Hot air and water droplets blow against my face as the polar bear exhales heavily. It sniffs my hair, my face, my clothes. It pokes and prods with its wet nose. It sits and stares at me for what seems like hours.

Then, in perfect English, it asks, "Where have you been?"

I can barely see anything through the stinging rivulets of sweat pouring down my face and into my eyes. Being this close to a bear—a talking bear—has shut off my brain. All I can do is gape and wait for it to maul and eat me.

Just like I suspected, the bear opens its mouth full of sharp teeth and leans towards me. I close my eyes and wait for the pain, but all I feel is a rough tongue slide up my face. Instead of a scream, all I can muster is a disgusted, "Ugh."

"Margo, come here."

I finally regain control of my free arm and swipe a shaking hand across my eyes until I can see who the new voice belongs to. A man stands at the bottom of the stairs holding what looks like a plate.

"She's back," the polar bear roars excitedly over and over. It's massive body spins away from me and strides towards the man. In the bear's excitement, it crashes a little too hard into his side, and he stumbles, barely righting himself.

"Yes," the man says, sounding exhausted. "Yes, I know. Margo, no, the sandwich is not for you. Get down." I watch as his mouth twitches in a battle not to smile. He pets the top of the bear's head as it continues to chant excitedly.

"Who are you?" I whisper, but my voice rattles so much I don't think he heard me. "Did you drug me?"

He pauses so long I don't think he'll answer. "No, we didn't drug you."

"I don't feel sober."

"This should help." He places the plate and a cup of water on the ground in front of me. To my relief, he uncuffs my hand before turning towards the stairs. "Come, Margo."

"No," the bear refutes. Its body sways as it saunters back over to me, plopping down next to the sandwich and resting its massive head on my lap. "I'm staying right here."

His demand is more stern this time. "Margo, come here."

I blink, thinking, remembering. I know this person. Only, I don't. I know of this person.

Ben sighs, abandoning his demands that the bear follow him. I watch his facial movements to see if I can tell how dangerous the situation is, but there is no expression when his eyes meet mine. "Eat your sandwich," he says before disappearing up the stairs, snapping the door shut behind him.

My stomach reminds me that I have not eaten in a while, and I'm much too weak to plan an escape right now. I reach for the sandwich and take a ravenous chunk, barely chewing before swallowing. I'm expecting something simple, like chicken-salad or ham. I look between the slices of bread and find only multiple thinly sliced vegetables pasted together with mayo.

"I missed you," the polar bear says, still relaxed against my lap. "Where have you been?"

I scarf down the sandwich before I can answer. I am talking to a bear. I'm locked in a basement. Ben Linus just gave me a sandwich. I'm still hungry. Oceanic 815 just crashed on The Island.

I am talking to a bear.

I reach for the cup of water and bring it up to my lips. My hands shake so much a good portion splashes down my chin and dots my sweatpants. I clear my throat and say the only thing I can think of. "How long have I been gone?"

"My whole life," the bear answers. "I'm so happy you're back. I was hoping I'd get to see you again before the end."

I finish chugging the water and gasp air, waiting for this all to make sense. "The end of what?"

"I'm old," the bear laughs. "Very old. I'm slower than I used to be, and I'm tired most days. I won't be around much longer."

Even though the bear seems happy, her words form a pit in my stomach. I don't know this bear, but she seems to know me, and it makes me sad to think she won't be alive much longer. I wasn't allowed to have pets as a child, though I desperately wanted a dog. Now I have what seems like a very old, very excitable, very very large dog, and I won't get to enjoy her company for long.

My hands stop shaking as I run my fingers through her thick fur. "Where am I?"

"Home," she answers happily.

There's a commotion upstairs behind the door. I'm not sure what to expect, but I also know staying trapped in this basement isn't a smart alternative. Besides, I have a bear who seems to adore me. Odds are slightly more in my favor if it comes to fighting.

"Margo," I say, "we should get out of here."

"You want to go outside? I can take you for a walk, like old times."

"Yes, that sounds wonderful," I reply.

She mistakes my excitement to be free from the people keeping me down here with excitement to go on a walk and all but lunges for the stairs. At the sound of her roar, the door opens. The man who opened it has no time to second guess his decision before Margo charges forward, knocking him down in the process. I stick close by her, squinting as I emerge into what looks to be a normal, average house.

I quickly try to count the amount of people sitting and standing in the room adjacent to the kitchen—some I recognize from the stand-off earlier, and others I don't—as they fall silent and stare at me. Erik and Liv bow their heads, but the rest of them continue to stare. I look at the man Margo knocked over and recognize Richard.

I need to get out of here. I'm not sure what they're talking about or what they're planning, but I want no part in it. "We are going to go outside now," I announce and follow closely behind Margo as she heads to the front door. She sits patiently, swaying slightly with excitement, as she waits for me to open the door.

My first step outside mushes against my foot. I look down in disgust to see I've stepped in a large bowl of what looks like macaroni salad. Next to this bowl is another crockpot of food, next to yet another offering of what looks like a large decorative platter of cut up fruit. There's no space to walk amongst the dozens upon dozens of intricate flower bouquets wrapped with ribbon and fancy prepared meals stacked tightly together spanning from the door down to the grass of the front yard.

There's no way to leave this house without stepping on flowers or food.

In my confusion, the only thing I can think to do is reach down and read a folded note that was taped to the macaroni salad. It looks to have been written by a very young child.

It reads: Hello Lady Cora, I helped make this macaroni salad with no animals in it. I have never eaten an animal before. Please don't kill my family even though sometimes my parents eat fish. Thank you! Love, Indiana

PS. This is a drawing of me and my pet lizard Scales. He's my best friend. Please talk to him when you are not busy and tell me if he's happy.

There's a hand on my shoulder, and I drop the note. "Hey," I stutter with cold, unrelenting fear, "what are you doing?" I'm pulled over the threshold and back into the house. An annoyed looking Richard closes the door and, thankfully, releases my shoulder.

"Margo seems satisfied it's her," says Ben. He's standing next to a couch seating Jane and a woman I've never seen before. Erik and Liv stand together on the other side of the room. I'm acutely aware that they're the only ones not glaring at me.

It takes me a second to register what Ben just said. "I'm who?" I try to ask, but I'm drowned out by Jane.

"Yes," she says, "well, that settles it. Your senile bear is all the proof I need."

"Are we going to ignore how she healed her head?" Erik interrupts loudly. "Or how she can understand your bear enough to win its trust? Your talks of tests are tedious and dull and a waste of my time. She should be returned to her rightful place at—"

I don't know how to process anything that's happening, so I stand perfectly still. Being invisible and ignored is an art I've all but mastered. Erik and Jane get into another shouting match, and I can feel my anxiety rising with every angry word. The disorientation from earlier has completely worn off, and now I'm excruciatingly aware of how afraid I am. Maybe I should take Margo and go back to the basement. At least they wouldn't be able to stare at me there.

Richard speaks, and I jump. I had forgotten he was so close, so I reflexively move away from him further into the kitchen. I reach out for Margo, and I'm comforted when she taps her nose against my hand.

"She is free to do as she likes as soon as it can be verified she is who she claims to be," says Richard.

I haven't claimed to be anybody. I try to say this, but my voice won't work, as usual.

"I'm taking her to the only person on this island old enough to know if this is her or not," Richard continues. "We're going to see Jacob."

I cover my ears as both Erik and Liv burst into angry rebuttals.

Margo licks my arm. "It's alright. You don't have to be afraid. They yell a lot, but we're not in danger. Sit with me." Sitting helps. I wrap my arms around her neck and she starts grooming the side of my head.

"You have custody of our god," Erik rants, "but we're not even allowed to know where yours resides?"

"One of you may come with me," Richard says in a pacifying tone. "Will that settle this?"

I continue to sit on the kitchen floor of an unknown person's house, being comforted by an elderly polar bear, and hating myself for allowing these people to talk over me and discuss my future without my consent.

Richard and Erik follow behind me. Richard aims a rifles at the ground, ready in case I try to run away.

Ha. Run away. I can't even keep up with them. What are they worried about?

Margo trots happily at my side. Ben seemed aggravated she was going with us, but there was no convincing Margo otherwise. Besides, I wasn't about to give up the one sense of security I have. Margo is the only person—only living thing—that doesn't seem to have some kind of ulterior motive and just wants to hang out with me. As much as I don't want to get on Ben's bad side, I also don't want to play my cards wrong and put myself into even greater danger.

There's a part of me that feels dead inside with embarrassment. I haven't showered in days, and my clothes are in desperate need of a wash. I look pathetic. I'm covered in sticky perspiration, and it feels like I'm choking up a lung. I'm not sure what hurts more, my legs or my feet.

I legitimately think I'm going to die, but I'm too embarrassed to complain. When I look back to gage how Richard and Erik are doing, neither of them are red-faced or particularly sweaty. I think of all the comments my father would make if he could see me now. I'm too fat, too slow, too weak, too lazy. Of course I want to complain about the length of the walk because any length is too far for a worthless piece of shit like me.

"Tell me what's wrong," Margo offers. "You're upset."

Without thinking, I give her my standard reflex. "I'm fine."

By mid-afternoon, I finally see the foot statue over the tops of the palm trees. Little black specks dance behind my eyelids as I stumble across the beach. I'm thirsty and exhausted. Sand kicks up into my shoes and grinds against my feet. I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Cora will enter on her own," Richard says when we stand before the foot. He motions towards a door hidden on the side. "Erik and I will wait for you out here."

Margo inhales deeply and perks up. "Jacob! Come inside with me, Cora. He's very nice."

"I'm taking Margo," I tell Richard. For some reason, he makes no argument. Erik seems pleased to let me go alone as long as Margo is with me.

With no other reason to stall, I push on the door enough to let Margo slip through and then follow her into the dark.

"I suppose you're looking for me."

I spin around and come face to face with the man of mystery himself. Jacob has always looked high to me. I think it's the heavy-lidded eyes and drowsy demeanor. His dirty blonde hair is a mess, as usual, and he's wearing his usual plain cotton pants and shirt while sitting on a chair by a fire-pit, carving a small token out of wood. Margo licks his face before walking back to stand by my side.

Before I can think of a response to meeting such a confusing character, Jacob spares me the trouble. "They don't believe you are who you say you are, do they?"

For some reason, this doesn't embarrass or otherwise leave me gaping and unsure. This statement makes me angry. I finally say the words I wanted to scream back at the house. "I haven't claimed to be anyone."

"So who are you?" he asks, sounding bored.

"I thought you're supposed to have all the answers," I snap. My exhaustion from this trip has made all social awkwardness seem less important. I just want to confirm whatever Richard wants to confirm so I can take a hot shower. "My name is Cora."

"I know." Without even looking up from the wood he's whittling, Jacob gives a lazy smile. "Have a seat," he offers, motioning to a split log near the pit. "No use in standing after walking the whole way here. You must be exhausted."

I sit and worry I will never be able to stand again.

Jacob finally looks up from his whittling project. "What do you remember?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Yourself. This island. Me."

I sigh. "Honestly? I don't know. I thought I knew a lot about this place, but—" I wonder if there is any harm in confiding with Jacob. Nobody talks directly to him except Richard. He seems to know me like Erik and Liv seem to know me. Maybe if I'm honest, he can give me some answers to what the hell is going on. "I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

Jacob's eyebrows rise. "Ah," he says, returning his attention back to his token. It looks like some sort of wooden animal. "Why is that?"

"Because right before I woke up from a plane crash for a flight I wasn't on, I was asleep in my dorm room, watching this—" I wave my arms around for emphasis. "—on a TV. None of this is real." I pause. "Does that mean somewhere someone is watching this on a TV? Did I get caught in some kind or wormhole? Am I in another dimension? Am I dead?"

"That's why I like you. Always asking the hard questions."

I frown at him, but then it dawns on me. Jacob has powers. "Can you send me back?" I surge with newfound energy, and somehow I stand. "Can you send me back to my dimension? Send me back to my family?"

"I can't," he answers. "Believe me, I would if I could."

"Why?" I can already feel the hope leaching out of me, and I have to sit again. "Because you want me gone?"

"No," he says, sounding amused. "Because we're friends."

We are? Could have fooled me by the way Erik talks. I was under the impression those who live at the Temple have some sort of beef with those who live in the DHARMA barracks. "We don't have beef?"

"It was my understanding you're vegetarian."

"No," I sigh, too tired to smile, "I mean, we're not warring with each other?"

"No." Jacob pulls a bottle of wine out of nowhere and takes a swig. "Not unless you're hiding something."

"If we're not fighting, why are they?"

"Lack of communication." He shrugs and takes another swig of wine. "Because that's what people do. They argue. They fight. They die for what they think is important."

That's dumb.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Jacob smiles again and corks the wine. "Your people call you the Timewalker, among other things. And if I were to make a guess, I'd say you're at the beginning of it all. And speaking of your people, I suppose we should get you back to them before they riot. Tell Richard I'd like to speak to him, please."

The late afternoon is graciously cooler, so it's a slightly easier walk back to the barracks. I don't know what Jacob said to Richard, but whatever it was seems to have worked. His rifle now hangs across one shoulder, not ready to point at me.

We don't get very far into the jungle before Margo perks up, sniffing. "James!" In a rather lengthy stride, Margo takes off through the trees.

"No," I yell. "Margo, come back! Stop!"

"It's James, Cora," I hear her explain while continuing her pace. "Come see! James has returned."

I try to run after her, but my legs refuse to move. Margo scampers out of sight and I hang my head, taking in a deep breath and preparing to pursue. "Can one of you please follow her?" I ask Richard and Erik. "I honestly can't take another step."

A loud crack echoes through the jungle, and I look up in confusion. It's not raining. It's not even overcast. The second, third, forth and fifth cracks echo wildly in the distance, and Richard pulls me to the ground.

"Erik," says Richard, already swinging the rifle off his shoulder. I watch Erik reach for his axe. "I'll watch her. Confirm who's shooting."

That wasn't lightning? That was a gunshot? Someone's shooting at us?

No. Someone's shooting at Margo.

"Margo," I say aloud. "Margo?"

Richard shushes me.

Erik returns with Sawyer, kicking him to a kneel before us. "He was alone. The son of a bitch shot your bear."

"Easy there, Winnie," Sawyer grumbles, his hands raised over his head in surrender. "No need to break my damn legs." At the sight of me, Sawyer's angry expression turns to confusion.

"I need to help her," I mumble. If I can heal myself, surely I can heal other people too. "I need to heal her wounds."

"No, my lady," Erik says sadly. "Do not trouble yourself with such a morbid sight. The bear is dead. I have confirmed it. You cannot help her now."

My mouth opens, and I think I'm about to scream. Instead, I start laughing and wrap both arms around my middle. I laugh so hard my stomach cramps. I try to shake my head to let everyone know I'm not laughing because I think it's funny, but this only makes me more hysterical.

I gasp in-between an especially breathy laugh, furiously blinking away tears, and rasp, "Get me out of here."