Jack and the other survivors always wondered what Kate was thinking about when she stared off into the distance for hours on end. But no one could seem to figure out what she was thinking because she wouldn't let anybody in, not even the people who so desperately wanted to know her and who she wanted to know herself.

What was she supposed to do? Kate thought she could escape from her past but she can't. Even though what happened had occurred some time ago, she was not ready to move on. She could not seem to shake off the misgivings she had about her relationships with men in the past. Each and every one of them had ended badly, especially the last one. The last one didn't just end badly; it ended in leaving the county and trying to escape the law. What happened wasn't her fault though. The circumstances just made it look like she was the culprit when she was in fact innocent. Ever since then, she had kept a journal. Once Kate had fled the United States, she didn't have anyone to confide in. She only had herself. Keeping a journal was the only way she could stay sane. If she didn't have some outlet to express her feelings through, she wouldn't have been able to survive.

Dear Journal,

I'm on the plan to Australia right now. I can't believe I made it through customs. I thought that they'd have notified them about me. Well, I guess it's a good thing they didn't. As they say, don't question a blessing.

I really have no idea what I'm going to do once I get to Australia. Should I go somewhere else? Should I stay in the city, go to the country? Ahhh! I have no idea what I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do. Think. Come on, Kate. Think! I guess I should probably avoid being in the city because I'll be easier to trace then if I "disappear" into the countryside. That's what I'll do. Go to the country. Maybe I'll work on a farm and live in the wild. Well, whatever happens happens. I'll just try to stay flexible so I don't miss any opportunities.

Now that I've gotten the panicky logistical stuff out of the way, I really need to talk about what happened. What happened? I don't even remember it very clearly. For me, the most vivid memories are just of feelings, not of actions. Feelings of intense fear, fear for my life.

I guess if I'm going to tell the story of my recent life, I should explain how I got to the United States in the first place.

I grew up in Alberta, Canada with my mom, dad, and two sisters. We lived in a nice little house and had a nice middle class life. I decided that I really wanted to travel the world and get out of Canada for college. But the farthest my parents would let me go was the United States. So I ended up at U. Penn for the next four years of my life. And it was at U. Penn that I met Harry, Harry Jacobson.

Harry wasn't exactly what you'd call the clean cut suburban type. He was more edgy than that. He occasionally dyed his hair blue and has an earring. But nothing over too over the top. Harry was a big social drinker but I never thought his habit was excessive. Apparently I was wrong. He wasn't just a big social drinker; he was alcoholic with chronic depression – in other words, a very troubled person. After I got involved with him, I felt like I couldn't leave him because I wanted to help so badly. I wanted to help solve his drinking problem, help solve his unhappiness, help change his life.

I dated Harry from junior year in college until now – well until about 5 hours ago. None of this was ever supposed to happen. None of it.

Harry had just come back from partying with his friends and he had been drinking a lot. He was definitely very drunk and definitely very dangerous. When he got back to the apartment, I asked him where he'd been since I'd been expecting him for over 2 hours.

He yelled, "Why they hell do you care? I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing if I don't want to!"

"Harry, you don't have to answer my question if you don't want to. It's okay," I said tentatively, hoping not to upset him further.

"No, it's not okay!" he roared. "All you ever do is interrogate me! I hate it! Why can't you just leave me alone?" Harry was much angrier than I had ever seen him before. I started to get scared. What if he tried to hurt me?

"Harry, I'm really sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I just care about you and I don't want anything bad to happen to you!" I tried to sound compassionate and non-confrontational. I didn't want this argument to go any further.

"Shut the hell up!" And then it seemed like everything was going in slow motion. Harry picked up the pot that I had used to cook spaghetti and hurled it with all his might at my head. I put my hands up instinctively and crouched behind the kitchen table.

"Stop it, Harry! What are you doing? Stop!" I screamed as he threw the colander in my direction and then some silver ware.

Finally he stopped and I peaked around the corner to see what he was doing. He was standing by the kitchen sink breathing hard and staring at me with a hellish gleam in his eyes. Oh my God, I thought. What the hell is he going to do? He reached for the knife I had left next to the sink of the drying rack. I began to back away slowly. "Harry," I stammered with fear evident in my voice. "Harry, what are you doing?" My voice became more and more high pitched as he kept approaching with a manic glint in his eyes. "Harry, you're scaring me! Stop it! Please stop!" I yelled.

"It's too late for that Kate. It's too late."

He lunged at me with the knife. I tried to dodge him but I wasn't quick enough. The knife grazed my arm, leaving a deep and bloody gouge.

My adrenaline started to kick in. I was in a life or death situation, so it better have kicked in. I got this huge rush as I started to fight back. I punched him as hard as I could in the head. I tumbled backwards in his drunken stupor and landed hard against the corner of the kitchen table. Instantly, blood began to pour from the side of his head. I looked at him in horror as his body crumbled onto the floor. As he fell, the knife plunged into his stomach.

I killed him. I killed Harry.

I panicked and ran into the corridor to try to get help from one of the neighbors. I didn't even think of calling 911. I just ran franticly screaming down the hall trying to find somebody to help me. My next-door neighbor, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Flora, came running out of her apartment and dashed into my apartment. When she saw Harry lying limp on the floor, her eyes dilated and she clamped her hand over her mouth in horror. "Harry's dead! You killed him! You murdered him!" She started to back towards the door.

"Mrs. Flora, I was an accident! I swear! He had been drinking and he attacked me with a knife. He-"

"Liar! Murderer!" she screamed. And as she turned to run out of the apartment she shouted, "Police! Someone call the police! Someone's been killed!"

I took two steps toward the door in an attempt to go after her. I wanted to make her see that I didn't kill Harry intentionally. It was in self-defense.

I looked back toward Harry's dead body. To an outsider, it did look like I had killed him intentionally and that my arm injury was his attempt the fight back. They'd never believe he had been the aggressor. Yes, he had been drunk at the time; but it was entirely possible that I could have exploited his state to my advantage being the physically weaker one. And the way the knife had gone through him, it looked like I had stabbed him.

So I decided to run, run away. I was the only way I could see to escape. The police would never understand. It looked too much like a murder. The first place I thought of going was Australia.

So here I am now, explaining what happened, explaining why I'm here. When I land, I'm going to buy some food with the money I have and then just head as far away from civilization as I can.