Rediscovering Andrew Lipson...

[Cactus]

((Continued from: You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best...))

She said 'I'll throw myself away,
They're just photos after all'
I can't make you hang around.
I can't wash you off my skin.

To use an old and tired cliche, Adam Dodd couldn't help but admit that upon the discovery of his Toronto Maple Leafs jersey, he felt like a brand new man. Indeed, the last week of his life had been the most miserable seven days that he could recall ever having, but now, it just seemed as though there was a beacon of light that was shining through the cloud that had swarmed over his mind, darkening him to the full potential of his thought process. Malnutrition and death were making their presence fully felt, and though Adam couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that he'd been walking around with since Amanda had died, he had to admit to himself that upon finding his jersey, he'd felt better.

It's so weird how a single piece of clothing can make you feel a completely different way. Man, now I know why girls buy so many damned shirts. You put one on and you feel so different.

As he emerged from the woods that he'd been aimlessly walking for the past half an hour, he emerged to a familiar place, to which he'd been twice before. It was formerly a picturesque location, complete with a few shady trees, a long, sandy beach, and a rocky cliff leading up to a Lookout Point. It was, indeed, the Eastern Shore, and both of his previous trips to this location had ended in tragedy. The first time that he'd ever come upon this location had been when he'd been searching for Amanda and his friends, whom he'd been seperated for, and discovered his best friend's body. Andrew Lipson had fallen off a cliff, and drowned, it had appeared, and his corpse had washed up on shore. Several others littered the viscinity during his second appearance on the shoreline, where he'd shot Shoar Wilson in the head as he attempted to murder Gilbert Archambault, a kid who he'd taken pity on who'd been bullied in school.

Seems that with that, I'd just postponed the fucking inevitable. Gilbert had been shot dead, and then I killed his murderer. Poor kid, just didn't have any goddamned luck.

So here he was, for the third time, staring at a stretch of land that seemed to have all of the bad feelings in the world attached to it, with none of the hideous looks that one'd expect to come along with it. Stepping out onto the beach, his eyes gazed over each and every body that he could see in the area, and as he silently identified them to himself, he sighed. There was so much death that it almost seemed unreal, and to Adam, didn't have near the effect that it once had. Recalling back to the first person he'd killed - Blaine Eno, who'd been so close to killing Amanda that he'd had to act, and had simply just lost it as he held the shotgun at the boy. It would have taken simply a twitch of a muscle to have stopped from killing the boy, but Adam had done so anyway, and had almost basked in the feeling. He recalled feeling powerful, and then realizing what he had done, throwing up, and sobbing into the arms of his girlfriend, the full impact of what he'd done crushing his spirit.

And not half an hour ago, he'd accidentally killed a girl who'd shot darts at him. Then again, perhaps it wasn't an accident. He'd fired four times, and any jury in the world would say that there was most definitiely some premeditation. And he'd shrugged it off, cursing as though he'd dropped a cup of coffee on the floor, and moved on.

Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out
You won't remember anyway
I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?

But on the half-an-hour trek to the Eastern Shore (that he, in the back of his mind, knew that he was going to), he knew that there were, killer or not, certain responsibilities that he had. At heart, Adam was a good person. He'd always been nice to as many people as he could, and he'd never ever liked hurting anyone, emotionally or physically. He'd never pictured himself having to kill anyone, and he'd just pictured his life going by quietly, with lots of good times to reflect upon and enjoy. As it seemed now, his life was likely going to be cut tragically short. Of course, he still was Adam Dodd, no matter what the island did to him, no matter what anyone had to say about it. He didn't give a shit that it was being broadcast on national television, in every living room around the country. He wasn't a stone-cold killer, he was a teenager, with feelings of his own, and no matter how he was going to be portrayed, no matter what happened, he knew that there were, as he had thought seconds before, certain responsibilities that he had. He'd fulflilled those responsibilities when he'd buried Hawley Faust, the one person he'd gotten to know on the island. But as he'd thought of Hawley, of Amanda, of Madelaine, his thoughts had jogged back to another familiar face who'd been on the island, who he'd only seen in death. A face that he'd spent lots of time with, and who was perhaps his best friend OFF of the island. Of course, he thought about Andrew Lipson.

Lying in the Eastern Shore, waves brushing up against his dead legs. The more that Adam thought about it, the worse that he felt. Finally, after he'd thought about it three times over, he decided that he knew what he must do: he had to bury Andrew Lipson. His friend deserved better than he'd gotten, and as Adam walked across the mushy sand and over to the canoe that his best friend's body lay beside, he couldn't help but shake his head. Lipson had been fucked over by fate, starting on the day that he'd been paralyzed, right down to when he'd missed the ill-fated trip but had been kidnapped anyway.

Putting his pistol in his pocket, he leaned over and grabbed the arms of the corpse that lay sprawled beneath him. Rigor mortis had set in, as Lipson had been dead for almost a week (and truthfully, was beginning to smell a little), and his body was stiff as a board, and was all dead weight. Struggling greatly, especially with his wounded hand, cut arm, and lack of nourishment, Adam dragged his friend away from the water and over to a large tree that sat away from the beach, essentially alone where it stood. Glancing around the area, he saw (to his dismay) that the area was still all sand, meaning that digging a grave for Andrew would be more than pointless. Looking around, he decided to prop his friend up against the tree, giving him a peaceful expression, as though he'd simply died of nothing more than boredom. Struggling to manipulate Andrew's torso to lean against the tree, he took a very good look into the face of his dead friend.

It's so odd...it's the same face, but...there's just something that isn't there anymore. The charisma, the energy, the aura...this isn't Andrew, it's just a shell...

Finally managing to lean the corpse against the tree, Adam exhaustedly sagged down beside it, giving the appearance that Adam was simply sitting beside his good friend, and the two were enjoying the not-so-bad weather on a beach. He almost wished that it were like that. Breathing heavily, he gave his head a bit of a shake. The world had seemed to blur slightly, and though he wasn't sure why, he attributed it to the hunger. Speaking more to himself than anything, Adam looked out to sea, and sighed again.

"Goddamnit, Andrew...why'd ya have to die, huh? You and me, man...we could've gotten outta here, given Danya the finger, and lived to tell the tale. But you ended up dead before we even met up. Goddamn."

Of all the things to happen next, Adam most definitely didn't expect a response. Sometimes, of course, the things that we least expect occur.

"C'mon, guy. What did you expect? Fuckin' assholes brought me out here in a fuckin' chair, and they expected me to last more than a day? Fuck that, man."

Doing a bit of a double-take, Adam looked at the corpse of his friend, which, apparently, wasn't so dead anymore. Trying to suspend his disbelief, Adam simply answered him.

"Andrew, you were always such a strong guy though. Even through the accident, I know people who would've made half the progress you did. The way that you handled shit, it was an inspiration to us all, man. I just wish I could've found you when you were still alive..."

"Dodd! I died while I was on the fucking phone with you. You know how? I got hit by fucking lightning, bro! Lightning! Danya doesn't shoot lightning bolts out of his fingers, that's for sure. It was a freak accident, man, and nothing that you could have done would have made any difference. Stop beating yourself up over it, guy."

"But Andrew, if I'd found you, things would've been different. I had a group together, and we were going so well. We got seperated, and fuck man...they all died. Now it's just me. If you'd been there, we would've been drawn together, becuase that's always how it was...you were the guy who always wanted to go do stuff, and we all went because you wanted us to. That's how you are in groups, man. We could've gotten off..."

Andrew looked at him, and cut him off.

"Dodd, FUCK! There were over one hundred kids on this island, and how many of them have escaped? How many, huh? I'll tell you - NONE! One guy tried, and his pieces are still washing up on shore. Escape, man...I don't think it's possible, unless you've got some form of plan to get your collar off, and you've got a little speedboat hanging around the corner. Which, bro...ya don't. So you've gotta focus more on keeping yourself alive now, as opposed to anyone else. Sure, you've killed some people, but the fact of the matter is that the only way off of the island, the only way to see your folks again - it's to be the last guy standing, man. Doesn't mean you have to play, just means you have to be the one to make the last kill. Nobody's going to think any less of you for trying to survive, man, and if they do - fuck 'em! They'd do the same thing, or else they'd die like fucking pussies. You've just gotta keep on going, man. For me, for Amanda, for all of 'em. Though I've gotta say, I do appreciate what you've done here. Coming back and giving me the proper respects and all. I mean, come on. I'm Andrew freaking Lipson."

Lipson grinned at Adam, and to Adam, it seemed like a large weight was lifted from his shoulders.

"Heh...yeah, man. Well, I couldn't leave you there for the fishes. It...it must suck ass being dead, man..."

Andrew shrugged. "Nah, man. It's not that bad. It's like, a bar, and shit. Free drinks, and lots of pool tables. Definitely could be worse. Basically, think of Dave & Buster's, and then - it's free. Pretty sweet, I gotta say."

Adam looked at his dead friend like he was insane. Dave & Busters? A bar? What the he-

His thought process was interrupted by a large object hitting him in the back of the head, sending him flying into the sand, his pack falling away from him.

But I want something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live.
I want a new mistake, lose is more than hesitate.
Do you believe it in your head?

Cursing, he spit out the sand, and glanced at the corpse of Andrew Lipson. It remained, lifeless, in the same position that Adam had set it in. Shaking his head a little, he then looked up at the other living person in the area, what looked to be a normal-looking girl holding, of all things, a bag of sawdust.

No wonder that fucking hurt...good God...sawdust? The fuck'd she get that?


Glancing at the girl, she appeared to be having an argument with herself. Shaking his head again, he began to pull himself to his feet when the girl apparently resolved her argument and nailed him again in the face with the sawdust. Hands to his face, he saw that there was a little blood on his finger, likely from him biting his tongue. Looking up at the girl, he balked as he saw her tear her own shirt off, and then look at him and screamed loudly, somewhat incoherently, but loudly enough for him to distinguish.

"FUCK ME!"

Sitting up, he gaped at the girl like she was insane, which, she most definitely was. Kaleigh Jones had a rather severe case of undiagnosed schitzophrenia and a touch of insanity, and while Adam did not know this, it wasn't far from his mind. As he gaped at the girl, she screamed at him again, and started moving towards him. A look of pure horror came across his face as he reached clumsily into his pocket and fumbled with his pistol, trying to back up as he finally extracted it and shakily pointed it at the half-naked girl.

"S-stay back, stop moving...goddamnit, I said stop!"

The words not seeming to have any affect, the girl came closer, and closer, and as she came within inches of Adam, his mind cursed a loud curse as he finally realized that he had no other choice. Squeezing the trigger of the pistol, he recoiled slightly as the bullet left the chamber of the Mauser and flew several feet, right up to the forehead of Kaleigh Jones, killing her almost instantly. The bullet did not exit the other side of her head, instead ricocheting off of the back of her skull and turning her brain into mush. As the girl's eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed to the ground, very much dead, Adam crawled back several feet in disgust, and pulled himself to his feet. Throwing his hands up in the air in frustration, he wiped the sand off of his Leafs jersey and staggered a little, trying to catch his balance. Shaking his head, he glanced up at the ever-present camera that was watching his every move. Running his bandaged hand through his hair, he again threw his arms up in frustration.

"What, are you fucking SENDING the crazies after me? What the FUCK, man! Can I not go ANYWHERE without fuckin' killing someone? SHIT!"

Turning around, Adam began to walk towards the other opening that led out of the beach. He'd never enjoyed the beach, and he probably, thanks to recent events, never would. His balance still hadn't returned, and as he left the most recent events at the Eastern Shore behind him, he still neglected to think about the two darts that had penetrated his skin at the School, the tranquilizers beginning to work their magic, without him even realizing it. Adam simply walked away, trying to leave it all behind, simply just trying to go with the flow, and, as his dead friend had advised him - trying to focus on one thing, one very important thing: self-preservation.

I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?

GIRL #25, KALEIGH JONES...DECEASED

((Continued in: You can't turn back the hands of time...))