"You sound stuffy. Are you sick?"
"No, dad. I'm fine."
"Have you been crying?"
"No, dad."
"Because if you're homesick, your mother and I can fly out there for a visit."
I bring the knife down on the cutting board, sniff at my runny nose, and laugh. "I'm chopping onions, okay? Not that I don't miss you guys."
There's a muffled voice on the line, and then my father asks, "Your mother wants to know if those kids are treating you right."
"They're high school teenagers, dad. They're a little too preoccupied with themselves to give me any thought." A knock on my front door makes me smile into the phone. "Dad? I have to go. My sauce is burning."
"Alright, kiddo. I love you."
"I love you, too. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I'm sure I'll have another crazy school story by then." I return the home phone to its dock and open the front door. "Verdict?"
"Verdict?" Ben gives a perplexed grin and shifts the brown paper bag in his arms. "I think the verdict is that I shouldn't be in charge of the classy grocery shopping. I don't know the first thing about wine."
"As long as it isn't dry wine, we should be good."
"Dry?" he asks uncertainly, shifting the bag in an attempt to re-read the label.
"My mom loves it, but I think it smells like foot and tastes like a diaper." I inspect the bottle and turn towards the kitchen in search of a bottle opener. "I'm using it to cook the mushrooms, so if you want to drink some, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Ben produces a small bag of dog treats and shakes them high in the air. "I bought these for Brandon." A quick glance around and Ben's brow creases. "Where is the little demon?"
Hearing his name, Brandon comes bounding into the room, tail thudding heavily against the floor, and knocks over two chairs in a frenzied attempt to eat all of the treats at one time. He eventually settles beside Ben's seat, gnawing happily on a rawhide.
"How do you manage?" Ben mumbles.
"I'm used to his antics by now," I say. "My parents own a wolf sanctuary back home. We've got a whole pack of them running around. But, uh . . . I don't exactly think the homeowners association would appreciate me keeping him here, so I'd appreciate if you didn't spread the word."
Ben makes a gesture across his lips, as if locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. "He would pass for a Husky, if anyone asked."
I snort a laugh. "Yeah, a mutant Husky."
"Just tell them he was part of a science experiment gone wrong."
Cold sweat dampens my palms. Adrenaline pumps furiously into my veins, and for the briefest of moments, I have the overwhelming urge to hide under the table. Needles, knives, and cold steel flash one after another in a pulsing migraine assault. My nostrils fill with the strong odor of antiseptic, fueling my confusion and fear. I shake my head to try and clear these blurred thoughts, but they linger nonetheless.
"Something wrong?"
"I'm fine," I answer too quickly. Turning the stovetop burner down to a simmer, I take a seat at the kitchen table and force a reassuring smile. "I think I've been watching too many horror movies recently."
Ben sips from a wineglass as I hoist a heavy stack of essays onto the table. "This is a goldmine. I'll win for sure. Alright, what do we have this time?" I sift through the stack, eyeing plenty of hopefuls. "Haha, look at this one." I extract a one-page essay and wave it in front of his face. "The assignment was a minimum of four pages on the major themes in Emma. They barely wrote two full paragraphs."
"Unfortunately, I have a trump card." Without even looking at me, Ben holds out a white piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it out away from himself with enough disgust to suggest that it actually smells as bad as it looks. "Four page minimum with at least three academic sources."
I grab the paper and read, "Napoleon was French." I flip the paper over to inspect it for some hidden genius. "Wait . . . this can't be it."
"I win," says Ben. "Although, to be honest, I don't view it as a victory that students don't pay attention in my class."
I slap the shameful paper down on the table and retreat to check on the mushrooms. "So, I figured out who's behind the drawings on my board. And the dead rat in the plastic bag under my desk. And the centipede in my desk."
"Who is it?"
I stir the mushrooms and swivel my neck to show him my annoyance. "What can you tell me about Jane Alpert?"
"Cora, wake up."
Through my fluttering lashes, I can just barely see Jacob standing over me in the darkness. I groan and shift to my side, bones grinding in pain. "I thought you were dead."
"I am dead."
Sighing heavily, I force my eyes open. I've been placed on my bed in the Temple. One lone torch hangs on the wall, casting more shadows than I'd like. "What do you want, Jacob?"
"You slept through it."
"I slept through what?"
In answer, Jacob points a finger at the door.
The hallway is desolate and dank, bringing a stinging chill up my spine as I pad along the stone floors barefoot. Outside in the courtyard of the Temple, I shield my eyes from the sun as they slowly adjust to the bright light of day. Squinting, I find the limp remains of Gail slumped against an outer wall, blood caked to her forehead.
Before I can run over to help her, I notice her body is not alone. The courtyard is in utter ruin from some undisclosed disaster. Bits of stone and plant matter lie scattered across the remains of men, women, and children. Death is pungent in the air. Anjali has not survived the slaughtering, and from the position of her body, she died trying to save her brothers and sisters.
And then I see her lifeless form strewn across the dirt like a fleshy rag doll, and my heart stops dead in my chest.
My baby.
Jane.
"Easy, love," a warm, motherly voice commands. "Easy."
I pry my eyelids open with a gasp, sweat instantly stinging my eyes.
Cool water dabs against my forehead. I listen to the sounds of a rag being wrung out, water dripping into a bowl, before the rag returns to my forehead. "It was only a dream."
I look at her face, stunned to find she is not the youthful woman I've known for the past three years. "Ellie?"
"I'm here."
"What . . . what happened?"
Eloise pats the rag against my feverish skin. "I was hoping you could tell me."
I try to sit up so I can have a look around, but my ribs scream in protest. Brandon has been placed next to me on the bed. His stump leg is wrapped up tight, and he stirs at the sound of my voice, but he doesn't have the strength yet to open his eyes. "What are you doing here?" I ask her.
Eloise helps me up into a sitting position. "I've come to collect my son."
Son. Son? Who's her son? I remember. "Daniel. Is he going to be okay?"
"He'll live," she answers curtly.
None of this is making any sense. I don't trust my memory by any means, but for some reason my brain thinks Eloise shouldn't be here. Was she not supposed to be here during the show? "When did you come back to the island?" I ask.
"About four days ago." Eloise abandons the bowl of water and fixes me with an intense stare. "When did you?"
She used to have darker, fuller eyebrows and lashes, but old age has bleached them away to an almost white delicacy. The frown lines that used to wrinkle her forehead when she was upset have now made a permanent residency in her skin, which has softened into silk. I'm supposed to be this old, as far as she knows, but she doesn't ask me why I haven't aged like she has.
"Yesterday," I answer, and then I pause to think. "Actually, I'm not sure. That all depends on how long I was unconscious."
Before Ellie can question me further, Anjali and Gail push through the door with pails of water lapping at their sides. Gail makes a small noise of surprise, but Anjali forsakes the pails completely with a loud exclamation of joy.
"Lady Cora? You're awake!" Anjali rushes to my side and anxiously clasps my hands. "I was so worried we would lose you."
The young woman has significantly matured these past three years. Any sign of roundness in her face has chiseled away to reflect the intensity of her strength. I wouldn't be surprised if she's done nothing but train while I've been gone. I squeeze her hand with reassurance. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for good."
"I'm glad to hear it," says Walt from the doorway. A long knife juts from a strap on his belt, and a series of smaller throwing knifes are strapped to a strip of tight cloth that crosses over his chest. Walt carries himself in an assured manner that makes him seem taller than he already is, which is saying a lot considering he's grown so tall it only takes a few strides for him to reach my bed. Along with his voice deepening, he has chosen to shave his head nearly down to the skin, and he wears a perpetually serious expression unbecoming of someone his age.
I don't even try to conceal my confusion. "When the hell did you become so badass?"
"I need to talk to you," says Walt. He shoots the women a sideways glance. "Alone," he clarifies.
"I'm her coverguard," Anjali interjects, one eyebrow raised in defiance. "You have no right to order me away from her side."
"Dogen's orders, Anjali," Walt clarifies. "I'm sorry."
Gail, now as old as Eloise herself, straightens her posture in a threatening stance, peering up at him. "I will not be moved from this spot, young man. Just you try to move me."
I rest a hand on Brandon's head and stroke behind his ears to soothe his restless dreams. "Whatever you have to talk to me about can be said in their company. If Dogen wants to talk to me, why isn't he here?"
Walt walks back to the closed door and slides a long piece of wood across the slots on the sides to secure it shut from the inside. We wait in anticipated silence for him to walk back over to my bed, his boots scratching against the rough stone floor. When he finally decides to share his news, his voice is hushed, as if worried unworthy busybodies are listening intently at the locked door. "Dogen's busy trying to decide what to do next. He wants to know where you've been, Cora."
"I wish I could tell you everything, but we don't have time." I remember my nightmare of the Temple in ruins. My nightmares have a tendency to illuminate at least some aspect of the future. I can't chance not believing in them now. "Jacob is dead, Walt. We need to evacuate this place immediately. Something very bad is about to happen."
The Island, Present Day
Once, when I was a young boy, I watched Cora help an orphaned skunk assimilate into the human community. At first the skunk wanted nothing to do with anyone and would hide for hours on end, curled up tight under her front porch.
Jane reminds me of the poor creature. She squats low to the ground, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet, her fingers twisted tightly into her freed hair. I don't remember the last time I saw her without a tight braid down her back. In fact, I think this might be the first time I've seen her with her hair undone at all.
I was unaware of Jane's close relationship with Jacob. Learning about his death made her even more unstable than she already was, so when that thing tried to take Richard hostage, Jane darted from the safety of the trees to defend him. Faster than I could have possibly stopped her, she was on him with a knife. Without even trying, Jack's likeness disarmed her, rendered her unconscious in front of the frightened onlookers, and disappeared into the trees with an equally unconscious Richard slung over his shoulder.
Ilana squats next to Jane in the sand, whispering words of comfort and reassurance, no doubt. Every once in a while, Jane's eyes light up with recognition, and the two women begin speaking with unparalleled speed. From what I can gather, the two are old childhood friends, despite my never having met Ilana before. Then again, I didn't meet Jane until she was almost ten. There's a lot I don't know.
David paces nervously in the sand nearest Jack's open coffin, head whipping around at every sound within the trees. I stare at Jack's body. His real body. The body that John and I dug up from his family plot in the same cemetery I shot Matthew Abaddon in cold blood.
A crab scuttles across Jack's temple. I walk over to the coffin and kick the hungry crustacean away.
"We need to move," says David. "Ben, that thing might come back to finish the job."
"Jane?" Neither of the women respond. "Jane," I continue, "David's right. We need to go."
"Go?" Jane lifts her head up enough to glare at me through a layer of dark black curls. "Go where, exactly? There's no point in hiding from him. Don't you two get it? We have to kill that thing."
"Yeah?" David interjects. "You already tried that, twice, and look how far that got us."
"There has to be a way to kill it," she whispers to herself.
"Kill it?" David barks a laugh. "You shot him through the heart, Jane, and that freak of nature didn't even stumble."
"What do you want me to do, David?" Jane shoots up from her crouch, ignoring Ilana's protests. "I didn't see you rushing out there to help save dad."
"You're calling him dad now?"
Giving his chest an aggressive shove, Jane barks, "I can call him whatever the hell I want."
I hook my leg against Jane's inner ankle and pull sharply, tripping her. She lands in the dirt with a grunt and rolls onto her back, seething. I simply point from David to the ground and he sits without question. "You two want to act like children, I'm going to treat you like children. I'll give you a moment to compose yourselves, and then I expect you to be ready to leave. I have a good idea of where to start looking."
"Where are we going?" Jane hisses through clenched teeth.
"The Temple. But first and foremost, we're going to bury Jack's body. I don't feel right leaving him to the wildlife."
"I am going to the Temple as well," says Ilana. "There are questions I have for their leader. Are you coming with me, Jane? We can make it there by nightfall if we leave now."
Jane fixes her swollen, weary eyes on me, and I nod. "Go," I tell her. "Go get your father back. I'll be right behind you."
Despite our healer's best efforts, the splint holding my ankle together doesn't do much. Alongside Ellie, Gail attends to me as I recover. The two women fashion me a staff from a sturdy tree limb, which makes hobbling around on my own easier. Every once in a while I'll accidently put my full weight on my broken ankle, and the cracked bones grind together with a sickening crunch.
I've barely made it outside the confines of my room when I'm accosted by an angry woman I've never met before. She points at me. "Is this her?"
I squint in the sunlight. "Excuse me?"
"Are you Lady Cora?"
"Oh shit," I mutter under my breath when I get a good look at her. "Do we know each other? I think I know you."
"You know me?"
I study her dark features, assured that I've seen her somewhere. "I can't remember your name, but yeah. I'm pretty sure I know you."
"How is that possible?" she asks suspiciously. "I've never met you before in my life."
"There is a very interesting and confusing answer to that, but I don't have the willpower or the time to dive into it right now." I peer around her and direct a group of children towards the entrance of the Temple, where Walt, Peter, and Anjali have already begun leading a mass Exodus. "What do you want? I'm very busy at the moment."
The woman clutches tightly to a flimsy cloth bag the size of my fist. "My name is Ilana," she says, "but I assume you already know that."
Ilana? Ilana. Flashes of half memories surface for a split second, but it is enough information to remember the basics: Brought to the island to do something cool. Blows herself up. Compete waste of a character. "What do you want?"
"I heard that you speak with the dead?" She holds out the bag in offering, and I notice it's coated in what looks like ash.
"That better not be a cremated corpse."
Ilana retracts the bag and holds it to her chest. "It's Jacob's remains. I want to know who killed him. Can you ask him?"
"Look," I say as kindly as I can, "I would really love to help you, but that isn't how this works for me. Dead people just show up around me whenever they feel like it. I can't summon them."
Disappointment and frustration settles over her features.
"Who you need to talk to is Miles Straume," I offer. "He can read the final thoughts of the dead."
Ilana shifts from one foot to the other. "Where can I find this man?"
I shrug. "I haven't seen him in a while. Probably back at the old Dharma barracks. Oh, and here's a bit of free advice. If someone asks you to carry a backpack full of dynamite . . . tell them to shove it up their ass."
"Excuse me?"
"You better get moving," I tell her. "You might be able to reach the barracks by nightfall if you leave now." She turns to leave, and all at once I remember that she was, at least at one point, in a group with Ben in the original show. "Excuse me," I call her back, "but have you met anyone recently named Benjamin Linus?"
Ilana looks pensive as she watches a group of young girls toddle past, bundles of provisions strapped to their backs. "There was a man by that name on my plane."
I lean harder on the walking stick to keep from falling over. "Where is he?"
"At the beach, burying a body."
"Burying a what?"
There's the sound of a scuffle in the distance, and then I hear, "Not now, David."
I perk at the name. "David?" Searching for the dark haired boy, I find his adult likeness and struggle to stay standing. It's my David. I can tell by the delicate structure of his face. His eyes. His nose. It's him.
David leans away from me with an uncomfortable smile when I approach him and gently cup his face with my free hand. I run my fingers over his features, marveling at just how beautiful of a man he's grown up to be.
"What is she doing?" David asks Charlie, who has appeared beside me.
"Admiring how you've grown," Charlie answers. "You've gotten bloody giant since she last saw you. Me too, for that matter. I remember when I still had to help change your nappies. You owe me big time for that, mate."
David leans away from me, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
"Hasn't anyone told you?" asks Charlie. "David, Cora is your adoptive mother. She's the one who brought you here from Italy."
"I'm not adopted," he argues. "I was born on this island. Richard's my father."
"No, he isn't," I say. "I stole you from a nunnery while I was on vacation in Florence. Richard was with me at the time, but he's not your father. Not in the biological sense, at least."
David's sharp eyes dart to mine as the news sinks in. He studies my face, searching, searching for a flicker of memory.
An angry woman pushes to the front of the crowd. "What's going on, Ilana? Why is everyone leaving?"
"Jane," I whisper in awe. Releasing my hold on David, I approach Jane with such euphoria I fear I will faint. I need to caress her face. I need to feel for myself that she is real.
She swiftly twirls out of my reach when I attempt to embrace her. "Whoa, what the hell?"
I am consumed with the need to embrace her, to hold her and never let her go. There is so much I want to ask her to help fill the void where memories of Jane's childhood should be. I missed Jane's childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. I never had the opportunity to give her life advice. My travels through time skipped right over my daughter's entire life, and I missed all of it. I birthed a woman that is currently older than I am.
My baby. My baby.
"Back off," she warns. "Seriously, I'm happy to see you too, Cora, but lay off."
And then it sinks in. "No," I choke. "No, no, no! What are you doing here? Get out! Get out, right now! Get out!"
The Island, Present Day
As I near the Temple, I have the horrible feeling that something is wrong. Taking extra precautions to conceal myself silently through the trees, I approach the outer wall. All seems to be in order. I don't see smoke or debris or any other clue to make me believe the sacred security of this place has been compromised.
A figure moves to my left. I pursue with caution, revealing myself when I see who it is. "Sayid?"
"Ben," he acknowledges.
One hand resting on the gun in my waistband, I ask, "What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for the Temple," he says.
"What's at the Temple?" I prod.
"I was told it can heal me."
"You look fine to me."
Sayid smiles and raises his shirt, revealing a deep gash across his midsection. "Your wife gave me this."
"Don't move." I feel a gun pressed to the back of my head. Hands grope the pocket with my weapon, and my gun is extracted.
From out of the trees, Jack walks into my line of sight. "Hello, Ben."
I stare at Sayid. "You're working with him?"
"You remember the plan?" Jack asks.
Sayid nods.
"Remember not to let Cora see you. She doesn't trust you as it is. There's no telling what she might do if she discovers you here."
Sayid turns to enter into the sacred grounds, and my heart begins to race.
"Sayid," I plead desperately, "I don't know what this thing told you, but if you go through with whatever his plan is, a lot of innocent people are going to die. If you let this thing in the Temple, he'll kill everyone inside. All of them."
Sayid nods. "I know," he says.
A burst of energy knocks me off my feet. I don't know how, but the monster is here. Something must have happened to Dogen. My children. Where are my children?
I crawl along the ground, searching for my walking stick. Screaming engulfs every corner of the courtyard. This was once a place of parties and music. Now all I can hear is the crumbling of stone and pleas for help. My fingers prod the ground, finally colliding with the long piece of wood, and I push myself to my feet.
Silence. After so much noise, the silence leaves a painful ringing in my ears.
I spin around, looking at the destruction, but I'm overjoyed, if not confused, to find everyone alive. The massacre in my nightmare has not occurred. Men, women, and a few unfortunate children stand around, huddled together, frozen in shock.
"Cora," I hear the last voice I expected to.
I find him among the quickly parting crowd. Sweat dots my forehead as I struggle to piece together memories. Is he good? Bad? Are my memories real, or are they tainted with the memory of what he's supposed to be?
Most importantly, if John Locke is still alive . . . does that mean Jack isn't?
"I need you to come with me."
"Yeah?" I yank the corners of my mouth up into a smile. "Well, I need you to go to hell."
Jack returns my smile. "I had a feeling you'd say that." I see the glint of metal and recognize the long, thin syringe in his hand. Completely involuntarily, I stumble backwards in a maddening attempt to distance myself from danger. Sirens wail through my memory, and my thoughts are filled with hide hide hide hidehidehidehidehidehidehide
Just when I think all hope is lost, Jack reaches me, splayed in the dirt, and tucks the needle away in his backpack. Even without having to look at it, my heart races from the sudden shock of it all. I am shivering despite the heat, powerless to stop the tremors. It's gone. It's okay. You're okay. It's gone. He can't hurt you.
"I was originally going to make this easy for you, but it turns out destiny had other ideas." Jack waves a hand, and Richard, David, Jane, and Ben are brought before me, forced to kneel like a mock execution.
I look at Ben first. His eyes widen, his expression blank. Something, deep down, tells me that I should be overjoyed to see him, but all I feel is fear and I can't stop blinking. Why is he so old? I don't remember him being so old. Why isn't he a child? What the hell is going on? Where am I? I want to go home. Dear God, I just want to go home.
Jack steps in front of me, blocking my family from view. "I need your help getting off this island, but I'm the last person you would ever willingly help, am I right?"
I try to look around him in search of Ben. There were memories about to be unearthed. I know there was. A little more time, and I'd remember.
"You've grown quite the reputation in your short stay here. These people," Jack waves at the frightened crowd, "all love you like a god. Lets see who you love the most, shall we?" Jack steps up to Richard's kneeling body and places a hand on the top of his head. "Is it your lover, constantly doting on you against your will?"
Richard will not look at me.
Jack shakes his head, amused. "No, I don't believe it is." He approaches David next, who flits his worried eyes at me. "How about your adopted son? He was always a good boy. Never caused you any problems. Remember how soundly he would sleep through the night?"
Tears roll helplessly down my cheeks.
"Not quite," says Jack, and he approaches Ben. "Is it your dearly beloved, back at last from the abyss?" His smile widens. "We're getting closer."
Jack places a hand on Jane's shoulder, and my entire body clenches.
"I think we have our winner," he announces. "You know, they say there's nothing quite like a mother's love." Jack steps away from all four of them and looks around at the courtyard of remaining Others. "What would you offer me in place of Jane's life?"
A sob escapes me when I answer, "Anything."
"Anything?" he echoes with a false air of surprise. "What about your own life?"
"Yes."
Jack circles back and stands behind Ben. "What about your husband's?"
Oh, God. Oh, God, please help me.
"Speaking of your husband, has anyone told him yet?"
I can't think straight. "Stop," I plead through blurry vision. "Stop, please."
Jack raises his voice to project to every corner of the Temple. "Does anyone else find it incredibly sad that this man dedicated his life to your beloved Lady Cora, and she repays him by coupling with the first pretty face that pays her attention?"
For the first time in a very long time, I have no idea what to do.
"How about the entire Temple?" Jack asks. "The lives of everyone at the Temple in exchange for Jane. How about that?"
I don't know where this is going. I don't know what he wants. I don't know where Walt and Anjali and Peter are, or if they could even help me if they were here.
A knife is in Jack's hand as he approaches Jane, and I am delirious with pain and panic screaming, "Yes! Yes, whatever you want!"
Jack lashes out and pins my broken ankle hard against the ground, shattering the splint.
"I want you all to take a good long look at your so-called protector," he yells over the piercing screams that rip from my throat as he grinds my ankle harder under his boot. "You idolize a false prophet. This woman is not a hero. This woman is nothing but a liar, an adulteress, and a murderer. You heard her for yourselves. She would trade all of your lives for the life of her daughter. This woman, who swore to protect her people, would trade all of their lives, all of your lives, to satisfy her selfish needs. You mean nothing to her. You have all been deceived."
Jack grabs a fistful of my hair and effortlessness lifts me up off the ground so I'm forced to stare at him. I listen to the soft sound of a knife sliding against its case, and then the glinting metal is pressed against my face. Jack holds the knife close to my ear, sawing off the majority of my hair in three sharp tugs. As soon as the hair is sheared off, I fall face first onto the dirt, unsupported.
A woman starts screaming in terror. The little girl clinging to her dress is sobbing.
"Such a disappointment," Jack mutters under his breath. I feel the sharp kick of his boot for only a second before I'm unconscious.
