Chapter 14: Ethan's Arrival - Part 2
POV: Kate
Kate had watched Mac for three days straight refuse to sleep, circling Claire like a paranoid guard dog whose instincts had been triggered by something only he could perceive. Whatever internal alarm was screaming warnings about Ethan had Mac wound tighter than she'd ever seen him, and that was saying something for a man who already carried more tension than most combat veterans.
But Mac's paranoia, however inexplicable, had proven reliable in the past. His instincts about the marshal had been accurate. His warnings about island dangers had kept people alive. And his impossible knowledge of her own secrets suggested perceptions that went deeper than normal human observation.
Time to do actual investigating instead of relying on feelings and hunches.
Kate approached Hurley with what she hoped was casual suggestion rather than urgent investigation. "Hey, I've been thinking we should make a proper manifest of everyone here. You know, account for all the survivors, honor the people we lost. Put together a complete record."
Hurley's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Dude, that's a great idea! Like a memorial thing. I've got some notebooks from the plane we could use."
They spent the day working methodically through the camp, checking names against the flight manifest Kate had salvaged from the cockpit, accounting for the dead and cataloging the living with careful attention to details. It was meticulous work, but Kate's fugitive experience had taught her that survival often depended on noticing small discrepancies that others overlooked.
Then her blood ran cold.
Ethan Rom wasn't on the plane. His name appeared nowhere on the passenger manifest, wasn't listed among the crew, didn't exist in any of the airline documentation they'd recovered from the wreckage.
She found Hurley recounting names for the third time, his face pale with growing understanding of what their discovery meant.
"Dude," Hurley said quietly. "This is bad. This is really, really bad."
Kate grabbed Mac immediately, pulling him away from his defensive construction work with urgency that brooked no argument.
POV: Mac
When Kate whispered the news, Mac's relief at validation warred with terror at confirmation. Part of him had hoped his inherited memories were wrong, that Ethan really was just another survivor struggling to find safety in an hostile environment.
"He's not from the plane," Mac said, his voice hoarse with vindication and dread. "He's one of them. The Others."
Kate's eyes widened. "Others? What Others? Who are they?"
Mac's head pounded as fragmentary memories tried to surface—images of organized groups living on the island, people who'd been here long before Flight 815 crashed, dangerous factions with resources and agendas that went far beyond simple survival.
"People on the island," Mac managed through the growing pain. "Already here when we crashed. They're dangerous. They want—"
Agony exploded through his skull like white-hot metal, forcing the memory back into the locked vault where his borrowed knowledge remained frustratingly incomplete. Every time he tried to grasp the specific details of what the Others wanted or how they operated, pain shut down his access to information that might save lives.
Before they could discuss the implications further, shouting erupted from the center of camp. Mac and Kate ran toward the commotion, arriving to find Jack confronting Ethan with the manifest evidence while survivors gathered in an increasingly agitated crowd.
"According to this, you weren't on Flight 815," Jack said, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being believed without question. "Your name isn't anywhere on the passenger list."
Ethan's friendly mask dropped instantly, revealing something cold and predatory beneath the facade of grateful survivor. His smile shifted from warm to terrifying, his posture flowing from harmless to combat-ready with fluid precision that confirmed Mac's worst fears.
"You're right," Ethan said, his voice carrying new edges that made several survivors step backward instinctively. "I'm not from your plane. And if you're smart, you'll stop asking questions and listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
Jack demanded answers, but Ethan just laughed—a sound like broken glass scraping against stone.
"You have one day," Ethan said with terrible calm. "Bring the girl to the treeline at dawn tomorrow, or I start killing you all. One per day, until Claire is mine. And trust me—I'll start with the ones you can least afford to lose."
He melted into the jungle before anyone could react, moving with inhuman speed that left no doubt about his supernatural abilities. The camp erupted into panic and confusion, but Mac was already moving—his hands working at Phase Two speed to build defensive positions while his mind raced through tactical options.
He'd known this moment was coming, but being unable to prevent it felt like failing a test he'd been preparing for his entire borrowed existence.
Claire's hysteria cut through the chaos like a knife. She was sobbing, clutching her belly, her face twisted with terror that went beyond rational fear into primordial maternal protection instincts.
"He wants my baby," Claire cried. "Why does he want my baby? I don't understand!"
Mac knelt beside her, his hands beginning to glow with the gentle golden light that had become his signature method of providing comfort. The healing energy flowed into Claire, not fixing anything physical but somehow easing the panic that threatened to consume her completely.
"I won't let him take you," Mac said, meaning every word with fierce certainty. "I swear on my life, Claire. He's not getting near you or your baby."
Claire's crying slowed as the healing warmth spread through her system. She looked up at Mac with desperate trust, seeing something in his expression that transcended normal human reassurance.
"You knew," she whispered. "You tried to warn me about strangers. How did you know this was coming?"
Mac's throat closed. How could he explain that his knowledge came from transmigrated memories of a television show where she was a fictional character following predetermined plot lines? How could he voice the truth that he'd died in another reality and been reborn into this one with borrowed abilities and incomplete knowledge of events that might or might not unfold according to scripts he'd forgotten?
"I just... knew," Mac said inadequately. "Sometimes I know things before they happen. And I know we're going to keep you safe."
Charlie appeared beside them, holding Claire protectively while glaring at Mac with a mixture of gratitude and growing suspicion. Jack was already organizing armed patrols, his medical training shifting seamlessly into crisis management. Kate was loading one of the guns they'd salvaged from the marshal, her fugitive instincts activated by clear and present danger.
And Mac built through the night, constructing a fortress of defenses around Claire while praying it would be enough to stop a threat he couldn't fully remember but absolutely had to defeat.
"This is it," Mac realized as dawn approached and Ethan's deadline loomed. "This is the moment where my presence here either saves lives or makes everything worse. If I can protect Claire, if I can change this one thing from the original timeline, maybe I can prove that my transmigration wasn't just a cosmic mistake. Maybe I can justify existing in a reality where I don't belong."
Mac sat beside Claire's fortified tent as false dawn began lightening the eastern sky, the crossbow he'd built resting across his knees. Around him, armed survivors maintained watch with weapons that felt inadequate against the supernatural threat they faced.
The Island held its breath, and somewhere in the jungle, Mac swore he could hear Ethan laughing with the patience of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere left to run.
The game was about to reach its climax, and Mac still wasn't certain he remembered enough of the rules to win.
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