Chapter 24: The End of Eternity

Ben eyed Valerie closely, noticing the concern on her face. She didn't seem happy about the call with Jack, but he wasn't sure if it was due to Hugo's institutionalization, or something else. "What's wrong?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't think Eloise is going to be happy with me."

"What? Why not?"

Valerie avoided eye contact for a moment, pursing her lips as she tried to find the best way to answer him.

"I may have broken a few rules," she offered evasively.

"Whose rules?"

"I mean 'rules' is probably not the right word."

"Valerie. What did you do?"

"You are glad you met me, right?" she asked.

"Of course," Ben answered hesitantly.

Valerie pulled her short hair into a ponytail and started pacing around the living room. "The thing with trying to change the past is that you inevitably change the future—like, no matter what happens next, I'm not going to show up on the beach in seven years, because in this timeline I'm dead—and you're not going to have let Martin Keamy kill Alex, and Charles isn't going to be alive to take Desmond back to the Island."

Ben frowned at her.

"The bigger the change to the past, the more different the present would become. And our present was pretty good. We'd kept the Island safe."

"What are you saying? What rules did you break?"

"We agreed that that I would go back on the condition that I would hide alone in the jungle until I could intervene and save Alex, changing as little as possible, and not contacting any of you."

Ben gaped at her.

"Which is not exactly what I did."

"Val."

"For what it's worth, you were fine with it. We both argued that changing anything would require interference. You believed that the Island would make sure the important things happened. You said as long as you didn't know who I really was, it should be fine."

"Oh dear."

"The thing is, hon, you were right. The same people left the Island. The same people died."

"Except Alex."

"The same Oceanic Passengers. Alex, Danielle, Karl, Ethan—they're all fine. There are others, probably—I only know what you guys told me. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but we do keep getting pushed on to the same general path."

He grimaced.

"I'd just lost you," she continued defensively. "As soon as I arrived at the hotel in Tozeur and saw that I'd made it to the right year—my only thought was that you were alive in this world. How could I not want to find you? Besides—you have memories of your life—none of us expected that."

"Who are the others? You keep saying 'us.' Who are we talking about?"

She was silent for a moment. "Walt was there—I guess I can tell you that. And Desmond came to visit sometimes."

"Walt? Michael's son?"

"He grew up to be quite a formidable scientist," Valerie said with a wistful smile. "He's the one who figured this all out." She locked eyes with him, then looked away with a sigh.

"What aren't you telling me, Val?" He asked gently.

She sighed. "Jacob's replacement—that's what all of this is about."

Ben's eyes widened for a moment. "The man I stabbed in that dark room—that was Jacob, wasn't it? I killed him?"

She was stunned that he'd remembered. "You did," she replied.

His eyes became distant again. "It was Hugo?" he said, confused. "His replacement was Hugo?"

She sat down and nodded at him, too surprised to hide the truth.

"I don't really have any distinct memories," he explained, "it just feels like factual knowledge."

"No one ever considered that you'd remember. I'm not sure what it means."

"Maybe Eloise will know."

"Maybe," Valerie replied, "but I think I'm going to stay in the car."

Ben was a bit lost in his own head as he drove to the address Desmond had sent. He wasn't angry with Valerie for hiding the details from him—or for ignoring the agreement they had evidently made with Hugo. It was difficult to be angry when he could barely process the reality of the situation—and when, in truth, had Valerie not done what she'd done, Alex would probably be dead.

His memories had been coming back—not in solid, tangible pieces, but in a sea of tiny fragments that refused to coalesce. His other life was just out of reach—memories he would recognize as his own if only he could draw the little pieces together in his mind.

He couldn't quite remember, but he knew things. He knew what it felt like to live with the fact that he'd sentenced his own child to death—knew how it felt to carry that burden for the rest of his life. And he knew that had he died with that moment on his mind.

He glanced at Val as he pulled into their destination—a nondescript looking church in a quiet neighborhood. She was anxiously grinding her teeth.

He knew that he had loved her. The feeling was still foreign to him—it was more deep-seated and constant than the buoyant giddiness that had held him captive since the moment she'd kissed him. He also knew—with certainty—that the feeling was the inevitable future of whatever was currently taking root in his heart. That feeling didn't belong to some other man. It was his—or, rather theirs—and, perhaps most importantly, he knew that she felt that same love for him.

"You should come into the church, Val," Ben told her as he backed the car into a spot.

"I don't want to. I don't like churches."

He stared her down.

"What if we broke the universe, Ben?" she asked with palpable sincerity.

He chuckled and took her hand. "Then it's probably too late to fix it. You ought to face whatever comes next."

He got out of the car and opened the door for her. She shot him a sullen look and huffed as she stepped out into the parking lot. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head.

She leaned into him gratefully, but she pulled away as they reached the door—straightening her back and inhaling deliberately.

In the church, they found Jack, Desmond, Hugo, and Sun sitting in the pews. Jack was sporting a beard and looking a bit bleary eyed. Hugo seemed agitated by the situation, but he was holding it together. Sun was composed—though clearly a bit on edge. Desmond—with his legs loosely crossed and his arms spread out over the back of the pew—was the only one who seemed at ease.

"No Kate?" Valerie shouted down the aisle.

"She wouldn't get in a car with me," Jack explained. "She blames me for losing Aaron—she blames me for a lot of things."

"To be fair to Jack, I don't think she'd have gotten in a car with you two either," Desmond added.

"Thanks Des," Val snapped back sarcastically.

Hugo looked shiftily at the pair of them but didn't say anything.

Eloise Hawking appeared from a side door, her distinctive white hair elegantly coiffed, as it always was. Ben had known her on the Island and seen her a few times since she'd left—though it had been a while since their last meeting. Eloise had been touched by the Island in a strange way—it had given her a deeper understanding of the things that made it special, and she had tasked herself with protecting it—or perhaps it had tasked her.

"Quite a turnout this afternoon," she said, addressing the group. "A few more than I was expecting, but no matter. I suppose we better get started."

She turned and walked back towards the door she'd entered from. "Shall we?" she called back at them.

They shared a number of confused glances, but no one said a word as they followed her.

Eloise led them down a spiral staircase and opened an old metal door emblazoned with a DHARMA logo. They stepped into the room—it was filled with dated technology and had a massive map of the world on the floor.

"What is this place?" Jack asked, awed.

"The DHARMA Initiative called it the Lamp Post. This is how they found the Island."

Jack turned to Ben. "Did you know about this?"

"I knew of it," he answered carefully, "but I did not know how to find it. I suppose there is some irony in that."

Jack nodded absently, staring at the contraptions in the room.

"You're looking well, Benjamin," Eloise told him suddenly. She noticed the ring on his finger and frowned, glancing at the group. She eyed Valerie but didn't make any comments.

She turned to Desmond. "You don't seem surprised to see me, Mr. Hume."

"I'm rarely surprised these days," he answered. "Thanks for talking me into that sailing race, by the way," he added sarcastically.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

"You're Daniel's mother, aren't you?" Desmond continued.

"Yes."

"I think he wanted me to tell you something, but he disappeared before he could tell me how to find you."

"What was his message?"

"That you would be able to help."

"Precisely," she agreed, and took a deep breath. "Alright then—I apologize if what I'm about to say is confusing, but it's a confusing sort of matter we're dealing with."

She took a step back and looked at each of them in turn.

"The room we're standing in was constructed years ago over a unique pocket of electromagnetic energy," she explained. "That energy connects to similar pockets all over the world. The people who built this room, however, were only interested in one."

"The Island?" Sun asked.

"Yes. The Island. They had gathered proof that it existed, but they couldn't quite find it. Then, a very clever fellow built this pendulum on the theoretical notion that they should stop looking for where the island was supposed to be and start looking for where it was going to be."

The pendulum swung past them across the floor.

"Where it's going to be?" Jack asked.

"Our clever fellow presumed—correctly, as it turned out—that the Island was always moving. Why do you think you were never rescued?"

Jack frowned.

"Now, while the movements of the Island seem random," Eloise continued, "this man and his team created a series of equations which tell us, with a high degree of probability, where it is going to be at a given point in time. We can determine when and where a window will be open—and windows provide a route back to the Island. Unfortunately, they don't stay open for very long. Yours closes in about sixty hours."

"That's not a lot of time," Ben noted.

"It is not," Eloise agreed. "There's a commercial airliner flying from L.A. to Guam. It's going to go right through our window. Ajira Airways, Flight 316. If you have any hope of the Island bringing you back, it must be that plane, and you all need to be on it. You need to recreate—as best you can—the circumstances that brought you there in the first place."

Jack nodded, unquestioningly accepting everything Eloise was telling them.

"Sayid's flight from London is scheduled to arrive at LAX in two days," Valerie offered, her voice quiet. "We can stop him at the airport."

Eloise frowned at her. "Who are you, my dear?"

"I was on Oceanic 815," she answered meekly.

"I see. And how is that you are not on the Island? I don't recall hearing about an Oceanic Seven."

"She helped me move it," Ben answered, sensing Valerie's discomfort with the conversation.

Eloise looked at Ben and smiled a little. "I see," she said again. She turned back to the group. "John Locke's funeral will be held here tonight," she told them. "I hope you'll all join me. He'll need to make the return trip with you as well."

"He's dead though?" Hugo asked shyly.

"As was Jack's father," Eloise acknowledged. "John's body will act as a proxy for Mr. Shephard's. That is, unfortunately, critically important."

"Oh," Hugo said, "okay."

"Mr. Linus, you'll stay for a quick word with me after we wrap this up. And your lovely wife as well."

Jack scoffed "She's not—"

"—of course," Ben agreed, shooting Jack a sharp look. "We'll see you all this evening," he told the group.

As the rest of the group dispersed, Eloise guided the pair of them into her office. She inhaled sharply as she closed the door. "Benjamin, what did you do?"

He sighed and placed his hand on Valerie's back. "This is Valerie. She was on Oceanic 815, though her trip to the Island started in—what was it darling?"

"2038," Valerie answered.

"2038," Ben told Eloise. "She saved my daughter's life."

"Oh my." She stared at the both of them. "What a mess you've made."

"Are you sure it's a mess, Eloise? Valerie seems to think things have happened nearly the same way as they did in her version of things—as if there is course correction—the Island pushing things back to where they need to be."

"It's not sentient, Benjamin."

"No—of course. You understand all this far better than I do—couldn't some force be pulling the pieces to where they're supposed to be?"

"It's possible," she conceded, turning back to Valerie. "Why did you do this? Why risk undoing your future—a future, where, I must assume, everyone made it on that plane and did what they had to do?"

Valerie bit her lip and sighed before answering. "For him," she answered, "he was dying, and he was in agony over having let his daughter die. He asked me to try. And I love him, so I did."

Eloise stared Valerie down, looking intently into her eyes. Valerie stared back, her expression open and completely sincere.

"Alright," Eloise said with a slight nod, her assessment seemingly concluded. "2038, you said? How old are you, Valerie?"

"It's getting a bit hard to keep track—fifty-five, I guess. Depending on how you count the months we lose in transit."

Eloise raised a single eyebrow. "Jacob gave you the gift he gave Alpert?"

"Both of us—but it wasn't—"

"The details are a little different," Ben interrupted.

"How did you get back in time?" Eloise continued, ignoring Ben's interjection. "How did you do it with such precision?"

"The Orchid," Valerie replied. "We had a brilliant young man working on it. He figured out how to send me through to Tunisia, but backwards instead of forwards, if that makes sense? None of it really made sense to me, but—"

"It does. And you're certain that you're not in a loop?"

"A loop?"

"That you had always made this trip, and everything has occurred as it had already happened?"

"Like with the Incident?"

"Exactly."

"No," Val answered, "it's definitely not a loop. Ben remembers his other life."

"How curious," Eloise mused. "What do you remember?"

"I remember my daughter dying—I remember—"

He blushed, thinking of his palms on Valerie's hips in his hallway.

"—moments of personal emotional significance."

"And his memories are consistent with what you know?" Eloise asked Valerie.

Valerie nodded. "And I haven't prompted them—not intentionally."

"I remembered Alex dying before I even met Val. Of course, I didn't know it was a memory, but—"

"You didn't tell me that," Valerie interjected.

"I had that dream for the first time the night the plane crashed," he explained.

"It doesn't matter," Eloise told them. "What matters now is ensuring that the right things happen when you get back. The trouble is that knowing what is supposed to happen is the best way to ensure it won't—much the way that observing particles affects their behavior. Do you know what needs to happen?"

"Yes," Ben answered, "I need to—"

"Don't tell me. Don't tell anyone else—and don't go out of your way to make any of it happen. Things will certainly be at least a little different. Don't fight the current. Don't think about what you ought to do to. React to the things that happen without any mind to what you think needs to happen."

He nodded. "We can do that."

"You may both go," she told them.

Valerie exhaled deeply. He took her hand as they turned to leave.

"I'll see you at the funeral?" Eloise asked.

"Of course," he answered.

"Very well."

"Benjamin," Eloise called as they stepped through the door, "she's changed you—for the better."

"She has," he agreed. He could see Valerie smile through the corner of his eye. "We'll see you tonight."

They walked in silence back to the car. He expected Val to be relieved, but she seemed pensive.

"How do you want to kill the time?"

"I just want to go home," she told him.

"Alright," he agreed, frowning.

She turned the radio on and leaned her head against the window as he drove.

She'd fallen asleep by the time he pulled into the driveway.

"Val," he said, nudging her gently.

"Oh," she replied, blinking herself awake.

He opened the passenger door for her. She grasped his hand as they walked to the house.

"I think I just want to lie down for a bit," she told him.

He followed her into the bedroom and watched with concern as she collapsed in a heap on top of the covers. He lay down next to her, and she immediately pulled herself into his chest.

"Is everything alright?" he asked delicately.

She stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm so fucking selfish. I've jeopardized everything, and I just wanted—"

"You aren't selfish at all," he insisted. "You gave everything up to save Alex's life—everything."

"I'd already lost everything," she replied, looking into his eyes. "I wasn't ready to lose you. I just wanted to see you again. That's it. That's all I wanted."

"I know," he murmured. "That doesn't make you selfish. He loved you—he would understand that you'd have your own reasons for going back."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"I appreciate the sentiment but—"

"Valerie, this isn't an empty platitude. I do know."

"What?" she asked, tears pooling in her eyes.

"I know that I loved you—that I do love you," he told her, the words slipping out. "You understand that don't you?"

She shook her head, confused.

"It's all in my head, Valerie—each and every detail, even if I can't pull them all together. It's me, Valerie—all of those memories—they're mine."

"You died, Ben. I held you as you went."

"I know." He tucked a strand of hear behind her ears and looked into her eyes. He loved her—he'd spent a lifetime in love with her.

A memory crystallized in his mind as he spoke. He didn't remember his death, but he remembered the moment he knew he was dying. He was standing in the kitchen—not in the house he knew, but in a new house they'd built for themselves. He'd felt a twinge in his back—the same pain he'd felt nearly forty years earlier.

He had been afraid, at first. He didn't understand how it could happen, after all these years. And he didn't want to die.

But despite his unchanged face, he'd grown old. He could feel it—his body was steeped in an aching restlessness and a sort of lethargy that was hard to put into words.

He hasn't said anything to Val. That evening, as he read on the sofa, with his wife resting against his shoulder, and Vincent—undoubtedly the world's oldest and most doted on dog—sprawled across his lap, he'd known that it was simply his time to go.

Even the memory of it had brought him some peace. He had been burdened by the perpetual guilt he bore for Alex, but he'd also felt a deep contentment—a settled, steady warmth. His death had not been the passing of a withered and regretful man. He'd been tired, but satisfied, and ready for sleep.

Valerie's hand on his arm snapped him back to the present. "Did you just remember something?" she asked, noticing the distance in his eyes.

"The cancer coming back," he answered solemnly.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No—it was a happy memory. Bittersweet, I suppose."

She smiled wryly. "You are you," she whispered.

"Yes," he replied. "I think I am."