t he try for the best education he could get now that the opportunity had presented itself? Aunt Paula had more than enough money to pay for it, and if she didn’t spend it on his tuition and expenses, she’d only waste it on another big-screen TV or leather sofa or even more garish, rhinestone-encrusted clothes from the local mall. Anyway, what did he have to lose? If she got fed up and withdrew her offer, he would only be back where he was before.

  But deep down inside, he knew that last part was a lie. Now that he’d caught a glimmer of escape, a breath of hope for the future, he couldn’t turn back. Happiness and a whole new life were almost in his grasp now, so close he could taste them. This was his chance to start his life over.

  And maybe that was the best reason of all to push for the school of his choice. If he was going to start over, he wanted to do it right. The gamble had paid off, and now here he was. He’d won; he’d been accepted to the top university in the region, and Aunt Paula had grudgingly agreed to cover his bills.

  “You’re paying me back for this someday, remember?” she’d grumbled as she wrote out the first tuition check. “Don’t forget. You better make sure you study hard so you can get into a good med school.”

  Med school. That was another battle for another day. For the moment Dexter was just happy to have gotten this far. He’d even managed to convince the two women that they didn’t need to drive him to school by reminding them that it was almost a three-hour trip. He shuddered at the thought of being stuck in a car with the two of them for that long. Then there was the humiliating image of pulling up to the ivy-draped gates of the university in his mother’s gaudy custom-painted yellow Cadillac or Aunt Paula’s monstrous gold-detailed new SUV. Of course, the vehicles were the least of it. Even worse was the thought of entering his grand new life with the two of them at his side—his mother with her wan, kicked-puppy expression and frizzy overprocessed hair, his aunt barreling aggressively around in her vulgar new clothes like some kind of huge, tacky bulldozer making loud, idiotic, judgmental comments about everything she saw.…

  Shivering at the thought of what might have been, he thanked his lucky stars that they’d agreed to drive him to the bus station and leave it at that. Then he pushed aside the past and focused on the future. He was here now, on his own, just as he’d wanted.

  It was a warm August afternoon, and Dexter struggled to keep hold of all his bags as he dragged them do
wn the sidewalk. Following the arrows on several temporary signs, he found his way to the college green just a block from the bus stop. There he paused, letting his bags drop and flexing his arm muscles as he looked around.

  It was exactly how he’d imagined it. The green stretched before him, covering several city blocks, its lush grass dotted here and there with flower beds and sculptures and shade trees. Lining its edges were large brick and stone buildings glowing with the mellow patina of generations, their windows glassy eyes peering down at the activity below like benevolent, bespectacled old professors.

  And everywhere he looked he saw crowds of students chatting or laughing or playing Hacky Sack or listening to boom boxes or dashing here and there. All of them looked impossibly happy and smart and wealthy and supremely confident. For a second doubt crept into his mind, seeping in and dampening his optimistic mood. What made him think these people would be any different than Zach or Daryl or the other jerks back home? For a second he wished he could take it all back, just disappear into a crack in the sidewalk before they noticed him.

  Then he straightened his spine, reminding himself that he wanted them to notice him. After all, these people didn’t know anything about him. For all they knew—for all they would ever know—he was one of them.

  Trying out a confidence he didn’t quite feel yet, Dexter pasted a polite smile on his face and approached a guy his age who was leaning against a lamppost nearby reading an official-looking slip of paper.

  “Excuse me,” Dexter said.

  The other guy glanced up. He was a preppy type, dressed in khaki shorts and a designer polo shirt that had probably cost more than Dexter’s mother’s monthly rent. For a second Dexter cringed before his gaze. He waited for the affluent-looking stranger to sneer and insult him, maybe call over his friends to join in the fun.

  Instead the stranger returned his smile. “Yo,” he said. “What’s up?”

  Dexter was so amazed that it took him a second to respond. “Er…Sorry,” he stammered. “Uh, I was just looking for—for the registrar’s office. I need to sign in or something, I think.…”

  He allowed his voice to trail off, feeling foolish. So much for the smooth, confident new him. So far, SuperDexter was sounding an awful lot like Plain Old Dexter.

  “No prob,” the other guy said, not seeming to notice Dexter’s dismay. He pointed toward one of the impressive edifices lining the green. “It’s that brick building right across the lawn. I just came from there. You a freshman, too?”

  “Yeah.” Dexter let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding and smiled at the other guy. “Yeah, I am. Thanks.”

  “Sure. See you around.”

  Dexter hurried off in the direction the other guy had indicated, hardly noticing the weight of his bags anymore. This could work! he thought, allowing himself to believe it for the first time. This could actually work!

  Even after finding out about the money, even after being accepted at the university, even after watching Aunt Paula write out that check…even after all that, he still hadn’t quite dared to hope that his life was really going to change. But now…

  As he walked slowly toward the brick building, dodging his fellow matriculants, he slipped into a happy daydream. He found himself fantasizing about a circle of friends like that guy he’d just met, about hanging out on the green with them or cramming for a big test in someone’s dorm room. About crusty old professors passing out syllabi full of interesting reading material, or sitting alone in a quiet corner of the library among ancient, dusty, leather-bound volumes, almost unaware of the passage of time as he drank in the beauty of some classic of literature. About huge lecture halls packed with students hanging on a popular professor’s every word, or intimate seminars where he would be forced to defend his views on politics or philosophy…

  What about med school, boy?

  His aunt’s harsh, demanding voice intruded on the daydream like a bucket of cold water. Dexter shuddered, doing his best to push her aside. His mother and aunt were convinced that, now that he would be attending such a fancy, expensive college, he would make it pay off by becoming a doctor—specifically, a highly paid surgeon of some sort. They didn’t seem to recall that Dexter had always struggled in his high school science classes, vastly preferring English and history. But he was trying not to worry about that until absolutely necessary.

  He was distracted by such worrisome thoughts by a flash of blond hair and a merry, musical laugh. Glancing that way, he saw the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life.

  Blond and petite, she was talking and giggling with a friend at the edge of the sidewalk, though Dexter barely saw the second girl. His entire being was fixated on the blond girl’s presence. She seemed to fill the entire green with her loveliness—her silky wheaten hair, her dancing cornflower-blue eyes, her slender, tanned limbs.…

  He swallowed hard, realizing that his lifelong crush on Kristin what’s-her-name had been child’s play, mere preparation for this feeling. It overwhelmed him, making him feel small and unimportant but at the same time more alive than ever before. He never wanted this moment to end; never wanted to stop looking at her, adoring her, thanking his lucky stars that he’d found her at last.…

  Just then both girls noticed him staring and gazed back at him curiously. His face flushed and he tried to turn away, but he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze from the blond girl’s face.

  Instead he summoned up his newfound courage and stepped forward. “H-hello,” he stammered.

  “Hi there,” she replied easily, her voice just as musical as her laugh. “What’s up?”

  When directed at him—at him!—her smile was almost impossibly beautiful. Dexter found himself tongue-tied. “You—uh,” he said blankly.

  “Spit it out, dude,” said the other girl, a striking brunette, with an edge of mockery in her voice.

  He ignored her, keeping his focus on the beautiful blonde. “Registrar,” he blurted out at last. “Um, I’m looking for the registrar’s office. Do you—do you know where it is?”

  She laughed again, though unlike her friend there was no hint of scorn as she replied. “Sure,” she said. “You’re standing right in front of it, cutie.”

  Then she tossed her head and hurried off, her friend at her side. Dexter stood and watched until she disappeared into the throngs of students. Then, feeling as if he’d just discovered the meaning of life, he turned and headed up the broad cement steps of the building behind him, leaving his bags in a pile on the grass outside. He was vaguely aware that he had a giddy smile on his face, but for once he didn’t care what anyone else thought. All he could think about was The Girl.

  The stale air and gloomy dimness of the building lobby, along with the crush of students inside, brought him back down to earth a little. Momentarily pushing aside everything else, he focused on finding his way to the correct office. Soon he was taking his place in a long line snaking its way up to a high countertop behind which several dour-faced office workers sat peering at computer screens.

  While he waited, Dexter’s thoughts returned to the blond girl. Now that the first thrill of their meeting had passed, anxiety was already taking its place. The university was huge—the freshman class alone numbered in the thousands. What if he never found her again?

  Panic set in for a moment. But then he reassured himself—he would find her. He would definitely find her again. After all, the new SuperDexter could do anything.…

  “Name?”

  “Huh?” Dexter blinked, suddenly realizing he’d reached the front of the line. He stared at the bored-looking man behind the counter.

  “Name?” the man repeated without bothering to glance up.

  “Oh. It’s Dexter,” Dexter said absently. “Dexter Joseph Stubbs.”

  7

  “SO WHEN’S YOUR BABY due?” Dexter asked Claire.

  She glanced up from the orange she was peeling. “About a month,” she replied, swiping a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and sq
uinting at him in the bright morning sun.

  He smiled. “Wow, you must be getting excited and nervous, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She stared down at the orange, her hands still and her expression troubled. “I don’t know whether to wish it were sooner or later, y’know? Sometimes I feel like I just want to get it all over with—the pregnancy, all the aches and pains and so forth. Then I tell myself I’m crazy, and that I’m supposed to be enjoying this time. At least that’s what everyone says. Then other times I want to put it all off as long as possible, since I’m not even sure how I’m going to handle it when the baby gets here.…” She shook her head and forced a laugh. “I guess I’m just a nutter, that’s all. Someone like me probably shouldn’t even be allowed to have a baby.”

  “You shouldn’t let yourself think that way,” Dexter chided gently, sensing the anxiety in her voice and wanting to help her feel better if he could. “It’s only natural to be a little freaked out when you’re going through a huge life-changing thing like having a baby. Anyone would feel the same way.”

  “Really?” She shot him a smile that lit up her whole face, like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. “Thanks. I guess it’s good to hear that once in a while.”

  The two of them sat in silence for a moment. All around them was the hustle and bustle of the morning routine on the beach, already becoming familiar after only a couple of days. Claire finished peeling the orange and broke it into slices. Dexter watched her, his thoughts drifting to his gruesome discovery the evening before. Seeing Jason lying there in the bushes, stiff and bloody, had brought home to him that this whole grim situation was serious and all too real. Especially since he still had no idea what had happened to Daisy.

  “Dexter. Earth to Dexter?”

  Dexter blinked, becoming aware that Claire was waving a slice of orange in front of his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Guess I sort of spaced out there. I was just thinking…”

  “About that body you found yesterday?” Claire said softly, finishing his sentence for him.