The Woman from the Plane [Lost Fanfiction]

Chapter 13: The Man Pulling the Strings

Walt was up early. The violent thunderstorm had left him with nothing to do all evening, so he had gone to sleep. Now that the rain had cleared, he was eager to get back outside.

He wasn't sure what drew him to the beach. He rarely walked in that direction, and he rarely walked that far from the Barracks without a good reason. But when he saw the capsized sailboat stuck in the shallows, he knew he'd only done it because it was what the Island had wanted.

He was tempted to explore the boat on his own, but it wasn't safe to wade out alone, and no one knew where he was. He decided to go to tell Hurley.

He found Hurley having breakfast in Ben's kitchen.

Hurley was surprised to hear about the boat, but only mildly.

"Have you been expecting someone, Hugo?" Ben asked suspiciously.

"Not exactly," Hurley replied, "but I had a feeling that storm was up to something, you know?"

Ben shrugged. He'd had his suspicions as well.

Ben drove them in a van back to the spot on the beach. The sailboat had been pushed further up the sand. He glanced at the name—The White Rabbit. It was a nice-looking boat—definitely pricey—small, but well equipped.

Ben waded into the water and banged on the hull.

"Hello?" he called, to no response.

Walt helped him open the hatch, and he crawled into the cabin.

Everything was sideways, and there was about a foot of cold water inside the boat. There was some obvious damage towards the bow, which was clearly the source of the water. But that's not what Ben noticed first.

What caught his attention were the plastic wrapped bricks of cocaine and stacks of cash that appeared to fill the cabin. He stumbled through, plucking wads of $100 bills from the water.

Then he saw the woman, slumped over in the corner, bleeding from the side of her head.

"Hey, Hugo, there's someone in here," he called over his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he had been heard.

He made his way over to her with some urgency. Her face was covered by long, dark hair—and for a moment he was reminded of his daughter, hoping against reason that the Island had brought Alex back to him. But when he pushed the hair out of her face, he could see that this woman looked nothing like her.

He slapped her cheeks a couple of times to try to elicit a response, to no avail. She was cold—very cold—and her lips were nearly blue. He wasn't even entirely sure that she was alive. But he heaved her over his shoulder and trudged out of the boat.

Walt helped him to pull her out of the hatch, but Ben felt compelled to carry her to shore. He held her limp body in his arms, her head hanging loosely on one side, and her legs dangling on the other.

He carried her all the way into the van. Ben sat with her in the backseat, cradling her head in his lap. Hugo drove them back to the barracks, and not a word was said between the three of them.

They set her up in the spare room in Ben's house, dusting off the medical equipment—relics from a lifetime ago, after Jack had operated on him. They dressed the wound on her head—it was ugly, but shallow, and likely not serious.

She didn't wake up for more than a day, but Ben kept watch until she started to stir.

It wasn't that he cared about her wellbeing—he had changed, but not that much. His primary interest was asking about the money, and the drugs, and how she came to wreck her boat on the Island—if it was her boat at all.