A/N: So I've wanted to write something like this for awhile, but just never really got around to it until now. There are some facts throughout Golding's book, such as the specific time setting, that are vague, so I've attempted to fill in whatever necessary blanks. Some of this may include last names that were never otherwise mentioned and other background information pertaining to the main characters.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Golding's. This work of fiction is purely for the enjoyment of LotF fans. (:

Thanks for reading! Review if you can! I'm always looking to improve and they feel so lovely.

Chapter 1 – Scars that Fester

"In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What's the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show."
-Janet Fitch (White Oleander)

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The wooden, ornate grandfather clock struck the hour.

Its voice reverberated low and proud, though failed to escape its carpeted prison that featured lustrous drapery over grand windows.

A boy with fair hair stood in the middle of it all, his tense eyes shifted throughout the stifling room, memorizing each detail as if it would soon dissolve into wild, twisted trees, dripping with condensation. He feared that the smell of linen and musk would soon be overpowered by the scent of ever pouring sweat and blood. His nervous eyes darted to the door, feeling that any moment painted savages would come pounding through, eager to drive their pointed sticks through his flesh, to slit his throat and to offer his blood to their beast. Of all their prey, he was the only one that still drew breath.

And yet he only lived because of fortunate circumstance. Apparently God wasn't through with him yet. He wasn't finished playing life's wicked game. In his mind, because he got away, he would always be the hunted, always avoiding those that ached to finish what they had started years ago. He reviled the room that promised such fickle protection, giving the inhabitant no reason to fear for anything that could penetrate its dense walls. His fingers knotted within his pockets as his eyes flitted to the active fireplace. It spit and hissed as it devoured the dry wood. Fire was still a sore reminder.

It hadn't been that long... or so it seemed, since he had arrived back home.

Had he really been back for over two years?

Every morning that he woke up in a soft bed was a moment of surreal appreciation with a creeping shade of skepticism.

Was he really here? Or was this all the same hopeful dream?

The dream that was a constant, passionate invader of his mind within the island…

Or were the marred faces, murderous reminiscences and sensations that he felt and saw within the night the true reality? The reality that he tried hard to separate from the life that he had before the island... and the one that he was to now continue.

Did they expect him to just pick up where he left off? As if it was all that bloody simple…

Ralph's tightening throat felt as if a small stone had been forced down his esophagus. He took his sweaty palms from his pockets and wiped them over the top of his pants. His fair hair no longer hung over his eyes and his skin no longer basked in the earth's grim, yet he was reluctant to examine the reminder that summer had ended, his faded sun-tainted hands. Hands that once tried to tear, to rip, and to grab handfuls of tantalizing, vulnerable flesh. He shoved them once again deep within his pockets. His breath came heavy and his chest constricted.

His eyes lifted to the light patter of rain against the window glass. It was a gentle overcast, one that held promise for non-radical weather. A rather civilized forecast, he decided. His breathing slowed... as did his pulse.

All the while, he was unaware of the sudden, fresh set of eyes that were trained with care upon him. The opening of the door had been silent, as the thickness of the grandfather clock parlor absorbed any intrusive sounds. The purposeful small clearing of the throat caught the fair-haired boy's attention, bringing back his paranoid pulse. He was more than aware of the slight jump within his body. Immediate warmth spilled into his cheeks.

It was the first thing that his father had noticed when he came to receive him from the navy vessel that had rescued them. Ralph was still as tense and skittish as the island's panicked swine during a hunt… a far cry from how he used to be. It took months for his eyes to lose that faraway, haunted look, as if he were seeing and hearing phenomena that no one else could, jumping at every little thing that racked his nerves. His father came to hate these abnormalities in a son that he had once been so proud of. These were the sorts of abnormalities that would land him in the madhouse one day if they worsened.

Why would anyone else think otherwise? Ralph's mind ridiculed him.

He was relieved to see that it was only a girl that stood within the doorframe; her curious gaze was upon him. Her eyes still held the warmth of innocence. Ralph could tell the moment their eyes met and felt the immediate pain of loss for his, as well as a surge of loathing for the foul knowledge that now took its place—leisurely making itself at home within his heart.

He already knew that the Bradleys had a daughter of the same number of years as him. The Bradleys… the family that his father took him to, the family friends that were the closest to the boarding school he was to now attend.

His stomach churned at the thought of his father… knowing that he was going to be leaving soon. Just like he always did. It hadn't always been like this, of course. Not since his mother had left them when he was eight. Once she was gone, he had only known boarding schools.

Ralph ignored his tart stomach and tried to distract himself with the pale girl in front of him with the dark, open eyes. A loose braid lay over her shoulder. She moved to one side of the room, her hand trailing lightly across the back of a couch. She smiled at him, the corners of her mouth peaked for a moment, lit with a playful sort of mischief before vanishing. Though her smile had gone, the curiosity remained. The brief appearance of her curious smile caused Ralph to think of her as pretty... that is, before he caught himself thinking so. His cheeks burned.

He shifted his weight, which caused him to cringe slightly, forgetting that he had woken that morning with throbbing legs. His father said that it was only more growing pains. Some of his clothes no longer accommodated this growth. Again. It seemed like all he had been doing lately was buying new clothes.

Sucks to puberty.

Time had flown. Everyone told him that they had been stranded for several months. Amidst the muddle of time within the island, Ralph had surpassed his thirteenth birthday, unbeknownst to him. Time had no meaning on the island. Another two years had passed since coming back, recuperating and being moved around with his father according to where he was needed most for his duty.

The physical change in him was startling. Only a couple years had gone and now there were only mere traces of childish softness left within his face. He didn't mind… he didn't feel like a child anymore.

"Hello. I'm sorry if I startled you." Her voice, like the room, was quiet, so as not to disturb whatever conversation the adults were having down the hallway.

"I wasn't startled," Ralph quickly muttered, dark irritation painting his tone. Had it been a moment sooner, he would have interrupted. He aimed for casualty, conscious of his lowered voice. In the previous year, he had been making all sorts of odd noises and cracks within his speech. Now they had receded for the most part, much to his relief, though felt awkward in finding that it was replaced by an entirely new voice that Ralph hardly recognized.

The girl offered a polite nod. Her eyes were downcast.

"I'm Irene." She pronounced her name with three syllables, the old-fashioned way. Her hands clasped together in front of her plain, white dress. There was a pause before Irene's voice continued, "My room will be just a floor above yours just in case you need anything."

Ralph's fingers played with the edge of his pocket, sliding the fabric against his bitten nails. Never did manage to get rid of that nasty habit. His mind offered him blanks as to what he was supposed to say next. Adjusting back into the routine of civilization was not as effortless as Ralph had at first expected. Even now, it refused to become the second nature as it had once been.

'Introduce yerself,' A voice prompted within Ralph's mind. He stiffened, gritting his teeth. The voice always sounded like Piggy with his way of speaking, as if he were dropping obnoxious reminders during a conch meeting.

"Thank you..." He licked his dry lips. "I'm Ralph."

Irene smiled again. "It's nice to meet you, Ralph."

There was a small commotion at the door. In filtered three adults: a man with a thick-waisted coat, a petite woman with a kind face, and the tall navy commander that Ralph knew so well.

The woman stepped forward, until she was an arm's length away from Ralph. Her arrangement of pinned hair felt familiar, though he couldn't say why.

"You may not remember me, Ralph; but your mother and I were close friends. We—grew up together." The woman presented a sad smile. The stillness following her words lasted for only a moment before she found her voice again. "You were so young... the last time I saw you. And now you're quite the young man. She would be so proud."

Ralph felt himself flush at being called such, though now looked at the woman with a new interest.

The woman bit her lip, her face strained as she brought her hand up to touch Ralph's cheek. He leaned into her fingers in the slightest when the memory of why she was familiar surfaced within his brain. The woman reminded him of his mum before she died. Even the smell of her lilac perfume awakened the timeworn memory of her face. For a moment, he could almost hear her voice; recall the way that she would sing to him, soft and lilting. And in a flash, it was gone. She retreated from him as she turned her attention towards Irene.

"And I see that you've met my Rene." The woman spoke with such a warm smile towards her daughter, Ralph felt an irrational surge of jealousy singe his insides for just a moment, seeing the motherly connection that Irene still enjoyed.

"I'm sure that you two will get along quite swimmingly," Mrs. Bradley added in a stubborn, yet spirited voice.

"It will be a pleasure to have you with us for a short while," The man with the heavy coat said in such a mild manner, it sounded as if he had just complimented the brilliant display of cloudy weather. It was apparently considered normal to always talk about the weather. And if it was disagreeable, then to pretend that it wasn't. Ralph tried not to think of this ridiculousness as he forced his voice into polite indifference.

"Thank you, sir."

A weighty stillness settled once again over the grandfather clock room, so thick it felt as though it could be sliced in half.

"A moment, Ralph?" The deep, gruff voice of his father broke the silence. He walked out the room with a formal stiffness befitting a commander. Ralph followed, more than aware of the three sets of eyes trained upon his back.

Ralph followed his solemn father down the main staircase and then down a long hallway with a creaking floor, feeling like a stupid lapdog. He always did so. He didn't complain. He never complained, especially after his mum died. Even when he forced Ralph to pack his things for yet another move—in and out of the countryside where Ralph liked it best. Where he got to feed the sugar to the ponies when he was little. The lovely, quiet countryside where no one bothered you. Where people minded their own business.

They reached Ralph's designated room for the sole night. Tomorrow he would be starting at the new boarding school. His father sighed deep and low before opening the door to the room bearing only one suitcase. A new order of grey and navy school uniforms lay sprawled over the crisp, white guest bed. Ralph regarded the mess with lifeless eyes, reminding himself that he had yet to pack it away for his leave tomorrow morning. He breathed in the civilized scent of long-unused sheets and dust.

Finally turning towards Ralph while standing in the middle of the room, he laid a heavy hand over his son's shoulder as he spoke. "We both know that I cannot stay for long. I've already taken so much time away from my duty..."

He spoke like he was addressing one of his subordinates. No words formulated past Ralph's lips, so he acknowledged him with a nod before slowly regarding his father's face. It was a strong face that was once capable of holding great kindness and would have been welcoming had lines of grief not been grooved so deep amidst his aging features. He had already lost a wife and came close to losing their only child, the only family he had left and the only physical reminder of her. His father attempted to smile, though it didn't quite reach his pale eyes.

"These are good people, Ralph. They can give you more than your mother and I could have." In other words, they would be close by in case anything happened at the boarding school. The corner of the naval commander's mouth twitched at the mention of his dead wife. Ralph nodded again, wishing that he could say something... anything. Tears threatened at the back of his throat, but he held them back with steely resolve. Never again would he cry in front of another adult. In truth, he didn't care how good these people were. He only wanted his father to stay.

He bit his inner cheek. Hard.

"This school should be good for you as well..." His father frowned. His voice hardened. "Everything... will return to normal soon, you'll see." He spoke with a commanding finality. Ralph's lips tightened at his implication.

You will retain your sanity.

Without another word or moment of the rigid silence, he pulled Ralph into a rough embrace before clapping his shoulder once again. Despite how businesslike it all appeared, a small glimmer of sadness began to coat the older man's eyes.

"Bye dad." Ralph finally found the words this time, the hidden emotion causing his voice to crack. His father smiled at this and ruffled Ralph's golden head of hair like he used to do when he was little.

His father took his leave. His shiny boots echoed down the hall, while Ralph stood still within the guest room… feeling as empty and cold as the day when he had wept for the first time in years within the presence of an adult… after nearly meeting his gruesome end in a place far from here.

Ralph stayed behind while his father made his official leave out the Bradley's front door. In his mind, he was set on finally packing the remainder of his belongings... that is, what wasn't already brought to his designated room within the boarding school, yet he found himself sitting on the carpeted floor with his back against the post of the bed, staring at the white wall ahead.

'You know that you shoulda seen your dad off n' stuff.' The Piggy sounding voice pestered him.

"Shuddup," Ralph snapped at the unsympathetic, empty air.

It was good that his father didn't know about the occasional voices that intruded his thoughts. He was already worried about his nightmares, the kind that made him scream bloody murder at night, get hopelessly tangled within the sheets with an unhealthy-looking layer of sweat, slickening his body. His father tried hard to keep this from becoming common knowledge to prying ears. That his son might be cracked.

A small knock resounded from his door, causing an involuntary twitch from the boy.

"Ralph? May I come in?" It was Irene's muffled voice. Even after only meeting her once, Ralph recognized it. His uneasiness subsided, though was replaced with a new feeling of nervousness, one that caused his stomach to turn in on itself and his skin to tingle with heat. Whatever it was, it was more pleasant than the other kind of anxiety that normally shadowed him. He stood up, running a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was shorter and didn't need to be always pushed out of his eyes.

"Uh—yea." He spoke in broken fragments as he slid the meager pile of grey school uniforms to the side of his bed, now forming a lump of wrinkled cloth, just as the door creaked open.

Irene walked in; her strides lighter, free from adult supervision—at least for the time being. Her eyes observed him before noticing his attempt at clearing the bed of his clothes.

"I suppose you have yet to pack your things." She spoke more to herself than to him as she wandered over to the bed and sat herself on the end of it without as much as even looking at him for permission to do so. Either case, Ralph didn't care all that much. He continued to look at her as if she were a specimen that he had yet to decipher. He still liked her eyes the most, devoid of worldly knowledge, calming pools of simplicity that he wanted to submerge in. He found too late that he couldn't help his blatant staring, forgetting that it was impolite to do so.

Irene returned the look, wondering what was going on beneath the nervous boy's exterior. Though she had to hand it to him, he did handle himself well enough for someone that had been stranded for some time in God knows where. Her parents had told her to be kind and understanding towards him, that he might not yet be settled. Her eyes surveyed his golden locks, his light eyes, and his summer-toned skin. She dug the heel of her shoe into the knotted rug that lay at the foot of the guest bed before looking away.

"So… where'd you live before coming here?" At least she was trying to make conversation, she thought. The prospect of having someone around her age in her family's large estate had been an exciting idea—even if it was a boy, though now she wasn't so sure. He didn't seem like he wanted to be here at all.

Ralph gave off a slight shrug before answering.

"I've been all over, it seems. I try not to get too attached to anywhere in particular." He could probably name the places he hadn't been to with more ease. "Why don't you tell me about this school…?"

"Well, it's an okay place." Irene paused, skipping over the facts that he would know, such as that it was Catholic and not far from her home.

"The boys and girls will be separated most of the time, though we may have some classes together." She looked down at her folded, sweating hands, attempting to keep her voice even. "If you'd like, we could even meet up during our free time or whenever they serve meals. And then there's morning mass on Sundays and Wednesdays…" She paused, trying to think of anything else. Then continued. "The teachers are decent—well, maybe there are a few exceptions." She wore her mischievous grin that had learned to hold in careful check within the presence of their parents.

Ralph cracked a small smile at her for the first time since they'd met, feeling a small bit of amity with her over their preference against teachers. His more childish side won over the intruding adult side for that moment.

"And the students?" He asked as he leaned against the dresser.

Irene lost a little of her shine that she held a moment ago and shrugged. "Just like any other, I suppose."

Ralph felt awkward at her reaction and looked out his window, as if a distraction would pop up at any moment. He didn't want to lose the opportunity to make his first friend here. Then he would at least know someone at this school.

"Are you hungry?" Irene jumped up from the bed, her face now eager, eased from her dampened mood. "Mother saw to it that something special was going to be served tonight, seeing as you're our guest and all."

Until she had asked, Ralph had been unaware as to how empty his stomach realy was. Lately, appetite had been eluding him, though now it seemed to grip him with a vengeance, payback for the recent times he'd ignored it.

"Sounds good."

Just then, the heavy, oak door opened to reveal a craggy-faced, thick-waisted rampart of a housekeeper. She glared at Ralph with all the warmth of Wales in December before turning her suspicious scrutiny over to Irene. Ralph couldn't help feeling a sudden flush come over his face, realizing that the housekeeper had expected to catch them doing something indecent. She wiped her hands on her starched white apron.

"Didn't expect you to be in here, missy," her rough tone indicating immediate displeasure. Her words were most contrary to the way that she had opened the door. "Dinner's ready."

Irene released an irritated sigh before swinging to her feet from the bed and was out the door. "Come now, Mina. It's not as if I'm doing anything wrong by visiting our guest." Mina frowned, her thin lips disappearing. Ralph followed Irene, though felt the intense heaviness of the housekeeper's disapproval as he passed her into the hallway.

Dinner was pleasant enough. It was Mrs. Bradley that held Ralph's attention with stories of all the adventures and some miss-adventures that she remembered having with his mother when they were young girls. He almost forgot to also pay attention to his plate of food. Mrs. Bradley painted a vivacious picture of a young, almost mischievous girl with her words, giving Ralph another side to her memory. He even allowed himself a tiny grin at the description of how she got stuck in a tree, on account that her dress had become snagged within the high branches while climbing. Mrs. Bradley's cheeks were rosy with laughter at recounting the tale, while Mr. Bradley seemed to almost bristle at the idea of a girl climbing trees in her Sunday best like a wild animal. Irene was quiet, though Ralph caught her a few times sneaking glances at him before turning her intense gaze to her plate, cheeks turning pink.

Just as they finished desert, Ralph could hear the light patter of the earlier evening rain turn into a torrent. The wind bayed with violence against the sides of the house and was accompanied by the low rumbling of distant thunder. Ralph shivered, seeing a vision of the creepers blowing in the brutal winds of a similar storm, now only able to become sentient in memory. He pushed away the remnants of his bread pudding. His hands gripped the sides of his chair, his face feeling the drain of blood as he concentrated.

This is the reality. I'm here… not there. He quivered and almost felt like he was going to be sick with the effort.

"Ralph?" Mrs. Bradley said. He blinked before looking towards her, trying to keep a straight face. He was met with a worried expression. "Why don't you retire to your room? You look tired."

Not trusting his voice, he could only nod as he got up from the dinner table. His hands shook as he released his iron grip from the polished wood.

"Irene, please go with him. Make sure that he knows the way back to his room." He heard her say as he pushed in the chair, his eyes on the floor as he did so.

"Alright," Irene whispered.

He was pretty sure that he knew where his room was, but he followed her anyway. Now he was glad for her company upon seeing how dark the hallway had become. Since coming home, Ralph didn't do well with darkness—another thing that his father had added to the growing checklist of concerns. It made it more difficult to separate his nightmares from reality. Sometimes he could almost smell the wild moisture and hear the untamed liveliness of the jungle whenever he was in the dark, forgetting that he was in the confined safety of civilization. The nighttime was hard enough. He didn't need it creeping into his daylight hours as well.

It was all that he could do to maintain his fractured sanity—just enough so that he wouldn't instantly be checked into a madhouse. He'd heard horror stories about those places. It sounded like it would do far more harm than good. The thought made him uneasy as he twisted his fingers within his pant pockets. His father would never let that happen, he thought, repeating it within his mind just to reaffirm his uncertain belief.

The very idea of losing his sanity frightened him more than anything at the moment. All he wanted was to be accepted back into society without any worry or question, to live as if none of the premature growing shadows in his heart ever existed, as if they were never born. And yet there they were—continuing to gnaw at the corpse of his once thriving innocence and naivety.

Irene turned towards him once they reached his door.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her voice had an edge that Ralph didn't like.

"Perfect," was his tart reply. He narrowed his eyes though was sure that she couldn't see him through the dimness of the hall. She crossed her arms.

"Well, you look awful. Like you're going to be sick."

"Like I said—I'm fine." Ralph felt his voice become a bit harsher than he had intended, but he had been asked that irritating question several times throughout the years by his father. Now near strangers had to ask him as well. It's not as if he was off his rocker, Ralph thought. Yet.

So it only made him angry whenever someone asked for no apparent reason—at least to him.

Irene must have sensed his resentment, for she was quiet for a moment, breathing her own sigh of frustration before turning to leave. The silence caused Ralph to feel the prodding of guilt for getting angry and turned towards her, taking a shaky breath, terrified for a moment at the thought of being alone in the dark. No matter how silly it seemed.

"Wait," He swallowed.

He heard her pause in the hallway, though didn't turn around.

"Where's your room? I just want to, um… make sure someone's near." Ralph felt his cheeks burn, feeling ferocious shame for appearing weak in front of a girl.

"Just go to the foyer, up the stairs, and then turn right, my room is the second door down the hallway." Her voice tempered, letting Ralph breath a bit easier.

"Thank you." His voice was so soft, he wasn't sure if she heard him before opening his door and going inside. He felt instant humiliation the moment that he closed his door, feeling every bit a changed coward. What hurt worse was the fact that he wasn't like this before. He was always ready for a challenge, a bold leader without the protective reassurance from others. And now here he was, afraid of the shadows and of thunderstorms that reminded him of his innate wickedness. Pathetic… a mental case… lonesome… that's what he now thought himself.

He turned on a small light as he began to strip. His eyes wandered to the mirror hanging the instant that he pulled the shirt free of his head. He caught sight of the long scarred tissue on his chest. It was diagonal from his right shoulder down and across to the left side of his stomach. His fingers touched the smooth surface of the long line before quickly pulling his night t-shirt over his head. He remembered the feel of Jack's spear as it grazed him, how he threw it on impulse in the dazed stillness after Piggy had been pummeled by the boulder. It tore at his flesh and skin, though Ralph couldn't recall feeling pain, just mind-numbing adrenaline as he turned to run. Ralph shuddered as he turned out the light and lay in his bed, pulling the covers taut around himself, in recoiled acceptance towards the dark visions that would soon visit him… like they had done each and every night since being rescued.

Like he knew they would, they pulled him under the moment sleep took over. It wasn't light and gentle, but swift and irrepressible, drowning him with its exertion. Everything pounded so hard, his ears throbbed, his voice useless, and he could taste blood. He always tasted it.

With the iron tang present in his mouth, the creepers draped its weight about his frame; the boy with blistering red hair always came upon him. He suffocated him with his proximity, his heavy manifestation of murderous intend as he pinned him down. His eyes of ice would graze his body for several seconds before threading his fingers through his hair, an almost intimate gesture before forcing back his head, straining the expanse of his throat to him… vulnerable, pulsing flesh.

A stick sharpened at both ends…

Samneric's words vibrated through his mind. Jack leaned down until Ralph felt the savage's mouth against the shell of his ear and began to whisper things, reminding him of every death on the island, every detail that Ralph wanted to fade from his awareness. Every night the memories were reaffirmed, scratched upon his heart even more deeply than before so that they would never fade. Just like the visible scars upon his flesh—scars that betrayed him.

He woke with a strangled gasp. It was the middle of the night and he was already a pathetic, shaking, bundle of nerves. The sheets were still wrapped about him, almost suffocating, sticking to his sweaty flesh. Ralph's chest shook with silent, tearless sobs. His hands made their way to the sides of his head as he tried to ease away the twisted visions the clung to him like leeches, looking every bit the bizarre mental case that his father feared him to be. The unfamiliar room mocked him with its cold silence, with the fact that it lacked a comforting presence, anything to pull him from the nightmare's lethal waters that continued to threaten him. Threatening what little life he had left within him... the small amount of his precious soul that he clung to and fought so hard to protect.

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Reviews are love!

Expect an update on this one soon and for those of you that are reading my other story, Primitive Impulse, expect an update coming up on that as well.

Thanks :)