The air was filled with the scent of antiseptics and blood. There was another smell. Much fainter, but present. Death. The odor of bodies that had yet been sealed in bags. It took all of Katherine's strength to remain conscious and continue her work.

She had finished wrapping a bandage around a soldier's head, after it had been struck by shrapnel nearly a week ago.

"The wound is healing. How are you feeling?" Katherine asked.

"All right, I suppose." The soldier mumbled.

Katherine smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Have you remembered anything yet?"

The soldier looked up at her, his brows knit together. "I think my name begins with an R."

Katherine sighed. The amnesia was not getting any better. There was nothing more she could do, and the soldier would soon be on a train back to America, along with the other soldiers that were on the road to recovery.

"That's very good, sir. Try and get some sleep." Katherine said, her tone reassuring.

As the soldier laid down to sleep. A bomb landed feet away from the tent, shaking the ground and knocking Katherine to the ground.

"Are you all right?"

Katherine looked up and saw Doctor Parson hovering over her. A middle-aged gentleman who was likely five pounds heavier than what he should be, with a blonde beard already beginning to gray.

"I'm fine, Doctor." Katherine said.

Doctor Parson helped Katherine to her feet as she wiped away at the dirt on her uniform.

"Head up, miss. You're a nurse, never a victim." Doctor Parson said.

"Yes, doctor."

Doctor Parson nodded and walked away to tend to a patient. He was not an unkind man, but his duty to his patients came before the welfare of others. Even himself. Katherine actually admired that about him.

After checking herself over and finding no breaks and injuries, outside of scraped knees; Katherine continued to make her rounds. When she came to the last patient; a lieutenant who had his leg amputated after an infection developed. He had been one of her easiest patients; a nice enough man who would play cards with the wounded and chat with the nurses. He had developed a fever with the infection, but Doctor Parson was sure that they had amputated the leg in time.

As she approached the lieutenant's bed, she recognized it immediately. The vacant eyes, the pale color of his skin, the stillness of the body. The lieutenant was dead.

11 years later...

Katherine was going to meet Marci for lunch. The two sisters hadn't spoken much since Katherine returned from Germany. They would see each other for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and maybe phone each other every few months. But the bond they had shared as children and into their youth had seemed like a thing of the past; as if it had died away with the part of the carefree and optimistic Katherine of 1942. They still loved each other, but the giggles and gossip between sisters was gone.

They agreed to eat at a small bistro across the street from Katherine's apartment. When Katherine arrived, she saw Marci already seated at a table. Her younger sister had the appearance of a sophisticated older woman; with impeccable clothing, a trim body, and a makeup job that would rival that of the finest stars of Hollywood. Katherine wasn't jealous though, only taken aback by her appearance. Marci was no longer an awkward teenager with stars in her eyes; she had grown up, and Katherine had missed it. She felt a twinge of guilt for having shut herself away for so long.

Marci stood when Katherine approached the table, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Neither one spoke until a waiter served them cups of coffee.

"I hope you don't mind my choosing this place. I've grown tired of all the noise in more of the finer restaurants." Marci said.

Katherine shrugged. "I don't mind. So, you dine out a lot?"

Marci took out her cigarette and lighter."Yes. I suppose it comes with dating a picture star."

Katherine's eyes widened. "A picture star? How?"

"Surely, I've told you? Oh, his name is Roger. I can't really tell you his last name; the poor man absolutely loves his privacy. We met at a wonderful party that Horace and I were attending."

All right, there was a name that Katherine recognized. She recalled Marci mentioning something about dating a reporter named Horace. Marci's love life was hard to track since she became a socialite.

"What happened? With Horace I mean."

Marci exhaled a puff of smoke. "I left him, of course. Oh, Horace was fun for laughs. Big ambitions, but the paper was bound to fire him after he took those sordid pictures. Roger can offer me love and his money just a bonus."

Katherine opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. She was sure that Marci didn't want her opinion on her behavior, so it was best to keep quiet and get to the bottom of the reason behind the spontaneous reunion.

"So did you want to tell me about Roger in person?" Katherine asked.

"Oh no, no, no. That could be done by telephone. It is what Roger can do for you that I had to see you about."

"What do you mean?"

Marci leaned forward and smiled. "It turns out that Roger's best friend is a prominent doctor. Well, the doctor knows another doctor who is in need of some nurses."

Katherine swallowed the lump in her throat. "A nursing position?"

"Yes! Oh, I know you've been in a slump since you've come home, but this job is the best way to get you back into the world of the living." Marci said.

Katherine wasn't sure what she'd been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't this. A wave of emotions flooded her; fear, excitement, happiness, skepticism, optimism.

When she spoke again, her throat felt dry. "What is the name of the doctor that's looking for nurses?"

Marci waved her hand in the air, shooing at an invisibly fly. "I can't remember all the details. His name is Sheehan, I think. Can't quite remember his specialty. He gave me his number."

Marci slid a single piece of paper across the table. Printed on it was a telephone number, and the words "Shutter Island" just above it.