Note: I want to apologize for the confusion and mistakes caused in the previous chapter. Firstly, Owen's girlfriend who was murdered by Division, is called Emily. Secondly, Nikita did forget people's names and most things that occurred after being recruited into Division. Significant events are quickly returning, but she still has great difficulty in remembering names and how these people, especially Michael, connect to her. Thirdly, she doesn't remember Owen, but she has a negative feeling regarding him. Lastly, she can't seem to shake the memory of Michael off. Her gut tells her that he is trustable… if only she can find him.

I looked back at the previous chapters, and the section line-breaks I put it were deleted, which was a source on confusion. From now, I will be using "0000's" to show this break.

Chapter 6

Michael was finally able to grab a hold of the heroic team of fishermen. They happily gave any information Michael asked; at least after he informed them that he was a distant cousin of the victim.

"Even with a brief examination, anyone could tell she was already severely hurt before the fall," said the tallest one.

"She had a sunshine face, tall, skinny, long dark hair, but she was in no sunshine state," the other said.

"Well, we sent her to the hospital. The next day, we decided to pay her a visit, ya know, to see how she's doing, but then apparently she was already sent to some private care facility," the third fishermen added.

"Private facility?" asked Michael with a great amount of confusion.

"Ya, but the young nurse said that that was the only information their database said," the captain added, "Funny thing is, no one claimed her publicly, and there sure as hell isn't a private facility close by. We kinda asked around, but no soul knows a thing."

"So she just… disappeared?"

The captain continued, "Well, that's one way to put it. She did go poof."

"You guys are sure there aren't any facilities around this area?"

"Son, I've been living in this little town all my life. Born and raised here, boy. There are nothing but woods around the outskirts. The only thing alive in those woods are the ghost stories told 'bout them."

Michael had thanked them graciously, leaving them with a handsome cheque that would buy them plenty of new equipment for their journeys.

Michael refused to believe that this was a dead end. The fisherman's description of the victim exactly matched Nikita's profile. Division couldn't be involved with this for two reasons; firstly, Birkoff or even Alex would have contacted him, and second, Division would not have to play off a transfer (they would have simply murdered her). He didn't know what or who else to expect. Maybe he ought to ask around town, he thought to himself.

"I want to go for a walk," demanded Nikita, causing Owen to sternly drop the cup of water on the counter. She could tell that he was surprised, no matter how much he suppressed his physical reaction.

A few days had passed without even a whiff of fresh air, or the sight of any other existing human beings. Nikita was starting to feel like a prisoner. Her previous requests to even go on a simple walk in the woods had been denied. Owen had said it was a matter that would affect her health. You're not ready to be outdoors, he had simply said.

"Nikita, you know my what my answer to that question is already," said Owen briefly after recollecting his thoughts.

"Wow, you're really giving that shit again. I can't quite tell if I'm a patient or a prisoner. Can you please answer that?"

"I have done nothing but care for you," Owen replied becoming slightly agitated.

"Yeah, well your actions show otherwise," she pressed on, "This feels like indirect animalistic abuse, you know, one that is not being let out of its cage."

"I told you this isn't a prison!" he yelled.

"Then show me differently," shouted Nikita reciprocating his tone.

"Fine. But I will be there alongside you. At no time will you be out of my sight."

"And you say this isn't a prison," she said as she walked out of the room.

By midday, Nikita, clad in skinny jeans, flats, and a simple tank, was ready for her excursion. Owen handed her a black cane. Despite the old appearance that it gave her, she took it to avoid any more physical contact Owen would offer her.

It was wonderful to be able to breathe in fresh air and to be in it at the same time. She missed touching the trees, the cold metal of light poles, and the rush of cool air that brush between her fingers. Owen and Nikita were treading along the outskirts of the town. He forbade her from walking within the town, saying that he was afraid of an infection to her health. She knew that was complete bullshit, annoyed at the fact that he could have at least fabricated a better lie. The pain did not subside entirely, so she relied quite heavily on her cane to walk. Owen was there, really close, but she refused to allow him to ruin her moment. They started walking along the boardwalk. She looked out into the vast ocean, imagining the freedom she was frightened to never get. Suddenly, that man's face popped up again, as if someone was calling out to her. She closed her eyes tightly, strongly willing the face to disappear. Every time she saw it, her head would pound. She did not want to feel the sense of freedom that seemed so far away, so unreachable, so unattainable. She also did not wish to be reminded that she might have been an important someone, that this really was prison. She didn't understand Owen, nor his motives. She could not deny that he did indeed heal and are for her, but something was just not right about him. She held her head and tried her best to remain her posture. This, however, didn't deceive Owen.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly as he reached out to assist her.

"Nothing," she replied bluntly.

"I told you this was a bad idea," he said.

Nikita felt she had to release her annoyance, "No this isn't! You know what was a bad idea? You! You shouldn't have saved me. I feel like I'm a living hell. Why did you save me? Why didn't you just let me die? I can't remember anything, and I barely know who I am. There are these memories that I can't comprehend. You say you have feelings for me, but why isn't your face the one that keeps popping into my head?"

Owen was shocked. More than just shocked, he was horrified because she was thinking of Michael. He knew it was the face of Michael that she was remembering; there couldn't be another. A wave of jealousy overcame him, closely followed by anger and frustration. Why couldn't she just love him after all that he has done for her? She was ungrateful, unloving, and undeserving. His face scrounged from the fire of anger, his fists clenched and shook uncontrollably. This has got to be one of the most difficult things he did – suppress his anger and jealousy.

Nikita, who was still caught up in her emotions, was unaware of Owen's mood, "Who am I?... Who are you?"

"Me? You can't see who I am? I am the your savior, the caregiver, your provider, your lover," he replied in disgust, "Instead of appreciating my gifts, you take advantage of me. You seduce me and you use me. Not only do you not love me back, you cheat on me with the image of another man!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. And I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask for you."

Owen whipped his palm across her cheek, forcing her head to turn. He quickly used his other hand to grab the one that committed the crime, flabbergasted at what he had just done. She too was surprised, but her expression betrayed no sign of weakness and pain, only anger and strength.

"And you say you love me," was all she said.

With instant regret he approached her attempting to comfort her. He tried to hug her, mostly because he wanted her in his arms to comfort himself. He wanted to be assured that she was still with him.

"Let me go!" Nikita fought Owen off, not wanting to have anything to do with him.

"No, we can be happy together!"

Amidst their struggle, she yelled, "I don't know you're talking about. Let go of me."

"Hey!" yelled another voice from a distance, "Let the lady go."

Owen and Nikita turned their heads toward the figure at the same time. Owen almost immediately regained his composure, but instead of releasing his hold on Nikita, he only held her closer and tighter. Nikita, on the other hand, was still astonished. The man standing three meters away was the man whose image continuously existed in her mind. It was his image that haunted her and reminded her that she had a life, once upon a time. It was the man whose image she could not remember and could not forget.

Michael had been walking around time, almost losing all hope. He knew he could not give up, not that he wanted to either, but he just didn't know where to continue his search. Everything seemed like a dead end. He decided to walk to the shore in desperation to be near the place Nikita was last. It was ironic how this place of tragedy was the only place he could find solace. Michael found it odd how he seemed to be able to feel her presence today, much more robust than usual. Where are you, Nikita, he asked the ocean.

His serene moment ended when he heard the voices of a man and a woman arguing.

Let go of me, he heard the female yell, causing him to immediately be defensive (especially after losing the woman of his dreams).

"Hey!" he said while walking towards them, "Let the lady go."

He walked a few steps towards the voices, wanting to find the destructive cause of his peace. That was when he saw her, his beautiful, sweet, intelligent, stoic, loving Nikita, who seemed just as surprised as he was. He could see that the two had stopped their struggle to look at him. After all this time, God gave her back to him. She was there, so close, yet so far. She was alive, and seemingly well. She was alive, she was alive! She was here, standing in front of him. His wish was finally coming true. They would reunite and live a life together. He had so many questions for her, so much to find out.

Upon the sight of him, Michael saw Nikita freeze. She did not move even when Owen recovered from the shock. Owen! Michael was glad someone they knew was with Nikita, but he was angered when he saw Owen's grip on her tighten.

"Owen?" said Michael hoping for some answers and explanations. He thought it was understandable that Owen had not contacted him. He didn't know Michael was on the same side, or so he thought, "Nikita!"

No one moved. Nikita's face was still filled with surprise.

Michael took another few steps forward and with a confused face, asked, "Nikita?" Why wouldn't she run to greet him? Fine, that wasn't her style, but she would at least walk to him and hug him. Maybe she held onto a grudge for what he did. Maybe he had misinterpreted her signal that night. Maybe he wasn't supposed to shoot. Michael started to panic. No no, this couldn't be!

"Nikita," he said once more, lovingly and worriedly, "come back to me."

Her clueless expression never dropped, and all she could say was, "Who are you?"