Chapter Three

The next night, as Sayid again walked along the beach, as he now did every night, he could not help but think of Charlie's words. He no longer had anyone to protect. He had failed Shannon, just as he had failed Nadia, just as he had failed his family and his God.

"Let it go!" he cried aloud to himself as he stumbled up the beach, not knowing where he was walking. "Let it go." Had not Allah dispensed with all this guilt? From the moment he had shot himself in Iraq until this moment, his life had been one long work of penance. So why did his sins and failures still haunt him? "Let it go."

"Let what go, Sayid?"

Claire's voice broke his bitter revere. Without knowing it, he had walked to Shannon's tent.

"Nothing," he spat. "Nothing."

"Sayid, you look unwell. Your brow…you're sweating. Won't you come inside? I have some water. I will cool it."

He shook his head no, but he followed her inside. He sat cross legged on the tent floor, and waited for her to pour water on a cloth. She wiped his brow, and when she trailed the cloth down his cheek, he grasped her hand. She dropped the cloth, and he pressed her palm to his lips. "You are kind," he said, and he let go of her hand.

She sat down across from him, but she did not try to make him speak.

"It was all my fault," he murmured as if she were not there. "Nadia…I heard she was captured again, before she escaped for good; I did not go with her to protect her. I failed her, like I failed Shannon. I was a soldier! I was trained! How could I not have sensed the danger? Shannon is dead because of me." He was talking to himself, talking to the ground, talking in front of her, but not to her. She let him talk. "I thought Allah had forgiven me. Why do these thoughts still plague me?"

Was he asking her? She did not know. Hesitantly she asked, "Who's Nadia?"

He swallowed and at last looked at her, startled, as though he did not realize he had been speaking all this aloud. He looked away.

"Sayid, I can see your soul is troubled. And I know, sometimes, it helps to talk to another person."

She did not think he would open up, but to her surprise, he began to speak. "I should start with Nadia," he said. "For me, it all began with Nadia."

And then he told her everything. He told her how, as a child, he had loved a charming girl who had been beyond his grasp. He told her how he had grown to be a solider, and how he had tortured men. He told her how Nadia had begged him to come with her, and how his courage had failed him. He told her how he had betrayed a friend for the mere fantasy of love, and he told her how, after all the pain he had suffered and all the wreckage he had wrought, he had managed to open up his heart to Shannon.

Claire did not hide her horror as he revealed his past, but nor did she hide her compassion. And when he choked and said, "I abandoned them. I abandoned them all," she reached out to him and gathered him into her arms like a hen gathers its eggs beneath its wings, and he did not resist. His spirit was too broken for his pride to prevail. So he simply rested his head on her chest like a child, and she rocked him while he wept.

When he was done, he pulled away, ashamed of his tears, and yet relieved.

"I think you know God has forgiven you," Claire said gently. "Your problem is not that you need God's forgiveness. It's that you haven't forgiven yourself." When he did not deny the truth of her words, she continued, "We have all done horrible things in our lives, Sayid. But you can't…you can't…it's morbid to meditate on them forever. Stop punishing yourself. Please, Sayid, stop punishing yourself."

He sighed wearily and nodded. "Enough," he said softly. "It is enough."

She smiled gently. "I hope you find your Nadia again someday, Sayid. You found her here, in Shannon. If we ever escape this island, in your next life…perhaps you will find her again."

"Perhaps." And then he looked around the tent and said, "I had better leave before Charlie finds me here. He is growing a bit possessive."

She flicked away the thought with a wave of her wrist. "Charlie," she said with exasperation. "Well, at least he can be really caring sometimes," she said. "And he loves me."

"It is good to be loved, Claire. There is not much else of worth left to us on this island. And yet…he does not deserve you."

"Can I make a confession to you now, Sayid, since you have made yours to me?"

"By all means." He couldn't imagine what she could have to confess. To him she looked as innocent as the driven snow.

"I am in love."

"Well, then, if you love Charlie in return, why not tell him? He would be thrilled."

"Not Charlie," she said. "I feel bad for him, but the heart wants what the heart wants."

"Indeed it does."

Silence.

"Claire, are you going to tell me whom you love?"

"Locke."