Disclaimer: I own nothing related to 'And Then There Were None'; the entire story was written by Agatha Christie and the basic concept was shamelessly ripped off by several horror movies, both the good ones and the bad ones. Also, while I've been merciful enough to not give away whodunit or how the story ends, I do give away some of the characters here who haven't done it and what has happened up to this point, so read the book first, or else you will be spoiled. PS This is from Lombard's POV


What an ugly sight…Blore's head has been caved in by Vera Claythorne's marble clock…which was shaped like a bear. My, my, Owen is rather like a sadistic child playing his cruel game, isn't he? To him, that's what we are. Not real human beings who are scared or want desperately to escape or even regret our sins. No…to him, we are merely pawns in one, big mind game of chess. Miss Claythorne and I are now taking a little stroll. Perhaps I should use this time to think carefully about my feelings for this complex girl…

These feelings started out innocent enough. I merely thought she was rather attractive, nothing more. I've always found women attractive. But there was something different about her that made this attraction stay and grow stronger. Every little thing she did just captivated me. There was the way she looked at me…the way she would eat her food…do her hair…even her hysterical fit over Rogers' death made me lose all focus on the world and onto her, only not in a bad way like everyone else…

Have I gone mad? She's a child murderess for God's sake! Why oh why must my emotions torment me this way?!? Why must they asphyxiate me?!? I can't love her! I just can't! She's not even my type of girl! True, I like girls who can keep themselves calm in a tough situation like Vera can, but not girls who are emotionally unstable or who are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves! Honestly, I just don't understand those girls at all; why can't they just accept their place in society instead of making a fuss about it? I do, however, know someone who would sacrifice not only his dignity, but his own life for her: My best friend, Charles Morley.

Morley and I have been on plenty of travels together and although we're close, we couldn't be more different, starting with our taste in women. He once told me he was frustrated because it was hard for him to come across someone who wasn't what she appeared to be; someone who kept him guessing, making him dying to get to know her; someone who was self-reliant yet needed a man to satisfy most of her wants and needs. Vera Claythorne fits all of these categories. Maybe I should've asked Morley to come here in my place; or better yet, perhaps I should've shot myself and left behind a note to Morley explaining why I did this and asking if he could go in my place. If Morley were here, he'd treat Vera like a princess…

Argh! There I go again! What is it about this girl that makes me so obsessed with her? Is it her looks? Her personality? I have to get rid of these feelings for her! I mustn't let them show! I mustn't! As far as I'm concerned, Armstrong could be spying on us from the house this very instant! If he finds out I fancy Vera for whatever reason…

That's it! That must be the reason for my foolish fancy! Not her looks, not her personality, the risk. Loving her comes at a terrible price. I always knew there was the possibility she was the killer in spite of my beliefs that women are harmless or that she could be the next victim, which was what I liked about it. I've always liked a bit of danger. During that faithful trip when I took those natives' food, I knew full well what I was risking and I revelled in it. I absolutely laughed in the face of danger.

Although I'm a bit scared of Armstrong getting Vera, something inside of me enjoys this fear. It's like going on one of those roller-coasters, really; you enjoy the risk not only because it's worth it, but because of the feeling you get from it. At the time, you're terrified, but when you survive, you suddenly realize you enjoyed being scared senseless. That's what this is like: If Vera and I survive, my feelings for her may very well disappear with the fear and she'll most likely be nothing more than a fellow survivor. When I look back on it, I'll probably discover I enjoyed these short-lived feelings for her…including my short-lived desires to pour my heart out to her…

"Pity we can't have a bathe," says Vera suddenly, interrupting my train of thought. Now she's doing that nervous little giggle of hers. Just listening to it feels like being trickled with fresh spring water from head-to-toe…

That's it; I can't resist these foolish feelings any longer! Even if they're only temporary, I might as well make the most of them. I have to give her a kiss. Just one kiss and that's it…wait a minute, what's that? I quickly point it out to Vera. She thinks it looks like somebody's clothes. I laugh at the thought of someone swimming stark naked in the sea and tell her it's probably seaweed. Vera suggests we go and look, so we do. We'll just quickly examine what it is and then I'll kiss her...hang on…it's not clothes…it's a man…my God! It's Armstrong

End


And everyone who has read the book knows what happens from here (Lombard's feelings for Vera probably disappear at this point, obviously)…