The Lady and the Flies

Chapter 16

Something was obviously wrong.

Timidly, Sam nudged his brother and struggled for words. "Well, last night-"

"-Eric saw the beast-"

"-so we told Simon-"

"-and he went to the jungle-"

"-to find it."

There is no fucking Beast

They finished together, blinked together, then gazed at one another in excited wonderment. They'd been speaking in unison since before they could remember, yet every time seemed more profoundly mystical than the last.

Where's Simon? Worry began to fill her stomach as she thought about her friend, her dearest friend, her only friend.

Silently impressed and puzzled by their show, Clare felt her stony expression slip away into stunned confusion. To find the Beast? Had Simon gone mad? Then again, Piggy had always said he was batty. Perhaps he was.

Or maybe he was just the smartest of them all.

Clare, disgruntled, collapsed down beside the twins and sighed. It seemed as if Simon was the only boy rationally capable of sifting through the ailments of this strange place. Piggy wouldn't understand it. He'd lecture her and admonish her for partaking in such sinful things, for desecrating the church and spitting upon the civil goblet, laden with innocence and pretty things. Simon would sit and listen and nod his head, because Simon was wittily clever in ways blind to the bare eye.

Maybe that's why he had gone to find the Beast.

Maybe there was no Beast.

Maybe there was no island and no Beast and no Ralph.

Maybe they were dead and this was Hell.

Clare laughed; she couldn't help herself as the chuckles erupted like flames from a torch, scalding her tongue and burning her throat in the thick desire to cackle. The twins stared, torn between laughing dumbly along or moving away from such an obscene sight. After all, it was quite discontenting to see the perpetually sane girl absorbed in the dark depths of batty mirth. Instead of leaving, they stayed and managed to ignore her rant, focusing then on the pattering of footsteps in the background and the sloppy belch of the waves from across the way. It was then that they heard a particularly rugged, boisterous howl. It surprised them to see the painted, lean figure of Jack Merridew walking up the way, followed by two of his more lethal cohorts. Their masks concealed their morbid identities, but the glittering glint in their eyes revealed more than need be.

He looked as good as ever. Her body, blood, and brain ached to be with him. But she couldn't, it wasn't right, Jack was crazy and violent, and she knew it.

As stunned as the twins were, Clare was ten fold that, and in a burst of quieted laughter and hideous shock, she fell back and landed in the soft, warm blanket of sand beneath. The roaring shriek of the conch sounded from afar.

Clare sat up at the sound of Ralph's voice.

"What do you want?" The blonde asked, his voice bathed in sarcastic contempt.

Jack smiled. "Nothing, old friend. I'm simply here to invite you to our grand feast!"

As he spoke, his two followers spied the fire and began to move over, grunting in the path of those who stood in the way. The aisle cleared, and the boys swaggered through, glancing at their fellow peers in arrogant distaste.