That evening, I sat inside my room, looking out at the night sky. The stars were shining brightly, the moon reflecting off the lake. It was a beautiful sight, one that could only be seen from my room.

I tore my eyes from the picturesque scene back to my desk where I was in the middle of trying to write letters - one to my boss and one to my family - both failing miserably. It was awkward for me to be writing letters to them as I barely remembered them. I couldn't remember the details of how I left without referencing my journal, which sat in the corner of the desk, open to pages I didn't remember writing.

I stood up, frustrated by the whole ordeal. I didn't know what to do. I felt like I needed to write to them, even though those letters to me were written long ago. I was struggling with the idea of responding and letting it go. I decided that I needed a second opinion.

I left my room and headed across the hotel to the other side where the officers were staying. I climbed the stairs to where Speirs's room was and knocked on it. I waited for a while, but the silence told me that he wasn't inside. I sighed in defeat. I turned on my heel to leave and spied Nixon walking up.

"Hey Jane, looking for Speirs?" he asked, motioning to his door.

I nodded. "Yeah, but he's not in there."

"I know, I saw him earlier," he replied. He looked at me, clearly seeing my distress. "You okay? Need to get something off your chest?"

I shook my head. "It's okay...I'll figure it out."

"I've been told I'm a good listener," he said. "If you ever need to talk about something."

I bit my lip, hesitating a moment before saying, "Actually, there is a bit of a problem..."

He motioned for me to follow him. "Step into my office." I followed him into his room. I looked around and saw just how messy he was. I was uncomfortable with the mess. He cleared a chair for me to sit in. I sat down and he started to pour himself a drink. "Drink?"

I looked at the glass he had extended and shrugged. "Sure, why not."

"That's the spirit," he laughed, pouring another glass. He handed it over to me, which I took. I took a swig of it, feeling the burn in my throat and coughing fits overtook me. He smacked me on the back between my shoulder blades. "You okay there? It's strong stuff, ain't it?"

I coughed a few more times, nodding. I wasn't used to drinking anything quite this potent. I put the glass down on the table and composed myself. The burning sensation and left my throat and started working on my stomach. It made me feel sick.

Nixon asked, "So, what's on your mind?"

I watched him take a swig of the potent and vile alcohol. "I got a stack of letters today."

"Good letters?" he asked. He added, "I guess not, or else this wouldn't be the topic of conversation."

I shook my head. "A lot of them were from The Times...I guess I might not have a job to go home to since I was silent for so long...but what's more troubling are the letters from home."

He finished his glass and stood up to refill his glass. "What's wrong back home?"

I replied, "From what my journal said, I left home not on good terms with my family...and the letters I got make me wonder if I'm even going to be welcomed back."

He furrowed his brow at me. "What did they say?" I told him the short version of the letters. He ran a hand through his hair. "I see what you mean. That's a rough situation."

"What do you think I should do? I was going to write them letters, but I can barely remember details without my journal. Should I tell them that in the letters? Explain why things went silent?" I asked.

Nixon mulled it over before saying, "If they can't be understanding of what you went through here, then fuck 'em."

I blinked at his comment. "What?"

"Fuck 'em. All of 'em," he repeated. He took a swig from his glass and continued, "They have no idea what you've been through. So, you don't have a job anymore. Take the pictures you have and give them to the highest seller. Fuck The Times." He set his glass down and sat down across from me at the table. "If your family can't trust your decision and reasons for taking that job and coming here, and if they believe random strangers over you, then fuck 'em."

I smirked. "Fuck 'em?"

He laughed. "That's what I'd do...then again, my wife wrote me to ask for a divorce..."

"What?" I asked, clearly not expecting him to share that with me.

He nodded. "Yeah, she's taking everything. I've come to terms with it, but when I first learned about it, I wasn't happy. But now...I say fuck her."

My eyes grew wide. He saw my face and shook his head, letting another laugh loose. He added, "Don't get me wrong, I'm saying it now, but I know that if I saw her in the flesh, I might be begging her to reconsider."

I sat there, thinking over his words. I wasn't sure that I could have that outlook but he did make some sense. I shouldn't have to explain myself to people who have decided not to understand me. It was a pointless endeavor.

Nixon cleared his throat, suddenly growing serious. "Things happen for a reason, Jane. We may not know or understand the situation when we're going through it, but in all honesty, there's a reason you're going through this. Just...take solace in the fact that something better is usually right around the corner."

Things happen for a reason. I wasn't sure I believed that. How could I? After everything that I had endured this whole war, what would the reason behind it be? I've managed to lose my family, my job, my memory, friends, and possibly Roe. There was nothing positive about this statement for me. At least, none that I could see.

I left Nixon's room and wandered about in the square again. The night air was chilly but calming. I sat down and looked up at the night sky again. I released a heavy sigh. I felt more lost here than I had in my life.

It suddenly dawned on me that the person that I was before all of this happened, was a stronger more confident and resilient person. Now, I was this broken woman who was doubting every little thing. I wasn't convinced that the person that I was now was a better person than who I was before. I felt like I was the only one who was scared, lost inside of myself. I was watching my old self fade away and it left this void - this scared little girl who had no one to help her. There was no escape from this feeling.

You're alone here, the voice in my head taunted. It sounded like Sauer. You're never going to be accepted back home. I closed my eyes, trying to shut the voice up. If only you had told me what I wanted to know, maybe then you'd still have a life to go home to. I grimaced at the words echoing in my head. No one will love a victim of war. You brought this on yourself, you stupid bitch.

"Jane?" a voice asked softy.

I will get what I want from you...one way or another.

"Jane?" the voice asked again.

No one is coming for you...truly.

I felt hands on my shoulders. "Jane?"

I jerked myself away from the hands touching me; my eyes flying open and my hands coming up to defend myself.

Standing before me, hands raised defensively was Roe. He eyed me cautiously before asking, "You okay?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

He lowered his hands. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was thinking," I stated, blinking myself back to reality. The voices in my head were quiet for now.

Roe sat down next to me. "Thinking about what?"

I replied, "I got some letters this afternoon. A lot of them were from my job back home, and some were from home."

He said, "I'm assuming it's not good."

I nodded. "I don't think I have a job anymore and my family informed me that I'm no longer welcome there." I looked at my hands. "I spoke with Nixon about the letters."

Roe seemed surprised that I had spoken with Nixon. "What did he have to say?"

"Fuck 'em," I stated.

His eyes widened. "What?"

"That's what he said I should do. He said that I shouldn't have to explain myself to people who are determined to misunderstand me," I replied. "I was trying to write letters to them, explaining what happened to me, try to mend the bridges but I couldn't figure out how to do it. So, Nixon told me to forget them."

Roe sighed. "That's rough. I can't imagine having to deal with something like that."

I asked, "What happens after the war is over?"

Roe thought for a moment. "We go home. We live life as best as we can."

I felt my heart ache by his words. I didn't have a home to go back to. That was what was bothering me this whole time. I had nothing waiting back home.

He must have seen my face because he stated, "Just because the people in your life have decided to let you go, doesn't mean that you have to go back to them. Your whole life is now opened to you to do what you want." I looked over at him. He added, "What do you want to do when this is over?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. It's not that simple."

"Why is it difficult? What do you want? Where do you see yourself?" he asked.

I sighed. "I'm not sure what I want." He nodded, giving up with his prodding.

I wondered if he knew that I was lying. There was a part of me that so badly wanted to tell him that I wanted to be with him. I wanted to go home with him, start living a new life, hand in hand with him. I hesitated in telling him the truth because I wasn't sure he had the same desire.

After losing my memory, he so desperately wanted me to remember things that transpired between us, things that I couldn't remember. He eventually agreed to let go of whatever happened between us and move forward. I was a different person than the one he clearly loved before. I wasn't convinced that he loved the version I was today. I didn't want to assume he'd want me coming home with him.

Roe glanced up at the night sky. "Have you ever been to Louisiana?"

I shook my head. "No. I've never left New York before all this."

He licked his lips, clearly in thought. "If you're looking for a change of scenery, you could always come with me. There's a lot of opportunity there."

I felt butterflies in my stomach. This was the first good news that I had heard all day. I smiled.

Roe stated, "And for what it's worth, I think that he's right."

"Who? Nixon?" I asked.

He nodded. "You don't owe anyone an explanation. If they choose to abandon you, then you're better off." I didn't say anything but nodded. He stood up, held out his hand for mine. "Let's go to bed."

I woke up, stretching as I allowed my eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight. I released a heavy sigh, dropping my arms above my head as I stared up at the ceiling. I smiled, thinking over the events of last night with Eugene. I turned to see if he was still in bed, but he had already left. He left behind a note on his pillow. I rolled over slightly, reaching for the note.

"Good morning. Had to go to work. See you later. I love you."

I smiled wide, rereading his note over and over again. I kissed the paper and sat up in bed, allowing the covers to fall from my upper body. I saw my scars and bruises were healing nicely. Soon, they would be just a bad memory.

I stood up and headed into the bathroom. When I emerged, I was fully dressed. I gathered my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

I turned to the balcony and saw that the door to the balcony was left open. I furrowed my brow at it. I could have sworn that I had closed and locked it before we went to bed last night.

I walked towards the door, suddenly on guard. All the hair on my body started to stand at attention. I felt sick. Something wasn't right. I stopped a few feet from the door, staring through the lacy window covering, hoping to see something or someone on the other side.

As I stood there staring, I heard faint noise from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing was there. I listened again for the noise. It happened again. I realized that it sounded like someone was locked inside the closet. I felt torn about which door I should be more concerned with.

I finally chose to look in the closet. As I neared the door, the scraping of fingers against the wooden door were louder. I could hear muffled cries and screams emanating from within. With shaky hands, I reached for the brass handle. The moment my hand touched the handle, I recoiled. The handle was red hot to the touch. I lowered my jacket sleeve and tried again. The door flew open, hitting the wall opposite.

The room began filling with a noxious gas. It invaded my lungs, burning me from within. I began coughing, unable to catch my breath. I saw claw marks on the inner side of the closet door, as though someone was trying desperately to get out. I choked on the air I was trying to obtain unsuccessfully.

I saw bodies of the prisoners crammed into my closet. There was a pile of ash beneath them. Most were grabbing their throats, but others were just lifeless.

At that moment, I realized that I needed to escape from my room before I died from this gas. I began to crawl towards the open balcony door. As I crawled, I felt hands grabbing my ankles, trying to prevent my escape. When I turned to kick whatever was holding me back, I was face to face with Marta.

Marta was coughing up blood, blue eyes blackened and swollen. She was grasping at my legs, pulling me back into the room. I kicked at her, trying desperately to get loose from her hold. She sank her nails into my calves. I wanted to scream out in pain, but I couldn't even breathe as it was. I could feel myself losing consciousness.

I kicked and kicked at her, backing up towards the balcony as I fought. I finally managed to knock her grip on me off. I quickly scurried towards the open door. As I neared it, I could see a hand reaching into the room, offering me help. I reached for the hand, and was pulled up to my feet and out into the world of clean air.

Outside, I inhaled a deep breathe of fresh air, coughing madly as the damage escaped my body. I turned to thank my rescuer, only to be met with familiar angry eyes that belonged to Sauer. My eyes widened.

Before I could react, he grabbed me and pushed me against the railing of the balcony. I could feel the railing moving from behind my back. It was only a matter of time before it gave away from the weight. I clawed at Sauer, trying to get him off of me before we both took a plunge over.

He hissed at me as he tightened his grip on my throat and arm. He was determined to kill me. I was losing this battle and he knew it. He laughed at me, taunting me, knowing that I was giving up.

Just as I was about to accept my fate, I felt the railing give way, sending both of us over, falling into the forest below.