Private Memorials { ALL SURVIVORS }

[Jack Shephard]

"You know, I uh...I know I can't stay anything right now, because...because it's not the same."

Jack felt himself clear his throat slightly. Gone was the ocean backdrop, gone were the trees and the wildlife. What were bird calls and jungle-sounds were instantly replaced by honking horns and crying babies. Serenity Park was full of people, most people were the gawkers, looking at the Oceanic Survivors as if they were fascinating exhibits in a zoo; pointing and whispering. Of course, the LAPD had made sure that they were enough back as to not interrupt the memorial service. However, Jack knew the real memorial service was going to be taking place at his parents house. Away from the public eye. Where all of them could talk without having to lie. The only people that had been allowed up at the public memorial/press conference were the reporters, and they flocked to the group of Oceanic Survivors like flies to honey.

Jack glanced to the side and then back at the group of people. Off in the distance, he could see the KTLA news van. He focused his attention on the group in front of him. "I, uh...you know, I used to think that you could throw a problem at me and I'd be able to give you an answer. But...but I don't have an answer right now. I don't think I'll ever have an answer. I don't know why this happened, but...but I'm sorry it did."

Jack looked down slightly and then back up. Of course, this was the press side. This is what the press and the people wanted to see; the Oceanic Survivors mourning over one of their own. He spoke a little louder for effect. "James Ford was a good man. I'm sure I don't have to remind you about how he kept everyone sane on the Island." Jack knew that if Sawyer were alive, he would have been laughing. But it was PR, Jack thought silently. Keep him as good in the eyes of the people so they don't become suspicious. Every single one of them had created a lie when they had stepped off the boat. "And contrary to what the press has been saying about him...we knew better. I believe that my nephew, Aaron Littleton, was in the best hands possible, and we are looking into other leads as to how and why James and Aaron were murdered in the violent way that they were. I've also put in 50,000 dollars of my own money towards a reward for the capture of the person or persons responsible for ending their lives. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a private memorial service to attend to."

As police surrounded the Oceanic Survivors, a waiting police van was parked by the entrance to Serenity Park to take them all away to the Shephard Home. As they all were shuffled into the van, Jack looked at the small group of people. "The others are already at the house." The others meaning those that the Oceanic Survivors had not met on the Island. He looked out the window at the mass of people and reporters. "I can't believe we're attracting this much attention. People are savage for any sort of information about us."

[Charlotte Lewis]

She stood off to one side, away from the others. She felt out of place almost, and very self-consious of the fact that she was probably not welcome - most of them probably never wanted to see her face again. But that hadn't stopped her. Charlotte felt as though she deserved to pay at least a bit of respect to the man that had punched Miles in the nose.

Her gaze flickered to the various reporters before going back to Jack - he seemed to be nervous because of the reporters, and could barely seem to get out a few words. She agreed with him slightly though, when he next spoke - Charlotte was sorry it had happened. Not even she would have wished for the Southern man to be killed, little less the baby that was with him.

Though she wasn't exactly on terms with 'James Ford being a good man'. That was probably the biggest lie yet. Sighing, she shifted her weight from one heel to the other, pulling at the hem of the black dress she had worn for the occasion - and it wasn't often you'd find the redhead in a dress, little own a black one; it made her stand out even more when she did. Folding her arms across her chest, she tried to focus her attention back on Jack. She still had reasons to believe that what happened to Ford and baby were no common murders - a deep feeling within her gut told her that they had been murdered solely for the purpose of that Island.

Getting everyone else to believe her might be a different story though.

She watched as the police surrounded the survivors like a swarm - they were obviously heading somewhere else, probably to Jack's house. Without a word, she followed, now curious as to how much farther they were going to continue their lie. She slipped in with the survivors in the van, sitting in the corner, attempting to remain silent as she listened to Jack speak.

"They're reporters, Jack. What else do you expect them to do for a lovely large paycheck?" She said when he mentioned the savage reporters. "Expect them to go and do a story on some housefire when they can get a report on the famous survivors of Flight 815?"

[Kate Austen]

Nothing had been the same for Kate since the day she sat crying on a curb in the parking garage of the Roosevelt Hotel. It wasn't anything to do with Jack, or anyone else for that matter, for he had been there for her whenever she seemed to lift her head from the growing puddle of tears that under her daily. Kate felt remorse. Kate felt guilt. And although neither of these emotions were foreign to her, in this instance they would not be silenced. They fought with Kate day and night, and Kate was too tired to fight back.

It was horrible, unthinkable that someone would lay a hand on such a tiny innocent as Aaron. So while Kate might have understood someone seeking revenge on Sawyer for his past crimes, she could not accept the fact they also saw fit to kill the baby. Even Sawyer, for all his cranky and sour facade was warm with the child, and Kate knew why. She could relate with him in many ways, understanding how Aaron was so pure, undeserving of ever having his life tainted in the same way theirs had been. Kate should have known she and Sawyer were like spirits, both condemned and damaged souls.

Kate had always known. It was both what drew her to Sawyer and pushed her away. He understood her like no one ever had, like no one may ever again. Now he was gone and Kate's regrets just kept compounding on top of one another. She should have been there. She should have been watching Aaron. She should have gone and talked to Sawyer. She should have loved him.

The service was over. Kate missed it all, her mind elsewhere as it always was since the murders. Jack and the police ushered the group to the van. Kate followed mindlessly, as if a robot but with much less input than needed to function. She wore a black dress and heels, though didn't recall getting dressed, and hid behind large dark sunglasses. Hiding was something she needed. Hiding was all she knew.

Kate's heel got caught in some soft dirt below her and she stumbled slightly, barely noticing the flash bulbs going off around her as she did. She got into the van, keeping silent just as she had for days now, not looking at anyone but through them instead, entranced in regrets and a pain she didn't think she could feel anymore. Perhaps she was reverting to the woman she used to be, the one who could love, the one who could grieve. Whatever the cause, this was the result, and Kate was quiet while the others spoke among themselves, unaware of their babble and currently not seeing beyond her next breath.