Knowing LOST

…and we’re back. I know it’s been an almost unforgivable amount of time since the last episode, but I hope some of you guys will find it in your hearts to come back and join us once again. The thing that nearly killed Knowing LOST last time was the tight deadlines and once-a-week episodes. I’m not doing that anymore. Episodes are back to their long length, but now they won’t be on any regular basis. I’ll update as regularly as time allows, of course, but don’t expect one every week (every couple of weeks seems more realistic). We’ll have other stuff up between episodes to keep you entertained, of course, and we think that things will be smooth running from here on out. For those of you who are back with us, thanks for sticking around — hopefully this episode won’t disappoint you. The next couple of episodes are going to be fantastic, if I do say so myself. Please, tell your fellow LOST fans that Knowing LOST is back… for good. In the meantime, enjoy episode 1.14, “What’s in the Box?”, and keep checking back with Knowing LOST for more post-LOST goodness.

Episode 1.14 “What’s in the Box?”

Kevin looked up into the eyes of John Locke. “I was free,” he whispered finally, his eyes watering in pain. Everything was a blur, from the lines on John’s face to the trees in the air behind him. He sucked in another huge breath of air, as though that would satisfy the tightness he felt in all his muscles, the throbbing knot on his head.

“I’ve been gone a long time,” he said finally, focusing on Locke finally. The blur of the trees had subsided.

“Yes,” Locke agreed knowingly. “But you’re with me now. You’re safe.”

—-

“It’s been a long time,” Olsen said, looking over at Claire’s unconscious body sprawled in the chair.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again,” said Ryan, his voice shaking. It had only been moments ago that Olsen had fired the gun into the narrow shaft of the Pearl Station. Ryan’s hands were still trembling. He’d never been that close to death, not even when… The thought of death took his mind back to Kevin. Hurry up, Locke, he thought.

“Well,” Olsen shrugged. “Here I am.”

“Where have you been?” Ryan asked after a moment, staring down at Claire. She was starting to come to, he realized, thankful. It’d only been a few minutes; there probably wouldn’t be any serious damage.

“Here and there,” replied Olsen, putting the gun into the empty seat next to Claire. “But you still haven’t told me where Kevin is.”

Ryan paused, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to decide what to say.

“There’ve been some… complications,” Ryan said, frowning.

“You changed things, didn’t you?” Olsen said, a knowing look on his face.

“Yeah,” said Ryan, and then it all came out in a gush. “It wasn’t a lot at first. I told Locke everything, and then I tried to help Charlie out with his drug problem but it only made it worse. And we saved the pilot but the monster killed him. And Joanna, the drowning girl. Kevin saved her.”

Olsen looked on, concerned.

“And then Ethan lost his foot in the caves and we thought he was dead but he wasn’t and now he’s taken Kevin.”

Olsen nodded slowly. He gestured at Claire. “Does she know?” he asked quietly.

Ryan paused. “Not everything,” he said finally. “But some things.”

Claire groaned, as if on cue, and opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and unfocused, but it was a sign of progress.
“What…?” she asked, her speech slurred. Ryan rushed to her side, taking her by the hand.

“Hey,” he said softly. She blinked slowly a few times, frowning as though trying to remember something.

“You left,” she said finally, her voice cracking. “I thought you were never coming back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, gripping her hand. She pulled it out of his grasp, reaching up to gingerly touch the bruise that was forming on her forehead. Then she saw Olsen.

She lurched in fear, awkwardly scrambling back in the chair though she couldn’t go any further. Her fingers clutched the armrest so tightly her knuckles were right. She didn’t say anything.

“Stop!” Ryan said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She pulled away from him, too.

“What is this?” she asked. “Why?”

Olsen held up his hands in a surrendering position. Following suit, Ryan backed away from Claire as well, hands in the air. She stopped struggling as they backed across the room, her grip still tight and her eyes still wild. The gun in the chair next to her caught the corner of her eye and she stood up slowly, watching the pair of them as she cautiously reached to pick the gun up. When she had it, she swung it around, pointing it at them.

“Don’t move,” she said.

“Claire,” Olsen said calmly, “We’re not moving.”

—-

He was fading in and out of the jungle. He was on Locke’s back one minute, and another he was back in the dream with Jacob — or rather, himself. It was nothing new; Jacob only took him through the twisted, nonsensical dream, taking him for tea in the desert and telling him he was running out of time.

And what did it matter even then?, he reasoned to himself as he recalled the cafe with the faceless waitresses. Jacob had fully admitted to being just a part of Kevin’s mind. That was all that really mattered. What was he trying to tell himself? That it was all a fever dream? That he was in a coma and the Island was the shelter for his subconscious?

He had stopped moving, he realized when he woke up for the final time. Locke had stopped lurching along, and he thought he was on the ground. He tried to sit up, but his head was throbbing to much. He was on the ground, though, he realized. He opened his eyes to see the shadowy darkness overhead.

“Kevin?” Locke asked gently, and Kevin turned his head, painfully, to see the great white hunter sitting beside him, staring up at the moon.

“Locke,” he murmured.

“I think you’re back for good this time,” Locke said, and Kevin thought he could see the trace of a smile in the old man’s features. “Your breathing’s back to normal, at least.”

Kevin sighed. “I’d like to sit up,” he said finally.

Locke hesitated. “Are you sure, Kevin? You might not like what you see.”

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t drink water lying down. But I’ll need some help.”

“If it’s what you want,” Locke said slowly. Kevin felt Locke seize him beneath the arms and pull him up into a sitting position, leaning against a tree. A bug was crawling across Kevin’s arm, but he was too tired to slap at it, even when it bit him. Hope it wasn’t a medusa spider, he thought, only half joking, and opened his eyes again.

Locke filled a small stainless steel cup with water from a matching canteen and passed it to him. “We’ll be moving again soon,” he said as Kevin weakly took the cup in his hand and poured it into his mouth. Most of it spilled onto his chest. Locke poured him another cup. “It’ll be easier if we go on foot.” He frowned for a moment, seeming to consider what he said. “I hope you don’t think me insensitive.”

Kevin frowned, taking another drink of water. With it, he started to feel a little stronger. “Not at all,” he said calmly, looking up at Locke. “A few more shots of this stuff and I’ll probably be ready walk again.”

Locke nodded at him, a look of sympathetic — or was it empathetic? — understanding dawning on his face. He turned to reach behind him. “I cut this for you,” he said, picking up a long, thin object from the ground. “It’s only a few minutes’ work, but it’ll help you travel.”

It was a walking stick, and with that realization, Kevin began to cry.

—-

“You’re going to explain everything to me,” Claire said, her voice quivering with the stress. “Once and for all.”

Ryan glanced at Olsen, worried. Olsen, however, didn’t seem to be too worried at all. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Olsen returned Ryan’s look.

“Do you want to tell her, Ryan, or shall I?” He didn’t even pause to give Ryan a chance to answer. “I suppose I should,” he said. “I got the impression that you tried and were unsuccessful.”

Ryan shrugged, turning back to look at Claire. “Please, Claire,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” she asked, her voice full of the spite that season two Charlie had once received the brunt of. “Why the hell should I ever trust you? You know everything about me!”

Olsen clicked his tongue. “Really, Ryan? That’s an awful strategy. Noble intentions, but an awful strategy nonetheless.”

Claire waved the gun wildly, still obviously dizzy. She’s going to shoot someone, Ryan thought. “What are you saying?” she asked. “Who are you?”

“Claire,” Olsen said soothingly. “If you don’t calm down you could hurt the baby.”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my baby!” she shouted. “I want some answers!”

Olsen nodded, taking a step back. “I have answers for you,” he said. “But they’re in my backpack.”

Claire snorted. “What, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked. “You’ve got a gun in there, don’t you?”

Olsen shook his head. “If I had a gun, why would I have taken yours?”

Claire seemed taken aback by this, and she frowned. “I don’t know,” she said finally, “but you’re not touching your backpack.”

Olsen shrugged. “Then we’re at an impasse,” he said. “I can’t give you your answers. You might as well just shoot me.”

Claire paused, staring at him. The gun was pointed right at Olsen, and her finger was trembling on the trigger. The hammer wasn’t pulled back, Ryan noticed, meaning she’d have to give a hell of a squeeze if she wanted Olsen dead. He didn’t put it past her at this point.

Suddenly, she turned to him, the gun still trained on Olsen. “You,” she said quietly. “Go get his backpack.”

She trusts me, Ryan thought, as Olsen pointed him to the black satchel leaning against the wall of television monitors. It was a tiny, almost insignificant amount of trust when you considered the gun she was pointing in his general direction, but it was trust nonetheless. Progress.

He slowly walked over to the backpack, Claire’s eyes on him the entire time.

“Put it in the chair,” she ordered, waving the gun. He did.

“What am I looking for?” he asked Olsen as he unzipped the backpack. Claire had the gun on him now. So much for trust, he mused.

“It’s the only thing in there,” Olsen said calmly. “Big brown box.”

Claire kept the gun on him as he pulled the brown box out of the satchel. It was big; no wonder there was nothing else on the satchel. It was sealed with masking tape several times over, though otherwise it was simply a plain cardboard box.

“What’s in it?” he and Claire asked at the same time. She looked at him in surprise as if to say, Don’t you know?

Olsen smiled. “Open it,” he said.

“Don’t!” Claire said immediately, shaking the gun at Ryan. “It could be anything. Poison or anthrax or something that could hurt us.”

Olsen smiled, sitting down on the floor and crossing his legs, careful not to touch any of the blood that surrounded him. “It’s your loss,” he said. “That box has the answer to all your questions. Not immediately of course,” he interjected, frowning. “A little bit of wirework, but we could probably get it to work in here.”

“A bomb?” Claire whispered. “It’s a bomb isn’t it?” she said, her voice getting louder.

Ryan looked to Olsen. Was Claire right?

“No,” Olsen said slowly. “It’s not a bomb. It’s something much more mundane than that. Just open the damned box, Claire. You’ve run out of cards to play.”

Claire shook her head. Her eyes were clearer, her movements focused. She’d almost fully recovered. “I haven’t run out of cards,” she said, her voice trembling but measured. “I’m taking you to Jack.”

She pointed the gun at Olsen. “Stand up,” she said, but her voice was drowned out by a clang in the hatch above. The morning’s first light streamed in from the newly opened Pearl hatch and silhouetted two figures as they made their way down the ladder.

Claire’s grip on the gun grew tighter. “Who is it?” she asked, her grip on the gun growing tighter. Olsen stood up, turning to look at Locke and Kevin as they entered the room. Kevin limped a little behind Locke, leaning on a makeshift walking stick. His face was contorted with pain and his eyes were read. He was covered in dried blood.

“Kevin!” Ryan shouted happily, and his friend weakly smiled.

“What’s going on here?” Locke asked as soon as he saw that Claire had the gun.

“Are you with them?” she asked him. “Did you come here with them?”
Locke looked around, confused. “Claire, I’m… I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, so if you’ll just put the gun down, we can…”

Olsen sprang forward, stepping toward Claire so quickly that she had no time to react as he wrenched the pistol from her grip, placing it into the back waistband of his pants.

“No!” Claire shouted. “You can’t do this! Don’t hurt me!”

Olsen sighed. “Claire, I’m not going to hurt you. I never intended to hurt you. You really need to see the box.”

“You knocked me out!” she shouted angrily. “Did you forget that?”

“Claire, please, sit down,” Olsen said, but turned in surprise a moment later to find that Locke was now holding his gun, pointing it directly at his chest. There was a clicking sound.

“What was that?” Olsen asked, his calm demeanor melting away. “That sound?”

“That was me turning the safety off this gun,” Locke said calmly, tilting the gun sideways as he gestured to the box that Ryan was holding. “What’s that?” he asked, curiosity creeping into his expression.

Ryan shrugged. “It’s his,” he murmured, nodding toward Olsen.

Locke kept the gun pointed at Olsen. Claire collapsed into a chair, whimpering. “What is it?” he asked Olsen softly.

Olsen shrugged. “It’s the answer to all your questions,” he said. “All you have to do is open it.”

Locke smiled, but didn’t lower the gun. “The answer to all my questions,” he said calmly, quietly. “I didn’t think there was such a thing.” He paused for a moment, contemplating silently.

“Open it,” he said finally. “Let’s see what this answer is.”