A feeling unfamiliar to Claire filled her heart and spilled into her guts, making them feel like a wad of wet paper towels. She didn't know what this feeling was called. Worry? No…Dread? No…Terror? No. Shaking her head fiercely, Claire gave up on trying to figure out how she felt and focused on finding Charlie. Locke would not walk fast enough for her. Every time he stopped to look at a broken stick or a footprint in the wet earth, she felt like screaming and clawing his slowpoke eyes out with her fingernails. Charlie could be dying! He could have fallen straight off a cliff! The mention of his sister had created, no, reopened a fissure in him that was deeper and darker than anything either of them had ever experienced. She would find Charlie, and when they got off this godforsaken hellhole of an island, she would make visit Miri's grave and truly bury his sister.

Charlie awoke slowly. Sooo slowlllly. First came the incessant chirp-TWEET! of some dumb bird. Then, the muted green light filtering down through the canopy. Dim as it was, it still hurt his poor, dilated eyes, drilling into his brain like the electric drill his father had been so proud to own. "No." he muttered, rolling over. A stick dug into his ribs. A rock was his pillow. He fumbled clumsily for more of the drug that made him feel so—"NO!" he cried, leaping up. His head cracked soundly on a tree branch that had to have been made of iron. "I didn't do that! For the love of god, someone appear and tell me it was a bloody bad dream!" He rubbed his sore head, wishing he could soothe the ache in his chest. He had caved in. He had sworn never to use heroin again, and he had failed. His resolve had the strength of a melted ice cube.

A LONG TIME AGO

"Wake up, Charlie!" Miri cried, dancing around his room and throwing the window shades wide open.

"No." Charlie muttered. He hated the light when he was trying to sleep. In his opinion, prime sleeping took place in a silent, pitch-black environment with a very, very squishy pillow.

"It's time to go, sleepyhead! You've a meeting with your new manager!" she threw the words out like candy at a parade, with all the same enthusiasm, the same eagerness, "You're going to be a star!" That woke Charlie up. He jumped up, throwing his blankets in a heap on the floor, and played air guitar with no amp, but he did use his mouth, which had surprisingly good sound quality. Miri squealed excitedly and jumped on the bed with him until Liam yelled at them from the bathroom to shut up. They fell silent and suppressed giggles like schoolchildren caught sneaking sweets. "You're gonna be a star!" Miri whispered, nearly exploding with excitement, "When you're rich and famous and Driveshaft has gone multi-platinum, can I stand on the stage at one of your concerts and play tambourine or cowbell or something, just so I can know what it feels like?"

"You can play tambourine whenever you want, Miri!" Charlie laughed, "You can be our mascot!" They giggled some more, then Charlie shooed her out. He had to get dressed. Now, he thought, gazing into his closet, what is my very coolest, hippest, most rock starry outfit? The purpose of the meeting was to discuss cover art for their album. Everyone but Liam agreed on a totally sweet abstract image. Liam said that it didn't show the band's true image. Whatever. Three against one.

Two hours later, the band was sitting in the spacious office of their manager. He was showing them the possibilities. There was the one everyone liked, and group photo of the band on top of a rusted out old car, and one with Liam in the foreground and the other band members silhouetted far in the background. They had all agreed that Driveshaft would not become the Liam Band and had told their manager from the start that the cover of their album would not feature any one band member. "We want the trippy one." Charlie said proudly.

"You lot sure?" the manager asked, smiling greasily. "What about this one?" He lifted the one of Liam. He perked up right away, seeing that the manager favored that one. "Naw, I think the band all agreed on that one."

"Done." The manager said quickly. Before anyone knew what had happened, they were out on the curb. Charlie ground his teeth furiously. "What the hell was that?" he asked Liam, close to boiling over.

"Yeah, man." Another member agreed.

"What? I thought that was the best representation of our group." Liam replied innocently.

"It doesn't matter what you alone think, Liam! It's not your band!" Charlie got right into his face. "In what twisted version of reality do you live in where it's OK to ignore the band! Hmm?" He knew the rest of the band supported him on this one.

"Hey, I got us the record deal, I sweet talked that sleaze ball in there." Liam shouted, "I did! Me! Are you all so ungrateful? Maybe I'll just walk right in there and tell the manager that I got to sign us that we're not interested anymore."

"You wouldn't." Charlie hissed.

"Hey Charlie," the drummer who had supported him earlier was now standing beside Liam, "Maybe we'll just let this one go. Liam has a point."

"Yeah." The other agreed.

Charlie's jaw worked, but words wouldn't come out. He'd never been this mad before. It was like lemon juice on a paper cut, but all over his body. His brow furrowed, and unfamiliar motion. Then, with a sigh, he gave in, scared of what Liam would do, scared of hurting Driveshaft's chances for success. "Fine." He sighed, ever though saying it physically hurt. Liam grinned smugly. "Good, then. Let's go." Rage made Charlie's hands shake, but he climbed into the car anyway, a good, well-behaved, docile little sheep.

ON THE ISLAND

Charlie looked around, evaluating the condition his body was in. He'd once woken up with a missing tooth and two black eyes. To this day he had never figured out what he had done to get them. This most recent blackout had not resulted in anything too painful. The knock on his head hurt most, and that had been after he woke up. Beyond that, just a bad scrape on his cheekbone on his rock-pillow and gross looking cut on his forearm. "Now." He wondered aloud, "Which way is north?" He didn't even know which direction to go. Eventually, he just picked a direction and started walking. It wasn't until then, when he cracked the scabs, that he noted his poor, shredded feet. Every step was like kicking a porcupine and left a smudgy red footprint on the leaf litter of the jungle floor.

He viewed the pain as punishment. He deserved it and far worse. Even now, with his mind relatively clear, his body cried out for a fix. It was like listening to Aaron cry. Charlie's heart ached to soothe the wails, to do whatever he could to make things better. But this time, he would not. He could not…he didn't want to…no…