It wasn’t a dream, he said to himself in amazement. It wasn’t a dream.
And that thought led him to another one, both disturbing and wonderful.
Savannah was really here! She spoke to me!
With some effort, Jeff stood up and walked over to the cave where the entrance had been. It was gone. He felt all around the area, looking for even an outline of the opening, something to indicate that he wasn’t losing his senses. But not only was the entrance no longer there—there were only rocks, covered in vines, with nothing else beyond them—he could find no sign that there ever had been a cave.
He walked slowly and painfully and paced. Wherever they had been, Jeff realized, did not exist in the material world.
Of course not, Jeff thought. How could it be? Savannah was there. She spoke to me.
Jeff heard a groan from behind him. Oh God! They’re back! He whirled around, panicked. Then he heard Michael call softly, “Hey, you there?” and immediately relaxed. Jeff walked back over and said, “Yeah, I’m here.” Michael had brought himself up on one elbow and was looking around groggily.
Jeff walked over to Michael and knelt beside him. “How do you feel?”
Michael rubbed the back of his head, then stared at the cuts on his arms with some surprise. “That depends,” he said. “What the hell has been going on?”
“Don’t you remember any of it?” Jeff said.
Michael grimaced. “I remember coming out here to bring you back,” he said, struggling to sit up. Jeff helped him to an upright position.
“Nothing else?” Jeff asked.
Michael shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “What happened?”
Jeff said, “I’m still trying to sort that out myself.” He put an arm around Michael’s waist. “Can you stand up?”
Michael said, “I think so. I’d like to get out of here.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” Jeff said.
The two men staggered out, using each other for support. Jeff led Michael to a thick patch of grass and gently lowered him there.
“There’s a spring right over there. I’ll get you some water.”
Michael nodded and grimaced. It seemed to him that every single part of his body was hurting. “I just wish you could get me something stronger than water.”
“I told you to stay away from this place!”
Jeff and Michael, shocked, snapped immediately toward the sound of the voice. Locke stalked toward them, his face grim.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded angrily.
Jeff stood up to face him. After what he had been through, Locke didn’t seem nearly as intimidating anymore.
“I had to come,” Jeff said. “I had to find out.”
Locke glowered at Michael. “What happened?” he said.
Michael cocked his head toward Jeff and said, “You’re asking the wrong guy. Jeff can tell you more than I can.”
“I wish that were true,” Jeff said. “I can’t tell you much. At least, I can’t tell you much that would make any sense to you.”
Locke continued to glare at him. Then his expression softened. “We need to get back to camp.” Addressing Michael he said, “Can you walk?”
Michael nodded, but didn’t look too sure. Locke and Jeff each grabbed one of Michael’s arms and pulled him to his feet.
Locke said, “It isn’t that far back to camp.” He looked significantly at Jeff. “At least it isn’t if you don’t go the long way around.”
Jeff and Michael were not hurt badly, but each felt exhausted. They walked slowly, torturously, back to the beach. Neither they nor Locke said a word throughout their brief journey.
Word had already spread—thanks, no doubt, to Hurley—by the time they got back, and Jack was waiting, wearing a concerned expression, to examine their wounds. And although everyone demanded to know what had happened back at the cave, Locke and Michael could not give any details, and Jeff wouldn’t.
What could I tell them? Jeff thought. That I saw the ghost of the love of my life? I don’t believe it myself. How could I expect them to?
Jack cleaned their wounds and Kate brought some strips of cloth and helped bind a few of the deeper cuts. To Jeff, Kate’s presence brought with it more healing power than the bandages; she had the touch of a ministering angel.
“Thank you, Kate,” he said when she had finished her work.
Kate smiled. “You owe me,” she said.
“What do I owe you?”
“You owe me the full story of what went on out there,” Kate said.
Jeff shrugged and said, “When I understand it myself, you’ll be the first person I’ll tell.”
“It’s a deal,” she said, and moved on to start helping to bandage Michael.
Michael was seated beside Jeff, sipping a broth that Sun had made of seawater, fish, and wild scallions. He leaned over and said, “Thanks, man.”
Jeff said, “You don’t owe me any thanks, Michael.”
“You saved my life,” Michael said.
Not me, Jeff thought.
Jeff patted Michael gently on the back, being careful to avoid touching any of the mysterious cuts. He said nothing.
The next morning, Jeff awoke to find bright sunlight streaming through the entrance of the studio. He stretched gratefully; it was difficult to remember the last time he had enjoyed such a long, dream-free slumber.
When he emerged, Jeff saw Walt sitting cross-legged nearby, drawing on a piece of paper in great concentration. Jeff called out, “Good morning, Walt.”
Walt waved, and then spent a few more seconds on his drawing before getting up and walking over to Jeff. He held the paper out and Jeff took it. It was a comic-book-style portrait of Jeff as a superhero, holding Michael in his arms as he flew over the island.
Jeff smiled. “What’s this?” he said.
Walt replied, “My dad told me you saved his life. He’s not sure from what.”
“Frankly, I’m not too sure from what myself,” Jeff said. He patted Walt gently on the shoulder. “And believe me, your dad is the real hero. He came out there to save me. He would have been in no danger if it weren’t for his own bravery.”
And besides, Jeff said to himself, I didn’t save Michael. Savannah did. And she saved me, too. Just like she always said she would.
Walt smiled. “I know my dad’s brave,” he said. “I made a drawing for him where he’s carrying you.”
Jeff laughed. “That’s very diplomatic of you, Walt!” he said.
Walt cast his eyes downward, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Will you tell me what happened at the cave?”
Get in line, kid, Jeff thought.
Jeff leaned over a little, so that the two were nearly eye to eye. “I surely will,” he said. “As soon as I’ve figured it out for myself. I promise you that I’ll tell you the whole story someday. Okay?”
“Okay,” Walt said. He started to walk away, then turned back to Jeff. “Jeff, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you give me some drawing lessons?”
“Drawing lessons?” Jeff said, a little surprised.
“I’d like to surprise my dad.”
Jeff nodded, smiling. “It would be my honor,” he said. “I used to be a pretty good teacher.”
Walt smiled back. “Thanks,” he said.
Jeff looked fondly at the picture. He considered taking it inside the studio and placing it among his own works. But that didn’t seem right. Walt’s picture was redolent of optimism, humor, and charm. The works inside the studio spoke to the darkest places in the spirit. He folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would find the perfect place for it later.
21
JEFF STOOD THIGH-DEEP IN the surf, holding a spear in his hand and staring into the foamy water swirling about his legs. The spear was shorter and lighter than the ones he and the others had used in bringing down the boar. This one was intended for fish.
Jin stood only a few yards away in what looked
to Jeff to be identical circumstances, yet he had already speared three moderately large fish, while Jeff had yet to even see one.
Still, Jeff was enjoying himself. The sun was bright and warm, the water cool and refreshing, and the task required just enough thought to keep his mind off other matters. That’s what he wanted more than anything these days—something that would make him stop thinking about Savannah, stop obsessing over the weird events at the cave. He tried to be pragmatic, telling himself that it had happened and now it was over. Let it go.
He couldn’t let it go, though. He thought about it almost every waking minute.
That was why he was glad to be, at the moment anyway, thinking of little else than spotting and spearing a fish. Staring into the shallow surf was rather hypnotic and he entertained himself by humming a melancholy air he had often heard when he was growing up on the island of Arran.
I dreamt it last night
That my dead love came in
So softly she entered
Her feet made no din
She came close beside me
And this she did say
It will not be long, love, until
Our weddin’ day.
In truth, that beautiful old Celtic song drifted through Jeff’s mind almost daily. He had always loved it on its own terms but now it meant something more personal. His dead love had truly come in, and it was no dream.
A long time ago, a lifetime ago, he had lain beside Savannah under that scratchy blanket in his studio and she had talked of a love that could exist beyond death, beyond time. “Do you think such a thing truly exists?” she had asked.
No. I emphatically do not, he had said to himself. But what he had said aloud to her was, “Well, of course I do. Of course I do.”
And now he did.
There were over forty castaways stranded on the island by the crash of Oceanic Flight 815. And that meant that Jeff was asked nearly ninety times what had happened at the cave. Because Hurley and Charlie had regaled listeners with tales of their terrifying experience with the invisible monster on the boar hunt, Jeff found that he was able to be as cryptic as he liked about the cave and people seemed to be satisfied. “It was just one of those mysterious things that sometimes happen here,” he would tell them. “It’s entirely unexplainable.”
He sometimes even described the shadowy creatures with their awful groaning whispers, and told in morbid detail about how the things slashed at him and Michael with what must have been razor-sharp fingernails.
“But what were they?” he would say. “I have no idea. I only know that I don’t want to go anywhere near where that cave was anymore, and I’d suggest that you steer clear of that damned place as well.”
In short, Jeff told the truth about it…to a point. He never mentioned Savannah or her child. And he never tried to explain what he began to feel was the real story, that the things were not island mysteries like the invisible thing at all, but personal mysteries, aimed at no one other than Jeff.
To some extent the experience brought Jeff out of his shell. He got to know other castaways, worked with them, played golf or swam with them, and began to feel like a member of the community instead of the hermit he had been for so long.
But in another way, the puzzling occurrence at the cave made Jeff even more introspective. He thought about it every day. Since Michael remembered almost no details of the day and Locke saw nothing out of the ordinary, Jeff sometimes almost convinced himself that it was nothing more than a hallucination. If he could truly have made himself believe this, it would have meant a great deal more peace of mind for Jeff—as in the lyrics of the song, people dream of their “dead loves” all the time. And sometimes those dreams are so real that even when the dreamer wakes up it is difficult to shake the feeling that there has been an actual encounter, a meeting across the boundaries of death.
But Jeff knew that what he had gone through was no dream. Savannah had come to him. She had come to save his worthless life, as she had once predicted she would, but also to tell him something. And still, after nearly a month of daily concentration, of replaying the events ceaselessly in his memory, he had no idea what that something was.
There was a silvery movement near Jeff’s feet. Instinctively, he jabbed the spear straight down into the water and felt it make contact. Pulling the spear out, Jeff was delighted—and more than a little surprised—to see a large fish wriggling on the point. He held it skyward and shouted happily, “Jin! Jin!”
Jin looked up and saw the fish. He grinned at Jeff and gave him a thumbs-up and then he went back to his own work. Oh well, Jeff said to himself, that was pretty high praise from Jin.
Jeff walked to shore and threw his fish into the shallow pool Jin had dug in the sand and filled with seawater. That would keep them fresh until time for dinner. Jeff noted with a certain degree of pride that his was the largest of the lot.
“Big fish in a small pond,” Jeff said to his catch. “That’s what I was in Lochheath. And look at both of us now.”
“Talkin’ to a fish, dude?” Hurley said, sauntering onto the beach.
Jeff laughed. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “As long as the fish doesn’t talk back.”
“Dude,” Hurley said. “After the stuff I’ve seen, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
“Me, either,” Jeff said.
“I talked to Jack a while ago,” Hurley said. “He said if you want to move into the jungle, it’s fine with him. There’s plenty of room.”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Good.”
“I think he’s glad you want to,” Hurley said. “He thinks if we all stick together in one place we can protect ourselves better.”
“True,” Jeff said. “But that’s not why I’m doing it.”
“Then why?” Hurley said. “That little place you’ve got is pretty sweet, almost like a real hut.”
Jeff thought for a moment and then said, “I just don’t need it anymore. I haven’t made anything or drawn anything ever since…well, in almost a month. I almost have the feeling that I was led to the studio for a reason, and now that reason is gone.”
Hurley just looked puzzled. But then, he was often puzzled by the events on the island, so he had learned to have a certain degree of equanimity about it. He said, “Walt tells me you’ve been giving him drawing lessons.”
Jeff grinned. “Yes, I have,” he said. “He’s really got a gift.”
Jeff heard shouting from the surf and looked up to see Jin yelling something to him in a stern voice. Jeff couldn’t understand the words, of course, but he knew that Jin was telling him to get back to work.
He said to Hurley, “Well, coffee break’s over.”
“Yeah,” Hurley said. “Back on your head.”
Jeff returned to his place in the water and gripped his spear, ready for another big catch. But though he stood there for another hour, he never even saw another fish. He smiled apologetically to Jin as Jin strung together the fish to take over to the cooking fire. Surrounding Jeff’s single fish were nearly a dozen caught by Jin. But mine, thought Jeff, grasping for some way to salvage his pride, is still bigger than any of his.
Jeff walked down the beach until he came to the cove with the little waterfall that had served as a marker on his journey to the cave. There was no one else around, so he stripped off his clothes and dove into the clear, fresh water. It was bracingly cold, far colder than the seawater. He swam about for a few moments, enjoying feeling clean and refreshed. Then he stood under the waterfall and enjoyed the gentle pounding of the water as it massaged him.
The sun glinted off the water, making the pool sparkle like jewelry. The shimmering light turned each drop into a tiny prism, and beautiful, subtle rainbows seemed to sprout everywhere before exploding into pure color. Jeff had to squint when the reflections were at their brightest; the dancing rays created a glistening palette of shifting shapes.
Jeff floated around on his back for a while and then splashed noisily, feeling lik
e a child. He remembered how much he used to enjoy going under the water and seeing how long he could hold his breath, and decided to give it a try now. Taking in a big gulp of air, he dropped beneath the surface. He swam to the bottom of the pool, which was clearly visible due to the brightness of the sunlight. It was a fascinating world of silence and tranquility and Jeff wished that there were a way he could stay there longer. But his lungs were beginning to burn and he knew it was time to resurface.
As he swam upward, he saw someone standing by the side of the pool. Well, this might be embarrassing, he thought. I’m naked as the day I was born.
When he broke the surface, he took a deep breath and wiped the water from his eyes. He turned in the direction of the figure by the pool and said, “I must warn you to look the other way if…”
The temperature of the water seemed to drop another ten degrees. Or Jeff might have started shivering for another reason.
Savannah was standing at the pool’s edge.
Jeff was treading water and the sight of Savannah nearly made him drop back under. He scrambled out, not bothering to think about his clothes, and ran toward her.
“Savannah…” he cried.
But she was no longer there.
Jeff stood on the spot where he had seen her and looked around for any proof that what he had seen was real. He found nothing. After a moment he gathered up his clothes and dried himself with his shirt. He then dressed and began walking back to the studio.
I dreamt it last night
My dead love came in…
He stood at the narrow entrance that led into his natural house. Something made him hesitate to go in. As he had told Hurley, Jeff had determined that he was through with this place. He had only created dark and disturbing works here, and the clues those works left him had solved nothing, but led only to deeper and darker mysteries. There were no answers here. There were no answers anywhere. Tomorrow he would move into the caves with the others, and then his past life would be officially over.
Jeff ducked slightly to enter the studio. It was darker inside but numerous spaces in the branches and leaves that formed a kind of roof allowed in the sun in tiny points of light like, as Jeff often amusedly thought of it, a disco ball.
Lost: The Novels Page 39
