Disclaimer: Lost is owned by ABC Television and was created by Jeffrey Lieber, J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof, produced by Bad Robot Productions. I don't own it but I love it! :)

"Programmed in self-hatred, many of us shadow-box the light of day away and chase everything meaningless the night..." ― D. Allen Miller

I was on the run for over a year by then. I couldn't even begin to describe my life, living under the radar of the marshal and police. I was alone and lonely while trying to navigate and avoid the underbelly of society.

There was one person I would reach out to on occasion. It was rare. I didn't want to entangle them in my mess. I trusted him implicitly. It's the only reason I risked it. I despised Diane for reporting me to the police, but it went way beyond her accusations. Most of my childhood and teens were blotted with neglect and the abuse she exposed me to. She chose him over me. Always. But I still kept tabs on her. It was an old habit. I'm not cold-hearted. I'm not dangerous unless I am cornered and need to escape. The marshal was wrong.

Tommy, now Dr. Tom Brennan, worked at St. Francis Hospital in Iowa as a radiologist. I would occasionally reach out to tip him off when I was in the area. I gave him my alias so he could leave me a note at a designated location. I had to be cautious. Alert. Vigilant. A lot of people were looking for me.

I planned a quick stop at a motel in Indiana. This wasn't the first time, only a different location. I was circling Iowa. I knew Diane was sick, really sick but didn't know why. Tommy let me know she was bad off and hospitalized for tests.

I pulled into hotel. 10:00 a.m. People checking out. Maids waiting to clean vacated rooms. A family left with the door slightly ajar. I slipped in. I already grabbed a towel and shampoo as I passed the maid's cart. I needed to freshen up. I was a blonde for months and needed to change it back to auburn brown. I also changed the car's license plates to Ohio to somewhat local.

Midwestern highways were easy to navigate. Most of the land was flat and farmed. Cornstalks grew taller than me next to fields fenced off full of grazing cows and horses. Other fields were furrowed and fallow, waiting for planting next season. Miles, endless miles of green landscape. Many turned into roads passing through the heart small towns and villages with only a few cops at best. I never stopped for anything in those places except gas. Everyone knew each other. It put me on edge.

The letter was at the front desk under my alias, Joan Hart. Joan was for St. Joan, warrior and leader. I felt like neither but needed her strength to get through the next few days. Tommy stuffed an envelope with twelve hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills to help me. I read the enclosed note.

Diane was dying of cancer.

I cried over in the car when I left. I also cried because somebody cared enough to make sure I didn't starve. I hardly ever cried, but was returning to where I grew up, to ground zero of hurt and pain. Iowa was a fixture in my nightmares. I was anxious.

I'll admit there's a love/hate relationship between Diane and me. At least on my side. I hate what she did and didn't do, but she's my Mom. She drove my Daddy off after cheating on him and allowed a scumbag to move in. It didn't take long for him to show his true colors and turn our somewhat peaceful home into an abusive household. I got to watch her get beaten and hurt. I was five.

She turned a blind eye if he hit me. It brought it on my self was her response, if any. She was jealous of me as a pre-pubescent. Diane was twisted enough to think I was trying to catch Wayne's eye, the sick, drunken pervert she traded my Dad in for. He didn't try to put the moves on me then. He waited until I hit double digits before the lewd behavior started. I was still pre-pubescent but clever and fast.

I couldn't forgive her but was bound to be her keeper. It was role reversal. I was the Mom. She was the kid. I wasted 6 years of my life in Ames post high-school graduation making sure the bastard didn't kill her.

I was a straight-A student with scholarship offers away from home. I opted to piss away the opportunities, knowing she'd be dead in a year or less if I went. The beatings became worse as she aged. He liked younger women and his brother, the Chief of Police, turned a blind eye to it all. He was as bad as Wayne.

Wayne was dead and gone by then. The house blew up because the gas was on and he lit a cigarette. Was I involved? Yes. Did I light the fire? No, but I had to run like hell.

I wasn't going to be tried by a jury of my "peers" in Story County, Iowa. It would be 12 "Waynes" who would clamor for my blood, wanting to hang me before the trial. Nobody would listen to my side and what he did to me and Diane. They didn't before. Why would they now?

I wanted to say a last goodbye. I realized deep down, despite how much I hated her, I loved her. Why? She was the only Mom I had. And there were some good times clinging to my memories from when I was little. Tommy tried to talk me out of it. But I was determined and didn't like being told what to do.

I had nothing and nobody on the road and was clinging to threads.

I went to the hospital with a large bouquet of flowers. I already had her room number thanks to Tommy. Room 208. I made my way down the hall carrying a large vase of flowers to block my face.

My precaution paid off. A police officer was stationed at her door.

I used the flowers to hide as I passed. It made me feel sick.

I had no doubt it was because of Marshal Edward Mars, the sicko beyond obsessed with pursuing me. It went beyond my being a fugitive. It was personal.

I slipped into Tommy's vacant car in the garage. The flowers were parked in a room with an elderly patient. I saw Tommy drive in early he arrived. I was scoping out the place at the time.

It wasn't hard for me to break in. I learned a lot of unsavory skills on the road including breaking into cars and opening locks. I had my limits though.

I didn't want to scare him. "Hey, Tom." I spoke quietly to avoid startling him. I drank in the sight of my oldest friend. He looked the same except the doctor coat.

He jumped slightly, but wasn't completely surprised. He called me Katie. Hearing my real name spoken, coming from the mouth of someone who knew me best, warmed my barren heart. A few good memories surfaced. A sense of something I didn't have at home. Stability. He never changed.

Tommy asked what I was doing there. He warned me to stay away. It was too risky with security. He was the one person who understood without words why I did what I felt necessary. He didn't judge or condemn me. He didn't want to see me in jail.

I told him I had to come. Diane was dying. I wanted to say goodbye. I felt like I owed it to her in a way, even though I couldn't figure out why. I didn't talk about my guilt, shame and self-hatred. He already knew. Maybe she would tolerate my presence. I wanted to say I was sorry if I hurt her before it was too late.

Tommy eyed me carefully and asked why I was hanging out in the back of his car.

I looked at his sweet face, my best and only friend since I was five.

I needed his help.

Tommy drove us to his home. He was married and had a beautiful wife, Rachel, and son, 22-month old Connor. They were gone for the week visiting her folks in Cedar Rapids, Michigan. I admired family pictures on the fridge but felt a little sad with a tinge of jealousy. I stuffed it down.

It could have easily been me in those pictures if I had followed through and went to college with him instead of breaking up with Tommy. I sacrificed "us" to save Diane. I threw away our future plans and dreams to protect her.

In hindsight, Diane made her choices. Even though her choices sucked, she should have faced the consequences including lying about Wayne's abuse at the ER over and over. Spousal or child abuse stirred up rage inside of me. She enabled him out because of "love." She told me over and over "You can't help who you love, Katherine, and for good or bad I love him."

The few good memories with Diane were hazy with memories of moments. All of them were before she split from Dad. I was 5 when she made him move out of the old homestead she inherited from her parents in Ames, Iowa. Dad was on leave. She told him not to come back.

Before then, I was an army brat. We moved from base to base and stayed, whether he was there or deployed. I recall small things like enjoying bath time and trips to the beach when we were stationed in North Carolina. Little memories still flickered but most were buried under what happened after when she turned my world upside down.

Tommy was the only consistent person in my childhood. He saved me from utter isolation and loneliness. It kept me going. I had one friend who knew everything about me and my family, good and bad, and liked me anyways. Later, it turned into then loved. I almost felt at home in his company. Any sense of "coming home" resided in him alone.

Tommy was more than my friend. When we were teenagers, he was my first boyfriend and my first. I knew he wouldn't hurt or use me. I trusted him.

He was sweet and kind. The boy girls usually overlooked. We knew each other like the backs of our own hands. He was the skinny blonde boy next door who bloomed late like me.

He was my playmate, study partner, chore buddy and more. I helped him get his work done faster on the farm so we could play. When we were teenagers, he was my boyfriend. He was the one I met up with at night for adventures, when I was afraid to go home or upset.

I'd throw a rock at his window and he'd climb out and scale down the trellis to meet me. Tommy was my touchstone. He stood between me and an abyss that might have led to me self-destruct at an early age. I hated myself, my parents and life. He gave me hope and a future to dream about, separate, then our dreams co-mingled as we planned together while laying in a haystack and watching stars at night.

He made me feel fun, special, and smart. He was encouraging, sunny in nature and admired me. He was willing to do whatever I had a mind to, even if it was mischievous or worse. He'd usually talk me out of the plans he considered dangerous or crazy. I went through a phase of testing boundaries.

I talked him into helping me steal a lunch box. He was my lookout. I was caught by Mr. Springer. He owned Ames Central and knew my family. A blonde man paid for it and told me to behave, touching my nose. He even knew my name, Katie, but was a stranger to me. He got me off the hook big-time.

I would have been lucky to only be striped black and blue with Wayne's belt across my backside. Wayne insisted I strip down bare bottomed for beatings before putting me over his lap. I was 12 years old.

Tommy's parents never dissuaded him from seeing me. Mr. and Mrs. Brennan didn't judge me because of Diane and Wayne. Mr. Brennan knew my Dad growing up and was friends with him. My Dad was a transplant from Kentucky and went to middle and high school with him. I think their friendship held a lot of weight with their family. They knew. Everyone knew each other's business in small town. But nobody interfered in other family's problems.

I sat while Tommy made calls. He was able to get an MRI scheduled early in the morning for Diane. I would have only a few minutes to see her. It was already 2 a.m.

I wanted to thank him. He gave me a cautionary look and said, "You're welcome" before I got a chance. He He didn't think it was a good idea. I didn't either but was propelled forward by an invisible force and need

I asked if it was still there. He stated it was the middle of the night. I reasoned we may not get another chance. I had been thinking about it for a long time.

We left in his car after he loaded a shovel in the trunk.

When we arrived, I paced off 6 steps from a big oak tree in one of his family's fields. I shoveled dirt while he fished out beer cans from the trunk. He gave me one and drank one himself. I laughed and questioned him about it. He said no self-respecting Iowa man traveled without them.

He was quiet, then told me it wasn't fair I came back. He gave me a meaningful look. I knew why.

"I know." I felt bad. It brought up old feelings for him and me. Some of it was lingering hurt and loss from the demise of our relationship.

I was distracted when I heard metal hit the shovel and found it. It was the "New Kids on the Block" lunchbox we buried as our own personal time capsule. We were both 12. I tried to steal from the store to hold the items we were accumulating. We laughed at the sight of it. He came over to join me as I flipped the metal latch and opened the lid.

He pulled out his plane, the Douglas DC-3 propeller aircraft he got on a trip to Dallas for being unaccompanied during a flight. He went to see his aunt and uncle and was proud of the toy.

There was also a red baseball cap, an old baseball, a cassette tape labeled "Katie and Tom 1989" and other random toys we put in there.

He said he couldn't believe I made him put the DC-3 in. I laughed and said it was his idea.

We looked at each other when I held up the cassette tape. He still had a cassette player in his car, even though it was 2002. We climbed inside to listen.

Our voices were so young and innocent. We sounded like babies. Here's what we recorded:

Tom: Is it on? I don't think it's on.

Kate: It's on.

Tom: "Okay, this is Kate Austen and Tom Brennan and this is our dedication for our time capsule, here on August 15th, 1989. Hey, give me that back!"

Me: "Why are you putting this stupid plane in there?"

Tom: "Because it's cool, Katie. I got it when I flew to Dallas by myself."

Me: "Ooh, that is cool, just like this time capsule."

Tom: "It'll be totally cool when we dig it up in like 20 years."

Me: "How do you know we'll be together?"

Tom: "Because we'll be married and you'll be a mom and we'll have 9 kids."

Me: "I don't think so. As soon as I get my license we should just get in a car and drive. You know, run away."

Tom: "You always want to run away, Katie."

Me: "Yeah, and you know why."

The tape ended. There was silence.

The air was heavy, stuffed with unfulfilled dreams and the dark reality of the present. Tommy said it was funny how things turn out.

I agreed, tears streaming slowly down my face. I did run away. I ruined everything.

I was full of sorrow and regret, sitting next to the one person I could have seen myself married. But I had commitment issues. I wouldn't commit when he want to college and let the relationship take it's natural course. I was paranoid. Dad was a long-distance husband and father. It didn't work. I broke things off before he went to college.

We argued over my going with him since I had a scholarship to the University of Iowa, same as him. He wanted us to continue to date exclusively, even though I refused to go. I couldn't do it. I told him some girl would catch his eye and wanted to free him up but the truth was I had cold feet.

The scars I have now were still wounds back then. All of his kisses and love couldn't heal them at the time. The pain and abuse cut too deep.

I leaned forward and kissed him softly and sweetly for several seconds, my fingers under his jawline, my thumbs on his cheeks. He joined me right away. It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was something else. To me, it tasted of tears, regret, and goodbye with a trace of beer.

He drew back, and stared at me. He still cared, but I knew he was faithful to his wife.

That kiss was my fault.

I apologized.

He turned to the wheel and closed the car door. "We should get to the hospital." Time was drawing close for the MRI and we needed to be there ahead of time to hide me.

We drove there with minimal talk. This was a big ask on my part. I wondered if I would see him again after I left.

I needed to decide where I was headed next on the backroads of America.

Tommy hid me in a linen closet near the doors to the MRI. Tommy sent the porter away after she was parked in the empty hallway. I peeked through the wireglass window. He checked to make sure the coast was clear and motioned to me. His office was nearby. He told me to be quick.

I approached Diane. Her eyes were closed. She drained of color and wasted down to nothing. Tears fell at the sight. I wiped them. I hated crying. I developed a hard shell around me earlier in life that allowed me to hold most of them in. I said hi and asked if she could hear me. My chest started to ache with unshed tears. Something inside of me clung to the hope she would be glad to see. Maybe she still cared about me somehow, or even loved me. She warned me to stay away the last time. She had cold eyes and said she would turn me in.

Diane opened her blue eyes. I cried and said it was me, Katie.

"Katherine?" She barely croaked out my name. She always used my full name. Katherine means "pure." There are several Saint Katherines and Catherines. Most were martyrs.

I told her I was sorry for everything I put her through. She glanced at me with a distressed look. She started to softly call for help. I thought she was confused and reassured her it was just me.

Diane raised her voice and yelled help over and over. I tried once more to tell her it was okay but she got her full voice and started to scream. "Help! Help me! Somebody help me! Help me, somebody!"

Diane was ratting me out again by calling out the dogs. I didn't come armed or to do her any harm. She hated me. She always did. I knew it when she chose Wayne over my Dad and let him abuse us. I knew it when she swore me to secrecy and didn't believe me when I told her about his lewd behavior towards me. She said it my fault. I loved her anyways.

I stood there, like an idiot. I was dumb enough to think cancer might bring up some feelings of love or she would at least care about me, her only child. I loved and protected her when she didn't. I gave up 6 years and my future plans to keep her alive. I was winded. It felt like someone stabbed me in the chest. I didn't move fast enough.

A hospital worker ran out, unfreezing my legs. I ran head-on into a security guard around the corner. He asked what was going on. I explained I was her daughter and she was confused. I was getting a doctor.

He grabbed my arm when I tried to race off. He got on his walkie. "We've got a situation." I grabbed it and clocked him with it to get away. The heavy, black plastic shattered into pieces.

Tommy popped out of his office, eyes wide at the scene and chaos. Diane was still screaming. "What happened?"

I asked for his car keys, running. He ran after me, calling out "Katie!" It wasn't the first time he had run after me.

Tommy tossed me his keys when he caught up and stayed on my heels. I jumped into the driver's seat. He was already in the passenger seat. I firmly told him to get out. He said no and urged me to cooperate so they'd take it easy on me.

I refused and told him the cop is calling for backup. I could see a police car blocking the entrance to the garage. I had to leave immediately.

Tommy pleaded, saying I could have a real life. He had no clue how dire things were. I would never get a fair trial and couldn't afford a lawyer to help me. I was a dead woman walking as far as Story County.

I asked him to get out again. I pleaded with him.

I didn't want him to get hurt or implicated. I needed him to be safe and regretted getting him involved.

I yelled at him a few more times to leave me.

He refused.

Time was up.

I heard the sirens of more police cars making their way to the scene. Tommy buckled up. I was fearful of being caught, but only for his safety. I wanted to protect him. My life didn't matter anymore as much as his. He had a family and meant too much to me.

I hated that he wouldn't budge. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and went for the garage exit. The officer was armed, gun pointed and standing outside of his car. I rammed through his blockade. Gunshots registered in my head but not until I was clear and on the road.

I was a few streets away and stopped. I would force Tommy out or run. I had no idea ... Tommy was shot in the chest. He was already gone.

I started sobbing, touching him, his face, his jacket, yelling "No" over and over. Guilt flooding my brain. It was all my fault. This was my fault. I killed my best friend. I begged for him to wake up but he wasn't breathing. There was nothing I could do.

I saw a cop car in the distance and leapt out. I glanced at the back as I exited and noticed the time capsule contents including Tommy's DC-3 plane but had no time to grab it. I jumped a barrier and went into a concrete, storm run-off and raced for my life to get away from the scene. My face was wet again. Sobs wracked my body as I sprinted on pure adrenaline to the car I stashed several blocks away.

My intentions were good but it didn't matter.

My biological parents hated me from early on. I was obviously bad or cursed. My best intentions were worthless and left a a wake of destruction.

I killed the best part of myself that day. Tommy was the one person who gave me a reason to look forward to the day, even mucking out stalls with him as a kid. He helped me survive.

He was good and decent. He deserved better. His wife and son deserved better. Instead, he ended up saddled with a poor excuse of a friend and former girlfriend - me.

I left his body when I ran and almost two decades of my life.

There was nothing, nobody left from my past I could talk to, remember with or depend on.

My life was spinning out of control.