Three years later, New York City
"Jack, can you hear me?" said a stout man. "Are you alive, squeeze my hand."
No response.
"Hello?"
No response.
"Jack!"
Still no response.
A white sheet is pulled over the man's head.
John, Sawyer, Claire and Desmond were walking over the near the Looking-Glass. Claire burst into tears and wails. Desmond comforted her "It's OK Claire, Charlie died bravely like a person should." He knew that Charlie was destined to die on that island. And thinking of death, what held for the survivors. Would they starve, maybe be murdered or even, with that glimmer of destiny, of hope they would be rescued.
Suddenly he felt like he was falling. Like the rush of adrenilane was building and then collapsing. Desmond had fallen into a pit trap. He knew, in the next moments what his destiny was.
He would die.
God welcomed him. 'Mr Desmond. Take a seat." Then it started to fade as he sat down. He was walking down the beach. With his beloved Penny. She squeezed his hand and they walked on.
"Why are you here?" asked Desmond thought the words didn't come out.
Penny spoke and she seemed to understand what he said. "I am at peace, too. I was murdered by the woman in the helicopter. You will not be able to speak at the start but I can understand you." She said in a soft, serene voice.
And they walked on.