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Samantha couldn't find rest that night; she was unable to find a comfortable position. It wasn't just her body—it craved rest—but her mind insisted on keeping its own hours. She knew the letter word by word, having read it at least twenty times. She couldn't get it out of her head. As if repetition would get her any closer to understanding it, she kept repeating the letter to herself. But she was no closer to finding an answer than she had been four hours ago. It wasn't fair. She realized how selfish that was, but she needed Jack now. After everything had been turned upside down, she needed him to be there and not go off and get himself killed. Suddenly she was angry at him—for leaving her alone, for making her worry about him. What he had done was irresponsible, not only to her—he had no obligation towards her—but he had two small children and even if he was on the verge of a divorce, they still deserved him in their lives. He just left it all behind on some trip to find justice where there was none. She was alive and Danny was alive. All she wanted was for it to finally be over. She didn't want to go back there, but she would always be there now that she knew that Jack had gone off.

She shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable with her arm in a cast. The painkillers and sleeping pills that the nurse had given her didn't work. She had been given the option to take something stronger, but she hadn't wanted to dull her senses. She had been under the influence of drugs for over a week, and she wanted herself back, not that dulled-out version. She suspected she might never get her old self back, but it was all up her. She didn't want justice, she just wanted peace—the same peace of mind that she hoped to bring to the families of victims. Even when there was no more hope, there was always the chance to convey some peace for the families and friends. She sat up in bed, unable to find rest. She got up, mindful of her injuries. Supporting herself on the wall, she limped to the window. Pulling the chair over, she sat down. The window didn't offer much of a view; all she could see was the hospital parking lot. Despite the hour, it was still quite busy. People were hurrying from and to the hospital, all wrapped up in their own worries. How many of them had gotten bad news about a loved one today and how many of them left the hospital with relief?

If she had never come back, if she had been shot and killed in the woods, what would really have changed? A handful of people would have missed her, and a few more would have gone to her funeral, but that would have been it. In her life she had formed very few close relationships. Truth was, there was no one waiting for her at home. She was estranged from her mother, she hadn't spoken to her father for over ten years before he had died, and she had no close friend in her personal life.

She must have nodded off, because the next thing she became aware off was a hand on her shoulder and a soft voice.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think," she replied, slightly disoriented.

"You shouldn't be up this late. You really need to rest. Do you want anything for the pain?"

"No thanks, it's okay." The physical pain was the least of her concerns right now. She could feel the dumb ache in her ankle and arm, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Let me help you get back to bed," the nurse offered. Samantha nodded in agreement. As the nurse helped her get back to bed, she noticed how weak she was. The bed was only about three meters from the window and it had taken her a lot of effort to get there before. Now she was glad to be back in bed.

Annapolis Airport

December 15 , 9.30 a.m.

His determination had infused him with new energy. After he had taken care of the letter for Samantha and the call to Maria, he had started to make more concrete plans about how he was going to proceed. He had considered contacting Vivian and asking her to help him. He didn't doubt that she would help him, but he didn't want to drag her into this as well. If he was wrong, or if he couldn't find the proof that he was looking for, then it would be the end of her career. It didn't matter what happened to him—the final hearing would probably result in him being fired from the FBI anyways—but Vivian was ambitious and had chances for a promising career. Instead, he wrote a letter to her, explaining what he knew and what he suspected. In the letter, he told her not to get involved, but just in case something unforeseen happened, he wanted someone to know what he knew. It would then be up to Vivian how she wanted to handle her knowledge. It was not fair to place her in this position, but she was the only one he trusted completely with this.

Only when he reclined in his seat on the plane, doubts started to creep up on him. He suddenly doubted his rash actions, doubting whether it was not just a desperate attempt to assuage his own guilt. What if he only ended out hurting the people in his life. Maria was angry at him already and if it hadn't been ruined before, now his marriage was in shambles for sure. Samantha would probably be furious as well and might even blame herself. At the moment, rest was what she needed the most and his upsetting her was definitely ill-timed. It was not fair for him to leave her alone, but he didn't have a choice. It was the only way he could right the wrong he'd done. But what if he didn't succeed, what if there was no proof and it was all a figment of his imagination, the voice in his head reminded him. He also knew that he had nothing left to lose. Still that didn't make it right; this wasn't about justice anymore, and this was about him and his guilt. In a lucid moment he saw that, but it was too late to turn back now. Victor Fitzgerald was not a man he would normally seek out. But as much as he loathed the man on a personal level, he wielded considerable influence. And from when he had spoken last, he was the last person who would want the case covered up. He could only hope that Victor Fitzgerald would let go of his political ambitions long enough to help him, that was if he conceded to speak to him in the first place. He still considered Jack to be indirectly responsible for the shooting. But the man was his best bet, now that he could no longer reach his other sources in Washington.

St. Agnes Hospital, Annapolis

December 15, 10 a.m.

After what seemed like an impossibly short night, Samantha was awakened early by the hospital routine.

We would like to keep you here for another day to make sure that you're stable enough for transport, then you'll be transferred to Mercy Hospital in New York City. You'll probably have to stay for a few more days before you're released home. There you'll also be able to consult an orthopaedic surgeon. The fracture of your arm is quite complicated; you might have to have bones set. We didn't want to risk because of the drugs that were still in your system."

Samantha nodded. The prospect of having to have surgery for her arm scared her, but at least the conversation had given contours to the immediate future.

"What about my memory? Will it come back?"

"That is hard to say. But in your case, most of it will not return. The drugs you were subjected to inhibit the formation of new memories, so events that took place while you were under the influence were never recorded in your brain. The part of memory loss that is due to shock and trauma might reverse partially, but there are no guarantees," the doctor explained. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes, where can I find out whether someone is a patient here?"

"Give me the name and I'll get the information for you."

"Danny Taylor."

"I'll check whether he is a patient here."

"Thank you."

Samantha was feeling both nervous and happy. Danny was here, in the same hospital. The nurse had given her his room number. Now she was on her way down to visit him. The nurse was pushing her in a wheelchair, as she wasn't up to walking around yet.

"I'll be fine from here on."

"Sure." The nurse left her in front of the door. Samantha knocked, feeling a little bit apprehensive. She wasn't sure what to expect and, in a way, coming face to face with Danny was another step towards accepting what had happened as reality.

The knocking was answered with a familiar voice. Samantha opened the door and wheeled herself inside.

"Do I look this bad?"

"No, you just don't look your healthiest." Truth was that Danny looked horrible.

"Neither do you," Danny replied. Until now, she hadn't given this any thought. She hadn't seen herself in a mirror since getting to the hospital.

"Have you talked to the police yet'?"

"Yes, but I really wasn't much of a help. I don't remember much at all," Danny said sadly.

"I don't recall much either. I talked to the doctor this morning. He said that some of the memory might come back, but most of it is gone for good."

There was a silent moment between them. Both enjoyed the relief that the other was indeed alive and would eventually recover. Danny seemed fatigued, so Samantha was about to leave when Danny halted her.

"Thank you for saving my life." Danny now spoke in a more serious tone.

"I didn't do anything."

"You told them where to find me. I never would have made it on my own."

"Well, if you hadn't taken the bullet when we were in the woods, we wouldn't have gotten away."

"I guess we're even then," Danny smiled weakly.