in the static.
A voice cuts through -
a voice repeating those numbers over and over again.
Couple of days later, we're at the fair in Kalgoorlie,
and some wally there's got this jar.
Must have been big as a pony,
and it's filled to the rim with beans.
Filly's offering 50 grand
to anyone able to guess how many beans are in that jar
within 10.
Sam used the numbers.
Yep.
The answer was exact to the bean.
Man had been running the same scam for 40 years.
Nobody'd ever come close.
So we won the money.
On the way home,
a pickup truck blows a tire on the highway,
hits us head-on.
Lost my leg that night.
What about Sam?
Barely a scratch.
Most people would consider themselves lucky,
but not him.
He was never the same after that.
He started keeping a record.
Anything terrible that happened
to anyone around us -
he believed it was all because he used those numbers.
He moved us out here in the middle of nowhere, hoping it would stop.
Did it?
Did he ever find a way to make it stop?
Yep.
He put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
What is it you're looking for, mr. Reyes?
I used them -
the numbers -
to win the lottery.
And now I think I'm under the same curse.
Curse?
There's no curse.
But you just told me -
You think I'd still have my leg
if Sam hadn't have picked the right number of beans?
You think that floods wouldn't have happened,
that - that homes wouldn't have burned down,
that people wouldn't have died?
Well, yeah.
You make your own luck, mr. Reyes.
Don't blame it on the damn numbers.
You're looking for an excuse that doesn't exist.
It's a trap, right?
For catching animals?
Pass me that cup, please?
Ew, what's this gunk?
Glue.
Where'd you find glue?
I made it out of rendered animal fat.
You made glue?
Wow.
You should have one of those shows where you, uh,
fix up houses for people.
I don't think so.
Thanks.
For this - giving me something to do.
I'm, uh, tired of trying to remember what happened to me out there.
How's that coming?
Your memory?
Bits and pieces here and there.
Nothing that makes any real sense.
Well, maybe I can help.
I'm good at putting bits and pieces together.
What?
This is familiar - this area.
We're close.
How do you know?
I thought she lived underground.
Jack!
What the hell was that?
Hell of a security system.
Somebody trips a wire, and the whole place blows up.
There's nothing here.
- The batteries?
- Nothing.
I don't get it.
She knew.
She knew that one day I'd come back and bring others.
So she abandoned this place,
booby-trapped it,
and moved on.
Moved on where?
Jack!
Sayid!
Do we even know where we're going?
The blast sounded like it came from this way, I think.
But you don't know.
Dude, what do you want from me?
What do I want?
I wanna know what we're doing in the middle of nowhere.
And don't tell me it's because of some stinking batteries.
One minute you're happy-go-luckygood-time Hurley
and the next you're colonel bloody Kurtz.
It just doesn't make any sense. It's not you.
Dude, you don't know me.
Well, all this time on the island, you've told me nothing about yourself.
We all got personal stuff, dude.
Don't change the subject.
We're lost out here.
Jack and Sayid could be hurt, if not blown to bits,
all because you're acting like some bloody nutter.
I am not crazy.
- I've got my reasons for -
- I think I have a right to know.
Okay. All right, you wanna know?
Yeah.
About a year ago -
Is someone shooting at us?
Oh!
You must be the french chick.
- Who are you?
- Hurley.
I, uh,
Sayid - that guy you tortured - he, uh...
You were on the plane.
Look, I came here to find - oh, easy, easy. Easy.
I'm - I'm just getting your notes.
Please...
tell me why you wrote this.
What do these numbers mean, please?
I don't know.
What?
You don't know?
Okay,
that thing in the woods,
maybe it's a monster,
maybe it's a pissed-off giraffe, I don't know.
The fact that no one is even looking