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Walt loves life in the suburbs. All the moving around with his Mom got tiring, and Dad promised when Walt’s home with him, they’d stay in one place. Pasadena agrees with him, not just the awesome pool in the backyard, or the way he can take Vincent to the dog park all by himself, but mainly because of the neighbors.
They have the best neighbors.
No, he’s not just saying that. There’s a group of very interesting people in their culdesac: Mr. Locke, a highly esteemed cardboard manufacturer. Sayid Jarrah, retired CIA or something cool. The Rutherford-Carlyle clan, featuring Shannon and Boone respectively, who inherited the nicest house on the block after their parents died. Walt finds them the coolest of all due to their lack of employment and massive television set, but Dad disagrees (about the first part, they’re in agreement on the awesomeness of the second). Doctor Jack Shephard, and the guy that lives with him, “Sawyer,” who Walt is positive harbors a huge crush on the guy he’s freeloading off of.
Dad says it’s inappropriate to call Mr. Sawyer a ‘freeloader.’ After the Thanksgiving Potluck last year, he’s heard Dad call Mr. Sawyer much worse things. “How does that asshole not like my pumpkin scones? Dry? I’m sorry, should I dip them in country gravy Mr. Redneck?”
Last but not least, there’s Claire Littleton who lives outside the culdesac by three blocks. Walt still considers her an integral part of the community. She’s been his babysitter the past few years they’ve lived here, at ten years old now, he thinks he might be a bit old for one. He doesn’t voice the thought, because he’s a little worried her and Dad might agree with him. Claire’s nice, and Walt doesn’t really want to find out if she’d still like him if she wasn’t being paid to watch him anymore.
Walt’s very happy with his neighborhood. Which is why, of course, someone buys the one empty house in their culdesac.
*
Everyone always gathers at Shannon and Boone’s house. Obviously for the television, which is ninety inches and has a 3-D option. Also, surround sound. Walt remembers Mrs. Carlyle and Mr. Rutherford, who didn’t have as much appreciation for the finer things in life. Shannon gets it , Walt thinks, who replaced the crushed velvet Victorian style with a 20-seater sectional with plush pillows and cupholders. It’s a very deep sofa, and Walt has a hard time getting out of it without the help of an adult. That’s just fine with him, he’d stay here forever.
“Scoot over, Bazooka,” Sawyer says around a mouthful of Shannon’s imported French chocolate. “Can’t,” Walt replies, Sawyer rolls his eyes and lifts him up. He shoves him in the furthest corner and takes Walt’s old spot on the couch. Jack sits next to him a few minutes later, “Boone, what are you going to do when you run out of money?” Boone laughs, taking a gulp of his grape Fanta, so cool, Walt thinks. “That’s never gonna happen, man, trust.” Jack’s eyes bounce around, or that’s the best description Walt has for what looks like a stroke. “Trust? What does that mean?” Boone sighs, “Describing it to anyone over twenty-five is hopeless. Anyway, Shan and I are putting a bid down on 669.”
“That creepy thing?” Locke asks, chewing on one of Boone’s special brownies Walt’s not allowed to have. “Don’t worry,” Shannon says, popping a champagne bottle, “Not twenty-one,” Jack mutters. “We’re ripping the thing down, building a community pool,” she giggles. Sayid furrows his brows, “Every house in here has a pool.” Boone shakes his head, “But not like this, this is one really big pool. With fountains and sh—stuff.” Dad glares at him, “I said stuff!” Boone defends.
In an unorganized upset, Jack goes on and on for a good twenty minutes about the historical integrity of the neighborhood. Walt looks over to Claire by the window, peeking out one of Shannon and Boone’s huge floor-to-ceiling windows. “Too late,” she says, motioning at the house in question. Everyone rushes to the window and Walt sinks into the couch more in his attempt to get out. “A U-Haul?” Locke sighs, “A Canadian U-Haul,” Sawyer sighs, “I can’t deal with these damn transplants.” Claire huffs, offended. “Aren’t you from Mississippi?”
“Alabama, teddy bear. But at least I’m cruel and superficial enough to make it in L.A., maple leaf out there will probably get a nosebleed walking into Whole Foods.” Dad comes by and pulls Walt off the sofa, who runs right up to Claire to stare out the window. “There goes the community pool,” Boone pouts. “It was a kind of a stupid idea,” Shannon jabs.
“Was not!”
Walt stares out the window as the new neighbor unloads his crappy crushed velvet Victorian-style couch. Not cool.
*
“Do you want to go by and introduce yourself?” Mr. Locke asks as he sets down the backgammon board. He clicks the brakes on his wheelchair and Walt takes the white side, again. “Not really,” Walt shrugs, “Me either,” Locke smiles, “I figure it's best to get raw impressions during the monthly potluck.”
“Your dad still making those pumpkin scones?” Walt nods, it's a poor attempt to throw the game, but he figures Mr. Locke would’ve asked eventually. “I love pumpkin spice,” Locke smiles, zoning out for a moment of pure affectionate love before focusing back on their game. His smile fades just slightly when he realizes he’s lost, again. “I should take you by the warehouse again soon,” he says, “You’d clear Hurley out in a minute.” Walt grins, “He still owes me fifty thousand dollars.” Mr. Locke huffs as he twists over to put the board away, “He’ll pay up.”
Walt watches as Claire walks up the stairs to 669 and knocks on the door. “Down Vincent! Down!” Walt tugs Walt out of Mr. Locke’s lap, when he glances up Claire is nowhere to be seen. “Guess you should head home soon,” Locke says, checking the time on his microwave. “Check up on those pumpkin spice scones for me would you?”
Walt says goodbye and chases Vincent across the street back home.
*
October first, monthly potluck. Jack asked to reschedule it for a day due to a dentist appointment. Walt briefly considers egging his house.
Nobody that Walt knows of, has invited the new neighbor over. “He could be a klepto,” Shannon defends on September thirtieth, the day after the new guy moved in. “He could be Amish or something, smash up the TV thinking it’s the devil while we watch Beverly Hills Housewives,” Boone states. “Those are horrible reasons,” Sawyer says, “Go fish.”
“Sh…ucks!” Boone shouts.
“Well, why don’t you go invite him then,” Shannon rolls her eyes, picking another card. “‘Cause I don’t care. Y’know what, I don’t have to defend myself to you.” She scoffs, “Good luck finding someone else to voluntarily spend time with you besides us,” Boone nods in agreement. Sawyer looks over to Walt, who shakes his head, “I have school.” Sawyer gets bent out of shape, as usual, “Yet here you are, skippin’ out on a decent education to spend time with me.” Walt humbles him immediately, like Dad says, “It’s a Saturday.”
He deflates faster than a Dollar Tree balloon.
“We don’t all have rich Doctors we can mooch off of,” Boone says, looking through his cards. Sawyer grinds his teeth. Shannon ignores them, “Hey, I won!”
“Son of a bi—”
That was September thirtieth.
October first is a little different, Jack mainly, seems to have changed his mind on Locke’s souffle. “It’s so much better,” he says, or, that’s what Walt assumes he’s trying to say. “Thank you, Jack,” Locke says, overwhelmingly happy. “I added broccoli!”
“Oh! Love broccoli, love it.”
Walt tunes out of that boring conversation quickly, especially when Claire walks into the place, arm-in-arm with New Neighbor Guy. “Hi everybody!” Jack takes another serving of souffle, and Walt hears it plop against Boone’s designer plate. “This is Ethan,” she grins. Jack gobbles down some more souffle, Locke waves, Sawyer doesn’t look away from the Beverly Hills Housewives, and Shannon pops open another bottle of champagne.
“You’re not Amish, are you?” Boone asks, defensively standing in front of the TV as Sawyer groans.
“Uh, no,” Ethan replies, awkwardly. “Oh thank god,” Boone kisses the screen, Sawyer throws an M&M at him to move. “So what do you do Ethan?” Sayid asks, coming out of the kitchen with a large platter of Tashreeb. “I hunt,” he says, “animals mostly.”
“What else is there to hunt?” Jack asks, finishing off the souffle. “Stop stress eating,” Sawyer murmurs. Ethan just smiles, Walt feels goosebumps rise on his neck and on Dad’s arms. “Hunter white dude, great, just great,” Dad whispers, sarcasm flowing. Sayid smiles. “I made some souffle,” Locke says, turning his chair over to the table, “Jack?”
Jack looks over to the group apologetically, “It really is way better than last time.”
It’s actually one of the less eventful potlucks of the year. Even after Jack shoots up during dessert to yell, “I’m on vacation!” Nobody says anything, Sawyer just hides his face in his hands. “That’s why you’re so stressed?” Sayid pieces together. “Thirty-one days,” Jack tells them like it’s a prison sentence. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Could go to an Island, Hawaii or something,” Boone suggests. Sawyer rolls his eyes, “The hell are we gonna do on an Island? Hula dance in coconut bras and jockstraps?” Boone flicks his fork, sending a chunk of tomato paste to Sawyer’s forehead, “Never said both of you had to go.” Sawyer flushes, not just out of anger, or tomato. Ethan stands up, “It was nice meeting you all,” and he leaves. Claire dashes out after him pulling on her cardigan, “I’m gonna walk him home.”
“That guy was weird,” Locke says, digging into Sayid’s Daheen dish. “By the way, I’m very disappointed in the lack of pumpkin spice scones, Michael.”
*
Boone hacks away at his mother’s once lovely flower bed. Shannon exhales as she rests in the lounge chair. Walt’s trying to understand why there are suddenly letters in his math. “Isn’t Claire supposed to watch you?” Walt huffs, “Yeah right, like she’d ditch her boyfriend.”
It’s been two days and Claire seems absolutely enamored with the mysterious Ethan. “Would you abandon your friends for some guy?” Shannon reapplies her lipgloss, “Not that guy.” Boone, covered in dirt, disagrees. “Maybe he’s just misunderstood.” Walt and Shannon both look over, sharing a doubtful expression. “He could enjoy long walks on the beach, his eyes could twinkle when he smiles, maybe he has a favorite movie he knows all the words to.” Shannon rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to get with every guy on the block.” Walt nods, a few minutes later he asks Boone what x equals and Boone says it marks the spot.
He’ll just wait for Shannon to wake up from her tanning nap for math help.
Meanwhile, someone peaks their head out of 669. It’s not Ethan, Walt can tell that much from the shorter height. Boone runs in front of Walt and when he clears out of the way, the person in the window is gone. “Boone? What are you—” Walt looks up to see a very bored Jack Shephard, circling the block like a lost sheep for the tenth time today. “We don’t need your help with anything!” Boone shouts out, still unhappy with Jack’s advice that a flower bed looks nicer than cardboard cut-outs of the Strek Trek crew. (“I could get them laminated!” “You’re not hearing me, Boone.) Shannon groans and flips onto her stomach. Jack’s eyes water and Walt feels bad for him, so he grabs his hand and walks over to his house, “You can help me with my homework.”
Jack is much more helpful, and Walt gets another view of 669 from Jack’s living room window. “Did you see that?” Walt asks, frantic, it’s dark outside and he’s not sure he trusts his own eyes. “What?” Jack looks out, “see what, Walt?” Sawyer comes home, arms carrying groceries. “Nothing, I guess,” Walt sighs. Jack holds his hand and walks him home, “Look, I’ll stay over tonight, okay? Your dad gets home around seven, I can make us waffles.” Walt shrugs, “You don’t wanna stay with Sawyer?” Jack’s nose scrunches, “Why would I want to stay with Sawyer?”
“No reason at all,” Walt says quickly, he heads over to the backdoor to let Vincent in.
*
Jack turns on the news and when Walt falls asleep on his shoulder and Vincent on his lap, he drapes the blanket over them all and closes his eyes.
Around midnight, he hears a clank.
He carefully eases Walt off his shoulder, gently laying him on the couch. Vincent, clever as always, is quietly guiding Jack upstairs. Jack moves the curtains out of the way, his eyes staring through the hallway window. There’s a torrential rainstorm, which Jack can’t remember happening in Southern California for…a really long time. His eyes narrow, and it takes everything in him not to scream.
The new neighbors are burying bodies.
He runs into Michael’s room to find a phone. Gracefully, he might add, considering what he just saw. He dials Sawyer right away, who of course, doesn’t pick up. Locke is his next call, and he picks up immediately. “Don’t you sleep?” Jack wonders, “Not when the neighbors are burying bodies.”
“You saw that too, huh?”
“Thought I ate too many Boonies.”
“Huh?”
“Boone Brownies. You know, the ones with marij—”
“You guys never let me eat those.”
“You get very depressing to be around.”
“What are you doing?” Walt asks, a blanket draped over him and Vincent nuzzling against his leg. Jack will deny the yelp until the day he dies, “Nothing, nothing, just uh, having a conversation with Mr. Locke.” Walt rubs his eyes, glancing at his Dad’s alarm clock on his nightstand. “At two in the morning?” Jack nods. Locke yawns, “I’ll call you if I see someone we know,” he says quietly before hanging up. “It’s just something you do when you get older,” Jack lies, “So what woke you up?” Walt wraps the blanket around himself tighter, “You left the TV on, it started playing a horror movie.”
Oops.
“Then I heard some really loud thumping upstairs,” Walt walks out of the room back towards the stairs. Jack redials Locke, “They headed back inside.” “Any idea on why?” Locke chews something, hopefully not another boonie, “Probably got hungry, it takes a lot of energy to bury a body.”
Jack heads down to see Walt and Vincent tangled together watching Scream 2.
*
Dad comes home to see Walt making waffles. Jack is passed out on the sofa clinging to Vincent. “Fun time last night?” Walt nods, rotating the waffle iron, “Dr. Jack helped me finish all my homework.” Dad pours a glass of orange juice, “I thought Boone was helping you?” Walt giggles, “He’s all wrapped up in another home disprovement project.”
Jack wakes up, wanders into the kitchen, and tugs Dad away, “I gotta tell you something.” He gives Walt a thumbs up, “Waffles smell great buddy.”
*
EMERGENCY MEETING is scribbled out in big red bubble letters on the banner hanging over Locke’s fireplace. Boone looks at it with pride most men reserve for their children, but this might be the closest he gets to that. “Why am I missing out on morning waffles with my son for this?” Michael asks, “And where’s Claire?”
“She’s been compromised,” Locke states, tossing a dart and hitting a bullseye on a picture of Ethan, taped to the wall. “You’re gonna need to drywall that,” Michael sighs. “Where’d you get that picture of Ethan?” Jack crouches over to see it, confused. “Printed it off the internet. We’re Facebook friends. Now, listen up.” Locke wheels over to the center of the room, “Last night our new neighbors at approximately O-one-hundred-hours began burying—write this down, Shannon—HUMAN REMAINS.”
“Maybe they were old family members or something,” she suggests. Sawyer flips his hair dramatically as he scoffs, “Please, you think people just hold on to bodies? I’m very offended nobody called me last night, by the way.” Jack thuds his head against the archway, “You didn’t pick up!” Sawyer plays with the hem of his shirt, “Yeah, right.”
Sayid seems to be stuck on the banner, “Did you put that up just for this?” Locke almost wheels over Boone’s foot, “Of course.” Jack brings them back to reality, “Is nobody bothered by the dead body burial thing?” Sayid pulls his curls back into a bun, “Well Jack we’re all still a bit shaken up from the man living in the tunnels last year.”
“Let’s take a vote,” Locke proposes, “Tunnel guy versus body burial.”
The one thing they all agree on is to not tell Walt. “He’s just a kid,” Sawyer affirms, “he’s got no business knowing if his next-door neighbors are serial killers.”
“Serial killers?!”
“Well, yeah, Boone. Where did you think they were getting the bodies?”
“I’m still a little confused on that.”
*
Claire comes by, along with Ethan. “These waffles are wonderful, Walt,” she grins. Ethan drowns his in syrup, an unsettling smile on his face. “How’re you liking the neighborhood, Mr. Ethan?”
“It’s delightful,” he replies, curling closer to Claire. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know everyone better, you guys seem to be really tight-knit.” Claire nods, “We’re just a big happy family. You know Ethan, you should host like a little dinner over at your house!” Walt sees something flicker over his face before he agrees, “Oh, absolutely.”
Dad bursts in with Sawyer, “Oh my god!”
“Michael? What’s wrong?” Claire rushes over, voice full of concern. “Nothing,” Dad squeaks, Sawyer elbows him in the ribs. “I mean, uh, you guys ate all the waffles.” Sawyer swings Walt’s backpack over his shoulder, “C’mon kid, I’m takin’ you to school.”
“But Claire—” Sawyer picks him up like he’s three years old again, “Don’t argue with me shortround. Bye Claire, creep.”
“Did you say ‘creep?’” Ethan questions, “No, I said Jeep. We’re taking the Doc’s Jeep.” Sawyer carries Walt to the car, an entire house away. Michael looks over to Claire and Ethan, “You’re invited to dinner tonight,” Ethan says, voice monotone. Claire giggles, “Bring a housewarming present!”
“It’s a Ford Bronco,” Walt gripes when they leave Claire’s earshot, Sawyer tosses him toward the car with a friendly goodbye wave. Sawyer goes fifty in a twenty-five zone. “You’re gonna run someone over,” Walt says, casually. “Kids these days,” Sawyer starts, “think they know everything in the world. How many people you meet personally that got run over?”
“You passed my school.”
“You actually wanna go?”
Walt glares at him, “It’s pizza day.” Sawyer glares back, “We can get pizza without going to school.” Walt picks his backpack up off the floor, getting ready to take off the second Sawyer stops in front of the school. “Take Jack,” he recommends. Sawyer blushes, “Yeah, right. Have a good day or whatever.”
Sawyer is just as dismissive as usual, so Walt thinks nothing of it. He has a normal day at school, so of course the weird stuff happens the second he comes home on the bus.
First off, nobody is ever panicked about culdesac dinners. Ever. Walt would know from the lack of detail or appreciation put into most of their cooking. Minus Sayid, who of course makes the most immaculate tiramisu known to humankind. It's another dish Mr. Locke is only allowed to ask about once a year. So, it's out of character to see Shannon dusting and Boone using Fabuloso on the kitchen counters.
“I thought you guys had a maid?” Walt asked, placing his backpack on the kitchen stool as he sat. Boone runs into a wall as a result of spraying the cleaner in his eyes. Jack sticks his head in Shannon’s water bowl and splashes his eyes repeatedly. Boone makes some awful gurgling noises and Walt cannot say definitively that Jack isn’t drowning him by accident.
“We do have a maid…though I haven’t seen her since Et—” Shannon drops the duster and rushes upstairs. Boone’s hair drips onto the marble floor and Jack is aggressively wiping him down with a kitchen towel. “I think we got it all out,” Sawyer strolls in, hockey team hoodie and beanie on in the same shade as Boone’s irritated scleras. “Jesus Christ,” he says, startled.
Walt stares at Jack’s scrubs, “Did you go back to work?” Jack shakes his head frantically, “These help me relax.” Sawyer and Walt share a look. “I need to go help your dad and the others with the grilling.” Sawyer whistles after Jack leaves the room, the click shut of the sliding glass back door. Walt furrows his brows, “They never cared about any of the other guests this much.”
Sawyer shrugs, Walt can tell he's biting back a remark. “So why aren't you on grill duty?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
“They didn't want you, did they? ‘Cause of that undercook-overcook thing on the Fourth of July.” Sawyer gets up and kicks the stool back under the counter, “You all treat that like it’s Watergate. I can grill a damn steak!” Ethan pops up behind him and Walt yelps, Sawyer goes cross eyed for a minute. “I’m sure you know exactly how to take a simple piece of meat and turn it into art,” Ethan says, without blinking. Shannon runs from down the stairs, past Ethan, into the backyard, “HE'S HERE!”
Dad slams head-first into the screen door. Walt rushes to help him up with Sayid, “That never happens,” Sayid says. “It was too clean,” Dad complains, stepping on Boone’s foot as he enters the house. “Good to see you, Ethan, again!”
“Pleasures mine,” he replies with a toothy smile.
Mr. Locke rolls in, his plate full of pumpkin spice scones. Strangely, he's clad in camo. “What's with the get-up?” Walt wonders, Locke smiles mischievously, “Reconnaissance.”
Shannon’s sawing through her steak like a maniac, Boone tucks himself under Jack’s other arm, shivering. Sawyer sits over by Locke, who is chomping down on scones and writing something down in a notebook every time Ethan talks. Sayid and Dad squish him in, where he can barely see Ethan, sitting cozily next to Claire.
Walt knows something here is very strange, even for them .
*
Once again, Ethan leaves early, insisting Claire stay and chat. About an hour after he leaves Dad asks Claire to tuck Walt into bed and help him with homework. Neither of them wants help with the dishes so they’re out the door without questions.
The weirdness of dinner stays at Boone and Shan’s. When Walt gets home he gets Claire back, and he’s not sure why he ever worried about stupid Ethan stealing her away.
*
“Ethan's stealing her away,” Sawyer shouts, flinging a green bean at the kitchen backsplash in an angry fit. “I wish you would've run over to the house for the banner,” Locke repeats. Jack buries his head in his hands, “How many times do we have to go over this? We don't need the banner every time we talk.”
Sayid cuts in, “He’ll turn her against us, if he hasn't already.” Michael sighs, “She's such a nice girl.” Sawyer scoffs, “Please, I never trusted her. Moon bathing? Sexy at first but—” Jack glares, “Ain’t like she's your sister. Point is, there's always a screw loose with those happy go lucky types.”
“Agreed,” Shannon says, filing down a nail. “We’ll find a new group member. There’s that British guy with blonde hair, the accent is just as annoying.” Sayid crosses his arms, leaning against the sink. “Charlie will be our last resort. I think Claire, the Claire we know, is still in there deep down.” Boone puts some leftover steak in the microwave, “John, read off what Ethan said tonight.”
“I stopped using military time about halfway in, started using scone numbers.”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright, this is just his boring speech on his job, moving on. Oh, eighteen hundred hours, Ethan says, quote “I enjoy a good slasher film.””
“Oh, we’ve got him dead to rights now,” Sawyer cheers. Locke keeps going, “Scone fifteen, Ethan said, and I quote, “Thank you for the ax Mr. Locke, this will be very helpful.””
There's silence in the room.
“What? you gave him an ax?” Jack says, alarmed. “Well, we were supposed to give him housewarming gifts.”
“I just gave him a pack of washcloths from Home Goods with the receipt, I didn't think we were gifting potential weapons! Much less ones he might use on us!” Shannon shouts. Boone rocks back and forth on the floor, “I gave him that horrible smelling Yankee Candle from last Christmas. That’s blunt force trauma. How am I going to sleep tonight?”
Locke sighs, readjusting his camo tie and camo shirt, “I don’t think he’d start hurting us just yet. Especially not after this delightful gathering. I mean we made green beans and steak and…well he saw that I had scones but obviously those were not a shared table item.” Sawyer looks down at the half-frozen green beans, “Maybe the thirty seconds in the microwave wasn’t enough.” Sayid readjusts his bun, “The steak was rather bland. I’m afraid I forgot to season it.”
Locke takes a bite of his last scone, “Let's save our panic until something bad happens to one of us.”
*
Walt wakes up to see police lined around the block. “Dad?” he asks, padding down the stairs. Dad is out in the front yard making big hand gestures and Jack is crying hysterically. Instead, Shannon is putting bread in the toaster and Sawyer is pacing the kitchen until Shannon sees Walt. “Walt? Hey, you okay?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, Vincent pouting as he lies on the kitchen floor by Shannon’s feet. “He got him. That sick bastard got him.”
Shannon drops a mug on the floor, shattering it, “I thought we weren’t telling him!” Sawyer steps back, releasing Walt, “I was talking about the guy upstairs, takin’ Mr. Locke home.” Walt brushes past Sawyer to head outside, “What happened to Mr. Locke?” Dad presses him up against his side, “He’s missing. Jack went to check on him after he didn’t answer last night, and his wheelchair was tipped over.”
Walt wants to say it doesn’t seem like cause for alarm, after all, Mr. Locke had his upcoming vacation. But they probably already knew that, so Walt stood there awkwardly. “Nobody knocks off an old man in my neighborhood and gets away, with it,” Jack sniffles.
Walt figures he’ll take the bus to school today.
*
Jack changes into a sweater and baggy jeans. It’s not the best choice, seeing as it’s still about ninety degrees in California. Sayid and Sawyer opt for tank tops. Shannon takes Boone to the eye doctor. “One week,” Jack says, sweating after only twenty minutes of being outside, “he’s been here one week and he’s already killed one of us off. The heart of our group.”
“I wouldn’t say the heart,” Sawyer butts in, “I wasn’t all that fond.”
They ignore him. “Susan is coming by, taking Walt to San Francisco for a weekend getaway,” Michael says, “That’s three weeks away, still.” Jack nods, “That means everything we do, we do it subtly. Walt never finds out Ethan is an axe murderer.”
“You think he chopped Locke into bits over the scones?” Sawyer asks, “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Sayid responds, “They really are good, Michael.”
Jack pants, “Okay I’m changing, then we’re off.”
*
“I’m cold,” Jack shivers, “why am I cold now?” Sawyer shrugs, wearing a light jacket he put on after Jack took off his sweater. Sayid waves a hand in front of Jack’s face, “You’re our leader now, and while we all have to worry about Walt not finding out, you need to be getting us the evidence.”
“Good luck!” Boone encourages, shoving Jack into the street. “Wait,” Jack pauses, “why am I the one doing this?”
“We have jobs.”
“No, you don’t?”
“Yeah, uh…we don’t really feel like it.”
Sawyer drapes an arm around Jack’s neck, the warmth gives him goosebumps, “C’mon doc, thought you were bored? There’s still twenty-three days to catch a killer.” Jack breathes, breath mingling with Sawyer’s who seems all too interested in invading the personal space bubble. “Yeah, yeah okay.”
Goddamn Sawyer.
*
Jack’s crawling under Michael’s fence (with Michael’s blessing as he rushed off to work), Sawyer’s jacket was too distracting to keep on. Too warm when Sawyer shook it off and tossed it over aggressively like it was no big deal. It smells of Sawyer a bit too strongly, and Jack doesn’t think it’s a good thing to be mooing over cologne when he’s supposed to be finding human remains. Preferably fleshy, Shannon said, “It’s more vomit-inducing that way,” Boone had added.
Truthfully, with the breeze and chilled goosebumps on his arms, this is the best Jack’s felt since his last day of work. Right up until he bangs his head against a grim reaper-style garden gnome. “Good afternoon,” he hears, Jack looks up to see Ethan standing over him, various lawn decorations in his hands. “Good afternoon,” Jack echoes back. He snaps into it, “Sorry, Michael wanted me to have a look for Vincent’s ball, Sawyer threw it a bit far last time and we haven’t found it.”
“Oh!” Ethan says as if it makes perfect sense why Jack was wriggling through the loose fence boards. Jack has an idea. “Would you mind giving me access to your yard?” Ethan looks doubtful for a minute, the second he looks away Jack grabs the ball stuffed into his socks and tosses it into a corner of Ethan’s yard. “Wow, you’re really digging holes back here.”
Jack blinks, why the shit did you say that? Pounds in his mind.
“I’m planting a garden.”
Jack looks down, a human femur sticking out of one of the carrot plots. “That’s part of my childhood dog,” Ethan lies. “Well,” Jack clears his throat, “if you find that ball you let me know.”
“I’ll bring it over to Walt,” Jack muffles his internal scream, “Well, it’s actually my ball. For Vincent, so…”
“Right,” Ethan narrows his eyes. Jack flops down on his stomach and wriggles back over to the side of safety. He heads home to see Sawyer’s feet propped on the coffee table watching hockey, so, naturally, Jack does the best thing he can to get his attention.
He drops a femur bone on Sawyer’s ankle.
*
“What’s wrong with you?” Walt asks, looking up from his science homework when Dad invites Sawyer and Jack in. Sawyer’s head is peppered in various Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bandaids, “Fell off the couch.” “It’s not as bad as it looks, really,” Jack says, pulling Dad and Sawyer into the other room.
Walt hears a muffled scream followed by, “Is that what I think it is?” “It’s John,” Jack assures, “we found him.”
Walt’s open laptop pings, and he reads off his newest message, “Hello from Bora Bora!” He quickly types back, “Enjoy your coconut, Mr. Locke!”
*
The second Michael and Walt load up with Ethan and Claire for a day trip to Disneyland, the meeting starts. “It feels wrong to have his banner in here,” Boone sniffles, looking at it slightly off-center above his fireplace. “He’d want this,” Sayid comforts him, his hand gently placed over Boone’s shoulder. Shannon tosses an ice chest down the stairs, “Up to the roof,” she says, monotone. Sawyer makes Jack lug it up. The others don’t exactly jump in to help.
“Should we have worn camo?” Boone asks.
“I have the cutest camo miniskirt,” Shannon enthuses, grabbing Sayid’s arm. He smiles at her, “Some other time.” Jack grips Sawyer’s arm, leaning in to whisper, “I don’t like them together,” in his ear. Sawyer grimaces with a nod. “Unfortunately we don’t have much of a tactical advantage, being on the top of the corner house.” Jack sighs, “Locke would have wanted us to use his roof, besides, we all live in two stories and Boone keeps falling off.” Boone scoffs, offended, “Please, like a fall from this height would kill me. Maim, seriously injure, leave me in a coma, sure, but not kill.” Shannon narrows her eyes, cracking open a particularly hard to open snapple, “You would succumb to your injuries slowly.”
Jack has a hard time focusing with Shannon and Boone’s background bickering, Sayid and Sawyer’s bickering over the binoculars, and the creaking sound—wait what —the roof collapses beneath them.
Great.
*
Shannon stomps home to shower, Sayid decides the whole thing is ridiculous, and Sawyer brushes off a few shingles and goes to raid Locke’s fridge. Boone’s practically glued to Jack’s side, like a duckling whose roof collapsing trauma made him vulnerable to imprinting. “Do you think he’s here, like, spiritually ?” Jack wants to cry. Mainly because there’s a stabbing feeling in his abdomen and his face definitely has some scrapes. Also Boone’s cologne is burning his lungs. Or its the dust and debris. Or possibly both.
Jack looks over to Locke’s fireplace, it’s strange, seeing it bannerless. Maybe its the San Andreas Fault, but Jack feels a settling, different than the creaking before the roof caved in. This time it’s on inside. Locke’s wheelchair sits in the corner, covered in shingles and sheetrock, and Jack wishes in some fucked up way that he had fallen through the roof with them. No, he’s not here, he wants to say, he’s not here and this is the first time I’ve really thought about him never making another stupid banner. All Jack can do is walk into the kitchen, where Sawyer’s looting Locke’s good tupperware, and grab Sawyer’s hand. “I want to go home,” Sawyer grabs the tupperware and grips Jack’s hand tighter, and that’s all that needs to be said.
Boone’s brows furrow, he slumps into his regular spot in the now ruined loveseat. The television’s broken and he doesn’t want to go home to Shannon’s “five year plan” moodboard with pictures of Sayid and Paris Hilton. He picks up one of the opened magazines on the sidetable. There’s an open page on some weird Bora Bora resort specializing in healing. He sets it down and picks up something that has Lady Gaga on the cover.
*
Walt slides mouse ears onto Jack, who’s wrapped up in Walt’s favorite blanket with a hot bowl of chicken soup out of the pantry. “Why is he so depressed?” Walt whispers to his dad. Michael sighs, “He’s upset about Mr. Locke’s…departure. We all are.”
“Not me,” Walt says, confidently. Jack’s lips tremble. Dad looks appalled, “Walt, he’s gone, when people are gone we’re supposed to be upset about it. Son, that’s just how emotions work.” Walt shrugs, “I guess I don’t have those emotions, ‘cause I know I’ll see him again.” Sawyer rubs Jack’s back, “You sound awful sure.” Walt replies in a ‘duh’ tone, “Of course I’m sure, when he gets back from his Bora Bora trip, he’ll walk right over and we’ll all eat pumpkin scones and go trick-or-treating.”
Jack sobs, “That sounds like heaven.”
Walt has never seen people get so worked up over a two week vacation. He wonders how bad they get when he stays with his mom in the summer.
*
Jack sees through his tears that Walt has gone upstairs, or maybe it was a little orange blob with hair floating upwards. It’s hard to see when his eyes are almost too swollen to open. “How was Disneyland with Ethan and Claire?” Sawyer asks, Michael pulls out a stool, “Dude loves the teacups.”
“Who doesn’t,” Jack cries. Sawyer rubs his hand over his head, gently caressing his buzzcut. “He bought Claire like seven pretzels, he was actually pretty nice. If he wasn’t for sure a serial killer I’d say they were a perfect match. Walt even thought he was pretty decent at the end of the day.” There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence (minus Jack’s little rustling noises as he savagely went for the tissue box). “How was absolutely nobody seriously injured during the roof collapsing?” Michael asks, Sawyer shrugs, “We got pretty lucky. Lawyer’s say we still are entitled to some settlement money.”
“Lawyers? What lawyers?” Jack and Michael say, in perfect synchrony.
“Well we’re obviously going to sue Locke’s estate for emotional damages. Who the hell did he think he was, having a roof that unstable, knowing we might crawl up there one day and spy on the neighborhood. That’s reckless endangerment,” Sawyer rants, motioning at Jack, “and look at you! You’re completely devastated by the incident.” Jack drops the blanket, standing up to be hopefully face to face with Sawyer, mostly he rages at whatever yellowish blue thing is closest to him. “I’m devastated that my friend is dead! That the guy who probably plucked the meat off his bones like a Costco chicken gets to have a fun day at Disneyland, and my roommate is trying to sue my friend’s estate!”
He hears Michael mutter a “yikes,” under his breath.
“Roommate? That’s harsh, Jack.” Michael speaks up, “What else would you call it? We live together.” Michael (the blob version anyway) awkwardly puts his hands in his hoodie, “C’mon guys, I mean, you’re not exactly subtle about it.” Sawyer whips around, Jack feels the slight rush of air from his hair moving. “Subtle? You’re not makin’ any sense, Mike.” Michael cringes, “You’re gay, and in love and—”
“Huh?” Jack pauses, “We are not romantically involved.”
“Okay, so sexually then, whatever—”
“No!” Sawyer shouts, grabbing Jack’s soup cup, “this is ridiculous, I’m going home.” He turns back around grabbing the blanket, “I’m takin’ this too.” Jack blinks, trying to see better. Sawyer shuffles the blanket into the nook of his arm and grabs Jack’s hand to lead him home. “C’mon baby, let’s get out of here.” Jack sniffles, glaring at a lamp, or hopefully Michael, “You’re unbelievable!”
How could anyone think they were gay?
*
He takes Sawyer’s advice, finally, and decides he needs to take his remaining vacation time to grieve. They’re both pissed at Michael, who somehow refuses to apologize. Sayid’s decided he needs space to reassess the past week and a half of what he described over his text in the groupchat as “wild AF, going back to therapy.” Shannon’s busy with a new ballet studio in downtown L.A., leaving Boone bored, leaving Jack and Sawyer to deal with him.
“Michael’s right you know, I mean this guy makes Claire really happy. Some of his knock knock jokes are kind of funny, too.” Boone says, slathering himself in Shannon’s glitter sunscreen as he sits in the lawn chair next to Jack. “He killed Locke,” Jack reminds him, he’s not sure why everyone is so relaxed about that. Even Sawyer, who cooked up some frozen pasta and is currently eating it out of Locke’s tupperware, rocking back and forth on the back porch swing reading Vonnegut. “Look man, we all loved Locke, but he was really old. Atleast this way he got to go out with a bang, maybe he fought. He seems like a fighter. Does that make you feel better?”
Jack downs a full mug of tequila, “No, Boone, it really doesn’t.”
“Well it should! You should feel a sense of pride at that.” Boone rubs at the glitter sunscreen, seemingly realizing that it will probably meld with his flesh forever. “I’ve decided Im going to give him a beautiful dedication. I’m going to do full body print outs of all his favorite Star Trek characters, laminate them, and stick them in the front yard. In memoriam of John Locke.”
“That sounds…”
“Beautiful, I know. Also, Jack, do you know his middle name?”
“Uh…”
“Okay I’ll just go with Hector.”
Jack looks into his empty tequila mug, then he looks over to the full bottle next to it. Boone shuffles off, “Fuck it,” Jack sighs, “this is my vacation slash grievance leave slash Boone time.” Sawyer waves at him, Locke’s tupperware set on his lap, Jack waves back trying to sip at his overflowing mug of tequila.
*
Walt looks out his bedroom window, his assigned reading is boring, and it’s too quiet in the neighborhood this past week. No shenanigans whatsoever. Mr. Locke doesn’t come back from his vacation for a few more days and Walt’s not sure if this neighborhood is livable without him.
He watches as Boone’s Captain Kirk cut out falls on him for the fifth time in two minutes before Boone screeches and runs inside his house, slamming the door. Walt huffs and picks his assigned reading back up. This is the most bored he’s been since St. Patrick’s Day three years ago, when they all swore off alcohol.
There’s an underlying hope that this will have the post-St. Patrick’s Day level of crazy, when they all realized they needed to get drunk tenfold to make up for their crappy holiday. Vincent whines, and Walt rubs at his ears, “Just wait,” he promises.
“Just wait.”
*
Jack’s deep into an undeniably gay dream/relization about Sawyer when he hears a blood curdling scream at 8:15. He rolls over in bed. There’s another blood curdling scream at 8:16. Then an ongoing blood curdling scream that lasts from 8:17 to 8:22. Jack drags himself out of bed, barefoot in the street and looks at Boone cradling the headless laminated cut-out of Spock.
Shannon’s dragging Boone backwards, “Calm down!”
“They decaptitated him!”
“You’re embarrassing me!” Shannon hisses, Jack squints, the sun right in his eyes. He makes out a good thirty five to forty people in their zipcode. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!” Boone shouts, crawling across his own yard to another headless cut-out. “Look what they did! They’ve been massacred!”
Jack wipes the pebbles off his feet when he crawls back into bed.
His eyes fall shut and it swooshes right back into the front and center of his mind. What’s with this whole gay love with Sawyer thing?
*
Ethan’s showing the best way to plant tomatoes when it pops into Walt’s line of vision. “What’s that?’ Walt points, “That’s nothing!” Ethan says cheerily, Walt sends a look over to Vincent, who walks over and sniffs around it. “The cupcakes are ready!” Claire calls, opening the gate with a bright smile. Ethan rushes over to see her. Walt quickly moves over to Vincent, brushing away some of the dirt to see it closer. Spock’s laminated head could get his attention from a mile away.
Especially when it’s next to that human skull.
Needless to say Walt ditches cupcakes and grabs Vincent’s collar as he rushes to Dr. Jack’s doorstep to ring the bell a few dozen times. Dr. Jack opens the door, looking relatively put together for his gay-crisis and unwanted vacation time. “Walt?” Walt brushes past him, Vincent heading inside between his legs. “Ethan’s a serial killer.”
“I knew it!”
*
“Okay, we weren’t supposed to tell you but we all knew Ethan was a serial killer.” Walt blinks up at him, “I probably wouldn’t have believed you. Unemployed people get a lot of crazy ideas. Like that time Sawyer told me we should get rid of speed limits.” Jack takes a deep breath, “Okay I see where he’s coming from but you’re right. Anyway, Ethan’s already killed. Someone we know.”
“Spock.”
“Spock? He was the one who decapitated Spock.”
“And I saw a skull next to Spock. That’s probably his head stash.”
“You think?”
Walt nods, “He digs a lot of holes. I’m really excited about the peach tree.”
Jack’s stomach rumbles, “Me too. I guess I’ll have to wait for Ethan to leave the house and then I’ll dig up his yard.” Walt grips his wrist, “No, you can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because of the others. ”
*
Sawyer chokes on his coco puffs, “You’re sayin’ there are others ?” Walt looks at him, mildly judging because it’s three in the afternoon on a Saturday and there’s a basket of fresh cupcakes from Claire. “I’ll eat those later,” Sawyer grumbles, reading his mind. “So who else in there?’
Vincent yawns and Walt sits on the floor, rubbing down Vincent’s tummy. “His two uncles, I guess they raised him.” Sawyer slaps his hands together, “And yet there’s no gay allegations there!” Walt rolls his eyes, “There can be two sets of gay people in a culdesac.” Sawyer argues, “But what are the odds.” Walt stares him and Jack down, “Pretty good.” Jack sighs, not wanting to get into this right now. “Okay, so there are three of them. So they’re probably all killers.” Walt nods, “One of them has creepy blue bug eyes.”
“Maybe we should scare them out of the neighborhood,” Walt suggests.
They all look at each other, “Shannon.”
*
“I can’t believe there’s three of you Canadian freaks,” Shannon muses, “Where has Claire been hiding you?” Bug eyes speaks up, “We work night shifts, we don’t go out much in the day. I’m afraid we’ve yet to have the pleasure of meeting Ms. Littleton, our nephew Ethan tells us lovely things.” Shannon fusses with her hair as she looks around, “Whatever.”
Jack motions for Sawyer to sweep the left side, Boone bumps into him though, and Jack ends up making a tossing motion. Sawyer subsequently throws the jar of jam he was holding on the floor. “Oh my mistake,” he chuckles, “I’m real clumsy.” Ethan’s other less bug eyed uncle glares at him, “No issue.” He stalks toward their kitchen for clean-up materials. “Addams family type thing,” Shannon says, disdain for the home decor evident on her face. “They had style though, these gays are just uncoordinated. I mean this mauve is like three years old.” Ethan stares at her blankly, “My uncles are not gay.” “Right, these two unrelated men who live together and raised a child together are heteros, please, not in that pirate puff.” She points at the bug eyed one’s white shirt.
“Shan, maybe we shouldn’t assume things,” Boone softly replies, gripping her cardigan. “It’s not assuming when you’re always right, Boone,” she scoffs. “My Uncle Ben and my Uncle Goodwin are very much heterosexual. They sleep—”
“Inside one another?”
Ethan’s mouth snaps like a turtle.
“Please, we already have a pair of gays in denial. We don’t need more. Especially old ugly ones. No offence Mr….Linus, was it?” Ben’s eyes bug out a little more than what seems to be his usual. “Our relationship is too complex to boil down into simple terms.” Shannon’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms against her chest. “Right, so two buddies adopted a kid together and raised him?” “Adopted…” Ben trails off, “sure, that’s a word for it.” Sawyer makes a clicking sound, “Wouldn’t exactly call it accidental baby acquisition when y’can’t…y’know.”
“Carry children?” Ben seethes.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Goodwin glares at Sawyer and the broken pieces of jar on their hardwood floors. Jack can’t help but think he shouldn’t ditched out and searched the house. But there is something absolutely magnetic in Shannon’s ability to shred in the souls of her prey. Boone crashes into a wall, “Hey there’s like a hidden room or something here?” Jack glances over to see Ben’s eyes nearly pop from his head. “Oh, nevermind, it’s the bathroom!” Jack stifles a groan of disappointment. Shannon shoves her undrinken tea cup back over to Ben, crossing her legs in her seat. “This is nice. We should do this more often.” Goodwin flinches, “Sure.”
They’re stronger than the last neighors, Jack will give them that.
*
Jack decided life should be about balance. Which is why he’s perched up on a ladder painting his house a lovely shade of mint green. He’s regretted the color choice since the first swipe by the front door but he figured going to the store to return the paint would be a headache. Plus, the past two days and evenings he’s seen more activity from the Other’s house than ever before. Apparently they’re not nocturnal, and whatever comments Shannon made after Jack couldn’t take the secondhand cringe anymore has left them in a panic. Ethan goes out at 6:58 for a cigarette, Jack smiles and waves. Ethan puts it out and goes back inside.
Jack knows he’s atleast dissuaded him from one bad habit: smoking. Now if he could drop the whole killing people and decapitating lawn decor thing, he could still be a better neighbor than Frogurt.
Whatever happened to that guy anyway? Jack never saw him actually move ou— oh.
*
“He killed Frogurt for sure,” Jack sighs, pacing around the room while Sawyer watches American Idol reruns. “Eh,” Sawyer rubs at his hair, “I don’t miss him.”
“Me either, but still,” Jack paces. “I wish Locke was here.” Sawyer rolls his eyes, “Locke this, Locke that, I know he’s been murdered and everything but you used to pay attention to me like that.” Jack stops, mid-pace, “Huh?” Sawyer’s worked up, now, “Well, I’m just saying. If you’re gay for anybody apparently you’re gay for Locke.”
“You’re an asshole,” Jack huffs, grabbing his jacket. “I’m going out.”
“It’s almost twelve!”
“Good, you can still tell time!” Jack slams the door, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks down the steps. He’s not sure where he’s going, he just knows everything in life is a mess right now. Its October twenty-fifth, Locke is dead, the serial killer uncles are gay, Jack’s probably gay, his vacation lasts for six more days, and he hates his fucking mint green house. Goddamn it. Its times like this Jack wants to pick up the phone, and call his dad. Even if all he’ll hear is his own worst thoughts echoed back to him. He’s walked all the way down to the end of the block, outside their culdesac, when he sees Ethan clad in black dragging a heavy black trash bag across the yard with plastic flamingoes. “Uh, hey,” Jack says, his feet feel heavy and his head feels light.
“Hi,” Ethan smiles.
He doesn’t looked unnerved so Jack tries not to look unnerved.
“I think it’s super cool that your uncles are gay,” he blurts out. Ethan’s face sours a little bit and Jack’s survival instincts finally come back, “Okay! Goodnight!” and Jack’s running eighty miles an hour because he gets home in under a minute. He slams the door behind him, “I’m in love with you,” he pants, Sawyer drops Locke’s tupperware full of popcorn on the rug. Jack holds in his full body shiver at the idea of getting the butter out of it later. He swallows it down and says it again, “I’m so fucking scared right now, and I just ran like three miles in under a minute, my heart is beating so fast it’s almost like I can’t even feel it anymore. Maybe this is the rush of adrenaline from coming back from a crime scene, but I need to say this before Ethan catche sup and slaughters me. They were right, about us, or about me towards you, really.” Jack breathes in, “I am in love with you, and apparently I have been for the past five years you’ve lived with me because I can’t think of any other reason I’d let you stay. You don’t pay for anything, you don’t work, you nag me all the time, you mock me, you’re mean—”
“You don’t sound like you’re in love with me,” Sawyer states.
Jack’s vision blurs, “Shut up, I am. I love you so much that I don’t care about any of it. You’re funny, you’re caring, you treat Walt like he’s your own kid like the rest of us do only you think you’re doing a good job hiding it, you act like you wouldn’t give your everything for absolutely any one of us in this culdesac even though we all know you would. You’re my balance, even when everything is crazy and I’m crazy, you’re always there. I need to say that I’m gay, for sure, and I love you, again.”
“Again?”
“Pretty sure I’ve said it like four times now.”
“Can I say something?” Jack ignores him, making his way towards the stairs to his room, panting. “Can I say something?” Sawyer repeats. Jack gets halfway up when he finally closes his eyes and waits for the roof to fall. “I love you too,” and Jack’s heart just about gives out. “Oh.”
Sawyer makes his way up the stairs, grabbing Jack’s shoulders, “Who’s bedroom?”
Jack looks over at Ethan, halfway across their front lawn. “Um, lets’ lock the doors real quick and turn the lights and TV off.” Jack runs to deadbolt the door and shut the curtains, Sawyer flicks off the TV, stepping on the popcorn with gentle, “Urgh.” He gets the lamps while Jack pushes the curtains shut in the other half of the house. Sawyer grabs his wrist as they head for Jack’s room, his belt buckle already undone and his sweatshirt unzipped. Jack pulls his jacket off over his head as he feels his back hit the bed. Sawyer’s kissing down his abs when he feel him stop and look up to yell, “Go away!” at Ethan peering in through the window. He gets up and fully closes the blinds. Jack grabs him by the jaw and kisses him.
Sawyer’s hands, run down his shoulders to his hips, tugging him closer. Jack’s pretty sure this feeling he has, when Sawyer and him separate, trail of saliva on Sawyer’s lips, isn’t adrenaline. “Do I look okay?” Sawyer whispers, feeling self conscious. “Always,” Jack whispers back. He hopes Ethan isn’t still hovering by the window. But he doesn’t really care, not when Sawyer’s stripping him down and telling him how much he loves him.
*
Jack’s arms are wrapped around Sawyer’s back, his cheek pressed into his neck as Sawyer sips his tea. “You think if we leave the house he’ll get us?” Jack kisses his neck and enjoys Sawyer’s small hiss, “Yeah, probably.”
Michael pounds on the back door ten seconds later, Jack doesn’t even get the chance to move the curtains back when Michael’s screaming out, “Locke is alive!”
Jack stands still, stunned. Michael looks through the glass pointing at Sawyer, “and he wants his damn tupperware!” Sawyer groans, “Oh he can fuck off,” opening the door and sliding some slippers on. Jack follows him, zipping up his sweatshirt due to the lack of an actual shirt. Jack watches as Walt holds onto Locke’s hand as he walks inside his own house.
Ethan waves at Jack, a smile on his face as his arm drapes around Claire.
TO BE CONTINUED