I was numb at first, overwhelmed by the sound of metallic groaning and the hiss of gas escaping rapidly from somewhere. A very sharp, pungent smell with a chemical undertone stung my nose along with the scent of burning hair. My eyes were sticky and I had to force them open, white-hot pain making its presence known as I turned my head to view the seat beside me.

The bastard was still alive, struggling with the airplane's safety belt and becoming downright frantic once he realized I was conscious. His beautiful blonde mane was stained with his own blood, well toned muscles straining to move a metal beam out of his way. Once he realized I was moving he threw his hands up in the air, babbling apologies and requesting that I put my vendetta on hold to work together through our unfortunate circumstances.

His pleas for help only jolted me into a sort of surreal state. The heat and the screams faded away and the smoke no longer stung my eyes. I cast about me and saw a warped piece of metal just large enough to grasp; and before I knew it my hand was around it, arm moving up and up. Something battered against my forearm and I felt wet warmth yet my grasp held steady and the metal slipped up under his ribs like a butter knife. Pushing into his chest offered a slight resistance, but he only looked at me as I neatly punctured his heart. It was all over in seconds.

Suddenly a pair of tan, masculine hands wrapped themselves around my face and I found myself staring into two dark pools. Whirlpools, to be exact, and I fixated as all that black rage, the hatred and vengeance drained right out of me. His lips were moving and the words lapped around me like a distant tide.

"What are you doing? Why did you kill that man?" he was repeating, frantic.

And then the grief hit me like a ten-ton monster truck without any brakes. Tears spilled over my eyes and splashed down onto the man and for the first time in over five years, I smiled.

"I am avenged," I tried to explain to him, relief coloring every word a rosy pink. Tears blurred my vision and set the world to spinning as it slowly dropped away again. The man who found me was saying something else but I couldn't make out what it was, and truthfully I didn't care. A blackout was coming and I let it envelop me. I had earned a rest.

In my shock, I pitied the police officers. They worked in such a gray, depressing environment on top of dealing with the scum of the earth- no wonder they had a rep for being testy and negative.

They led me down to the small parish morgue, past a small row of body coolers and back into the exam room where they told me they were keeping her. I swallowed hard and with every step closer to the door it was like my body was turning to lead. I didn't want to see her like that, I wanted desperately to go home to my sister alive and whole, stroking her belly and wondering when the first kick will come. I knew better, just like I knew I would have to walk through that door and face my worse nightmare.

She was strangled, harshly, and her arms were bruised from wrists to elbows. She had a black eye and a busted lip, the blood pocketing had twisted her face into some grotesque mask. Sitting over her heart was the same lotus flower that colored my own chest but I didn't need any identifying marks to know. Lauren was my twin-I could have told her ashes apart from others.

I knew it the moment she died, but somehow seeing her like this broke down a wall inside me and I suddenly found myself on the floor gasping for breath. I couldn't wrap my mind around reality and I felt like I was drowning. There was no way to exist without my twin, so why was I still here?

The officer who brought me here blocked my view of Lauren's empty shell as she tried to soothe me with platitudes, but I couldn't hear her.

"She was pregnant," I heard myself say from a great distance. After all the trouble with Zach we had decided to move away and raise the baby together. We bought the house by the sea like we had always dreamed. We painted the nursery, bought the diapers, framed the first ultrasound. Lauren was thinking about dating again...

Now she was cold, devoid of life, my other half laying broken beyond repair on an impersonal metal table, stripped of her dignity, stripped of the inner light that had shone bright enough for both of us all these years...

The police woman slapped me hard across the face. The jolt was enough to let the air back into my lungs and I gasped like a fish out of water, but in another moment my mind was spinning out of control again and I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was disintegrating into a black hole that had opened up the second Lauren died. I had to plug it up with something before I was gone too so I frantically scrambled around inside myself for the answer.

When I finally found what I was looking for, a prickly-cold sensation swept through my body and cleared my mind. I told the shocked officer that I was ready for questioning and actually smiled when she offered me a hot lunch first. She was right, I would need my strength.

I dreamed happy dreams for the first time since Lauren was murdered. I watched us grow from shy girls into bold women, I watched how we reveled in our prosperity and youth. Later, when we settled down, I watched us grow into cantankerous old women who frustrated our husbands. We spoiled our grandchildren and helped our children when they had difficulties in their adult life. We had cats, and one time a pig named Chops. I knew it was a dream too, a second chance that I had claimed for myself, so it was no surprise when it ended.

In that first moment, Lauren's death and everything that had come after was laid out in a neat, clear line. I looked at it hard and long; and then I let it slide into the ocean I could hear all around me and made peace.

Then I opened my eyes and found myself lying under a blanket that was just barely passing for a roof over my head, surrounded by a cacophony of beach noise and the sounds of the wounded. There were at least six other people laying around me and I could see a dozen more people moving around the surrounding beach. An average looking man with dark hair and a shaved face approached the tent quickly, eyes scanning the wounded and hands already busy with medical supplies. At his appearance I felt a hard knot of disappointment form in my throat; I needed more time to process and had absolutely no desire to talk injuries.

"You're awake," he announced in his best bedside voice, "how do you feel?"

"Good," I croaked, mind already racing for a way to thank him and take off. I tried to stand but, as doctors do, he snapped at me to lay back down until he satisfied his own curiosity.

"Do you remember what happened?" Speaking while shining a light in my eyes to distract me from the discomfort, he was obviously practiced.

"Our plane broke up in flight and we crashed on a beach," I answered simply, "and I remember who I am and what year it is."

The doctor made a noise that was half laugh and half sigh before tossing me a roll of gauze. "Dressings need to be changed a couple times a day."

"Thank you," I said sincerely, although it fell short of the lengthy bleating he no doubt received in his practice.

Predictably, a little more ice was put between us. "I'm Jack by the way."

"Jack," I nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave. He stopped me before I could depart.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"

"It was never there to catch; but you can call me, Sabine," I tossed over my shoulder, definitely leaving this time. There was a beautiful night sky filled with more stars than I had seen since the war in 1991 and I didn't want to miss a second. Modern rescue attempts usually took a week at the longest and this free island vacation opportunity would be a crying shame to waste. Add to that a newly lightened heart and you had a recipe for a perfect get-away.

Seeing as it was too late to salvage a camp from the wreckage, I decided to stroll down the beach to take in the wildlife. The beaches of home were always so active with hundreds of little birds swooping in off the tide to feed. The large scuttle crabs were more rare, but always delightful to see hurrying about their nightly activities. It was the best kind of crowd to get lost in. With humans everything is all business, more like salmon spawning in a stream; the birds never forgot to stop and smell the roses, though.

It was easy to slink past the chaos on the first night of the crash. Do-gooders were frantically trying to help those in need while others were scoping things out and staking their claim. They were having conversations in every tone imaginable and some even sounded slightly explosive. Surprising few sat dotting the beach staring bleakly out at the waves, shocked to the bone over recent events. Another factor to consider was darkness the likes of which some haven't seen before and the instinct to fear it. The woods were alive with wild sounds that, if you haven't met anything larger than a racoon outside of a zoo, would be pretty damn terrifying. Panic would undoubtedly break out among some of the population by tomorrow night.

Getting far away from these people was starting to seem like the best available option.

Once the noise level from the beach had dropped off, I became vaguely aware of a man's voice calling out in my direction. I was so deep in my reverie that I started debating the consequences of reaction. It could be someone who helped rescue me from the wreckage, more likely it was some busybody making sure no sheep strays from the flock. As I became more lucid, it was clear that he was too close to ignore and I cursed silently to myself before plastering a passing attempt at a grin on my face. I noticed that I stopped a little too abruptly and spun just a little to stiffly to seem nonchalant, but it didn't really matter.

"Hello," I responded when the man had finally caught up.

The man just looked me over with a questioning look in his eyes. "What is your name?"

"Sabine," I tried for polite but had a feeling the effort went over like a lead balloon, "and yours?"

"Sayid." He was giving me a very sad expression mixed with recognition and something else I couldn't put my finger on. "Don't you remember me?"

Then the war came rushing back. This man had lightly tortured me for three days before I could escape. That time was little more than a painful blur, and I had thanked whatever gods had granted me such a lamb of a soldier. Our side wouldn't have been so heartful.

"I'm so sorry," he pleaded as soon as recognition flashed across my face. He took my hands and at such an intimate distance I could see genuine tears in his eyes, "and I do not expect you to forgive me."

"I never held it against you," I responded hollowly, and it was the truth. I was so stunned that nothing else would come to mind.

Sayid didn't know how to take my statement in and floundered for something to say. "I have shelter, food and water back at the camp. Please, you are welcome to anything I have."

I was feeling drained and exhausted, all earlier elation evaporated, and somehow returning to the masses with a man who was once a faceless enemy to break bread and rest wasn't such a bad idea.

Besides, I would need my strength.