So, here are the parts that didn't make "Ghosts of LA." If you didn't read it, you should! (it's like my baby, not really: it doesn't throw tantrums or anything like that), but you don't really have to. I realize it's insanely long. Here's what you need to know: Sawyer and Juliet escaped the Island in the 70s, and lived out the rest of their lives in the 70s/80s/90s mainland. Jimmy here is their son, and he was born in 1980. He plays rec league hockey and is a high school biology teacher. In this story, he's in his mid-to-late 20s. He mostly takes after his mom. He has an older sister who mostly takes after their dad. That's about it. Oh, yeah, he and his sister have absolutely no clue about their parents' past. They think they are totally normal. Sounds kind of blah, but once you add in crazy time travel . . . it's fun!
OK, imagine this takes place in the Oceanic 6 time period, and in the weeks after Jack saw his dad in the hospital lobby (with the smoke detector going off and right before he and Kate got engaged). Basically, right when Jack was starting to go a little loopy.
It's the last game of the season, and it doesn't even matter. Jimmy's team is squarely in second place. They're playing the City Warriors, mostly cops and firefighters, a handful of paramedics. Those guys are stuck in fourth. This game doesn't matter. Everyone's taking it easy, going light on the checks, keeping their sticks low.
Jimmy sees it happen from across the ice. Allen gets twisted around funny or something, loses his balance, and collides with the biggest guy on the other squad.
They're deep into the third period, and it's obvious the go-easy style of the current match chafes everyone: there's a collective "Ooooh!" from both teams, players on the ice and on the bench. Jimmy gets a little thrill of adrenaline release. This is a big part of what he loves about hockey, that thrill you get from crushing some guy into the boards, then whacking him across the face with a well-aimed elbow (as soon as the ref looks the other way, that is). It's part of the sport – totally legal, hell, practically expected - and Jimmy loves it.
Allen drops to the ice like a sack of potatoes, and a few more guys whoop and holler. Season's winding down, only a few more minutes to get your licks in. Jimmy crosses the ice in three smooth glides. He's itching for a fight, and plans to take on the big goon who just took out Allen.
Except the goon's just standing there, staring down at Allen. "Hey, hey . . . hey guys?" There's panic in his voice.
Allen's not moving. "Hey! Hey, buddy!," the big goon yelps. Up close, he's not a big goon at all. He's tall and broad shouldered, but with a pug nose, and a ruddy, kind face. Jimmy pegs him as the kind of cop who'll let you off with a warning, or maybe the kind of firefighter who'll rescue an old lady's cat from a tree without complaint.
Pat, Jimmy's team captain, sinks to his knees at Allen's head. "Allen? Allen, come on man, can you hear me?"
"Hey, back up, back up. We're EMT," two guys from the other team skate into the thick knot of people crowded around Allen's head. "Don't touch him. Don't move him. We called 911."
Jimmy feels like a caged animal, jumpy and irritable. Allen's been in surgery, what? Two hours? And no one's got the simple decency to come out and tell them what's going on. Jimmy stands up and starts pacing. He's here with five other guys from the team, two more from the City Warriors. Someone called Allen's parents, but they live in Vermont or Buffalo or Albany or something and aren't getting here anytime soon.
Pat mentions Allen's girlfriend, but Jimmy reminds him they broke up back in the fall. Debate ensues on whether they should call her anyway. Jimmy complains, "Not like it'll do any good. She's not family either." That's why they won't tell them anything. They're concerned teammates. They're the ones who brought him in here, but they ain't family, so they ain't getting jack shit as far as updates. Allen could be dead for all they know.
One of the two guys from the other team is a cop. Pat asks him, "Can't you do something? Like compel them to tell us or something?"
The cop shrugs. "I wish I could, but this isn't really a legal thing. I could probably threaten them or something, but I could lose my badge if anyone ever found out."
Jimmy wants to scream. Can't someone do something? He doesn't need every single detail. All he needs to know if Allen is going to live or be paralyzed or just fine. He needs to know something.
The Lakers game is playing on the waiting room TV. Jimmy calls his neighbor. They were going to get pizza and beer and watch the game.
Jimmy wonders if you can order a pizza up to this little holding pen. Wonders where he can get a beer. He's hungry, and unless he goes somewhere for pizza, he's stuck with the vending machine choices here. He slides a dollar into the candy machine for an Apollo Bar. There's a bar hanging on the edge of the coil. The last poor son of a bitch at this machine got his candy stuck. The coils spin, and the caught bar drops down. The one behind it follows. Two for the price of one! That's a good sign, right? He hands the extra off to Pat.
They wait longer. They wait and wait and wait.
The Lakers game is at the half when a doctor walks into the waiting room. The guy's in scrubs, paper booties, and a surgical cap. His mask hangs around his neck. He looks drained. He's unshaven, with deep, dark circles surrounding bloodshot eyes. He looks vaguely familiar.
He asks, "Is Mr. Cosgrove's family here?"
Jimmy can't get a read. Does he look like that because Allen's dead? Or crippled? Or does he always look like that? Or is it just three hours in surgery that makes him look blasted?
Pat stands and takes charge. He's the captain, for one thing. For another, his mom is some kind of big-shot doctor or something. Some kind of fancy-pants dermatologist, Jimmy thinks. Jimmy, on the other hand, has little use for doctors. They go to all this school, learn all this shit, and for what? He never went to a doctor who didn't already tell him what his mom already told him. They're useless. Or, maybe he still feels a little guilt for quitting pre-med.
Regardless, it's a good thing Pat's here to talk to the guy. He'll know what to say.
"His parents are coming in from Rochester, New York. I spoke with them an hour ago. They're on a plane out. We're his teammates. We brought him in. Could you please just tell us something?"
The doctor runs his hands over his head, removing his surgical cap as he does so. He sounds truly regretful when he says, "I'm sorry. It's regulation. We can't release information to anyone but family. You have contact information for them?"
Pat hands over their cell number. The doctor nods thanks and turns to leave.
That's it? That's it? No one's gonna try to change his mind? No one's gonna try to get him to drop a hint? They've been stuck in this stinky (Jimmy suspects someone didn't take a post-game shower), airless, sterile waiting room for hours, and now they're just gonna baa-aaa-aaa like good little sheep and let the good doctor boss them around? Hell, no!
The doctor's opening the door to leave, and Jimmy snarls at his retreating back, "That cell number ain't gonna do you no good, Doc. They're on a friggin' airplane." His teammates turn to look at him, and he's not sure if they're more surprised he's lost his temper (never happens) or that he's suddenly talking like he just fell off the turnip truck.
The doctor's caught off guard, too. He stops in his tracks, standing in the doorway, and his whole body tenses. He spins to face the room, and his eyes look a little wild, roaming over everyone waiting here. "Who said that?" he gasps. No one says anything, but a few of the guys glance Jimmy's way. The doctor says, very carefully and very slowly, "Who said that?"
Shit, Jimmy thinks. He didn't mean to go off like that. Certainly didn't mean to be disrespectful of the guy who may have just fixed Allen. Or may not have. Fuck if he knows, no one will tell him anything. But, yeah, better not be a chickenshit now.
"Uhm, that was me," he says, stepping forward.
The doctor crosses the room in two steps to stand face to face with him. Jimmy thought he was feeling a little nervous, but that's nothing compared to what he sees on this guy's face. The doc's color drains as he stares at Jimmy. He's looking him too close in the eyes, and it's weird and uncomfortable, and Jimmy really wishes he had his glasses on today, because this guy is too intense and staring too hard at him. All Jimmy can think to do is stay calm, be cool, don't give anything away (don't lose your temper again). He concentrates on keeping his face blank and still, immobile.
"You look like . . ." the doctor breathes, shaking his head, clenching his eyes shut, looking at Jimmy again. "Impossible."
Jimmy's calm façade falters a little bit as he starts stammering, "I . . . I . .. I didn't mean . . .I apologize. I just want to know something about my friend. Can you tell me about my friend?"
"Who are you?" the doctor asks again, but a little less intense.
"I . . .I'm . . . my name is Jimmy LaFleur, and I'm Allen's teammate."
The doctor wipes his hand over his face. He takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling. He looks like he might cry. He's gonna cry? Oh, no, no, no, no. That must mean Allen's dead, right? What else could it be? Why else would he be on the verge of tears, for Christ's sake?
Jimmy feels his knees go weak. He tries desperately to think of something, anything, that could bring a grown man to tears. Jimmy himself cried after that time he had to visit his buddy Ken's little sister in the hospital (she had leukemia. All those sick kids). Rachel reported that she's pretty sure Dad cried when he went with her to Titanic. (She ran with that, blubbering "I'll never give up, Jack, never" every time she saw Dad for like months after, until, predictably, he blew his top at her.)
So Allen's dead maybe, crippled probably. Or else the doctor's been chilling out watching Field of Dreams, blubbering over playing catch with the ghost of his dead father. 'Cause, yeah, those are definitely tears right there. Allen's a cripple, just go ahead and say it, Doc.
"We'll know more this time tomorrow," the doctor says. "I'm optimistic, though. I really am. I can't be much more specific, I hope you understand. He's young, he's strong. I think we all have reason to be very, very hopeful. We'll have him on the ice again before you know it." He nods once, decisively, and leaves.
Jimmy stands dumbfounded, but relieved. Pat claps him on the back, and Jimmy grins. He says to Pat, "That was really weird, right?"
Pat slaps him on the back again – harder this time. "Of course it was weird, you big idiot. Don't you know who that was?"
"Uhm . . ." He did look familiar.
"It's the Oceanic 6 dude. The doctor? And what do you say? 'Durp, durp, durp, Allen's parents are on an airplane.' Didn't you notice that's when he freaked the fuck out? You think he wants to hear about anyone's parents on an airplane?"
"Guess I shoulda kept my mouth shut," Jimmy concedes.
"Nah. Got him to tell us about Allen. Good work, Jimmy."
If you read the first story, you should know that the reason this never made it in is that it didn't fit. I'd written pretty much the whole Jimmy/Jack encounter when I was like, "Wait. Wait. Wouldn't he have mentioned that to Kate? Or even thought about it? How it was weird he had these O6 encounters?" So, ZIPPPPPPPPPPP! This got deleted out of the story outline.
This isn't the "deleted" scene that got the most votes, it was just the one that was completely written (well, mostly, there's more in my head about Jimmy and Allen being friends and Allen even going out with Rachel a few times). So, there are others I have allllllmost ready to go and will post here soon. There's others that will actually require more work than just writing these author's notes to them. So, send a review if you're still reading. I realize this wrapped up two months ago, and if no one really cares or is still reading, I won't bother with it. But, there are a bunch ready to go regardless.