What happened

Some people were just not cut out for hospitality. Shannon hated the sushi shop, hated everything about it. But she needed to eat, and she needed to live. Moving out of Harry's apartment was not an option right now- Shannon didn't want to admit it, but even though it seemed like he was never around these days, he kept the bills paid.

They were paying her fortnightly. With her first paycheck she filled up the fridge; with her second paycheck she bought toiletries; with her third paycheck she got herself some stylish yet practical shoes. She was getting used to The City, resigned to the fact that she was never going to get out of there, wondering if it was good or a bad thing that she was breathing the air in this strange place, rather than lying dead in a ditch on the island.

And she still wanted to find Vincent.

With her fourth paycheck she bought a handbag. It came as a surprise when she got home and opened it, and out poured all of her official documents, as well as the credit cards and bank cards she thought destroyed when the plane crashed.

Shannon quit her job the next day. She really did hate the sushi shop.

She had free time, and money, and could finally get coffees and cheesecakes from Starbucks without feeling guilty.

There wasn't too much in way of internal dialogue here, the most you could discern would probably be woof. Of course, dogs didn't think the way they spoke; like humans, most thoughts were quite subconscious.

Vincent knew that he was in an unfamiliar place, so different to Australia, so different to the island. Sometimes he caught the whiff of a familiar human or two, but The City was big, and scents were lost just as quickly as they were found.

He had been living off scraps of whatever he could find. Sometimes he went around to that shop with dead chickens and long chains of pink meat in the window, and the nice man would throw him a bone or two. A lot of the time bones weren't enough, and Vincent would go hungry.

Vincent was not a puppy. He was 8 years old, an age somewhat akin to a man in his mid fourties. He was tired, and he missed his owners. Shannon was here with him, but she's gone now.

He sat besides the door of a shop that had an oddly rich aroma, and laid his head on top of his paws.

"'rrf," he whined quietly.

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At first she laughed a lot, because she couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her, but then felt bad for it, so she started to cry. After a while, it felt draining to do anything at all, and she was too lazy to even get out of bed in the mornings.

She had to, though; she couldn't stay indoors all day. It felt weird to be living with someone she hardly knew, owing him a favour for having her stay in one of the most extravagant apartment she'd ever set foot in. (She was even wearing one of his t-shirts, it was too big for her, and not something she'd usually wear, but it was better than what she had- a singlet with a hole in it.) She should get her bearings, find a place of her own, get a job, even.

A visit to a small coffee shop near Harry's place (was it there a week ago? Shannon couldn't be sure), and she was armed with a jumbo sized cup of chai, looking at the small noticeboard outside, which advertised used cars, garage sales and part time positions in sushi restaurants.

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"Vincent! Vin- stop! Bad boy!"

Nothing worked. The labrador seemed to have a mind of its own. Shannon couldn't keep up, but the leash was wrapped firmly around her wrist, and it wasn't going to come off in a hurry. It was useless trying to drag him back, too. Vincent was very strong. What does this dog eat, anyway?

She was too busy running to really notice what she was passing. Cars, for instance. And other people. Most of them avoided the girl with the dog, but inanimate objects can hardly jump out of the way.

"Shit!"

Shannon swerved to avoid a pole, only to bowl straight into someone who was innocently walking along the street.

There was a small snap! as Vincent's collar broke.

She watched him run off, and felt like crying. She didn't even think to apologise to the guy she ran into.

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She thought she was dead.

She saw the gun, she felt the pain, and she remembered collapsing into Sayid's arms as her vision became foggy and it was just such an effot to stay upright and stay awake. So she took the easy way out, and went to sleep.

She woke up when Vincent decided it was a good idea to lick her nose.

Ew. Dog germs.

Shannon thought she'd wake to Jack, to Sayid, maybe even Sun, brandishing some miracle medicine made of clown fish and onions. She did not expect to be propped up against a brick wall, on a decidedly concrete ground, staring across the street to a Starbucks.

The smell of coffee was overwhelming. Shannon groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I'm going mad."

Vincent wagged his tail happily beside her. She looked at him, with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "This is all your fault."

When someone is thrown into a completely unfamiliar and downright werid situation, they either get very, very panicked, or go very, very calm. Shannon's subconsciousness has decided that this was not the time to panic yet.

Previously on Lost:

"Why are you doing this, Shannon?"

I'm doing this because I need to. I need to prove it to myself. To you. To everyone. "I didn't ask you to follow me."

"No, you rather be out here alone and get lost or hurt."

"I don't need your help, Sayid."

"Walt is not out here! You're following a labrador- not a bloodhound- in an effort to find a boy who's on a raft in the middle of the ocean."

He's not on the raft, Sayid. "He's not on the raft."

"What are you talking about?"

We make eye contact. "We found the bottle, on the beach."

"The bottle with the messages? That they brought with them?"

I look at Sayid, who looks away. He is just as confused as I am (laced with something else... was that disappointment?), but he is not scared of this; he does not see Walt, he does not think about the implications. "I know he's out there somewhere. I saw Walt." I take a breath, because it feels like something is blocking my throat. "And the raft is gone, and he is all alone."

Vincent tugs on his leash; he has found Walt's scent. I stumble forward, but gain my footing, and I follow him. He will take me to Walt.

"Shannon..."

I look back at Sayid for just one instant. Metally, I beckon for him to come. He does, and there is a sense of relief. We will find Walt.