Author's notes:
This is a Lost/ Millennium crossover
It takes place from Walkabout on.
The screech of metal on metal was deafening. Outside the shattered windshield the world tilted sickeningly as the car rolled over. For a few seconds there was nothing but silence and bright light, then everything went black.
The man now known as John Locke shook his head slowly and rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the painful memories, and the ones that followed; of waking up in the hospital, the doctors telling him he would never walk again, learning how to manage in a wheelchair, the investigation into the accident.
Locke reached down and undid the latches of the metal case in front of him.
The investigation had proved inconclusive, with foul play suspected. Locke knew it was no accident, evidence or not. He also knew who was behind it. The Group. He smiled thinking of the revenge he would have once he found out exactly who in the group was responsible. That was unlikely however. Whomever had tampered with the car had done an expert job and left no evidence of his deeds. Lack of evidence. The main reason they hadn't just wired the car with explosives. Car bombs sometimes left telltale signs that could be recognized by the intended victim. It was a good thing they did Locke thought, or that the people planting them sometimes got careless. If Frank Black hadn't seen that piece of wire on the carpet on the driver's side of their rental car in Germany he wouldn't be here now. At any rate, he was still alive and he could walk. Something he had never expected to do again. Locke opened the lid of the metal case, still thinking about events in his past.
The whole trip to Germany had been a mistake. He and Frank Black had gone in search of a religious relic. What they had found was a lot of trouble. He had ended up accused of murder, had nearly been killed by a car bomb, and had been watched closely by the Group. He had found out later that it had been someone in the Group that had framed him too.
The universe works in mysterious ways, he thought, remembering the the person in question, pathologist Cheryl Andrews and how her remains had been discovered a year later along with those of 42 other threats to the group and national security.
Locke threw back the lid of the case, removed the false bottom, and exposed the hidden compartment below. He took a small envelope out of his pocket and opened it. Inside was a silver key. Taking a deep breath he slipped it into the lock on the compartment and turned it. There was a soft click and it opened. He looked inside, letting out the breathe he didn't know he was holding. It was still there, and it appeared intact. Locke ran his hands over the cloth wrapped bundle verifying that it was unbroken. His relief was short lived. The other item he had expected to be in the case was not there. Keeping his momentary panic in check, Locke closed the compartment and the case and removed the money belt he wore around his waist. Inside were his passport and travel visa, cash, and an emergency credit card. It wasn't there either. He was at a loss to know where it was. Then it hit him; he had put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. That meant it was as good as gone. He had found his case with no trouble; the jacket was however no where to be found. Thankfully that wasn't a problem here and after this evening it would just be a pile of ashes. Locke replaced the money belt, closed and locked the case and slowly stood up. A short distance away Jack, Kate, Sayid, and the fat guy, Hurley were discussing the dwindling food supply. The hothead, Sawyer and Walt's father Michael stood nearby watching them. Locke stayed where he was, observing. His hand went to the hilt of his knife. He waited. It wasn't time to take charge yet.
Chapter 2
The discovery
Sawyer walked down the beach to the shelter made from tumbled seats that he considered his temporary home. He had been going through the wreckage looking for salvageable items and his arms were full of his finds.
Walking into his
"area", Sawyer set his load down and began to
sort
it out. Items he would use went in one pile. Things he could get
something for or bribe someone with went in another. He picked up the
last item to be sorted, a man's navy wind-breaker with a tan corduroy
collar. It wasn't exactly his style but it would come in handy if there
were some cold evenings. He was about to put it on the keep pile when
he felt something in the pocket.
Curious, Sawyer checked the jacket.
There was nothing in the front pockets. He looked for inside pockets,
found one and opened it. There was a zippered nylon case, the type
someone would carry a wallet or passport in. Sawyer took the case out
and un-zipped it. Inside were a passport, a small business card size
case and a photograph. He took out the passport and opened it. It was
American and belonged to a man named Peter Watts from Seattle,
Washington.
The picture below the information showed a ruggedly handsome, balding man in his late 40s or so with a neatly trimmed black mustache. There was something familiar about him that Sawyer couldn't place. He knew him from somewhere. He tried to think of where. Maybe he had seen him on the plane, He looked at the picture again. No, that wasn't it. He didn't remember seeing anyone who fit this description. Sawyer put the passport back in the case and took out the smaller case.
It contained several cream colored business cards. He took one out and looked at it. It was blank except for the name Peter Watts and a circular symbol resembling a serpent devouring its own tail. "what the hell kind of business card is this? he thought. Sawyer put the card away and picked up the photograph.It showed the man in the passport picture standing with an attractive dark haired woman and three pre-teen to teenage girls. His family Sawyer figured.
Still wondering
about the strange business card and the man's familiarity, he zipped up
the case and stood up.He picked up several other wallets he had found
and turned to leave his shelter. Sawyer glanced at the area of the
beach where the survivors were piling their personal luggage. His eyes
fell on a silver metal case. Just then he knew why he recognized the
man in the passport photo. "Is it possible? " he thought. He took the
passport in question and looked at the picture again, this time
imagining the man without the mustache. It could be. He looked more
closely at the passport. It expired in June of 2006. Passports are good
for what, ten years he thought.That meant that the picture was at least
eight years old. It definitely could be. Sawyer glanced at the case
again trying to work through what his mind was suggesting.
Was it possible that this passport and the photograph and business cards belonged to that creepy bald guy with all the knives? What did the kid say his name was? Mr. Locke? Yes, that sounds right. And this man's name is Watts. A logical explanation presented itself almost immediately. Just because he had said his name was Locke didn't mean that was his real name, anymore than Sawyer is my real name. Why he was using a false name was another story. Wanting to validify his theory, Sawyer got out the copy of the passenger manifest he had found and scanned the list of names. He was not terribly surprised to see that there was a John Locke listed but no Peter Watts. "I knew I was right. Do I have something good on old baldy now." He put the zippered case in with his private stash for safekeeping while he decided what to do with what he had found out. Smiling, Sawyer left his shelter with the other wallets to give to Claire for the memorial service that evening. He glanced at the metal case again. " I wish I knew what was in there besides the knives."
Locke walked through the steamy jungle. His senses were finely tuned, his body poised for action. Around him the jungle pulsed with vibrant life. Locke smiled. he had never felt more alive than he did at that moment. He was sorry that Michael had gotten hurt; but maybe it was for the best. There were some things it was better not to involve others in. This wasn't the first time in his life he had felt this way. Locke's mind again went to the accident that had paralyzed him, and to the events that had led up to it.
He had finally realized the true implications of the group's plans and how dangerous they were and had started working against them. This in turn, put the people who were after Frank Black on his trail as well. If it had been just him, he could have dealt with it. But it wasn't. His family was also at risk. After a number of threats and a brick thrown through the living room window he knew what had to be done. He had taken the only course of action he felt was left to him and faked his own death. Thankfully, the Group believed it. Unfortunately, so did his wife and daughters. He had left Virginia and gone out to California. There, with the help of a friend who worked with the FBI witness protection program he had started a new life.
The first part of his transformation had been to change his appearance. His friend had suggested he shave his mustache and wear a toupee. He had done the first with no problem. The latter was another story. Locke had tried a hairpiece when he had first started to lose his hair. He had thought it looked very phony (something his wife agreed with) and abandoned it after about a week. His opinion had not changed. A rug was still a rug as far as he was concerned. In compromise he shaved his head completely. He was comfortable being bald. He thought it made him look intimidating. Once his appearance was taken care of, his friend helped him get an apartment and find a job. He had mixed feelings about working in the credit department of a box manufacturing company. It felt like a comedown after his previous occupation. There weren't a lot of choices for him, however. He needed a job that wasn't high profile and where his manufactured background wouldn't be questioned.
Locke settled into his new life but never forgot his family or stopped missing them. Eight months after he "died" he couldn't take it anymore and contacted them. Some would have considered that a mistake. He did not. Not even after what happened. He didn't regret it for an instant. He knew it was what he needed to do. Locke paused to examine some scoring on a nearby tree trunk. The boar was close. He could sense it. He began to track it again, remembering the nervousness and anticipation he had felt driving up to his family's home. And the less than warm reception he had received. Instead of welcoming him with open arms his wife had slapped him in the face. He felt he probably deserved it. He had begged her forgiveness and explained as best he could why he had to do what he did. His daughters had been more forgiving. The younger two, Erin and Chelsea were, anyway. Taylor, the oldest hadn't completely trusted her father since being kidnaped by a pissed off Gulf War veteran with a vendetta against the Group, in 1999. Maybe if he had come clean with her when she had asked him if the group really did the things they had been accused of , she would have and wouldn't have taken as much convincing.
His wife, Barbara had been glad he was alive but she told him she wasn't sure she could stay married to him after all they had been through. It had been hard to hear, although not totally unexpected or undeserved. She told him she needed time. Even though it saddened him, Locke was willing to go along with it. He remembered sitting in his hotel room wondering if he could have done something different, if he could have prevented this years ago.He knew what Frank Black must have been going through when his wife, Catherine asked for a separation in 1998. At least his daughters were teenagers. Frank's daughter, Jordan had been six years old. He couldn't imagine putting a child that young through that.
He had stayed in Virginia for the two weeks of his vacation. On the last day he was there he noticed a dark sedan parked outside his hotel. He was being watched. He recognized the driver as one of the Group's hired thugs. Who alerted them he still didn't know.
Locke paused in a clearing and took a drink from his water bottle. He looked up at the bank of trees nearest to him. Something glittered between the dark green leaves. Something that appeared metallic. He looked again and at first didn't see it, then the light shifted slightly. There was something there. Something that didn't belong. "What the heck is that?" he wondered. He looked again, but couldn't see it. He began to walk again. maybe after he got the boar he would go and investigate again. As he walked, his thoughts turned to the past again.
Several months after he had visited his family his wife informed him she wanted a divorce. He hadn't contested it, feeling that if she really didn't want to be with him anymore he didn't want to force her. Also, if The Group was after him again she probably would be safer if they weren't together. He had taken vacation and gone out to Virginia to sign the papers. Ironically, the day his divorce was finalized was the day his life changed forever. He had been driving back to the hotel when he lost control of the car. The last thing he remembered was trying in vain to put on the brakes and tumbling into a ditch. He had awakened in the hospital and learned he was paralyzed. His wife had come to see him as soon as she found out. She had said he could move back into the house when he was released from the hospital and she would take care of him. He responded by asking her if she really meant it or just felt sorry for him. He didn't want anyone's pity. She had taken a long time before she answered. That told him everything he needed to know. The ensuing discussion was the first fight they had had since he had "come back to life". She had said that he couldn't take care of himself. He remembered snapping at her "don't tell me what I can't do!"
After weeks of recovery and more weeks of therapy he had been able to return to California and his new life. Locke's hand tightened on the hilt of his knife as he remembered how hard it was to get used to life in a wheelchair and some of the comments his boss had made about his "condition". One of the only good things about that part of his life was that he still saw his daughters on occasion. They had been planning to come out for the Holidays. Now he wondered if he would ever see them again. He didn't even have a picture of them since it had been in the case with his old passport and that was in his jacket somewhere in the wreckage. After tonight it would be ashes.
Forcing away those thoughts, Locke continued after the boar. There was something about this place. Ever since the crash he had been thinking about a story he had read in high school, "The island of Dr. Moreau". "That's what this island could be" he thought; either that or the Island of Dr. Detweiler. He paused. What had made him think of that crackpot? Dr. William Detweiler was a biologist and Geneticist who had worked for the Group. He was a brilliant scientist. He also had no sense of ethics at all. That was the problem Locke had had with him. He did things because he could, never thinking whether or not he should. The last he had heard, Dr. Detweiler had moved to some island in the south pacific to do research. Good riddins, Locke thought. The branches of the trees near him began to shake. He stopped, looking around. The shaking intensified and a loud cracking and crunching could be heard. Whatever creature lived in the jungle was coming. Locke stood still, poised. His knife in his hand. The creature drew closer. Locke still didn't move. "you want me, come get me" he thought. It was almost upon him, the sound almost deafening. He felt a stinging at the back of his neck and everything went dark.