Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff.
A/N: Thank you for the reviews and the story watching, and to anyone who read. It's nice of you XxX, and i always appreciate reviews :D
Charlotte dashed along the sterile hallways, her eyes desperately searching for a familiar face. Her body ached with the jet lag but she thundered onwards. She found the room she had been looking for and stood outside for a moment to try to catch her breath and regain her composure. The phone call had been vague, all she knew was that an incident had occurred and her mother had fallen into a coma. Her hand trembled as she reached out to turn the door knob.
The door swung open and she was greeted by an empty bed, around it stood her two sisters, her father and her grandfather.
The family remained deathly silent. Eventually her grandfather stood up, placed a hand on her arm and told her that she was too late. Her mother had died half an hour prior to her arrival.
"What happened? Was there an accident?" Charlotte sunk down on to the edge of the bed, her blood felt cold inside her veins.
Catherine, the elder of her two younger sisters shook her head, "No, no there wasn't."
Charlotte looked to the youngest sister, she was crying silently and would not meet her sisters eyes.
"Charlotte, your mother took an overdose." sighed her father, he took of his glasses and rubbed his swollen eyes.
"What!? No, no I don't believe that, we'll have to wait for the autopsy results!" she shook her head furiously refusing to believe what they were saying.
"There isn't going to be an autopsy, we found her with an empty box of tablets and…this note."
She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat, she turned her face away and let the tears she had been holding back fall, wiping them away quickly she demanded to see the note.
"I don't think that's a good idea." intervened her grandfather.
"Let me see it!"
The note was reluctantly handed over, Catherine kept an icy gaze on her sister as she unfolded the delicate note.
It read "I'm sorry, I failed. I couldn't stop her, I couldn't save her."
"Couldn't save who?" her voice cracked with anguish and confusion as she spoke.
"HA! You spoilt little cow, you know she didn't want you to go on that bloody expedition!" something burst within Catherine, she advanced on Charlotte.
"What are you saying?"
"You know what I'm saying, this is all your fault!" she shouted at her older sister.
Tears stung in Charlotte's eyes as her sister appointed the blame, her father and the youngest of her sisters remained silent.
"You're wrong!"
"No, no I'm not, she told you not to go, she begged you Charlotte. But no! You never listen. You are so selfish! Its always about your stupid, pointless work." she spat.
Charlotte was for the first time in her life at a loss for words. Surely there could be no truth in her sisters words? It was a known fact that her mother had not wanted Charlotte to have anything to do with Charles Widmore and when she had found out about the expedition she had tried every possible way to get her daughter to stay away from it. But she had been on plenty of dangerous trips before, what was so different this time? Had her mother really been so serious about keeping whatever truths the island might have held from Charlotte?
She wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to say that if there was anyway she could have possibly known that her mother would have taken her life when she disobeyed her that she would have stepped in line.
Catherine raised her hand to slap her sister hard around the face, their father stopped her.
"For god sake stop it this instant, Take Matilda to the canteen. I'll meet you there in a moment."
The two younger girls left with their grandfather, leaving Charlotte and her father alone.
"Do you agree with them, am I really to blame?"
She didn't receive a response.
"Dad?"
David Lewis was not her biological father. They never spoke about it, but she knew. He raised her as his own daughter and treated her just the same as he did her sisters. She loved him as a father and she never dared question her mother on the situation. Deep down she knew the life in the house they shared while growing up in Bromsgrove had all been pretend. Like a game in the playground.
"Charlotte, your mother kept secrets from both of us. I like to think… no, I need to think that she kept those secrets in order to protect us. If that is not enough for you, I'll understand and I won't stand in your way while you seek your answers. But just for now I need you to promise you will let it lye, you need to deal with your grief."
"Of course, I know that." She tossed her hair over her shoulder.
"I know you, you will carry on as if nothings wrong and act as if you are fine. We all know how strong you are, it isn't a weakness to be sad." David reached out for her hand.
She regarded it coolly but did not accept the gesture, her arms remained folded.
"Go, the girls will be waiting for you."
"Alright" he sighed in defeat, "I'll contact you about the funeral."
He received a curt nod by way of response. She was left alone in the room where her mother had died.
The wake was held in their family home. Catherine and Matilda still refused to talk to their sister, but all three were in quiet agreement that they would behave respectfully in order to honour and remember their mother.
Charlotte's heeled court shoes sunk into the damp ground as she crossed the garden, she had excused herself for a moment. The mourners were all very understanding.
She straightened her black skirt as she sat herself down on a bench. Birds in the surrounding bushes peeped and tweeted completely oblivious to the lonely girl sitting in their midst.
"May I offer you my sincerest condolences?"
Charlotte's thoughts were interrupted, she looked back over her shoulder. An elderly woman she had never seen before had followed her out. The woman's eyes were cool and unrelenting, her grey hair was tied up in a neat style.
"Thank you. I'm sorry I don't believe we are acquainted, did you know my mother well?"
The intruder sat down beside Charlotte, "Oh no, I didn't know your mother at all."
Charlotte's mouth hung open slightly, but before she could probe further into why exactly the woman was at a funeral of someone she didn't even know, the woman continued.
"I'm here to get a good look at you, I'm curious as to what it is exactly that makes you so special." Her slightly wrinkled hand clutched under Charlotte's chin, tilting her head to the left and right.
The red head jerked back and put some distance between herself and the peculiar lady.
"You certainly are very pretty, all be it in an unusual way, but pretty all the same. There would have to be something more though, for him to go to all this trouble, yes, he must see something in you that I do not."
Charlotte got to her feet, "I don't know who you think you are, but I think you should leave." her back now turned.
"Very well, I can respect that. Perhaps it was insensitive of me to seek you today of all days." The woman stood and crossed the garden, headed back towards the house, she came to a stop a few feet later. She raised the dark scarf she had been wearing so she could cover her head and offered a few parting words.
"He won't let you go back."
Charlotte wanted desperately to inquire into who exactly "he" was and how the woman knew she had wanted to go anywhere, she was however wary of con-merchants who prayed on the recently bereaved and she had made a promise to her father.
By the time she had decided to push these issues aside she found that she was once again alone in the garden.
After a quick look inside the house and a short exchange with her brother-in-law she had come to the conclusion that the woman had left.
The hours passed and the mourners bid farewell. Charlotte had concealed herself away in her mother's office. The room in which her father had found the collapsed body.
She sought through the books and diaries neatly stored on the shelves. The lock on the top draw of the desk gave out with little persuasion. The draw contained a number of unimportant letters, bills and something small and cold to the touch.
She reached her hand in further and grasped the object. As she bought it out to inspect it, the object slipped from her fingers and rolled under the desk out of sight.
"Oh damn it!" she exclaimed to herself.
She got down on to her knees to search for it, her fingers fitted between the desk and the carpet, they brushed the item and what felt like a piece of paper. Bringing both these findings with her she settled back into the office chair.
The first item was a ring, there was no way of confirming her suspicion that it was the ring given to her mother from her biological father and yet she knew that it was.
She placed it gently on the desk and turned her attention to the scruffy piece of paper.
Her head throbbed slightly, she knew she had seen the handwriting scrawled on it, but where? Where had she seen it?
Her mind went blank, she could not remember for the life of her so she decided it would be more productive to worry about that later and just to read it.
It was torn and burned in places, nevertheless she could make out the basic gist of it.
"You have to listen to me, and listen very closely. No matter what, no matter the cost you have to keep her away from this place. I have to trust you with this task as I can't be the one to do it. Just know that if you fail, she will die, and that can't happen. Don't let that happen. So protect her…I love her."
Just as with the ring she had no way of actually knowing that the letter was referring to her. The evidence, however was overwhelming, her mother had killed herself from the guilt caused by her failure to stop Charlotte from trying to go back to the island.
It was her fault.
She leant back and rubbed her temples, the guilt and the stress burned into her. On top of all these revelations there was someone out there in the world that loved her, another person she could end up causing trouble for, another she could potentially hurt with her longing to find the island.
Why did everything have to be so complicated?
In spite of this she couldn't fight the gentle warmth that came with knowing she was loved enough by someone who was willing to orchestrate a plan to save her.
She didn't know whether she should have laughed with the absurdity of the situation, or to cry out with the agony of it. Always the reserved type when it came to things like this, she did neither.
a/n: again thanking you all for the reviews and for reading and stuff.
