Personal Log: Adrian Rodd

I know I've given spoiler warnings before, but if you're still reading this, and you haven't watched the first season of Lost, I must strongly urge you not to read any further, since this part contains at least one major season 1 spoiler.

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“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived in Los Angeles. Temperature on the ground is 16° C; there is light rain. We hope you had a pleasant flight, and we look forward to serving you again on Oceanic Airlines.”

Sarah pulled her bag down from the overhead locker, and shuffled out of the plane with the queue, smiling politely at the flight assistants as she did so. She made her way through passport check-in in a bit of a haze, the airport blurred and indistinct around her as she focused on the minutes to come. She strolled with a smile towards the baggage claims area.

Well, Mum, it’s been a long road, but I’m here to see you at last! A thrill of excitement coursed through her. In a few moments now…

The warm sun shone through the windows of the airport. She walked confidently down a flight of stairs, without hesitation. She could see the corridor leading to the exit, beyond the large room where their luggage lay waiting.

“Excuse me, miss! Would you like a refund for that ticket?”

She turned, a little surprised, as Charlie hurried down the stairs after her, thrusting a sheet of blue paper at her and looking at her expectantly. She shook her head, confused.

“No… Why would I–?”

“We’re not the only people on this island, and we all know it!” She turned quickly as the loud voice rang out through the vast room… which seemed to have stretched now, its far wall having receded into the distance. She felt a pang of anxiety. Charlie had disappeared, and everyone’s eyes were on a bald priest, standing near the luggage some distance away, holding a book out towards them with one hand while with the other he lifted a threatening finger towards the heavens. His eyes were wild, perhaps a little mad. Locke, she recognised him after a confused moment.

Forgetting about her bags, she began running towards the wall and exit vanishing into the distance.

“Sarah!” She spun round. Her mother was standing by an open door to her right. Behind her, all was grey and hazy, but her mother’s face was clearly visible, and smiling. “It’s all right, my baby. Come to me. You’re home.” She turned, and walked into the grey room –or was it a corridor? The door swung shut behind her.

“Mum!” Her heart beating fast, Sarah ran towards it, almost tripping over herself. When she reached the door, a man was standing in her way. His unusual blue eyes fixed her with such grave intensity that she took an involuntary step back, gasping. Boone stood still in front of the door, wearing a flight attendant’s uniform, and gazing at her without blinking.

“This isn’t the right place for you.” His voice seemed to echo from a distance. “Don’t follow her. Not now. Don’t go inland. You have no idea what’s in there.”

“I came here to see her!” she shouted, her frustration rising surprisingly fast.

“You were on the plane for a reason.” Boone remained calm, but his tone was eerie, almost artificial. She barely noticed.

“Yes, my mother bought me the ticket. She’s getting away! Now let me through!”

The door opened, just in front of her. Boone was nowhere to be seen. She stepped through, hesitatingly, into complete darkness, then began to run… Her stomach lurched, as she suddenly felt herself falling.

She sat up, her eyes wide open, panting. Outside her tent, it was day time, sunlight bathing her feet. She gazed out over the patch of beach visible from the opening, listening to melodious, carefree bird song from somewhere among the trees. A dream… My god, what a dream! She put some clothes on hastily, grabbed her towel to go and take her usual morning bath, and left her tent, brushing at her eyes to dispel the last remains of sleep… and the uneasy dreams it had brought her.

“Where were you?” The shout carried down the beach towards her. She turned, blinking, uncertain. “Where were you?” There was desperation, fury… grief. “Where the hell were you, you son of a bitch?”

She stood still, confused, then, without even thinking, began to run towards the shouts. She did not even notice that her leg was not aching in the slightest. There were other voices now, but that furious, helpless cry rang out above them:

“What did you do to him?”

“Sarah! Hey, Sarah, no, don’t run.” Tom appeared before her, running to meet her. Behind him, some distance away, she could see many others, coming down from a low hill. At its foot, there was a scuffle. Charlie and Sawyer were trying to hold someone back – Jack. “Sarah, don’t run over there!”

She almost ploughed right into him, tripping over the sand. Her caught her, steadying her.

“Tom!” she panted. “What’s going on? Jack…”

“You slept right through it all? You must have been tired.” Beside the hill, Jack had just collapsed. Tom turned her firmly but gently around, away from the sight, and led her back towards the main part of the camp. It was almost deserted. “I found you dozing off by the fire last night after midnight. I caried you back to your tent. Didn’t want you falling into the fire.”

“Jack…” she said again, trying to look back over her shoulder.

“He’ll be all right. He’s just exhausted, and… emotionally tense. It’s been a long night, and he gave away a lot of blood.”

The memory hit her like a punch in the chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Charlie, looking into her tent, last night… She looked up into Tom’s face, her eyes filled with anxiety.

“Boone?” she asked, in a whisper.

The gentle, sorrowful look on his face told her the answer before he spoke it. She lowered her head, her eyes tingling, a lump in her throat.

“Boone’s dead…” he said softly. “Jack did everything he could. But out here…” He trailed off. She nodded wordlessly. “Come on. You look shaken. Let’s sit you down somewhere.” She nodded again, walking with him quietly as he guided her, an arm round her shoulders.

“What happened?” she whispered, after a long while, as Tom sat her down in her wheelchair outside her tent. “Jack said… someone left him to die?” She gazed up at him with searching, troubled eyes.

Tom shook his head. “No, he doesn’t really think that. He blames Locke, but… He’s exhausted.”

Sarah nodded, accepting that for the time being, too stunned to press the question further. For several long seconds, she was quiet. “My god,” she whispered at last, horrified, “poor Shannon…”

“Sayid’s looking after her,” Tom assured her. “Are you going to be OK?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yes, of course… I’m fine…” She trailed off, looking out towards the sea. Then, finally, she looked up towards him again. “You know,” she said, very softly, “I’d started to think of this place as safe. As a new home, almost. So stupid… Boone… He was my age, more or less. He survived the crash… only to die a month and a half later. It makes no sense, no sense at all.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I barely knew him. Did any of us know him? He died here, alone… For nothing, just like that. Tell me, Tom, have you ever thought about the future? Since we got here, I mean.”

The question seemed to take him by surprise. He thought about it honestly for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have.”

“See? Neither have I. It’s as if there’s no future to think of. As if we’re… cut off from time, I don’t know. Nothing ahead of us,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We’ll all die here alone.”

Tom knelt down in front of her, and gently pressed his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head up so he could look into her face. His own expression was serious, but kind.

“Not alone,” he said gently. “Boone wasn’t alone, and neither are we. Neither are you. Whatever happens… Do you understand, Sarah?”

She met his gaze, uncertainly, then nodded. Her eyes were stinging. He leaned forward, and took her in his arms, comforting her as she began to cry.

* * *

“C'mon, even a weather man on TV don't know what's going to happen. Why are we listening to Arzt?”

Sarah walked up casually to the raft from the back, and caught Sawyer’s mocking drawl as she approached. The American was standing atop the partially built structure, facing Arzt, who was holding what looked like a crude windsock made from a plastic bag. She moved nearer, without anyone paying attention, and rested her arms on the edge of the raft as she watched.

“Because I’m a doctor, and you’re a hillbilly,” Arzt retorted. Sarah smiled, discreetly. She had just taken an instant liking to him.

Sawyer did not seem impressed, although his voice did contain definite traces of irritation. “You’re a damn high school science teacher.”

“Hey, Sawyer,” Jack soothed, always the peace-maker. “Just let the man talk.”

“It's been raining every damn afternoon. That means that we are on the cusp on monsoon season,” Arzt explained. “Monsoon season is bad. Now, the trade winds are blowing north right now. Shipping lanes are north, so north is exactly where you want to be.”

Sarah nodded quietly. By now, the science teacher had attracted a fair amount of attention. Michael and Jack were both listening, as was Sawyer, and Charlie and Kate were joining them from across the beach.

“What does that mean?” Michael asked.

“It means that when monsoon season hits, the trade winds are going to shift to the south,” Arzt told them, swinging his arms to demonstrate. “The raft,” he explained, with a slow, methodical patience that reminded Sarah of her school years, “goes with the wind. Can anyone tell me what is the only piece of land that is south of us?”

Australia? Sarah wondered. No, they were presumably too far east for that. “Antarctica,” Jack answered, calmly.

“That’s right, Jack. Antarctica.”

“So when do we have to leave?” Michael asked, sounding understandably concerned. Arzt looked at him, considered it for a moment, then gave a fatalistic shrug.

“Yesterday.”

The small group began to disperse. Sarah’s gaze lingered on the teacher, worriedly, then she turned to see Jack leave, and hurried after him. He acknowledged her with a glance as she walked beside him.

“So… are you going to let them leave?” she asked.

Jack gave her a somewhat surprised look, then what seemed like a strained smile, and a shrug. “I don’t run things here, Sarah. It’s Michael’s raft. We can discuss the risks, but ultimately it’s his decision.”

She pondered that. “Well… yes,” she conceded at last. “But wouldn’t it be better for them to wait? If it is dangerous… Antarctica… Michael wants to take Walt along. If that were my son, I’m not sure…”

“Michael has experience as a parent. He knows what he’s doing.” Jack stopped, and turned to face her. “Why are you saying this to me, Sarah? If you have concerns, take them to Michael.”

Sarah hesitated, taking that in, then nodded slowly. Even she had eventually got used to bringing her problems, questions, doubts and suggestions to Jack. It was a little unsettling, almost awkward to hear him remind her that he was not, in reality, their leader. Just a castaway like the rest of them, whom people turned to because he was their only qualified doctor, and therefore a protective figure. “Yeah…” she said at last. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Jack gave another strained smile. “No problem. Just… talk it through with Michael, if you want. This is his project. His decision.”

She stood still as he walked away, then glanced over her shoulder towards the spot where Michael and Jin were already back at work. She bit her lip, before shaking her head, and continuing on her way towards the main camp.

* * *

She was standing near the edge of the water, tossing pebbles and trying to get them to skim over the surface, avoiding the waves. So far, she had not had much success, but her fruitless efforts were keeping her busy. Her eyes on the sea, she did not notice Steve until he had almost reached her. She stopped, dropping the remaining small stones, and turned to look at him with a smile. Steve, however, looked concerned.

“Have you heard?” he asked immediately, without greeting. “About Michael?”

“He’s not going?” she asked automatically. Steve looked at her strangely.

“What would make you think that?”

“Oh, I…” She reddened slightly. “What is it, then?”

“He’s been poisoned,” Steve told her gravely.

“What?!”

He nodded. “He’s ok… well, sort of. It’s not life-threatening, apparently, according to Jack. Just painful. But he’s had to stop work for now. And rumour has it someone put something in his water.” When Sarah stared at him incredulously, he nodded sombrely. “Paulo saw Jack check the bottles and discuss it with Michael. He was telling Michael to drink out of another bottle. The water all comes from the same place, so…”

“So somebody must have done this on purpose.” She frowned, baffled. “I suppose, the same people who burned the first raft. Ethan’s people.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Steve agreed. “But the more you think about it, the less sense it makes. You’d assume they’d be happy to see us leave, wouldn’t you? Whoever they are. If they don’t want us here.”

She nodded again. “You would…” she said slowly, thoughtfully, then sighed and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. So what does this mean for the whole rescue thing?”

“Depends on how quickly Michael recovers, I suppose. Jin’s still hard at work trying to get the whole thing finished and ready to set sail. Richard and a few others are helping out; I think I’ll go and lend a hand in a moment. We can’t allow them to bully us into not doing this.”

“No, of course, absolutely,” she agreed quickly.

“And I don’t know about you,” Steve added, with sudden, fierce determination, such that it surprised her somewhat. “But the sooner I can be off this island, the better. Back to civilisation for me. Where there aren’t people hiding in the jungle trying to kill you.”

“And where you don’t find piles of notebooks stacked in the middle of nowhere,” she added with a slight smile, hoping to calm him down a little. He looked at her curiously, but it seemed to do the trick. He inhaled audibly, and nodded.

“That too. This island is beginning to freak me out. Messages, traps, poison, strange men kidnapping pregnant women, tropical bears in polar forests… I mean, polar bears in tropical forests.”

“Yes, not to mention–” His words sank in. She looked up at him, startled. “I’m sorry, what?”

Steve had seemed distracted for a moment. He glanced down at her. “What?” he echoed.

“Polar bears?” she echoed, incredulously. “What’s this about polar bears?”

“Oh, didn’t you…?” He waved vaguely towards the jungle. “Hurley told me earlier. Apparently there are polar bears in there.”

Sarah blinked, and continued to stare. “You’re sure he wasn’t pulling your leg?” she asked dubiously.

“Positive. See? The only reason it’s even plausible is when you consider all the rest.”

“Uhm… I don’t think a polar bear on a tropical island is ever plausible,” Sarah said, still a little dazed. She looked over towards the raft. From here, she could make out Jin, alone atop the bamboo structure, working tirelessly at the mast. “But yeah, I hope they do go and find rescue, quickly.” She paused, remember what had happened just the previous day, and added, in a whisper, “Before anyone else dies…”

* * *

“Here, pass me the… whatever it is they use for a rope here.”

Sarah looked around, turning towards the stack of neatly cut bamboo shoots. She was helping Manuel secure the raft’s masting, while Jin took a short break, sitting against the tree beneath which Michael was resting. Doctor’s orders. It had become a rush to finish the raft and launch it as soon as possible, and several of the castaways, Sarah including, were helping out.

“Uhm… I can’t see any right now,” she told her dark-haired, unshaven co-worker. Standing on the raft, Manuel looked round too. “Hey, Walt!” She waved Michael’s son over. “Where do you keep the rope?”

Michael looked up from beside the tree, pushing himself into a half-sitting position. “If there’s none left here, try my tent. Walt’ll take you, won’t you, man?”

“Sure,” the child said, and nodded at her. “Sarah, right?” he asked with just enough interest to sound polite.

“Yep, that’s me,” she told him, and followed him towards the main camp. The young boy walked ahead most of the way, apparently not interested in conversation. He entered the tent, and handed her a coil of makeshift but solid-looking rope a few moments later. She smiled at him encouragingly. “So, you looking forward to sailing home?”

Walt shrugged. “I guess…” He glanced up at her. “Home is… complicated,” he added, but did not elaborate further, beginning on his way back to his father. Sarah hurried after him.

“Complicated?” she repeated, but there was no response. She reached forward, her fingertips brushing lightly against his shoulder. Walt stopped perfectly still, as if he had just been hit by a bolt of lightning. She moved past him, then turned back, concerned. “Walt?” He was staring at her gravely, far more gravely than should be possible for a child of his age. She crouched down, facing him. “Walt?” she repeated, gently.

“Don’t follow her.”

Sarah frowned, very slowly, his words swimming round her mind. She felt a little dizzy, as she struggled to accept that he had indeed just said what she had heard him say.

“What?”

“Don’t go with her, Miss Sarah,” the child said, seriously. His eyes held a look of solemn warning. “Not yet.”

His face, in front of her, seemed to swim out of focus, and Sarah realised she was, all of a sudden, feeling rather dizzy. She straightened up, slowly, carefully. By the time she had regained her bearings, Walt had continued on, and was almost at the raft. She began to run after him, then, although she was not entirely sure why, she stopped, and slowed down. Before she could give any more structure and meaning to her jumbled thoughts, an angry voice drew her attention back towards the scene beside the raft. Walt had stopped a short distance from it, and she joined him, watching without moving too close.

“Oh, I'm a criminal, huh? I poisoned you because I'm a criminal.” It was Sawyer, yet again, looking thoroughly irritated. Sarah’s eyes widened a little. Was he confessing? And should I even be surprised if he did do it? She had never liked this man, never trusted him.

Tensions were rising as Sawyer took a step towards Michael, still resting against the tree, and Jin leapt up to the latter’s defence, pushing Sawyer back.

“Get your hands off me, boy!” Sawyer told the Korean, then looked off to one side, to where Kate stood in front of the raft. “Hey, sweet-cheeks! I had no idea how bad you wanted off this rock. Time to set things straight.” Sarah felt herself tense, too, as he grabbed Kate and all but dragged her over to Michael. A small crowd was gathering now. Manuel was watching from on top of the raft. Charlie and Claire had walked over. Shannon stood some distance away, observing.

“Let go of me!” Kate protested, but Sawyer was thoroughly worked up over something.

“No, look who the criminal is,” he told the other survivors. Sarah frowned, not yet understanding.

“Hey!” Charlie protested. “Leave her alone, man!” Sarah took a tentative step forward. Sawyer ignored him.

“Tell him,” he ordered Kate. She gave an innocent, baffled look which only seemed to increase his anger. He grabbed her backpack… and got a reaction.

“Give that back!”

“Leave her alone!” Michael warned. He had had enough. Sawyer was behaving like a schoolyard bully.

“Leave her alone?” the latter repeated with irony, as if Michael had just said something unintentionally funny. “Give that back!” Kate said again, trying to grab her bag. Sawyer swung it out of her reach, then swiftly upturned it and emptied its contents out onto the sand. Sarah moved a little closer. Kate tried to snatch something up, but Sawyer was faster. “Mmm-hmmm. Look. Look at this.”

He was in control now, whatever it was he had planned. And he had Michael’s attention at last. Kate obviously sensed it; her tone suddenly held a hint of pleading.

“Sawyer, please…” Sawyer went on, mercilessly, holding up what he had taken from her bag. Sarah could see now that it was a passport, which he opened to display the main page.

“You all remember Joanna, don't you? Huh? The woman who drowned?” Sarah nodded slowly, while he handed the passport to Michael, who accepted it quietly. His eyes were on Kate now. All their eyes were. “Now what's Kate doing with poor Joanna's ID? Could it be she'd do just about anything to get on that raft? So she could get herself rescued, run off with a new identity before half the reporters in the world descend on this damn island? She might even poison the captain himself.”

“Shut up,” Kate said – but her voice was weak, defeated. Her tone was a confession in itself. Sarah looked at her in silence, shocked. Sawyer drove the final nail home, with vicious contempt.

“She don't care about nothin' or nobody but herself.” Sarah bit her lip. This was becoming painful to watch, even if Kate was guilty. She was being publicly exposed… and humiliated. Sawyer was triumphant. It left a bitter aftertaste in Sarah’s mouth, and she grimaced. “You want to tell us why you need to run so bad? You want to tell us the truth?”

Everybody watched, and waited. On all sides, Kate was trapped by the gazes of her fellow castaways. Sarah hesitated, and thought about turning away now, but she found that she could not. Like all the others, she had to know. Had to hear what Kate would say. There was a long moment’s silence. Finally, the woman’s face revealed what she was about to admit, even before she spoke.

“Yes… I was on the plane, with the Marshal. Yes, I was wanted, and… caught, and… being transported back. No matter what I say about what happened, about what I supposedly did… I'm going to jail.” There was a long pause. She looked at Michael. “But I didn't poison you.”

It was too late. Michael met her gaze for several seconds, but did not even bother to reply. He held out Joanna’s passport to Sawyer. Sarah turned away at last. She glimpsed Charlie slip his arm round Claire as they, too, left – as if protecting her from the criminal they had suddenly discovered in their midst. There was no sympathy in anyone’s eyes. Forgetting all about Walt, and glancing back just once at a defeated Kate, who stood with her head bowed, Sarah walked back to her tent.

* * *

That evening, as the sun dipped below the water far away over the ocean, its dying light stretching spectacularly in gold and orange hues over the darkening sky, she sat on the sand, some distance away from the camp, out of sight and earshot from the night-time conversations, the crackle, warmth and glow of the campside fire. She was alone, the only human being visible on this long strip of sand, disappearing off to her right into uncharted territory. She sat with her feet in the water, gentle, tiny waves lapping against the shore, nibbling their way forward under her bare legs, towards her ochre shorts. All was calm, peaceful.

She sighed, stretching a little, her legs sinking a few inches further into the water, and gazed out towards the dying sun, the patterns of light over the sky.

“Sarah?”

She glanced up, just briefly, and nodded as the figure walking towards her through the dark air revealed itself as Tom. By the time he sat down beside her, pulling off his shoes and socks to sink his bare feet into the sea, she was gazing out across the ocean once more.

“I thought you were trying not to wander off on your own any more,” he commented, and, without looking at him, she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. She said nothing. They sat in silence for a long while.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said at last, softly. The sun was gone, now, but its final rays still painted the horizon with a gentle, fading, golden glow. When she gave no answer to that, either, he added: “The raft sails tomorrow. I thought you might want to know.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Of course, there’s no telling when they’ll actually reach the shipping lanes…” He kept his voice low. There was something about the moment, a rare feeling of tranquility, that anything but a whisper would have spoiled. “We could be here a long time still before we’re rescued.”

She nodded in quiet agreement. Tomorrow, their hopes would sail out on that fragile craft, moving at last beyond that horizon which, for over forty days, had seemed utterly and forever out of reach. It was a change… There was no denying that. If all want well, if Michael did find help, they would all be rescued. From tomorrow onwards, it became simply a matter of time.

She found herself wondering how she felt about it. It worried her a little that she was still uncertain.

Tom leaned back, his face no longer visible from the corner of her eye as she continued to gaze straight ahead.

“So…” He was still whispering. “You never really told me why you were on that plane.” He paused. “And what it is,” he added, with a touch of solemnity, “that kept driving you out into the jungle, looking for… something that none of us could see.”

Sarah sighed, deeply, and did not immediately reply. When she did, after almost a full minute, she allowed herself to fall back onto the sand, her eyes gazing straight up at the clear evening sky, and at the twinkling stars.

“My mother,” she said at last, “sent me a ticket. I was going to Los Angeles to meet her for the very first time.”

“To meet your mother?” Tom leaned onto his side, looking down at her. His tone was curious, but respectful. More than just curiosity: a friend expressing an interest. He was ready to understand.

“She walked out on my father and me when I was a small baby,” Sarah explained, calmly. There was little emotion in her voice. “She said she needed to go, vanish from my life, for my own good. My father never got to know what she meant by that. I don’t think he ever believed her. She never phoned, never wrote, never tried to find out how I was doing, what had become of me over the years… Until a few days ago, when we got a letter. And suddenly I’m going to LA, and she’s arranged everything to meet me.”

Tom nodded, slowly, taking it in. “That must have been… strange.”

“It never really sank in completely.” She paused. The rest was not easy. Had they not been here all this time, witnessed the mysteries of this island, she would never have said any of it. But now, after the forty-three days they had lived through together, after all they had seen and heard, and as they were finally able to consider leaving… “I saw her,” she told him softly. “Here. On the island. When I disappeared… remember? That’s why I’d left the camp. I saw her, in the jungle, standing there, looking at me, never saying a word… I was trying to find her again. I think she wanted me to follow her, but… I ran after her. That’s how I tripped right into the French woman’s trap. That’s… that’s what I was doing out there, on my own.” She turned her head fractionally to look up at him, her face serious. “That’s why I went with you and Steve, and the others, later, even though I couldn’t even walk properly… I was hoping to see her again. I had to see her again. It… it made no sense, you see. But I know what I saw.”

Tom absorbed that slowly. She kept her gaze on him, calm on the outside, but with a twinge of anxiety deep inside. She had told him; and now… “And did you?” he asked, his voice just as calm as hers. “See her again, I mean. When we were all out there. Did you see her?”

“No.” She exhaled softly. “No, but I heard her. A whisper… She was singing a lullaby; I’d almost forgotten it. And then…” She closed her eyes, and moistened her partly dried lips. “And then,” she whispered, “the night we were by the tube and the capsules – remember? I saw a bright light. In the middle of the night, this bright light, hovering right over my face. Pure white… Almost blinding, but not… not harsh.” She found herself struggling for words. “Solemn, but… not… I didn’t feel threatened. Awed, I think… And I saw myself, like… not like a mirror, but like… flashes of the past. Inside the light.” She looked up through the dark air into the whites of his eyes. “It was… I can’t describe it, but in a way… it was beautiful,” she whispered, very softly.

There was silence again. She nodded to herself, quietly, her hair rubbing in the sand, and shifted her bare feet in the cooling, rippling water. After a while, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position, and picked up her shoes. Tom helped her chivalrously to her feet.

“I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

* * *