The party had finally died down, and all was quiet at the Reyes mansion. Except, of course, for the policemen currently escorting Hugo to the police station. Their cries of Miranda Rights have all but woken up the entire nosy neighborhood. Let's just say my attempts at persuading him to return to the island were less than successful, and he chose to turn himself into the police patrolling his house rather than follow me.

"You didn't get him?" John asks when I return to the hotel.

"He threw a fully cooked Hot Pocket at my face," I say sharply. "Thankfully, he has shameful aim, so I won't need any skin grafts."

"What do we do now?"

"We continue with the plan. I'll have to sort out Hugo's mess tomorrow."

"Ben?"

I look up from my paperwork. "Yes, John?"

"You think she's doing okay?"

He doesn't have to clarify whom he's talking about. "I'm positive that she's fine. I told her to stay with Richard."

"You think Richard can protect her?"

"I've known Richard since I was a little boy. He's been my trusted advisor and close friend for the majority of my existence. If there is anyone I trust with Cora's life, it's him."

John nods and takes a sip of his coffee. "Are we going to pick up Sayid today?"

"No." I gather the paperwork and shove it all into a yellow envelope. "Actually, there is something I must attend to first."

I wait outside the little blue house for three and a half hours before I detect movement. A woman emerges from the doorway and strolls down the driveway towards her car. I intercept her with a kind smile.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for a Marguerite Collins? Would you happen to know if she lives on this block?"

The brunette woman holds a hand on her hip in thought. "No, sorry. Don't know anyone by that name."

"Do you happen to know a Collin's family at all?"

"What is this about?" the woman asks suspiciously.

Just then, a little redheaded girl runs out the door. "Phone, mommy!"

"Sarah, what did I tell you about picking up the phone?"

Sarah. No, that's not one of the names Cora gave me. And the description said nothing of freckles, and absolutely nothing about red hair. I smile again at the woman and begin backing up towards my car. "I must have the wrong address. Sorry to disturb you. Have a nice day."

I pull over into an abandoned parking lot and reread Cora's letter. Long, sleepless hours provided me with the translation to the rest of the message. The letter in its entirety reads:

Ben,

I hope this letter reaches you, but I'm not sure of anything anymore. I started writing this with something to say, but now I've gone and lost all my words. I guess what I want to say is that I'm not mad at you. I was never really mad at you. I am jealous, I'll admit that, but I'm not mad. She's scribbled out the words You have a right to your own body But I can still faintly see the letters. I just want to let you know that we part as good friends.

Please keep your eye on Locke. He's a good friend, and you'll need him to get back to the island. Be nice to him. He has even less friends than I do. And Ben, I also wanted to tell you that I'm not sure you can trust Sayid. Be cautious around him.

I know you will be busy off island, but can you please look for my family any free chance you get? I have included my address below with a brief description of each of my family members. I don't know if they exist in this world, but I want them to be protected if they do.

I wish we had more time to spend with each other. My heart shall weep until I see you again.

—Cora

It's not an "I love you" but it is as close as she is capable of. I give myself ten minutes to miss her, and then I start the car and drive to meet Sayid.

"Ellie," I announce, raising my hand up in a vote.

I listen to murmurs of agreement as those nearest me raise their hands. She wins in a unanimous victory.

It makes sense. She's been here her whole life. She already knows all of the ins and outs of island law. Her judgments are fair, she's a quick thinker, and she's a nice person. I sure as hell wasn't going to volunteer to take over as leader of the Others. I have enough on my plate already with all this running back and forth between Dharmaville and the Temple and the Others camp offshore. I haven't gotten a full nights sleep in almost two months.

I pat Eloise on the shoulder. "Congratulations. You'll do us all proud." She shoots me a grateful smile before being carted away by a trio of eager well-wishers already giving suggestions.

"You must be rather pleased with yourself."

I turn towards Charles with a raised brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Widmore nods towards Eloise's retreating figure. "Anyone you voted for would have been elected. Your vote caries incredible weight around here. These people respect you."

"Please," I scoff. "They're afraid of me, more like."

"She does seem happy though, doesn't she?"

I steal a curious glance at Widmore. The usual bitter edge in his voice has softened, and it's freaking me out. The hell? Hold on . . . Charles and Eloise have a kid together, right? Faraday? I just can't see Charles ever giving two shits about anyone other than himself. But by the foreign stupor in his eyes, I'd say he actually does care, however small, for Ellie. Just as soon as I notice it, it's gone again as if it had never reared its ugly head.

"Shouldn't you be at the Temple by this hour?" Charles snaps, leaving before I can even answer him.

I can't roll my eyes hard enough.

"Girls," I praise loudly, "It's beautiful."

Cecily and her little group of followers smile so hard it looks painful.

"But I can't wear this out on missions," I continue. "I'll get it all dirty."

"Oh, but you must!" they insist. "We'll wash it for you when you return."

Cecily reaches out and holds up the edging of the white dress. "I did the needlework on the bottom."

I shake out the dress and hold it up against me. "But what will I wear to social events?" I'm joking, but the girls take me seriously and dash out of the room, squabbling at each other with pattern ideas, swinging the heavy wooden door shut behind them.

I've barely had the chance to hang my new dress in a wardrobe when there's a knock at my door. I pull it open and come face to face with an orchid bouquet. "What are these for?"

"I thought maybe you'd like to brighten up your room," Richard's voice comes from behind the large pink blossoms. "Where do you want them?"

"They're lovely. Thank you." I point to a little end table next to my bed. "You can put them over there for now. I don't have a vase."

"How did the election go?" he asks curiously. As he passes me by, I catch a whiff of the perfumed scent of the orchid pollen. My room is going to smell amazing for the next week or so.

"Ellie won," I tell him. "Charles practically accused me of cheating."

"Cheating?"

"He said anyone I voted for would have automatically won. Although, he seemed content with the outcome." I raise an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know if anything is going on between them, would you?"

Richard gently lays the flowers down on the table and laughs. "I didn't take you for a gossip girl."

"I'm just trying to look out for Ellie," I defend. "She's a good friend, and I don't want to see her get hurt."

"Eloise is perfectly capable of taking care of herself." I feel a hand on the small of my back. "Would you like to take a walk? It's a nice night out."

"David should really lay down for the night," I say, nonchalantly moving out of Richard's reach.

"Doesn't Charlie have David?"

"Yes."

"And isn't Brandon watching Charlie?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Then David will be fine for now," he counters without missing a beat. "A nice walk will do us both some good."

Richard leads me to the beach in silence. The moon hangs low in the sky—a blinding, milky white. I kick off my shoes and place them neatly under a palm tree near the shore. Barefooted, I make my way towards the waves, enjoying the cool and refreshing sand against my tired feet.

Richard walks beside me as we skirt along the edge of the tide, just out of its reach. "You're uncharacteristically quiet today. What's on your mind?"

Oh, I don't know. Maybe just the fact that the near future includes me losing my mind, committing genocide, and dying an inconspicuous death. I'll never see my family again because it's a dimensional impossibility. My husband is nine years old.

And the spirits of my deceased father and your wife like to follow me around. Yeah, that one is especially fun. "Nothing," I answer.

Richard clears his throat. "It's a nice night out."

"You've already said that."

"Have I? Sorry."

"Lord almighty," my father exclaims. "This is painful to watch. I actually feel sorry for this poor bastard."

"I bought you some more books for your library," Richard continues. "You now have all of Jane Austen's works."

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to." I feel Richard's arm reach around behind me, and his hand rests high on my hip. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" he asks. "You look upset."

I catch the smirk on my father's face, but I refuse to indulge him. He's wrong. Richard has only ever been professional in both the original show and in whatever the hell universe I'm currently living in. He's just looking out for me, just like I look out for him. It's what friends do. So, just to make it a point that I'm not uncomfortable with his consoling gestures, I make no moves to remove Richard's hand. "Just homesick," I admit.

Richard looks up at the sky, and I follow suit. Stars litter the black void and only serve to make me even more homesick. People say it's a small world, but the universe is anything but small. I wonder if my family is watching the same sky I am right now. I wonder if they even miss me at all.

When he finally speaks again, Richard's voice comes out low and calming. "Do you remember that night we taught each other different languages?"

I glance up at him and immediately look down at my feet, my face tingling with the beginnings of a blush. Stop being weird. But I'm not trying to be. Its just he's especially attractive in this lighting. But so what? The world is full of attractive men. Who cares? "Yes, I remember."

"You were particularly horrible at conjugations." His fingers gently press into my side. "Not much has changed."

"Oh," I say sarcastically, "well, I'm sorry that I haven't had 100 years to study a language."

Richard laughs as if I'm joking. "Haven't you?"

I roll my eyes. I forgot I never explained the jumping through time adventure, and I'm in no mood to try and explain it all right now. "Sorry, I'm exhausted. Just ignore anything I may say that doesn't make sense."

"You know," he starts in a different tone, "maybe you should think about quitting your job with the Initiative. It's done nothing but drain you ever since you started it."

He's right, but I can't admit that. I like being around Sawyer and Juliet and sometimes even Miles when he isn't particularly sassy. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy making Annie and Ben happy. I like knowing that I'm helping Ben's life become a little less depressing. Even though traveling to and from Dharma every night is wearing me down, I can't find it within my heart to quit. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Richard refutes calmly. "All this missed sleep has affected your attitude, your health . . . just look at your eyes."

"What about my eyes?" I snap defensively.

"They're always puffy and purple." Richard stops and turns in front of me so I'm forced to stop as well. He stares me down until I'm forced to look up at him. "Cora, you need sleep to survive. You can't keep living this double life."

"I'm fine, Richard."

"It's okay to admit that you can't do both."

Anger slowly starts to burn inside me. It takes all my willpower not to yell at him. "I said I'm fine, Richard."

"You could always fake your death."

"Fake my death?"

"Make a deal with one of your animal friends and stage it. They could pretend to drag you off into the jungle. That way you'd be free to stay here at camp."

My confusion slowly morphs into an uncomfortable embarrassment. "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I'm worried about you." As if in defense of his actions, Richard quickly adds, "Charlie is worried, too."

"Charlie doesn't understand," I snap, my voice rising higher and higher with every word. "If he wants to go home . . . all he has to do is leave the island. I can't. It doesn't work that way for me. He doesn't get it. None of you get it." At the mention of home, my throat closes up and my sentence clips off unexpectedly. I cross my arms and spin away from him, towards the ocean, trying desperately to clear this lump in my throat that threatens to undo me.

This isn't fair. None of this is fair. Before I landed on this island, I was hell bent on never getting married. When I was forced to marry Ben, I eventually warmed up to the idea because the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. But I never got the chance to really get to know him. I probably know more about Brandon than I know about Ben. We never even got to go on an actual date, and now my husband is gone, and I'll never see him again. Not the real him. Not the version that I started to fall in love with. I'm stuck with a child version of him, and no matter how strong the urge for intimacy takes over me, no matter how lonely and desperate I become, I can't do anything about it.

And then here comes a perfectly available bachelor who is kind and protective and attractive and interested in me, and I have no say in the matter. I was forced to marry someone else, and no matter how much I originally consented to the idea, I'm slowly starting to resent it.

I never got to choose my husband. I'm honor bound to someone who deserted me. What the hell kind of bargain is that? I am a fool.

"Oh my God," my father muses to himself, leaning towards me, squinting his eyes. "You like this guy."

"Cora, I'm sorry," Richard apologizes. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I want to go home." I've lost the emotional fight. As a last resort, I cover my face with a hand to hide my watery eyes. I'm so homesick I feel physically ill.

Strong arms wrap around my middle and pull me close against his chest. I spin around, but everything I had planned to say is lost in my throat. Our faces are so close that I can see each individual eyelash that make up the dark black lines under Richard's eyes that Sawyer loves to make fun of. Dark stubble shades his chin and unshaven cheeks. Richard still smells faintly of the orchids he brought me, but there is a distinctly male musk hidden underneath that makes my pulse quicken.

I need to leave, but I can't move. "We need to talk," I manage to whisper.

"About?" His lips are so close I could brush them with my own if I move an inch or two.

"Us," I say, taking a small step backwards. "It just . . . it wouldn't work."

The small smile curving his lips drops. "It wouldn't?"

"Richard, I'm married."

"Are you, really?" he questions in an odd tone.

"Excuse me?"

"I've know you for a hundred years, and I've never met him. I've never so much as seen a picture of this man. You were never pregnant with his child. You don't even wear his wedding ring anymore! What do you expect me to think?"

"I expect you to mind your own damn business," I retort furiously, wishing I could take it back almost immediately. "Listen," I tell him in a kinder voice, "you are a wonderful, wonderful friend. And I'm very happy I know you. But—"

"Where is he?" Richard interrupts.

"What?"

He takes a step towards me. "Where is this husband of yours?" I look down at the sand, but I can't think of a good response. "Is he dead?"

My head shoots up. "No."

"If he's not dead, then where is he?"

"Please, stop." Richard is in the process of asking again when I finally lose it. "He's gone, okay? He's not dead, he's just gone!"

"Gone?" he continues. "What does that mean, Cora?"

"He left," I whisper, no longer able to speak properly. "And I don't know where he is."

This time when Richard holds me to his chest, I don't resist. It feels good to cry. It's been a while since I was afforded the opportunity. Being comforted brings me a sense of peace, and I can tell by how good I feel that maybe I should cry every once in a while for stress relief.

"You don't deserve that," Richard muffles into my hair.

I pull back and retreat towards the jungle, away from where Richard stands near the sea. "Goodnight, Richard."

"Cora—" he protests, but I don't let him finish.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to sleep in my room anymore. I haven't had a nightmare in a long time. I should be fine on my own." I pick up my shoes, not even bothering to lace them, and run in the direction of the Temple.

"I've figured out what your problem is." My father takes a leisurely stroll around my bedroom. "You have a daddy complex."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, please. Your husband is twice your age, and Richard's a damn dinosaur. You don't even spare a passing glance at any of the boys your own age."

I place David in his cradle next to my bed and lie down. "I'm going to sleep now, dad. You can leave me alone."

"Yeah, yeah." My father waves a dismissive hand. "I'm leaving."

A cold, creepy silence falls over my room. It is in these late hours of the night that Richard talks me to sleep, but now there isn't a single sound to ease my insomnia. I curl up on top of the sheets, staring blankly at David's cradle, while I silently regret the events at the beach. I could have handled it so much better than I did, and now I've probably alienated my best friend. I'll never get to sleep. Just as I start to lose hope, I dose off.

I awake with a gasp, dripping in sweat, but not from a nightmare—from a different sort of dream. The type of intense dream I thought I'd start having after I lost my virginity—fervent kisses, nimble fingers working at the hooks of my undergarments, hands brushing up between my legs, over my hips, across my stomach.

All the muscles in my body throb with each pulsing beat of my heart as I try to catch my breath. I roll over and check on David, but he is still fast asleep. Lying back down on my bed, I stare up at the stone ceiling of my bedroom while I try to justify what happened. I stop almost immediately.

I know what my mother would say about this, and it makes my face inflame. I'm only grateful my father honored my wishes and left when he did. God help me if I talk in my sleep.

My dream had nothing to do with my husband and everything to do with the man who usually sleeps beside me.

"Look what I got." LaFleur holds up an ancient looking video camera and smiles happily. "Only cost me two paychecks!"

"How did you buy that?"

He fiddles with the lens without bothering to read the instructions. "Requested it on the last shipment. Why? You have a request?"

"Actually, could I borrow it?"

LaFleur holds the camera protectively to his chest. "Why?"

It's all I can do not to laugh. "I have an idea that may help me learn more about Hydra Island, but I'll need that camera."

"Alright," he says reluctantly. "Just be careful with it. And don't rewind. I've already filmed some stuff."

Annie's mother works for the education department and her father is hardly ever home due to his long hours on Hydra Island. It was easy enough to figure out Mrs. Freeman's schedule and set up a visitation date with Annie herself. Ben, as always, was with Annie when I asked if she wanted to film a movie staring her new pet kitten, Rainbow. Needless to say, Annie invited him.

I study the Freeman house when Annie lets me in. Her father may not be here often, but that doesn't mean he hasn't left behind documents. I just need to get Annie and Ben fixated on filming their little kitten adventure, and then I'll be free to snoop through the bedrooms down the hall.

I set the video camera on the coffee table and turn it on.

"Where did you get that?" Annie asks in amazement.

I smile. "Borrowed it from my dad."

"Wow! I've never seen one before."

"Annie," I point towards the camera, "it's on. Go."

"I shall release the beast!" Annie opens the door to a tiny animal carrier, and a furry little kitten comes barreling out. With a quick pounce, the kitten playfully attacks, climbing up Annie's leg. "No, you're supposed to go through the obstacle course! Ouch, Rainbow. That hurts!"

I push stop on the camera and help remove the kitten from Annie's leg. "Okay, you two," I tell both Annie and Ben, "you push this button to film. Got it? Just push it again when you want to stop."

"Okay!" they both say in unison.

"Annie, may I use your restroom?" I ask.

"Of course, Miss Collins." Annie has become so excited at the prospect of being in charge of the camera that she isn't even looking at me. "It's right down the hall."

I search the master bedroom from top to bottom, but the only thing I come up with is a map of Hydra Island, which is virtually worthless to me, thanks to my father. Why memorize a map when I have a human radar on my side?

Disappointed, I pocket the map anyway and rejoin the children.

The Initiative seem to have discovered another reason to throw a party. A large group of members have gathered around picnic tables full of food. Horace sees me and waves me over.

"Cora!" he exclaims and slaps me on the back. "How's the classroom working out for you?"

"Fantastic," I say. "The kids are all wonderful. Thank you again for the opportunity."

"No problem, man. You were the woman for the job. Please, join us. We were just about to have dinner."

"Oh, no thank you. I'm actually in charge of diner tonight. Juliet's been craving . . ." I glance over the different food dishes to make sure I don't say an item available. "Spaghetti. Thank you, though. Another time."

"Sure thing." Horace bounces away with a good-natured laugh to attend to his latest lady friend—a woman named Amy.

I'm about to continue home when I spot the dessert table and stop dead in my tracks. No. Leave. Keep walking. There is every dessert imaginable—Jell-O, cake, brownies, cupcakes, and an assortment of chocolates and hard candies.

I remember Cecily once asking me about chocolate, so I grab a napkin and pile on brownies. Come on. One won't hurt. It's been so long since I allowed myself an indulgence. One won't hurt. I take a bite and my eyes roll back. It's the most delicious brownie I've ever eaten.

With a newfound spring in my step, I inhale the afternoon air. I'm on my way back to the Temple when I hear something that makes me freeze. A few feet out, somewhere within the trees, I hear the sound of my own voice.

I drop to the floor like a sack of bricks, accidently dropping the remaining brownies in the dirt. I shove another one in my mouth while resisting the urge to giggle. Food is supposed to make you feel full, but every brownie I eat makes me hungrier.

Richard's voice makes me tense up and momentarily forget the brownies. A few feet away, Richard kneels down next to someone collapsed on the floor. The view of him from my hiding spot is fantastic, and I have to old a hand over my mouth to keep from giving myself away.

My mouth falls open in shock when Richard stands, hoisting my body up into his arms. Only, it's not my body. I'm still lying on the ground. But at the same time it is my body, because the woman he's cradling is me. My hair, my body, my face. Everything about her looks identical to me. And he's running away with her—me.

I stumble to my feet and try to follow him, but I smack into a tree and fall down, laughing hysterically. It is ages before I finally find my way back to the Temple.

"Cora?"

I spin around with a wide smile. "Richard?"

He clasps my shoulders to steady me. "What are you doing? Why did you run away?"

"What?" I ask.

"I went to fill your canteen, and you ran away. You were just shot, for God's sake. What's wrong with you?"

I sway on my feet, and Richard has to practically drag me into the Temple.

I wake up in my bedroom.

Charlie puts a finger to his lips when I sit up on my bed. "I just put the little booger down for a nap," he whispers, pointing to David's cradle. "Don't wake him up."

I blink in confusion. I don't remember going to the Temple.

"That," my father announces with a pained look on his face, "was one of the more uncomfortable situations I've found myself in."

"What are you—" I stop myself when Charlie looks up. "Uh, Charlie? Thank you very much for putting David to sleep. Would you mind giving me some privacy?"

"You okay?" he asks worriedly. "Richard's been pacing the hallways for the past hour. He's only just left. What happened?"

I'm trying to find out. "Listen, Charlie, I'll explain later, okay? I just . . . I'm going to take a bath."

Charlie raises his eyebrows. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Thought we were friends, but whatever." He storms out, and I fill with guilt. One more person angry with me.

"What happened?" I ask as soon as Charlie shuts the door behind him.

"That's a loaded question," my father replies.

"What happened?" I repeat in a firm tone.

With a deep sigh, my father recounts the first few hours of my arrival. "You were very vocal about your, uh . . . fondness for this Richard guy. Told him he should grow out his beard. Something about his accent . . . truthfully, I zoned out at that point."

"What?"

"I stuck around to make sure he didn't take advantage of you, but it turns out he's a decent man. Didn't do a thing." My father's face scrunches up in distaste. "It was actually him I was worried about being taken advantage of. You apparently don't respect no."

I take a steadying breath. "Was Charlie in here?"

"No. Just you and your . . . what was it you told me he was? Best friend? Huh. Usually people don't want to do those kinds of things with their best friends, but hey, I'm not here to judge."

I slowly sink back down on my bed, nauseous dread pooling in my stomach. How can I fix this? I guess I can just forsake my Temple duties and become an official Dharma member. Stop my nightly visits altogether, then I'd never have to see Richard again. But what about David? Oh, screw it. I can make something up. I'm a good liar. I'll think of something.

"Damn marijuana brownie," I grumble. "Dad, remind me never to eat anything from a Dharma potluck ever again."

Taking a seat next to me on the bed, my father coughs a laugh and nods at my door. "This should be interesting."

Richard bursts into my bedroom, and I shoot up from my seat on the bed. David wakes up and gurgles his displeasure at being awoken at this hour.

"Richard—" As soon as I say his name, I don't know why I bothered to open my mouth. I don't know what to say.

He cuts me off with an expression made of stone. "You need to come with me."

"What?"

"Cecily," he explains, "you know her?"

"Yes," I stutter, confused at the odd topic of conversation. "Of course. What about her?"

"She's gone. Been missing since early this afternoon. Friends say she went out to forage for food and never came back. We need you to return to the Initiative and find out if she's there."

"Yes, yes, okay. I—oh, David . . ."

"I'll watch over him until you return." I head for the exit, but one of his hands reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist. "Be careful," he warns.

I smile, meaning to thank him, but I just end up running out the door.

Sawyer is off shift today, so he had no information for me. I sit outside, facing the security office, waiting for some kind of clue.

"Oh, shit," my father huffs under his breath. "Cora . . . aw, kid, I'm sorry."

I watch it all happen in slow motion. A van rolls up in front of the security office and three men jump out under the cover of darkness, carrying a limp body. Her lifeless hand swings freely with a dead weight. A bullet wound near her heart still leaks blood. Her glossy eyes are wide open, gleaming in the faint moonlight.

I watch the men carry Cecily's body in through the double doors and slam them shut behind them.

"Wake up." I shake one of Bosco's enormous paws. "Bosco, wake up."

"What is it?" he grumbles.

I pull on the dress Cecily so proudly helped make and strap a quiver of arrows to my belt. My hands shake so much I can barely tie my new wrap around my head. "You want your wife back?" I ask furiously. "Let's go get her back."