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Title: We Set the Flames Free
Characters: Kate, Miles, Eloise, Sawyer, Juliet
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,090
Disclaimer: Not mine. Title from “Windowsill” by Arcade Fire.
Summary: Five characters in various states of revolt.
A/N: For Queen
mollivanders who requested rebellion. I’m sorry this isn’t just Sawyer, everybody else wanted to get in on the action too. ;)
Don't want it faster, I dont want it free,
Don't wanna show you what they done to me,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
--- “Windowsill”, Arcade Fire
i. Kate
The room is lit too harshly, three hours chained to this desk and her eyes are starting to burn. She grits her teeth at the thought Mars might mistake pain for tears. She watches him pace the room, her file clutched in his hand; he stops briefly to loosen his tie. He’s beginning to sweat.
“Just say you’re sorry, Katie. Say it and we’ll walk out of this room together. You can go back to your nice, cozy cell and I can go home to my wife. Simple as that,” he says.
“Don’t call me, Katie,” she hisses. Beneath the table she works the lock on the cuffs with a pen she lifted from the guard that brought her in.
Mars leans in, temporarily blocking the light. He lets his hands rest on the table and Kate smiles.
“Say it,” he says, his voice dangerously low. Kate feels the click of the cuffs coming off.
“Wayne was a sadistic bastard and the only thing I’m sorry about is that I got caught by you.”
In one smooth motion she brings the pen down on the back of his hand with enough force to lodge it in his flesh. He screams as she slides across the table and takes his gun.
“Bye Mars,” she calls over her shoulder as she begins to run.
ii. Miles
“Why do you think you can speak to the dead, Miles?”
Because I can hear your dead wife screaming from the mantle, idiot. Here’s a tip: next time you murder someone don’t put their ashes in a cheep ass urn and set it in your office. Why don’t you just tattoo, I pulled the plug on my dying wife so I could have enough cash to buy a Ferrari on your forehead?
That’s what he wants to say, but then he thinks about his ma and how she went without new clothes and hair appointments and how she’s brown bagged her lunch for the past four months to pay for these sessions so her son will stop acting like a nutjob, and he holds his tongue. For now.
Miles slouches in his chair and scratches at his latest piercing, an eyebrow ring that makes his ma wince every time she looks at him.
“Because my daddy never hugged me,” Miles deadpans.
The doctor sighs.
“I can only help you, if you’re willing to help yourself.”
Fuck this.
“She wants to know if you at least bought the red one, she’d hate to know she died just so you could ride around in a chicken shit yellow convertible.”
The doctor looks stricken.
“I…how…”
“For the record, I don’t speak to the dead. The fuckers keep speaking to me.”
Miles stands up, ignoring the doctor’s protests.
“You’re going to tell my ma there’s nothing you can do for me, then you’re going to refund her money. We clear?”
“Yes, yes…just don’t tell anyone…”
“Whatever, just cut the check.”
Miles waits until the check clears before he calls in the anonymous tip to the cops.
iii. Eloise
Charles comes to pick her up from the hospital. Eloise turns her back to him as she cradles Daniel in her arms; eight pounds never felt so heavy.
“Come back to the island with me, Ellie. If you’re worried about the boy…we could find a home for him, somewhere he’ll be safe.”
“He’ll be safe with me,” Eloise says.
For now lingers unsaid in the room.
She places her son carefully into the bassinet by the bed and returns to packing her bag. The birth certificate lies unsigned on the nightstand.
“I need you Eloise,” Charles pleads.
She runs the tip of her finger down the bridge of Daniel’s tiny nose and smiles when he scrunches up his face in irritation.
“We don’t need you, Charles. You can go now.”
“Ellie…”
“Go.”
She waits until she hears his footsteps receding down the hall before she calls for a nurse.
“Have you chosen a name, Ms. Hawking?”
Eloise nods.
“Daniel. Daniel Faraday.”
iv. Sawyer
The cop dumps out the contents of Sawyer’s duffel bag on the table and begins to chuckle. Amidst the underwear, cigarettes, and faded t-shirts are more than a dozen paperbacks. Rand, Kerouac, Dickens, Hemingway, King---he even spots a slim selection of poems by Frost.
Sawyer scowls.
“That’s my stuff,” he snarls.
The cop shakes his head as he turns over a dogeared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in his hands.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, kid. You’ve been breaking into people’s houses and stealing books?”
“Caught me red handed,” Sawyer says.
He doesn’t mention the eight grand hidden in the lining of his duffel bag. The cop tosses the book back on the pile and gives Sawyer’s shoulder a friendly pat.
“Smart kid like you could be doing more than this. There’s a halfway house about a mile from here, let me give them a call for ya.”
“Thank you sir,” Sawyer says, trying his best to sound sincere.
The cop turns his back to make the call and misses the sound of his prisoner picking up his bag and walking out of the station. He leaves the books on the desk.
v. Juliet
Ben wraps his fingers around her wrist to stop her from leaving the room and Juliet recoils from his touch. She can still see the words, God loves you, as he loved Jacob when she closes her eyes.
“Do you understand why your work is so important now, Juliet?”
“Because it’s what Jacob wants.”
Ben smiles.
“Exactly,” he says as if that’s a valid reason to watch a woman die.
Juliet walks away from Room 23 as fast as she can. She doesn’t stop until she’s in the middle of the jungle and then she falls to her knees and vomits onto the grass.
When she’s done she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands up. God loves you, as he loved Jacob.
She thinks of her parents divorcing and then dying before she ever made it to med school. She thinks about Edmund and the first time he came home stinking of someone else’s perfume and she thinks about Rachel. Rachel who Jacob supposedly saved in exchange for Juliet’s service to him, in exchange for every woman she’s watched float away, body aflame because she could not carry her child without dying. Rachel, who Juliet will never see again.
God does not love her.
“Screw Jacob,” she screams bitterly into nothing.
She hopes he heard her.
Characters: Kate, Miles, Eloise, Sawyer, Juliet
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,090
Disclaimer: Not mine. Title from “Windowsill” by Arcade Fire.
Summary: Five characters in various states of revolt.
A/N: For Queen
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Don't wanna show you what they done to me,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
--- “Windowsill”, Arcade Fire
i. Kate
The room is lit too harshly, three hours chained to this desk and her eyes are starting to burn. She grits her teeth at the thought Mars might mistake pain for tears. She watches him pace the room, her file clutched in his hand; he stops briefly to loosen his tie. He’s beginning to sweat.
“Just say you’re sorry, Katie. Say it and we’ll walk out of this room together. You can go back to your nice, cozy cell and I can go home to my wife. Simple as that,” he says.
“Don’t call me, Katie,” she hisses. Beneath the table she works the lock on the cuffs with a pen she lifted from the guard that brought her in.
Mars leans in, temporarily blocking the light. He lets his hands rest on the table and Kate smiles.
“Say it,” he says, his voice dangerously low. Kate feels the click of the cuffs coming off.
“Wayne was a sadistic bastard and the only thing I’m sorry about is that I got caught by you.”
In one smooth motion she brings the pen down on the back of his hand with enough force to lodge it in his flesh. He screams as she slides across the table and takes his gun.
“Bye Mars,” she calls over her shoulder as she begins to run.
ii. Miles
“Why do you think you can speak to the dead, Miles?”
Because I can hear your dead wife screaming from the mantle, idiot. Here’s a tip: next time you murder someone don’t put their ashes in a cheep ass urn and set it in your office. Why don’t you just tattoo, I pulled the plug on my dying wife so I could have enough cash to buy a Ferrari on your forehead?
That’s what he wants to say, but then he thinks about his ma and how she went without new clothes and hair appointments and how she’s brown bagged her lunch for the past four months to pay for these sessions so her son will stop acting like a nutjob, and he holds his tongue. For now.
Miles slouches in his chair and scratches at his latest piercing, an eyebrow ring that makes his ma wince every time she looks at him.
“Because my daddy never hugged me,” Miles deadpans.
The doctor sighs.
“I can only help you, if you’re willing to help yourself.”
Fuck this.
“She wants to know if you at least bought the red one, she’d hate to know she died just so you could ride around in a chicken shit yellow convertible.”
The doctor looks stricken.
“I…how…”
“For the record, I don’t speak to the dead. The fuckers keep speaking to me.”
Miles stands up, ignoring the doctor’s protests.
“You’re going to tell my ma there’s nothing you can do for me, then you’re going to refund her money. We clear?”
“Yes, yes…just don’t tell anyone…”
“Whatever, just cut the check.”
Miles waits until the check clears before he calls in the anonymous tip to the cops.
iii. Eloise
Charles comes to pick her up from the hospital. Eloise turns her back to him as she cradles Daniel in her arms; eight pounds never felt so heavy.
“Come back to the island with me, Ellie. If you’re worried about the boy…we could find a home for him, somewhere he’ll be safe.”
“He’ll be safe with me,” Eloise says.
For now lingers unsaid in the room.
She places her son carefully into the bassinet by the bed and returns to packing her bag. The birth certificate lies unsigned on the nightstand.
“I need you Eloise,” Charles pleads.
She runs the tip of her finger down the bridge of Daniel’s tiny nose and smiles when he scrunches up his face in irritation.
“We don’t need you, Charles. You can go now.”
“Ellie…”
“Go.”
She waits until she hears his footsteps receding down the hall before she calls for a nurse.
“Have you chosen a name, Ms. Hawking?”
Eloise nods.
“Daniel. Daniel Faraday.”
iv. Sawyer
The cop dumps out the contents of Sawyer’s duffel bag on the table and begins to chuckle. Amidst the underwear, cigarettes, and faded t-shirts are more than a dozen paperbacks. Rand, Kerouac, Dickens, Hemingway, King---he even spots a slim selection of poems by Frost.
Sawyer scowls.
“That’s my stuff,” he snarls.
The cop shakes his head as he turns over a dogeared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in his hands.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, kid. You’ve been breaking into people’s houses and stealing books?”
“Caught me red handed,” Sawyer says.
He doesn’t mention the eight grand hidden in the lining of his duffel bag. The cop tosses the book back on the pile and gives Sawyer’s shoulder a friendly pat.
“Smart kid like you could be doing more than this. There’s a halfway house about a mile from here, let me give them a call for ya.”
“Thank you sir,” Sawyer says, trying his best to sound sincere.
The cop turns his back to make the call and misses the sound of his prisoner picking up his bag and walking out of the station. He leaves the books on the desk.
v. Juliet
Ben wraps his fingers around her wrist to stop her from leaving the room and Juliet recoils from his touch. She can still see the words, God loves you, as he loved Jacob when she closes her eyes.
“Do you understand why your work is so important now, Juliet?”
“Because it’s what Jacob wants.”
Ben smiles.
“Exactly,” he says as if that’s a valid reason to watch a woman die.
Juliet walks away from Room 23 as fast as she can. She doesn’t stop until she’s in the middle of the jungle and then she falls to her knees and vomits onto the grass.
When she’s done she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands up. God loves you, as he loved Jacob.
She thinks of her parents divorcing and then dying before she ever made it to med school. She thinks about Edmund and the first time he came home stinking of someone else’s perfume and she thinks about Rachel. Rachel who Jacob supposedly saved in exchange for Juliet’s service to him, in exchange for every woman she’s watched float away, body aflame because she could not carry her child without dying. Rachel, who Juliet will never see again.
God does not love her.
“Screw Jacob,” she screams bitterly into nothing.
She hopes he heard her.