He had returned as a broken man. Wounded in the heart. This place, which for him was once filled with warmth, had now turned cold.

It was an Indian summer night and the young man was too early for his appointment. Not by a few minutes or by a few hours, but by a whole day. He had been awoken by his devilish dreams once again, and by the time he had managed to get himself somewhat calm, he was on his way to the train station.

New York had been his home for the past months, ever since he came back from Europe. A man named Georg had offered him a room in exchange for working in his pub. But when Georg found out that the alcohol wasn't being given to the customers, he decided to check Mr Dawson's room. And what he saw wasn't at all pleasing.

"I'll give you one more chance, knowing some circumstances have gotten the best of you, Mr Dawson." Georg told him afterwards, "But only one chance and no more."

Jack Dawson nodded his head and realized that he did not have any other choice. The following months went well for the young man and he started to feel his life getting on the right track. Georg became his friend among other men who often visited his pub. The only problem was that Jack could not keep away from the bottle. And when his nightmares came back, he would go out in the middle of the night and wake up anywhere but in his bed.

"You know you it can't keep continuing like this, Jack."

"It's really not a big deal, Georg. I've just been feeling a bit nervous lately."

"A bit nervous?" He mocked, "By a bit nervous you mean I wake up from your screaming in the middle of the night or I have to drag you from the streets whenever you've been out drinking?"

And again, Jack told him that he did not have to worry about him, but the Irishman had enough.

"One of your women came down petrified the other day because you pushed her against the wall and wall and kept yelling how you would kill the Jerry. I can't do this no more, Jack."

He walked over to the door of the café and locked the door. "I've been looking at advertisements lately. You told me that you were a gardener before you joined the army, right?"

"I was, yes."

"This family is looking for one, here." Georg took an old newspaper out of a drawer and put in in front of him.

"One of the wealthiest families in Philadelphia. Their house is somewhat out of the city. I think it might be good for you. Just consider it."

Jack had never been to Philadelphia, so he decided to book a room in a motel before he had to move to the big house. He had heard of the Dewitt Bukaters maybe once or twice, probably read about them in a newspaper one day. It wasn't uncommon for those rich people to have their every move published, it was what they thrived on.

Mrs McAllen, the old lady he had previously worked for, was different. Every Wednesday she would make her own cakes and hand them to the children in the shabby places of Los Angeles.

"I had my first piece of cake when I got married, I can't let those children go through the same thing." She told Jack one night as they sat outside with a smoke. How desperate she was when he left to face the horrors across the pond.

"But we aren't even at war, my dear boy."

"Sometimes boys want to make their mothers proud, Mrs McAllen."

"Then god bless you."

9 months later, she went to be with her husband.

And now here he was, a new city, a new adventure. The streets were filled with many different people and it scared him. He was scared of his own feelings, fearing the fact that he did no longer enjoy to be around men. Was this his life now? No more fun.

The sound of a piano disturbed his thoughts and he decided to follow it. It came from a small café, hidden on the corner of a small alleyway. It was crowded. Perhaps somewhat too crowded for his liking. But it reminded him of home, so he decided to stay.

"What can it be for you, sir?" asked the barkeeper as Jack took a seat.

"Just a beer, please."

"Sure."

"I've heard that the women in Paris have started to cut their hair." Rose's maid Trudy spoke. Rose was sitting behind her dressing table and smiled.

"They say it's for political reasons isn't it?"

Trudy nodded. "Yet those Parisian women still remain as stylish as ever."

There was a sudden knock on Rose's door. Mrs. Goodwill, the housekeeper entered and called for Trudy to come downstairs.

"I'll be right there, Mrs. Goodwill." Then she turned back towards the young girl and sighed. "You really sure you want to do this, miss?"

"Oh yes. Everyone does it nowadays. As long as you make sure that no one comes into my room then all will be good."

"I am still not a fan of it, miss. What if you get hurt?"

Rose reassured Trudy that she wouldn't and let her leave her room. Then she was alone and she stared at her complexion in the mirror. Feeling empty is a strange feeling, she thought. To feel nothing is a big loss.

One more finishing touch of makeup and she was out.

Not a single light in the house was on, so the chance of anyone seeing her was luckily very minimal. Once outside she rushed through the gates where her friends were waiting for her.

"What on earth took you so long, Rose?"

"I'm here now aren't I?"

"The boys and Cynthia are waiting in the car. It's just around the corner."

"My precious little flower." The voice of Charles was the first to come out of the car. He planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered: "I've saved this seat, especially for you."

The café was crowded. Too crowded for her liking. As the group sat down and laughed hysterically, Rose could only stare at the man she saw sitting behind the piano. He was old and his beard almost touched his stomach. He seemed to happily live in his own world and perhaps that was why she envied him. That was why she was so fascinated by him. Rose stood up and removed herself from her friends. Sitting at the bar, she ordered a beer and turned back around to listen to the music. A few moments later, a voice disturbed her thoughts.

"Rosie, my love, what are you doing here all by yourself?"

"I thought I could hear the piano man much better over here than through all of your chatter. Now if you will excuse me." She stood up, took her purse and tried to make her way to the door. Charles took her by her arm and turned her back around. He was now facing her and said: "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"I am not feeling well. Let go off my arm."

"Rose."

"I'm not feeling well, Charles."

"So you're just gonna walk the whole way back? Is that what you want? You've been acting strange enough lately, now come back and sit with us at the table."

She just stared at him, feeling his grip tighten around her arm. Once more she demanded him to let her go. Then she felt a shadow moving behind her.

"The lady asked you to let her go."

She looked up slightly and recognized the man who had been sitting at the bar the whole time. He was tall, blonde hair swept messily backwards and his blonde eyes pierced angrily at Charles, who now pulled her even closer towards him.

"Mind your own business, man."

"Well I was until, first, you and your club burst into the café and second you and your girlfriend are extremely loud compared to the music. So if you'll just let her go we can all enjoy ourselves again."

Finally, he let go.

"Thank you." The blonde man said.

"Quite an experience for you, my dear, to be saved by a gutter rat." Charles hissed into Rose's ear. But it wasn't quiet enough.

Just before Rose could say something she felt the shadow move again. Yet this time it was fast, followed by the harsh sound of a blow. He had forced himself onto Charles and hit his jaw.

Charles stood up and hit back. People where standing up and gathered themselves around the scene. Rose yelled at the two and tired to get in between to make them stop.

"Stop! Charles, please get off of him!"

He did not listen. A few more hits followed until the bartender took Charles by his collar and pulled him up.

"Enough!" He yelled, "You and you're brat pack leave this place immediately and proceed your slumber party where you actually belong. And you," He turned towards the other man. "Get out and have some sleep before you cause another fight."

"You'll pay for this." Charles spat at him. "If my nose is broken-"

"Charles! Leave him be, he doesn't deserve your attention."

Silence. They left.

As they were outside she saw him leave. His gaze was towards her for a split second before he proceeded the other way. Mixed ranges of emotions were rushing through her body and before she could realize it, she called after her friends and told them she forgot something inside.

"Why on earth did you do that?" she called as she followed him.

He turned around and now she could really see who he was. His blue eyes shimmering in the dark like crystals.

"You're welcome ma'am." He responded, voice full of sarcasm.

"I was not thanking you. I was asking you why the hell you did that."

The man lit a cigarette and said: "I saw he was bothering you. You asked him to let you go and he didn't."

"Well I could have handled it myself, thank you very much. There was absolutely no reason for you to hit him like that!"

Rose was breathing heavily and felt the smoke from his cigarette blowing into her face. He moved closer towards her and she could smell him now. The scent of tobacco mixed with booze, yet there was something soft and sweet about it.

"Didn't you ask your friend to let you go?"

"Like I said, sir, there was absolutely no reason for you to hit him like that!" was all she could say.

"Well I believe there was. I know your kind of people," he said, "wondering off in the night, visiting the most indigent parts of town to laugh at the likes of us so you can make yourselves feel so much better about your unfulfilled lives."

Rose took a step back, shook her head whilst her eyes scanned him up and down. "You're a vulgar man." She spat at him. Then she waved him off and left.

He may have watched her figure vanish into the darkness, but she did not vanish from his mind.