He stepped carefully over to the boulder, then leaned down to drink. The puddle lay in a shaft of sunlight shooting down between the trees, which made white flashes dance on its placid surface.
As his face and hands neared it, preparing to scoop it up, the glassy water caught Dexter’s reflection in its surface. His face seemed to shimmer and shift—the familiar eyes looking up at him suddenly went dark, angry, and alien, and the corners of his mouth turned down into a scowl…
“Yow!” he shouted, so startled that he jumped backward and nearly tripped over a fallen branch behind him.
“What?” Shannon cried. “What’s wrong, Dexter?”
He stared at the water, which was still and glassy again, showing only his ordinary face. “My reflection,” he said slowly. “It—it changed. Like there was someone else in there looking back at me.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? Don’t scare me like that—I thought you stepped on a snake or something.”
“But I saw it,” he insisted, too spooked by what he’d just seen to worry about what she might think. “I swear. I was looking at my own face, and it just…changed.” When the words came out of his mouth, they sounded weak even to him.
Shannon glanced toward the puddle, looking unconvinced and a little impatient. “Don’t freak out. It was probably just rainwater dripping down from the trees up there.” She gestured to the jungle canopy overhead. “It could’ve rippled the water and caused an optical illusion that made you think your face looked different—like those fun-house mirrors that make people look fat or whatever.”
“You’re probably right,” Dexter said slowly, still unable to shake the memory of that furious face—his own, and yet not his own—glaring up at him. “But…”
“But what?” she asked distractedly, glancing in the direction of the others, whose voices had faded almost out of earshot. “Come on, we’d better catch up with those guys. I don’t want to get lost in here.”
Dexter followed as she headed up the path. But he was still thinking about what he’d just seen. “You know, this isn’t the first weird thing I’ve seen around this place since the crash…” Hoping she wouldn’t think he was crazy—at least any more than she already did—he told her about spotting his doppelganger in the jungle the day before.
“Jack said you were pretty badly dehydrated after the crash, right?” she said when he’d finished. “Couldn’t that be making your mind play tricks on you?”
“Sure,” he admitted. “I guess it could. But the reason I went out there looking was because a couple of other people thought they saw me in places where I hadn’t been.” He shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy. But anyway, even if it was just a trick of my mind, why would it be making me see that? What does it mean?”
Shannon shrugged, not looking very interested. “I don’t know.” She shot him a playful smirk. “Sounds like a question for Dr. Dexter Cross, Boy Psychologist.”
“I guess.” Dexter wasn’t sure why, but her words caused a knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. At that moment they rounded a bend in the trail. The others were just ahead, gathered at the base of a tree, staring up into its branches. “Come on, let’s go see what those guys found.”
12
DEXTER’S STOMACH CHURNED WITH anxiety as he glanced up at the calendar hanging over the desk in his tiny dorm room. It was already December, which meant only a couple of weeks remained before winter break. He’d had enough reason to dread it already, knowing he would have to return home and face his family. But he also had a couple of other reasons to look forward to the end of the semester with anxiety.
Quit obsessing about it, he scolded himself, glancing down at the open books on his desk and then at the blinking computer screen in front of him. At least until you finish your paper, anyway. It’s bad enough you’re probably going to flunk three out of your five classes as it is; you don’t have to sabotage what should be your best grade this semester.…
He sighed, his mind wandering despite his best intentions. Glancing at the stack of thick, intimidating-looking science and Econ books stacked on the floor beside the desk, he shuddered. It would take the next best thing to a miracle for him to pass those three difficult classes, let alone do well in them. No matter how hard he studied, he just couldn’t seem to get the hang of chemistry or biology. And economics simply bored him so much that he couldn’t seem to retain the information in the books or the professor’s lectures.
Dexter’s door was ajar to take advantage of his neighbor’s stereo, which was blasting rap music. It seemed Dexter was the only one on the hall who didn’t have a top-of-the-line sound system, along with a TV and DVD player and various other fancy appliances. A few of the guys had commented on Dexter’s spare, gadget-free room, but he had managed to deflect their curiosity with a convoluted story about his imaginary mother’s new beliefs in Buddhism and minimalism. To his surprise, they seemed to have bought it.
And why shouldn’t they? he thought with a by-now-familiar flash of guilt. They have no reason to think I’d lie to them.
As he forced his eyes back to his computer screen, he heard the door squeak open a little farther. He glanced up, expecting to see one of the guys from the hall stopping by to invite him out for a drink or to watch the game. Instead, Daisy’s smiling blond head poked in.
“Knock knock!” she sang out. “Surprise! I was just passing your building, so I figured I’d pop in.”
“Hey!” Quickly pushing aside his worries, he sprang to his feet and hurried over to her. Somehow, just seeing her face usually made all his problems seem a little less daunting. He would work it all out—after all, he had no choice. He leaned down to give her a kiss, then kicked aside some dirty clothes, notebooks, and crumpled food wrappers that were littering the carpet. “Come on in. Sorry the place is a mess.”
She waved aside the familiar apology, following him back over to his desk. “So I’m supposed to meet Cara in a while—we’re going to Forty-Two for dinner. Want to come along?” She grinned at him hopefully.
Dexter’s stomach gave an extra twist. Forty-Two was one of the most expensive restaurants in town—one of Daisy’s favorite spots for an impromptu meal. Far too much of Aunt Paula’s money, along with that from Dexter’s part-time job at the bursar’s office, had disappeared into the restaurant’s till.
That was another problem he was trying not to think about. So far he’d managed to maintain his charade as a rich kid who only worked part-time on campus because his fictional wealthy parents thought it would “build character.” But that charade would come to an end if—or, rather, when—he ran out of money. It was turning out to be more expensive than he ever could have imagined, this business of having a girlfriend who was accustomed to the very best. How was he going to keep it up if the funds Aunt Paula had allotted him for the semester ran out before winter break? He’d heard of people selling their blood for extra cash—more and more often lately, he found himself wondering uneasily just exactly how that worked.
“So how about it?” Daisy wheedled. “Can you take a break from your paper for a while?”
That reminded him that he had the perfect excuse to avoid this one expensive dinner, at least. “Sorry,” he said. “I really need to crank this thing out—I’m going to need to start studying for my econ final this week if I want to pass. Rain check?”
“Okay.” She seemed only mildly disappointed by the brush-off. Leaning over his shoulder, she peered at words on the computer screen. “So how’s the paper going? You decided to do Dickens, right?”
“Yeah. It’s going okay. How about your Chaucer paper?”
“Almost finished. That’s why I’m going out to celebrate.” She winked playfully. “That reminds me—when are you going to know your plans for the break? I can’t wait for you to meet my family. And you’ll love the beach house. It sounds a lot like your uncle’s place in Cabo.”
Dexter’s stomach lurched once again. Daisy had been talking more and more latel
y about the two of them hanging out together during the break—preferably with her family at their oceanfront Florida vacation home. So far he’d been putting off the issue, claiming that he had to check in with his own family before committing to anything, but he knew he would have to give her an answer before much longer. She clearly expected him to spend at least part of the break with her, but he knew that his mother and aunt were expecting to have him home with them the whole time. How was he going to keep his two worlds separate this time?
Feeling desperate, he decided it was time to address it before things got any more out of hand. “I meant to call you about that,” he said slowly, the lies forming in his mind as he spoke them. “I think that’s going to have to be another rain check.”
“What do you mean?” This time she looked genuinely crestfallen.
“I talked to my folks today,” he said, trying not to feel guilty about deceiving her. It wasn’t easy, not with those guileless blue eyes gazing at him so trustingly. But with effort, he swallowed back the urge to fall at her feet and confess everything. “They really want me to spend this break doing volunteer work with the poor in—in Spain.” The last part was inspired by a quick glance at his Spanish language textbook, as he was trying to think of a spot appropriately distant from Florida. “It’s sort of a family tradition,” he went on quickly. “My father did it when he was a student, and his father before him. Just our way of giving back a little, you know? Like public service or whatever. So now it’s my turn.”
“Oh.” She fell silent for a moment, obviously digesting what he’d just said. “I guess that sounds kind of cool. It’s a really nice tradition, actually. And it should be a great experience for you—it’d be selfish of me to complain, right?” She smiled wanly. “I’ll miss you like crazy, though. When are you getting back from overseas?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll be back in plenty of time for next semester, though.” He held his breath, hardly daring to believe that she’d bought his spur-of-the-moment excuse.
“Good. Will you promise me one thing? Will you come back to campus a day early? My parents are going to drive me back, so that way at least you can meet them.”
Dexter hesitated only a second before nodding. “Of course,” he said, touched that she cared so much. “I promise.”
“Good.” She was all smiles again. Glancing at her watch, she let out a little gasp. “Oops! I’m late—Cara is going to kill me.” She bent down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t get up—I’m out of here.”
“Have fun. I’ll call you later.”
He watched as she skipped out the door and disappeared. Even though some of the complications were giving him ulcers, he hardly dared to believe how much his life had improved in the past few months. Here he was at one of the best universities in the country with the most amazing girlfriend in the world begging to spend more time with him.
Lucky. Lucky, lucky me, he thought.
He ran a finger lightly over his scar, hoping he wouldn’t regret his promise about meeting her parents. How was he going to explain that one to his mother and Aunt Paula? Still, he didn’t worry about it too much. He would come up with something. So far he always had.
Maybe my luck really has changed, he thought, his paper forgotten as he gazed at the ceiling, contemplating his own change of fortune. I mean, you hear all the time about formerly successful people who fall on hard times through bad decisions or bad luck. Why shouldn’t the opposite happen sometimes too? After all, isn’t it my turn?
13
“DUDES!” HURLEY SAID APPRECIATIVELY, grabbing a piece of fresh fruit out of the pile Boone had just dumped on the sand. “This is awesome! Where’d you find this stuff?”
“Out that way…” Kate pointed and, with Charlie’s and Boone’s help, started describing where they’d found the fruit as more castaways gathered around to exclaim over it.
Dexter wasn’t really paying attention, though. After dumping his share of the load and stretching his shoulders, he wandered away from the group. Finding the fruit trees had distracted him from his own problems, but now that he was back on the beach he couldn’t seem to stop glancing over at the fuselage. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to put his mind at rest until he checked in there for Daisy.
A sudden yelp of pain emerged from the infirmary tent, distracting him. The injured man’s cries and groans seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Dexter glanced over that way as he wandered toward one of the rainwater-collection tubs for a drink. He noticed that many of his fellow castaways were also staring in that direction, most of them grimacing or looking upset.
Just then, Jack stepped out of the tent and hurried toward the water tub. The doctor, who looked weary and bedraggled, was holding several empty plastic cups made out of old water bottles.
“How’s it going in there?” Dexter asked when Jack reached the tub.
Jack bent over and scooped up some water. Then he straightened and glanced back toward the tent before meeting Dexter’s eye.
“Could be better,” he said, his voice sounding a bit strained. “But we’re not giving up yet.” He hurried off with his water before Dexter could answer.
Most of the others were still busy with the fruit. Once he finished drinking, Dexter wandered down the beach, trying to distract himself from his guilty thoughts about checking the fuselage. He noticed a lone figure sitting a short distance away and headed over to see who it was. When he got a little closer, he recognized Locke.
Dexter hesitated, staring at the back of the older man’s balding head. There was something about John Locke that made him a little uneasy. Maybe it was the way the man’s pale blue eyes seemed to see more than they should about people. Then again, maybe it was just because he was a little odd, keeping to himself and talking mostly to young Walt. Either way, Dexter almost turned away again. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the fuselage looming behind him. That made him set his jaw and step forward, not wanting to let one more thing about this island scare him.
“Hi there,” Dexter said, stepping around in front of Locke and lifting a hand in greeting. “I just wanted to let you know a bunch of us found a few new fruit trees not too far from here. We brought a bunch of fruit back—there’s plenty over there if you want some.”
Locke was sitting on a makeshift bench amidst the wreckage carving at a sliver of wood with a small knife. For a moment Dexter thought the other man wasn’t going to answer at all. Locke merely glanced up at him before returning his attention to his work.
Finally, though, he spoke. “No thanks.” His voice was surprisingly soft and cultured. “Not hungry.”
Emboldened by the response, however grudging, Dexter spoke again. “What’s that you’re carving?” he asked curiously.
“Whistle.”
“Cool.” Dexter thought it was sort of an odd project, but he supposed it was no worse a way to pass the time than any other. “Looks like you know what you’re doing. Do you think it will work when you’re done?”
Locke glanced up at him, squinting against the rays of the sun, which had crested the firmament some hours earlier and was now sinking slowly back down toward the ocean. “Oh, it will work,” he assured Dexter with quiet confidence. “The only question is, what’s going to show up when I blow it?”
The other man’s pale blue eyes, the right one bisected by a painful-looking cut, were starting to give Dexter the creeps. For one crazy second he felt as though Locke might be looking right through his eyes and into his heart and mind, maybe even seeing something Dexter couldn’t see himself.
“Well, guess I’d better let other people know about the fruit,” he said, shaking off the eerie feeling. “Good luck with that whistle.”
On his way back up the beach he passed Charlie, who was once again wandering around looking slightly bored. Dexter nodded but didn’t stop to chat. Suddenly he felt the need to be alone for a while.
Once he was a short distance away from camp he drifted
down to the surf’s edge. Kicking off his shoes, he strolled along toward the south, enjoying the cool feel of the wet sand beneath his feet. For a few minutes he was able to forget about the confusion and anxiety of the past couple of days and just enjoy the natural beauty of his surroundings.
Of course, it would be a lot nicer if Daisy were here to enjoy it with me…
That thought jarred him back to reality. He paused and glanced back toward the wreckage-strewn beach, his eyes drawn immediately toward the crash’s horrific centerpiece—the fuselage. As usual, he felt a mixture of cowardice and guilt when he imagined Daisy’s lifeless body still strapped into one of the seats inside. Why couldn’t he just go in there and face whatever he might find?
He was distracted by the sound of people talking somewhere just ahead. First he heard the sound of a woman’s voice, agitated yet quiet. Then a louder, angrier male voice answered her, though Dexter couldn’t make out what either of the arguers was saying.
He took a few more steps down the beach and around some boulders, bringing him within sight of a rocky little cove just around a bend in the shoreline. Then he realized why he couldn’t understand the voices. Standing there facing each other, so far unaware of his presence, were the Asian man who’d offered him that slimy-looking raw seafood on his first waking day, along with the pretty Asian woman everyone assumed was his wife. Someone had told Dexter that the pair was Korean and that neither one of them spoke a word of English; as far as Dexter knew, nobody even knew their names. They kept to themselves most of the time, though the man occasionally wandered around offering up his repulsive-looking seafood. Some of the survivors actually seemed to enjoy his island version of sushi, though Dexter still couldn’t bring himself to try it.
Dexter winced as the man let out a frustrated shout. The woman refused to shout back, instead turning away. The expression on her face was a mixture of bitterness and anguished disappointment. Seeing it made Dexter’s stomach clench in an uncomfortable way.
Lost: The Novels Page 22
