Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.
It was all over, everything that she had been taught to believe since birth. How long would it be until she was given something new to believe in, until her superiors taught her that there was another way to save the world, a failsafe that meant that the Sawn hatch had only been the first line of defence? That the Others were still protecting the island, the world, that he had been a necessary sacrifice; that it had all been worth it.
Who would be their next sacrifice? She found her mind wandering as she weighed up the possible options; it could easily be one of the remaining survivors from Flight 815, but would they be male or female? Young or old? Would they be waiting day after day, wishing they could attain freedom? Would they believe that whatever they had to do was important? Would the question their task or embrace it? Would it give their life a meaning? Or would it steal their souls?
It had stolen his soul, she had first seen him two years earlier, he had been holding a book in his hands, turning it over and over, seemingly obsessed with it; then Kelvin had returned and he had hidden the book away again.
Seeing him had fascinated her, and soon she was watching him whenever she could steal a few moments away from the rest of her clan. Sometimes he would stare at the book, sometimes at a picture of him and another woman.
She had asked Henry once; asked why he couldn't join them and she'd received a curt response that his place was to push the button. The tone of Henry's voice had informed her that she should not ask again and she didn't ask again; she went back to watching him.
Sometimes he would have good days, days when he messed around, joked, had fun. Watching him on these days made her relax; made her feel like they had made a positive impact on his life. But then there were the other days, the days when he would hunt out his book, the days when he would drink, the days when he would cry. Those were too hard for her to deal with, she often found herself turning away from the camera because seeing his soul breaking was too painful to witness.
She had been watching when he had suffered through his greatest pain, when he appeared to have given up once and for all. She had closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the bullet impacting into him but it had not come. Narrowly, worryingly she had opened one eye to find him staring up at the opening of the hatch.
It appeared as though the next sacrifice had been found, and she had been so relieved. As much as she needed to watch him, she knew that she only needed to do so, so that she could celebrate when he was finally free. And she had been there when he had run away into the jungle and she had moved away from the cameras, not needing them any more.
But it was all over. She had not even been aware of his return to the island, and she had not been there when he turned himself into the ultimate sacrifice. She had to sneak away from her captors to bury him in a shallow grave in the jungle.
She placed his beloved book alongside his body, covering both of them with soil and leaves, a tear escaping her eyes.
She had missed it; she hadn't been there when he his soul had finally found the freedom he had been so desperate for. And that hurt more than losing him, because watching him searching for freedom, had made her believe that one day, she might find it as well.