The apartment in Los Angeles that Elijah loved no longer held anything for him. He’d chosen the furniture carefully and deliberately, he’d picked out the paint colors after pouring over palettes for days. The paintings that hung on the walls all had a meaning, and the photographs that adorned every surface each told their own story; they were a timeline of all the happy moments in Elijah’s life. He’d spent all the time he could there, trying to make this place a home. Elijah had been looking forward to sharing that home with Charlie.

He didn’t know until he got back to LA that something was wrong. The apartment was empty when he entered it, and there was no trace of Charlie ever having been there, even though Elijah distinctly remembered giving him a key.

A dull ache settled in his chest when he set his suitcases aside and combed the apartment, looking for a clue. That feeling of dread was overcoming him, forcing him to sit down heavily in a chair and not get up for hours. Something was wrong. He just wished he knew what that something was.

He waited there for several hours, expecting Charlie to pop inside, smiling with an explanation of where he’d been. He probably went sightseeing or maybe he got held up in customs. Elijah hoped there was an easy answer, but knew in his gut that things were changing right before his eyes.

When the sky darkened and Elijah still hadn’t heard anything, he assumed the worst. The worst to Elijah at that moment was that Charlie had changed his mind and decided he didn’t love him. In his current, slightly unhinged state, he didn’t realize there could be something far worse out there.

Elijah got up, went into the kitchen, and forced down some sort of food substance; he didn’t know what it was, and he certainly didn’t care. He flicked the television on for some company and settled onto the couch, one eye on the door just in case Charlie decided to show up.

The breaking news story on every station imaginable was that a plane had gone down somewhere on its way to Los Angeles. They didn’t have very much information, but would keep everyone updated as things became available.

He sat on the edge of the couch, barely breathing. It couldn’t be Charlie’s plane. There was no way. Charlie was safely in Los Angeles and probably just lost. Yes, he was just down the street on the highway, unable to find the right off ramp.

Oceanic Flight 815 was reported missing sometime that evening; it had gone down near Fiji. No one knew why. Everyone, from pilots to scientists, were completely baffled. It had been coming from Australia, en route to LA, when it had dropped from radar. The FAA had every imaginable search party out, from helicopters to aircraft carriers, but there was no sign of them.

Elijah stayed glued to the TV, expecting an announcement that it was just a joke and that everyone was fine. He didn’t sleep, and he didn’t eat; he just sat there, staring blankly at the television screen as news reporter after news reporter discussed at length why and how this horrific tragedy had occurred.

A couple of days later, they released the names of those who were on the flight and, as such, presumed dead. Charlie Pace was among them. They showed a driver’s license picture from several years ago, accompanying some of Charlie’s information. Elijah couldn’t breathe.

Some of the lost included a prestigious doctor, a convicted felon, a brother and sister, a pregnant woman and a man in a wheelchair as well as a millionaire, several married couples and a man with his ten-year-old son.

Elijah studied all of their photos, tears stinging his eyes. He thought of all those people’s families, doing exactly what he was at that moment, but just in a different town. He sat on the floor in front of the TV, unable to believe this was happening. It had to be a nightmare, but no matter how much Elijah pinched himself (and he did, until the skin on his arm was full of black and blue marks) Elijah didn’t wake up.

Cried out, exhausted and sleepless, Elijah got a phone call ten days later. The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar, but Elijah couldn’t place it. He racked his brain before responding, but still couldn’t come up with anything.

“Is this Elijah Wood?” The man with the English accent asked after a moment.

Elijah’s eyebrows knitted in confusion and he sat up. Maybe there was some important insider information regarding the crash. Perhaps they weren’t dead after all. A small flicker of hope lit up in Elijah’s chest and his voice actually didn‘t crack when he spoke next. “Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Liam Pace.” Elijah vaguely remembered Charlie’s older brother, and what he did remember, he didn’t like. But Liam must be calling with good news, so Elijah was determined to be friendly. “I found your name and number on my brother’s table.” He paused here, clearing his throat.

The way his voice sounded, Elijah knew something bad was coming. His heart started beating frantically and he sat down heavily in his favorite chair, bracing himself for what was coming next. All he managed to say was “Oh?” and even to his own ears, his voice sounded strangled. This was not a phone call bearing good news.

In the background, Elijah could hear talking and then something that sounded remarkably like crying. He felt his throat close over and his heart contracted so painfully he thought he might be having a heart attack.

“Have you watched the news?” Liam asked eventually, his voice quiet and reserved.

The news? Why was he asking him about the news? Elijah was quite sure Liam wasn’t all right in the head. Of course he had been watching the news. He’d been doing nothing BUT watching the news for ten damn days. He hadn’t showered in case he missed valuable information and he hadn’t dared go into the kitchen for more than five minutes at a time.

“Charlie came to visit me in Australia,” Liam continued tearfully. “He was heading back to LA and he, uh…his plane went down.”

Elijah knew this. Why was Liam telling him things he already knew? Where was all the new information? The information that Charlie had been found out at sea and that he was currently in the hospital, recuperating.

“They‘ve had a search party out for days,” Liam was saying; Elijah barely registered the words and couldn’t hear them over the loud pounding in his ears. His heart was beating laboriously against his ribcage. He hoped it wouldn’t pop right out of his chest. “But…there’s no sign of the plane. They’ve given up. Charlie’s gone.”

Elijah’s vision blurred and his head swirled; everything was coming in and out of focus and he felt so dizzy he was sure he’d throw up.

It was real now. Hearing it from someone he knew and trusted; no matter how bad a person Liam may have been, Elijah knew he would never joke about his brother being dead.

And that’s when Elijah’s world came crashing down around him.

*

Elijah woke up the next morning on his living room floor surrounded by tissues and empty bottles; the apartment reeked, and there was a piece of pizza stuck to the floor, smashed against the carpet. He hazily remembered the night before, but he did know that alcohol had played a huge part in the headache he was now sporting.

He got up and stretched, checked his messages, and got in the shower.

As soon as he got out, he remembered. Charlie was gone.

Well, he wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t care if God himself came down into his living room and shook him and said that Charlie was dead. He still wouldn’t believe it. He wasn’t giving up hope, and he cursed those who already had. There was always hope, and he was determined to prove that. With no clear thoughts in his head, he grabbed a jacket and slammed the door closed behind him.

Things would not end this way.