My schedule is getting tight enough to where I can no longer even hope to write semi-regular episodes while simultaneously staying sane. I decided my best choice was to take my remaining plan for the series and condense it down into 3,000 words, calling it a series finale. In my humble writer’s opinion, it actually turned out pretty smoothly. Hopefully, you’ll feel the same way — let me know in the comments, as always.

This won’t be the site’s last post; sometime in the future, I intend to compile these stories and put them together into one big PDF format so that all of you can re-read them, free of course, on your portable reading devices of choice.

Thanks for sticking with me when by all rights you could have abandoned this story long ago. You can continue to read my nonfiction writing over at TVOvermind.com, and follow me on Twitter (@mcphersonator). I’ll have some more fiction ventures in the future, that’s for sure. But for Knowing LOST, it’s curtain time. I hope you enjoy.

—-

LOST.

The white words appeared on the black screen. Olsen reached over and paused the DVD. Jack stared in blank, open-mouthed shock at the screen. Slowly, deliberately, he looked up at Olsen.

“What did you just show me?” he asked quietly. His eyes were dark, and from the other side of the room, Ryan couldn’t see what exactly his expression was. Was he having an epiphany or a meltdown.

Olsen shrugged. “I showed you what you needed to see,” he said simply.

Jack stared at him for a long moment. He had seated himself on the ground, as had Joanna, with the DVD player in front of them. Claire was in one of the chairs, angled so that she too could see the screen, while Locke leaned on the monitors opposite her. They were all facing Olsen now.

“That was us,” Claire said, slowly. “But we never did any of that.”

Locke nodded. “I’m having trouble understanding this myself.”

Jack stood up, looking back and forth between the DVD player and Olsen. “Where did you get this?” he asked. For once, Olesn looked uncertain.

“Where did I get what?” he asked, stuttering a bit.

“The DVDs! Where did you get the DVDs?” Jack shouted.

“Where was I?” Joanna asked, but her voice went unheard.

“I…” Olsen faltered. “Someone gave them to me.”

“Who?” Jack asked. “Who are you?” He suddenly turned to Kevin and Ryan. “Who are they? Where do you come from?”

“I wish I knew,” Kevin whispered so that only Ryan could hear. Ryan chuckled, realizing moments later that it was a mistake.

Jack turned to Locke, suddenly, and grabbed the gun that was tucked loosely into his waistband. Locke recoiled, shocked.

“Jack,” he said, obviously trying to calm him down. The doctor wouldn’t listen.

“I remember seeing you on the plane, John,” Jack said. “You’re on my side, right?”

Locke glanced up at Ryan, and they made eye contact. Ryan tried to tell what Locke was thinking, but couldn’t. Locke’s eyes were simply dark pools.

“Of course, Jack,” Locke said. “Why do you need the gun?”

Olsen shifted his weight to his other foot in obvious discomfort, and Jack pointed the weapon up at him. “Stay where you are,” he warned. Holding the gun in place, he turned his head toward Locke.

“John, get those two,” Jack said. “We’re going to need to question them.”

Ryan’s thoughts flashed immediately to Sayid carving chutes of bamboo into fine points. His fingers curled into fists.

“Run,” Kevin said suddenly, quietly, to him. “Just go.”

“What about you?” Ryan asked quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere with this foot,” Kevin replied. “Go.”

Locke was almost upon them. Ryan didn’t have time to argue. He bolted for the corridor. He was focused on the ladder in front of him, just feet in front of him. It was all he could see. He heard Locke’s footsteps behind him.

“Move, John,” came Jack’s voice from even further back. “I’ve got a clear shot.”

Claire screamed. “My baby!” she cried, her voice full of desperation. “Oh, my god, my baby’s coming right now!” Ryan glanced over his shoulder. Jack had lowered the gun slightly, his attention instead focused on Claire.

That’s the doctor in him, Ryan thought, his hands finding the rungs of the ladder. He climbed up, as fast as he could, until he was free of the stagnant air of the station and out into the jungle. He collapsed onto the ground, pushing himself up onto all fours and scrambling to keep moving forward. He could see part of the question mark outlined in the grass. The Beechcraft creaked above him. He pushed himself to his feet, and heard a voice.

“Ryan.” It was Locke. He turned, slowly, to face his pursuer.

“Please,” Ryan begged. “He’s lost his marbles. We shouldn’t have shown him.”

“He couldn’t handle it,” Locke agreed. “You’re lucky Claire’s such a good actress.”

Ryan frowned at him. “What?”

“Her baby isn’t really coming. She did it to distract Jack. She cares for you.” He paused. “She sees something in you. An honesty. ” He glanced back at the hole in the ground. “You need to get as far away from here as possible,” he said. “I’ll tell Jack I couldn’t find you. He’s got the other two, so he probably won’t worry about it too much.”

Ryan nodded. “Keep Kevin safe,” he said. “And Claire.”

Locke nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

—-

“Just breathe,” Jack said to Claire, dividing his gaze between her and the stairwell Locke had just disappeared up. “You’re not having contractions.”

His voice was barely heard over the din of Claire’s screaming, which echoed throughout the small room. Kevin slumped back against the wall, watching Jack intently. Olsen was doing the same from the opposite side of the room.

A few uncomfortable minutes passed, with Claire screaming at odd intervals. Eventually, though, Kevin could tell that Jack was beginning to lose interest. “It’s just stress,” he was telling Claire. “You’re fine. The baby’s fine.” He placed a hand on Claire’s stomach for a moment. “I can feel him kick.”

There was a rumbling in the corridor, and Locke emerged through the doorway a second later. “I lost him,” he admitted.

Jack stood up from kneeling at Claire’s side. Claire’s screams had subsided surprisingly quickly. “What do you mean, you lost him?” Jack shouted. “You’re supposed to be some sort of hunter or something, John!”

Locke shrugged. “I was an amateur at best. Certainly not qualified to track humans.” He frowned. “At least we’ve got his friends,” he said. “Ryan will come back.”

Jack studied him. “You’re right,” he acknowledged eventually. He turned to Olsen, pointing the gun at him. “Go sit over there with him,” he said, jerking his head in Kevin’s direction.

Olsen obliged. Jack followed, his gun leveled Olsen’s head. Behind him, Joanna moved to comfort Claire.

“You said someone gave you the DVDs,” Jack said, the gun still pointed at Olsen’s head. “Who?”

“It’s a long story,” Olsen muttered. “You won’t believe me.”

“Perhaps you should just tell him,” Locke piped in.

“Yeah,” agreed Kevin, feeling curiosity get the better of him. “Yeah, just tell us–”

“Shut up!” Jack shouted at him, turning the gun to Kevin for a moment before shifting it back to Olsen. “You’ve got five seconds.”

“Fine, fine!” Olsen said. “I woke up on the Island, just like all of you did,” he said. “I don’t know how or why. But when I woke up, there was this man watching me. I knew who he was, because I’d seen him in that TV show. His name was Jacob. He had the box next to him, and he gave it to me. He told me what it was, and he told me it was important that you watch them. That all of you watch them. Then he just disappeared, and I spent the next few days wandering around the Island, trying to find you.”

“Who is Jacob?” Locke asked.

Kevin felt a sudden movement beside him. He could tell if Olsen was reaching for something in his pocket or simply shifting to get a better view of Locke. Neither did Jack, but it didn’t matter. The gun fired. Kevin felt warm flecks of blood splatter across his face. The ringing in his ears was unbearable.

—-

Ryan stopped running after five minutes, when he determined that he was far enough into the jungle not to be followed. He didn’t know where he was going, really, he just went forward. That seemed to be the way, just forward. It felt like he was heading toward the beach, but nothing seemed familiar in the jungle that he could use to make sure. He was lost and without a compass. It was possible that he might never make it out. Better than being shot, he supposed.

His mind flashed back to Kevin and Claire, still trapped in the room with Jack and the gun. There was nothing he could do for them now but hope that Locke lived up to his word. He could only keep on running, deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine jungle.

The leaves in the trees to his left suddenly rustled. He stopped, digging his heels into the soft ground. He knew the sound. He paused, waiting. The rustling came again, accompanied by a soft clacking noise.

He knew what that was.

He ran as fast as he could, scrambling through the foliage as fast as his legs would take him. Branches and ferns swiped at his face; roots snagged his feet. The clacking was getting louder and louder. There was the familiar howling sound in the distance. His lungs ached for air.

Suddenly, the noises all stopped. Even the natural noise of the jungle, the birds and the bugs and the wind, just stopped. There was complete and utter silence. He had to strain just to hear his own breathing.

And then he saw him.

The golden figure was dressed in white, bathed in an eerie glow that all but obscured him. He was only a few feet away from Ryan, he realized, and he took a step back as the figure advanced, barefoot, across the ground. “Jacob,” he breathed, though he couldn’t see the figure’s face. He didn’t know why the light was so bright. Maybe it was the source that caused it.

“Jacob,” he called out again, his voice faint and strained. “Help me.”

The barefoot figure took another step toward him. Ryan dropped to the ground, his legs aching, reaching out with both hands. The figure took another step, reaching out as well. Ryan felt calm, strangely, for the first time in what felt like a long time.

A tendril of black smoke seized his arm and began pulling him upward.

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could think to do. He just hung there, limp as a ragdoll, as the smoke monster pulled him slowly up into the air, towering almost to the branches of the tallest tree. The smoke snaked around his body in an iron grip. He couldn’t escape. He could hardly breathe.

Then he was falling; the monster had simply let him go. This was how it was going to kill him; not so differently from the way it had killed Eko. He plummeted, his arms flailing. He turned to see the ground rising up to him. . . and was swallowed in a bed of light.

He heard the monster howl again, heard the clacking sound as it moved away. He opened his eyes to see a cloud of bright glowing light chasing the black smoke into the jungle. He lapsed into unconsciousness. When he woke up, Jacob was standing over him. This time he could see his face.

“Ryan,” Jacob said, extending a hand. Ryan didn’t take it, instead pushing himself up. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry about my brother,” he said.

“I… I didn’t know you could…” Ryan sputtered.

“…turn into a massive cloud of light?” Jacob finished, smiling. “Yeah, I don’t just tell everyone that.”

There was a pause.

“What’s happening?” Ryan asked.

Jacob continued smiling, pacing about the clearing. “You could be asking about so many things,” he said. “But you know about my war with my brother. You know about the candidates. What is that you want to know?”

“Why did he kill Seth?” Ryan asked, looking at the spot in the jungle where the smoke monster had been. “Why did he try to kill me?”

“Because I brought you both here,” Jacob replied. “I brought you both specifically. Kevin, too.”

“But Seth was different,” Ryan replied. “Seth was supposed to be here.”

Jacob nodded. “The day before Oceanic Flight 815 took off, I met Frank Lapidus in a bar. I bought him some drinks — enough to give him a hangover. That’s how I made sure Seth Norris was on the flight. He was one of my candidates.” He looked at Ryan. “My brother found out.”

“Is that why he tried to kill me?” Ryan asked. “Because you brought me here?”

“Yes,” Jacob answered. “Yes, I brought you here, too. I brought you here because he brought someone here. Someone else.”

“Olsen,” Ryan knew, without having to be told.

Jacob nodded. He looked up at the sky that could be seen through the trees, seemingly trying to think of how to say it. “You come from a different place,” he said, simply. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t be brought to the Island.”

“But the Man in Black hates people,” Ryan said.

Jacob grinned. “You call him the Man in Black?” he asked. “He’d probably prefer that to his real name. But no, my brother simply realizes that humans have tendencies to destroy. A tendency he chose to use when he brought Olsen to the Island.”

“He wanted Olsen to bring the DVDs to the survivors?”

“He gave them to him, pretending to be me in the same poor impersonation that you saw a minute ago. Olsen fell for it.” Jacob frowned. “My brother knew that the DVDs would break Jack, my best chance of a replacement. I was hoping that you could stop him. But beyond bringing you here, I didn’t interfere, and that was my mistake.”

“How do we fix it?” Ryan asked.

“I’ll need your help,” Jacob replied.

—-

When Ryan emerged from the jungle into the clearing with the question mark on the ground, Locke, Claire, and Joanna are sitting on the ground a few feet away from the trapdoor. The door was closed.

“Ryan!” Claire shouted when she saw him, and the other two turned to look. Locke stood up quickly, dusting off his hands. He looked grim.

“Jack shot Olsen,” he said quickly, walking toward him. “He’s dead.”

Ryan found his pace moving more and more quickly. “What about Kevin?”

“He’s fine,” Joanna said. “Jack’s questioning him, but we haven’t heard any gunshots. Well, any more gunshots.” She was pale and sweaty.

“Are you all alright?” he asked them, and everyone nodded. He looked at Claire. “You really saved my ass down there.”

She smiled. “I’m just your normal pregnant action hero,” she chuckled.

Ryan looked at Locke. “Jack needs to be stopped.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Locke asked. “Kill him? He’s the one with the gun.”

Ryan allowed a small smile. “I didn’t say that we were going to stop him.”

He turned to the jungle and gave a whistle. Several figures emerged from the foliage and into the clearing, walking toward them. There were three of them. Richard Alpert strode ahead at the front, while Mikhail Bakunin and Danny Pickett followed close behind.

Joanna got to her feet, leaving Claire stranded in a reclining position. “Who are they?” she asked Ryan in a hushed voice.

“The Others,” he replied.

Richard reached them first, while Mikhail and Danny moved to the trapdoor. Both had rifles in their hands.

Locke extended a hand to Richard. “John Locke,” he said.

“We’ve met,” Richard replied, shaking anyway. He nodded to Mikhail and Danny, who began silently lifting the door open.

“What’s going on?” Claire asked.

Richard looked at her with almost pity. “You’re pregnant,” he said softly.

“It’ll be fine,” Ryan assured him quickly. Richard looked at him strangely, then nodded. Mikhail and Danny quietly descended into the Pearl hatch.

“Are they going to kill Jack?” Locke whispered.

“No,” Richard and Ryan replied at the same time. Sounds of shouting came from below.

“We’re just going to take him with us,” Richard said slowly. “I’ve been informed that we need a spinal surgeon. We’ve also got a therapist who can help him through his…” He glanced at Ryan. “…issues.”

—-

After the three Others had left with the unconscious Jack in tow (sporting a nasty bruise on his head), Ryan climbed down the ladder and into the Pearl station. Kevin had limped his way into one of the console chairs, and grinned at Ryan when he walked in. “Patchy and Pickett rescued me!” he grinned. “Pickett was a lot nicer than I remember.”

“His wife’s not dead,” Ryan replied, glancing over to the far wall, where Olsen’s body was slumped over.

“What’s going to happen next?” Kevin asked suddenly. “For us?”

Ryan shrugged, turning away from Olsen’s corpse. “Locke, Claire, and Joanna have all agreed to back us up. Jack told us he was going back to the caves, and he never made it.” He paused. “We’ll have to be the leaders now.”

Kevin frowned. “It all seems a little backwards, doesn’t it? I mean, we don’t even know where this place is.”

“It’s here,” Ryan replied. “It’s here and it’s real. That’s all we have to know.”

—-

The video screen flashed from image to image. Roaring music played over the loudspeakers. The glass walls were soundproofed, and outside the two scientists could hear none of the chaos.

“How’s Olsen doing?” asked the shorter, bald one, pulling open a bag of chips with a pop. He adjusted his glasses. “Not too ill, I hope. I don’t want to get sued.”

The larger one scratched at his greying curly hair. “He signed the contract, Damon,” he replied in a deep voice, looking through the glass at the two figures strapped in chairs, blue LED glasses fixed to their faces. “He knew what he was doing.”

The shorter one noisily crunched on his chips, wiping his fingers on the front of his tan jumpsuit. “Hard to believe we’re down to our last two,” he said. “We started off with so many.”

The larger one chuckled. “All good things have to come to an end,” he said. “We’ll even have to take Page and Stafford out soon.” He shook the mouse on his computer, and it glowed to life, revealing two panels, each tracking one of the subjects’ brainwaves.

“We’ll leave them in for just a little bit longer,” Damon said, helping himself to another chip. “I’m not ready for this to end just quite yet.”

In the meantime, enjoy the newest episode of KL, entitled “Everything But Six.” You can expect episode 1.16 in a couple of weeks.

—-

Episode 1.15 “Everything But Six”

Olsen put his hand on the cardboard box, then stopped. “I’ll need to explain,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Context is important here.”

Locke frowned. “We’ll decide that when we see it,” he said finally, the gun still pointed at Olsen’s chest. “Now, go ahead. Answer all my questions.”

Olsen had broken a sweat, and beads of moisture were trickling down his nose. “Right, right,” he said. “I’ll need your knife. One of your knives.”

Locke looked over at Ryan, his expression guarded. His expression was clear enough: Should I trust him?

Ryan didn’t know why he nodded, but he didn’t blame himself. Olsen certainly didn’t seem threatening; he looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He was red-faced and sweaty. His cards are played out, Ryan realized. This box is his ace in the hole, not the knife.

Locke regarded him for a moment, then reached to his belt. “Don’t make me regret giving you this,” he warned Olsen, holding the gun steady. “I’m a good shot. I used to…”

“…go hunting with your dad, yeah,” Olsen finished, holding his hand out expectantly. Locke started, his brow furrowing and his bright eyes studying Olsen’s face carefully. Slowly he  removed the knife from its hilt and handed it to Olsen. Olsen clasped it firmly, his eyes trained on Locke as he turned back to the box. Only when he started to slice away the masking tape did he look away.

Ryan glanced over at Kevin, who was also watching intently. Kevin’s face was paper white, though his eyes were firmly focused on Olsen’s hands. He wasn’t as close to death as Ryan had expected, though the horrible empty space where his foot had been wanted to tell Ryan otherwise.

Olsen sliced the box open then handed the knife back to Locke, hilt first. “Alright,” he mumbled to no one in particular, then reached inside the box, pulling out a familiar object.

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh, a quick burst of surprised sound.

Olsen was brandishing the first season of LOST on DVD.

“N-no way,” he heard Kevin stammer, his voice almost breaking into a laugh. “No freaking way.”

Olsen allowed himself a small grin. “I’ve got four more where that came from,” he said, placing the DVDs in a chair beside him, and reached back inside, pulling out the second and third seasons and placing them in the chair as well. “It’s everything but six,” he said.

Claire was the first to reply. “What the hell are those?” she asked, reaching to pick one of them up. Her apprehension had almost completely evaporated as she flipped the set over and over in her hands. It was season five’s shiny blue-and-white case. “What the hell is LOST?”

Olsen sighed. “I don’t want to tell the same story twice,” he said. He turned to Ryan. “I need you to go get Jack.”

—-

Ryan stepped onto the beach and was immediately accosted by Joanna.

“Ryan!” she said, running up to him from across the beach. Sawyer glanced up from his book, startled. When he saw that it was only Ryan, he shook his head and returned to reading. “Where’s Kevin?” Joanna asked him quickly, in a hushed whisper. “I don’t want to panic anyone, but he’s gone and so is Ethan’s body! And the people on the beach are talking… No one’s seen Claire or Locke since yesterday!”

Ryan looked at her for a moment. She’s supposed to be dead, he realized. If anyone else deserves to know what’s going on, it’s her. He paused for a moment. He was about to pass the point of no return with her, he knew.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know where they are, and everybody’s safe. If you want to come with me I’ll tell you everything.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why do all the women on this island think I’m out to kill them? Ryan wondered to himself sadly. “Look,” he told her. “I’m going to go get Jack to come check on Kevin.”

Her eyes widened. “He’s hurt?” she asked. Ryan nodded.

“I’ll get Jack,” she said, and set off down the beach.

It only took her a few minutes to find Jack, who had been restocking his supplies at the medical tent. They soon both returned down the beach to Ryan.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked, somewhat distractedly. “Joanna said Kevin was hurt?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “They’re at…” he looked off into the jungle, the way he’d come. He’d left himself a pretty clear trail of scuffed earth once Locke had pointed him in the right direction, but he wasn’t sure if he was really ready to bring up the existence of the Pearl on the beach. “They’re that way,” he said.

He could tell by Jack’s expression that Jack echoed Joanna’s suspicious attitude, but he  nodded and followed Ryan anyway.

—-

Claire had taken a seat in the chair not occupied by the box of DVDs. She was shaking her head as she looked over and over again at the season five box set. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Everyone’s on here… Jack, Locke, Hurley…”

She frowned. “Where am I?” she looked up at Olsen, then glanced over at Kevin. “Where are you? And who are these people?”

Olsen leaned in to look at where Claire was pointing, and she flinched slightly. He shook his head. She was pointing to Daniel Faraday. “That,” he said finally. “That is someone I’m really looking forward to meeting.”

Locke stepped forward to look as well. “Where is he now?” he asked.

“Probably… at his house,” Olsen replied. “He won’t be here for a couple of months yet.”

From down the hallway came a clanging as Ryan lifted the hatch doors and slammed them to the side.

“What the hell is this place?” came Jack’s voice, faintly echoing down the hallway.

Ryan shrugged. “There were people on this Island before us.”

There came no reply to that, and before long, three new figures were standing inside the Pearl station’s main room. Jack and Joanna immediately rushed to Kevin’s side, looking horrified at the blackened stump at the end of his leg.

“What the hell happened?” Jack demanded.

“Long story,” Kevin replied weakly, leaning on his crutch. Joanna, looking horrified, had her hand on his forearm.

“I’ve got time to hear it,” Jack replied.

“No, hold on, Jack,” Locke said calmly. “We’ve all been brought here for a reason. There’s another story that needs telling.” He looked expectantly at Olsen. “Now, I know the gist of what’s going on here thanks to Ryan,” he said. “But maybe you could start from the beginning.”

Olsen nodded, swallowing. “This is going to be a lot to handle,” he said quickly. He glanced over at Claire, and a trace of a smile brushed his lips. “So sit down if you need to.”

She looked at him, expressionless.

“Right,” he said, picking up the season one DVD from the unoccupied chair.

“Wait,” Jack said quickly. “What exactly are you about to tell us?”

Locke turned. “The answer to all our questions,” he replied. He looked back at Olsen, and Olsen began.

“Okay. This is going to be tough to believe, so I have to choose my words carefully, don’t I?

“On September 22, 2004, you all left Sydney on the way to Los Angeles, right? Well, most of you did, anyway. Ryan, Kevin, and I left from somewhere — and sometime — completely different. We left from LAX on May 24, 2010.”

Already Ryan could see there were questions growing on everyone’s faces. Joanna glanced at Kevin confusedly. Her hand was no longer on his forearm, though she hadn’t stepped away from him.

“We left on May 24, the day after the series finale of a television show called LOST,” Olsen said, holding up the box set. “The show I’m holding season one of right here.” He paused for a moment. “You’re all in it.”

Ryan could see a million questions building inside Jack. Locke, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease with the news, looking primarily intrigued. Joanna’s confusion looked like it was turning to fear, while Claire simply sat back in her chair. Ryan talking to her beforehand — it felt like months ago but really it was only a matter of hours — had helped to soften the major blow.

“Now, here’s where it gets strange,” Olsen continued, as if the rest of what he’d said was completely normal. “Somehow, the three of us got onto that plane at LAX, and we suddenly woke up here, as though we’d been a part of your plane crash.”

“Why?” said Jack, finally speaking up.

“If only we knew,” Kevin said. “I love LOST and all, but… Not this much.” His voice cracked and he went silent.

“So wait,” Jack said. “What is this LOST?”

“Ah,” said Olsen. “It’s a show about a plane — Oceanic Flight 815 — that crashes on a mysterious island. The plane that’s out there on the beach, as a matter of fact. And this very Island.”

“So we’re not real,” Claire said quietly. “None of this is real.”

Ryan stood up. “That’s the problem,” he said. “We don’t know. None of it makes sense anymore. You certainly seem real to me.”

She looked at him with what seemed to be a tinge of warmth in her eyes, though he wasn’t sure. He could have been grasping at straws, he feared. Their last day together hadn’t exactly given her a lot of cause for warmth.

Jack, on the other hand, was entirely devoid of warmth. “I just don’t understand it,” he said in a tone that said he didn’t really want to understand it. “You think that this is all just some TV show. You think that we’re all not real!”

“Look,” Olsen said calmly. “We don’t know what’s real anymore. All we know is what we can see, and what we see is that… Well, both our story and yours is real.”

Jack stood up from kneeling near Kevin’s foot and started to pace. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he said quietly.

“Maybe this will help,” Olsen replied, reaching into the brown box in the chair and pulling out a portable DVD player. He tossed it to Jack, who caught it. He then tossed him the season one box set.

“Were DVDs around in 2004?” Olsen asked Ryan, who nodded. He turned to Jack. “You know how to work that, I assume.”

Jack nodded, flipping the screen on the player open.

“Good,” Olsen replied, picking up the now empty box from the chair and putting onto the floor so that it formed a table. He pointed to the DVD player, then to it. “Start with disc one.”

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.”

They were in a desert, the sun sweltering down upon the gritty sand from the bright azure sky above. They had been in the restaurant only moments before. The violet was only just receding from the sky.

The table and chairs had travelled with them, as well as Jacob’s salad and water.

“You really should have ordered,” Jacob commented, spearing a tomato with his fork.

“Not hungry,” Kevin retorted, staring at him. “What was that you were saying before the scenery changed? Fact from fiction?”

Jacob swallowed, his eyes betraying a slight amount of amusement at Kevin’s persistence. “If you’re looking for clarity, this is fiction.

“Well,” he said, stopping himself. “That depends on what viewpoint you take, doesn’t it? Reality is in perception. To you, this is reality. To everyone else, it doesn’t exist.”

“This doesn’t feel like nonexistence,” Kevin replied.

“I didn’t say it was nonexistence,” Jacob countered, taking another bite of salad. He chewed on it thoughtfully, obviously thinking of his next words. “It exists to you. Right now, this is… This is you.” He gestured, a sweeping motion around the entire empty horizon surrounding them.

“Flash sideways?” Kevin asked, smirking.

Jacob laughed, a fleck of tomato flying from his mouth. “No, no, no,” he replied, finally, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “What you call the flash-sideways is very different from this. It’s… shared. This is just you.”

Kevin stared. “That means…” he said, his eyes narrowing.

Jacob speared the fork in his direction. “Bingo!” he said smiling. “You’ve figured it out.”

Kevin stared at him for a moment longer, the corners of his mouth dipping down into a frown. “You don’t exist either,” he said, tasting the words and wanting not to believe them. “You’re just in my head too.”

Jacob nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m just the part of your mind that’s trying to make sense of all this… mess.”

Kevin reeled, unsure of how to react. “Make sense of it then,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s very easy,” Jacob said. “This is just your comatose brain acting strangely because of what’s happening to you in the real world.”

Kevin’s eyes widened. “So that’s what the Island was!” he said, almost joyously. “Just my head!”

Jacob shook his head sadly. “When I said the real world,” he said softly, “I meant the Island. To you — us — that is reality. This is simply a diversion from that reality.”

He took a sip from the glass of water, and then flung it away. The glass shattered somewhere in the distance with a wet splat of broken glass and freezing water. Steam almost immediately began to rise from the puddle it formed.

“Right!” Jacob announced, standing up. “Enough talk. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“What?” Kevin protested. “This doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense!”

Jacob smiled knowingly. “We don’t know everything, so obviously you’re going to be confused. But we can get you out of here.”

They were on the Island. The arid desertscape flashed into jungle with a vivid violet burst, and Kevin collapsed to the ground, his head throbbing. It was too much.

When he finally looked up, Jacob was standing there, extending a hand to help him up. He pushed himself up, then stared at Jacob.

“Why are we here?” he asked.

“Ah,” Jacob replied. “The age-old question.” He searched Kevin’s face. Finding no trace of humor, he shrugged. “I can’t help you anymore,” he said, “because I don’t know.”

“What?” Kevin shrieked. “What don’t you know!?”

Jacob frowned. “You’re going to have to do this one by yourself,” he replied quietly, looking down at Kevin’s feet. “But you’re running out of time.”

Kevin followed Jacob’s line of vision down to his foot, where he saw a bloodied stump of blood and cartilage where he foot had been. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in the pain he should have felt but didn’t. His mind was telling itself that it should be — must be — in pain, but after a moment he discovered that he didn’t feel anything. The foot — or where the foot had been — was completely numb. He stared at it with blurring vision.

He glanced back up to yell at Jacob, to ask why, to ask why the hell has this happened, but Jacob was gone. There was only John Locke.

—-

A ray of sunlight on his face.

He opened his eyes to a brand new world that was beautiful. He was lying on his back in the middle of a well-manicured lawn, staring up at a cloud that was eclipsing the sun. Beams of bright light were escaping around the edges, and a calm ray was sprawled across his cheeks. A breeze ruffled his hair.

He knew the yard the minute he felt the grass under his bare feet as he stood up. The tangled blades fit into the angles of his feet like a pattern, and he smiled. Home. He was home, finally.

When he blinked, he opened his eyes to find that the sky was a brilliant shade of violet.

Strangely enough, that didn’t unsettle him. It should have, he supposed, but he simply observed the sky with a mere curiosity that was far from full-fledged fear. The sky wasn’t menacing; he’d seem something like it before.

He blinked again and found himself standing in the middle of a crowded city street. People stepped around him, quickly, forming a loose circle around him amidst the bustle. Still, no one seemed to notice him. No one really looked at him. In fact, the people walking didn’t seem to have faces. They were just blurred figures, as if in a memory.

Then he saw him.

He was hard to miss, the Christlike figure stepping through the crowd. He seemed to radiate with a white glow that made shone in Kevin’s vision like… Hell, like the cinematography in Star Trek. He had lens flares in his eyes.

Jacob was wearing his usual attire has he approached Kevin across the sidewalk, and Kevin noticed that Jacob’s feet were bare, like his own. In fact, the two were dressed rather similarly.

“Kevin,” Jacob spoke as he approached, and Kevin marveled that someone as powerful as Jacob knew his name. Knew that he existed. That Jacob was even real was a mystery that didn’t even cross his mind. He accepted it as reality. He just knew.

“Jacob,” he breathed, and Jacob nodded affirmatively, frowning.

“I’m sorry for bringing you here like this, Kevin,” he said.

Kevin stared at him for a moment, his mouth going dry. “Like what?” he asked slowly.

Jacob regarded him sadly for a moment, then gestured to a nearby doorway to his left and Kevin’s right, a pathway for which had mysteriously just been cleared. The words “Joe Chip Cafe” were stenciled onto the glass of the door in curving white letters. Open 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

He nodded, and Jacob opened the door to the cafe, ushering him inside.

The place was dimly lit aside from the sun streaming in through the open windows, and Kevin was taken aback by how rustic the cafe was on the inside. There was hardly a bit of modern furniture inside; the only splashes of color came from the blue checkered tablecloths that were draped over each table. Without speaking to anyone, Jacob sat down at a nearby table, gesturing for Kevin to sit down across from him.

A faceless waitress came and handed them menus.

“This… this is going to be difficult for you to understand, Kevin,” Jacob began, pointing to an item on the menu and showing it to the waitress. She nodded, scribbling something down in her pad.

Kevin didn’t pick up the menu, instead waving the waitress away when she turned to him. Almost understandingly, she walked away.

“Try,” said Kevin, so succinctly that it could have been considered rude. Jacob nodded, looking down at the checkerboard tablecloth.

“You’re dead, Kevin,” he said finally.

Kevin stared at him blankly. The waitress returned to the table, holding a glass of water, which she placed in front of Jacob. Kevin watched her leave the table once again.

“No, I’m not,” he said, looking back to Jacob. “If I was dead, this would be nothing.”

Jacob frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I wouldn’t exist if I was dead,” Kevin said simply. “This isn’t death.”

Jacob leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of water from the perspiring glass. “That’s interesting, Kevin,” he said. “That you still think that. I mean, after waking up on the Island, I would have thought you would have completely changed your philosophy regarding any idea of the afterlife.”

“Old habits die hard,” Kevin said finally.

Jacob nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough. You’re not dead.”

Kevin smiled.

“You’re not alive either, though,” Jacob finished, putting the water down on the table with a clink. Some water splashed over the sides and pooled on the tablecloth.

Kevin’s smile immediately faded, and he could feel the muscles in his leg tense. “I’m done playing games, Jacob,” he said finally, pushing his chair back. “Why are you here? Why am I here?”

Jacob regarded him as the waitress again approached the table, bringing him a neat bowl of bright green salad. “You’re here, Kevin,” he said slowly. “And I’m here, so that I can help you separate reality from fiction.”

Ryan dropped to the ground, his hands shaking. “Don’t shoot!” he screamed. “Damn it, I’m not armed!”

The metal floor under his face was freezing. He was squeezing his eyes shut, unable to look up at the figure, whoever it was. He’d nearly just died, goddamn it, died. He couldn’t think, he could barely breathe, all he knew was that the figure was walking toward him and that ground was cold…

“Who are you?” the figure asked, and Ryan’s thoughts all snapped into one place, focusing on the question.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I who am I who am I?

“Ryan… Page,” he managed to choke out.

The footsteps stopped, and the figure took a deep breath. “Really?” came the voice, that suddenly sounded familiar. It was someone who he’d seen before. A character that hadn’t really stuck in his memory, but was there nonetheless.

“Are you an Other?” he managed to sum up the courage to ask.

There was a biting laugh. “Yeah,” the figure said with a slightly nasal voice. “I’m an Other.”

Not Dogen. Not Lennon. Not Mac from Sunny. He was running through the faces of Others in his head, but none of them fit the voice, despite its familiarity. His heart was beating fast, so damn fast that it was probably bursting out of his chest. He finally opened his eyes and found himself staring at a tennis shoe. The Other had approached even more closely than he had thought.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, and the figure dropped into a crouch. He was still holding the handgun he’d taken from Claire, though his index finger was nowhere near the trigger. The safety was even on, Ryan noticed.

Ryan slowly lifted himself from the ground, his eyes locked on the gun. Unlike before, the Other didn’t even flinch. He sat calmly as Ryan leaned up against the wall, his chest heaving. Finally, he glanced from the gun to the figures face.

“I know your face,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you?” the Other replied.

—-

He couldn’t have said that Ethan wasn’t thorough, though admitting so made him sick. He stared down at the body, his mouth gone dry. It was the true handiwork of a madman, though he was a talented madman.

They call it hobbling, Annie Wilkes had told Paul Sheldon in Misery. As Locke looked down on the cauterized wound that was on the bottom of Kevin’s ankle, he couldn’t help but feel the same terror he had only imagined Paul Sheldon to be feeling. Ethan had made Kevin a mirror image of himself; while his right foot had been destroyed in the cave, he’d sawn off Kevin’s left foot and presumably cauterized it with a torch.

Locke swore. He rarely did so, but this seemed the appropriate time. Ryan had been right about Ethan being a sick bastard, that was for sure. But this even went beyond Locke’s own expectations.

Kevin was unconscious, probably from the pain, and Locke bent over, hefting Kevin onto his shoulder. He knew the way back, and he needed to get Kevin to Jack before anything happened. Wherever Ethan was — that could wait. Kevin needed help.

—-

Ryan stared at the Other’s face for a minute. “I can’t… I don’t know you,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” the figure replied, the corners of his mouth twitching with a grin. “We’ve met before, face to face.”

Ryan stared at him, frowning. “You look familiar,” he said quietly, “But I don’t know…”

“Have you lost all faith, too?” the Other asked, and Ryan knew. It had been one of the last faces from the real world he’d seen before he woke up on this godforsaken Island, and here it was, once again.

“Jeff Olsen,” he breathed, and the Other grinned.

“Bingo,” he said, standing up. Shakily, Ryan did the same.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked after a moment, steadying himself against the wall. He glanced over at Claire in the chair, still unconscious, and hoped Olsen had a damn good reason.

“Looking for you,” he said. “Didn’t expect to find you here, but I was on my way to find you when I stopped by.”

Ryan frowned. “Why were you looking for me?” he asked.

“It’s a long story,” Olsen said. “And I’d prefer not to tell it twice. “Is Kevin around?”

—-

Locke could feel Kevin’s shallow and labored breathing on his shoulder, and he paced his steps along with Kevin’s exhalations. He didn’t know why. He’d long run out of the energy to keep up his jogging pace, and he had slowed to sort of a quick walk. Kevin’s breath was just an easy metronome, he supposed.

Darkness had fallen on the jungle quite suddenly, with hardly a twilight period between the sun overhead and the glimmer of a moon through the trees. That might have had something to do with his perception of time, he guessed. He’d been so focused that time had simply flown by.

Suddenly, his metronome disappeared. For a moment, he was afraid that Kevin had stopped breathing, and he stopped, lowering Kevin onto the ground gently, preparing himself to do CPR if necessary.

It wasn’t. Kevin’s breathing had only changed speeds as he regained consciousness, and he slowly blinked, his eyes fluttering around beneath his half-closed lids. He gasped finally, sucking in a lungful of air. Locke crouched beside him, feeling helpless to do anything but look concerned.

Kevin’s eyes soon gained focus, and he stared at the canopy above him for a moment, blinking. His eyes then snapped down to Locke’s face, and for a moment they widened in shock.

“No,” he managed to gasp out. “No!”

“What?” Locke asked, leaning in. “What did you say?”

“I don’t want to come back!” Kevin yelped, his voice gaining strength. “I was free. I was free!”

He leapt to his feet, his hand flying instinctively to his hip, where his holstered knife itched to be unsheathed and thrown. His hand rested on the hilt, and he waited, watching intently.

Ryan fell from the underbrush onto the beach sand, his face covered in a myriad of scratches and cuts. He sprawled on the beach sand, heaving for breath. He’d been running for a while.

“Ryan,” Locke said calmly, removing his hand from his knife but looking into the jungle behind Ryan to make sure he wasn’t being chased. “What’s the matter?”

Ryan gasped, holding a finger up to assure Locke that he intended to reply. He was really out of shape, the kid, and Locke waited with patience for him to speak.

“Ethan…” Ryan gasped out. “Took Kevin.”

Locke frowned. “What are you talking about, Ryan? You and I both saw Ethan die.”

Ryan shook his head, his breath slowing as he stood up. “We thought… we did. Not true. Alive.”

Locke glanced around incredulously. “Jack checked his pulse, Ryan. He was dead.”

Ryan swallowed, having caught his breath. “You and I both know that this Island can heal, John,” he said knowingly. Locke bit his lip.

“You said he took Kevin?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied, “He was looking for Claire but for some reason he took Kevin. Left a hell of a lot of blood in the Pearl.”

“The Pearl?” Locke questioned, frowning again.

“Look,” said Ryan. “I’ll explain when we get there. Right now, we need to go. I’ve left Claire there.”

“Alone?” Locke asked quickly, already reaching down to grab his backpack.

“Armed,” Ryan confirmed, shrugging. “She couldn’t have made it back to the beach.”

Locke nodded, and gestured with a swing of his arm. “Lead the way.”

—-

Locke peered down at the doors into the earth, frowning contemplatively. “This is amazing,” he said quietly, dragging a finger along the dusty lip of the tunnel’s surface. He glanced over at Ryan, who was watching him with a grin of satisfaction.“You said there are more of these?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Ryan said quickly, wanting to show that he had some idea of how he was going to find Kevin and that he wasn’t just making it up as he went along. “Locke, I know you have some tracking experience.”

Locke nodded pensively. “Quite a bit.”

“Good. I need you to go after Kevin and Ethan — the trail shouldn’t be too hard to follow, except that it’s getting cold.”

Locke nodded, looking longingly down into the Pearl. The mystery had brought forth something within him. A sense of purpose. A sense of meaning.

“Okay,” he said. “What should I do when I find Ethan?”

“Whatever you have to,” Ryan said darkly. “He’s already died once. Might as well finish the job.”

—-

After Locke was gone, Ryan turned to the closed Pearl doors behind him, and dragged them open. They were opening more and more easily with each visit, and they opened with barely a squeak. Grinning at this small comfort, he began descending the ladder into the hatch.

As he neared the bottom, he was stricken with the sickening thought that he hadn’t hear Claire say anything. He stopped on the ladder, hanging there in space, and hoped to God that Claire wasn’t ready to shoot him as soon as he descended into view.

“Claire?” he said quietly, though his voice carried into the tunnel. “It’s just me, Ryan. I’m back.”

He took another step on the ladder, cautiously. Nothing happened. He could hear breathing behind him. Heavy, labored breathing.

Labored. Claire was probably having her baby. She was probably having her baby, and he’d left her all alone.

He jumped down the remaining stretch of ladder and turned to face down the corridor, his legs tensed up for a quick sprint. A gun cocked, and he froze.

Claire was sitting in one of the chairs down the hall, unconscious. Her mouth was slightly open, and a purple flower of a bruise was slowly beginning to bloom on her forehead.

A figure stood to her left, pointing a gun at Ryan unshakingly. Ryan’s hands went instinctively up, flying above his head. Startled, the figure shot.

A flash of light echoed through the tunnel.

—-

Locke moved through the jungle almost silently. The trail that Ethan had left was almost too easy to follow. There was blood smeared all over the ground from his mangled foot, and Locke marveled that Ethan could have lost that much blood and still been able to drag another human being at a fairly fast pace through the woods.

His hand was on his knife the entire time, and even the slightest rustle from a nearby bird made his hand itch with anticipation. He wasn’t looking forward to killing Ethan, but he knew it was a necessity if he wanted to protect the sanctity of the Island. If he wanted to keep the Island his.

The day had just begun to fade into night when he heard the rustling. He immediately stopped, dropping to a crouch, his muscles tightening as he waited to see what the noise had been.

“I know you’re there, old man,” echoed a voice, and Locke knew it was Ethan. “I see you following me. You want him back.”

“Yes,” Locke replied quickly, and a rustling confirmed to him that Ethan was trying to find his location.

“He’s too dangerous to be kept alive,” Ethan replied quickly. Locke, on his haunches in the tall grass, glanced around, moving quickly to a new location.

“The same could be said about you, Ethan,” he replied.

Ethan seemed to consider. “Fair enough,” he replied. “You can have him back.”

Locke didn’t know how to reply, so he remained silent. There was no further reply from Ethan, either, just silence.

After about fifteen minutes, Locke felt secure enough to stand up, though he did so very cautiously. He glanced around, searching for some sign that Ethan was ready to ambush him. There was nothing.

He stepped forward into a clearing of the grass, and jumped back in shock as he saw a crumpled form sprawled across the ground in front of him.
Kevin.

—-

He stepped down into the hatch, his feet racing down the ladder as he pulled the two metal doors down over him. He was blinded by darkness for a minute, but a flickering of light below soon adjusted his eyes.

His feet touched the bottom of the shaft, and he knew something was wrong. It hadn’t sounded right.

His eyes slowly wandered downward to the floor, which was covered in streaks of red plasma. Blood was everywhere; flecked across the walls in tiny specks, pooling on the ground. It was even splattered across the monitors on the far end of the hallway. He felt the sudden urge to vomit, but held it back.

Claire had already done so, though with her pregnancy he could tell that she was used to puking by now. She had turned away from him, but was turning back, wiping her mouth with one of her sleeves.

“What the hell is this place?” she asked, fear obvious in her eyes. “Whose blood is this?”

Ryan stood for a moment, transfixed by the gruesome scene in front of him. “This… this wasn’t here before,” he said quietly. He stepped forward, making careful to dodge the puddles that lined the hallway. “Kevin?” he called out quietly, but he already knew there wouldn’t be an answer.

The console room was a mess. The central table had been overturned. There’d been a struggle, he knew that for certain. One of the monitor panels was slightly cracked, and the remote control had been thrown against the wall. It had shattered into pieces that lined the floor under the wall.

“It was him,” he said quietly. It didn’t surprise him, strangely. Nothing like this surprised him anymore. “Ethan.”

“What?” Claire asked, having followed him into the room. “Ethan’s dead!”

Ryan turned to her then, swallowing grimly. “Look,” he said. “Remember how I told you that Kevin and I know things?”

She nodded, her face slowly stiffening. She still wasn’t convinced, he knew. She’d only come with him because he’d begged to her. She was still completely in the dark beyond anything other than that he’d woken up on the beach and that he ‘knew things.’

“Okay,” he said, taking a breath. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

She shook her head, trying not to look at the blood. “No.”

“Right. There’s only one way I can convince you,” he sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs that was luckily devoid of blood. He gestured to the other one for her to sit.

She shook her head. She was going to stay standing.

“Your mother’s name is Carole Littleton,” he said simply. She frowned. “She was put in a coma in a car accident you feel responsible for.”

That hit home. Claire took the seat across from him, staring at him unblinkingly. “How do you know–?” she asked.

“You never got along with your aunt, but then a guy showed up. Your dad. You deliberately made sure you never knew his name, and he paid for your mother’s life support.”

She stared at him, agape. “How do you know that?” she whispered finally. “Are you some kind of –?”

“No,” he interrupted. “I’m not anything. I saw it.”

“You saw it,” she said, rolling her eyes, her voice cracking with emotion. “Right. Now you’re going to tell me you’re some kind of psychic!”

“No,” he said, smiling sadly. “I’m no Richard Malkin.” He realized his mistake as soon as he had made it. Her eyes widened slowly with realization.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed, standing up angrily. “You’re with him, aren’t you! You’re with that fraudulent bastard!”

“No,” he said, raising his hands in protest, but it did no good.

“I should have known,” she raved, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “You’re just another one of these people trying to manipulate me! It’s all a con!”

“Claire,” he said forcefully, and she silenced herself, staring at him balefully. “You have to listen to me,” he told her, glancing over her shoulder down the hallway. “I’m not playing you. I’m stuck on this Island just like you. There is no plan.”

“Then how do you know all this?” she asked, having calmed down a bit.

“It’s a long story,” he said nervously. “And one we don’t have time for now.”

“No, you’re going to tell me now!” she yelled.

He paused, closing his eyes slowly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “Ethan Rom was not on the plane,” he said, ignoring her question. “He’s lived on this Island his entire life. But right now, you need to be worried about the fact that he wants you.”

“Me?” she asked, her arms unconsciously drawing into her body. “Why?”

“Aaron,” he said, pointing to her protruding stomach.

She looked at him, her face betraying a moment of confusion. Suddenly, it was as though she understood, that she knew everything. “Aaron,” she repeated,” smiling mildly to herself. “That’s what I’ll name him.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, looking back at the hatch door. “Okay, I have to go.”

She glanced up at him. “What?” she said. “After all that story you’re just going to leave me?”

He nodded. “I have to. You’ll be safe here.”
“Kevin wasn’t!” she screamed, and he started. He’d forgotten all about the fact that Kevin had been taken from here, in this very room in which they were standing.

He paused, then reached behind his back, under his shirt, and pulled out a gun. Claire jumped back.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m giving it to you.” Holding it by the barrel, he extended his arm across the room to her, the black hilt glinting in the flickering fluorescents. With a trembling hand, she reached out and retrieved it.

“You know how to use it?” he asked her, turning to leave.

“Point and shoot,” she said simply, still terrified.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll be back in just a bit. I would take you with me, but you nearly passed out on the way here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He glanced back at her, one hand already on the first ladder rung. “To get Locke.”

First of all, you guys were split on my decision to change format for the episode. Some of you thought it was interesting, while others thought it didn’t quite succeed. And I’ll agree, it wasn’t as good as it could have been. However, I’m going to continue challenging myself stylistically. You guys were right in assuming I drew my inspiration from Stephen King’s works, and I’ll be drawing in inspirations from other places as well. I want KL to not only be a fun read, but a challenging one (not too challenging, of course).

Secondly, some of you have suggested that I take the project on single-handedly. While I appreciate that, that’s not always going to be an option. Of course, delays are caused by the greater number of writers. However, I’ll certainly be less expansive with the staff in the future; there are only three or four people who will be writing occasional episodes in the future. I’ll be covering the majority of them, though.

One more thing: I won’t accept anyone trashing Jon as unreliable or anything like that for not having the time to write his episode. His schedule was tight and he had much more pressing family matters to attend to. He is no longer considered part of the staff, but I don’t bear any ill will toward him and neither should you.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Next week’s episode, “Hall of Mirrors,” will hit Sunday.