Sleep had eluded him for most of his life. He was not certain if this was a defense for his mind since when he did close his eyes; he saw images of pasts that could not be his. People he knew but could not place, faces of the dead tickling the edges of his recall.  It disturbed him greatly to close his eyes.<br/><br/>Until that day he had been floored by a strange pulse of energy. He had replayed that event over and over in his mind, but there had been no answers. He remembered vividly the tears of joy that sprang unbidden to his eyes, as his soul was ripped open and exposed. But with the tears had come a pain so deep and profound that for days after the event Hamish had questioned who he was and had fought a war within himself for his perfect balance.<br/><br/>In the weeks since, he had learned to accept that something had happened, knowing what it was would be beyond him for now, possibly forever. But what separated Hamish from others in his business was his ability to adapt, and this was accomplished through acceptance. Once Hamish had accepted the new feelings, he had learned to control them. The only thing left to conquer within him was the rage. That rage was ignited every time Hamish thought of how they had left Isolde dying in the street like some mangy dog, or how providence alone had kept Chaya intact that fateful night. His rage flared at the idea that people would have stood by and watched it happen, listened to her pleading for them to stop but would never lift a finger to help her.<br/><br/>Hamish cared nothing for people like that, and while he was still learning much of these new feelings and experiences, the darkness still gave him succor as he was the prodigal son of the night. But a new found sense of purpose had awakened inside him, to become better. He would always pursue perfection when it came to delivering death, but there was also living to master. Perhaps he could find balance in the two.<br/><br/>Downstairs, Chaya was softly playing the music of Duke Ellington, banned music but in a part of town where soldiers and inspectors rarely traveled. Hamihs found he greatly enjoyed the music and allowed her to play whatever she wanted. He felt she deserved some happiness and closed his eyes to let the music wash through him.<br/><br/>A most unusual sound had him jumping in the chair. It took him a moment to realize the noise had come from him and he saw Isolde watching him from the bed, a small grin on her face as if she held a secret at his expense. But she did not tease him for his snore, she simply spoke, her voice strong but dry.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Hello, I think I have you thank for being alive.”</span>Hamish watched as she simply existed for a brief moment, either thinking or just letting the moment pass. Myra’s soft laugh rode the air and defied gravity as it filled the space with its calming tone. Hamish watched from his chair as Isolde seemed to drink in the warmth and perhaps realized she was safe.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Is that newspaper on your side table? If it is, would you allow me to read it when you are finished with it for the day? I feel like I have been away, far away, and do not know what is going on in this crazy world.”</span><br/><br/>Hamish rose and entered the room, the newspaper in hand as she had requested. Myra had insisted that the room be kept bright and full of fresh flowers, and had found little argument from Hamish. Myra knew people far better than he did and he had been more focused on keeping her alive. Chaya had spent her time reading medical books and aiding Hamish in preparing the salves and medicines his mind had reeled from the sea of forgotten memories that was his mind. In the downtime, Chaya and Myra had been filling the large closet with clothing for when she awoke. It was simple material but functional and elegant in its own right. No matter how much Hamish dug around in his memory, he had nothing to offer a seamstress!<br/><br/>Isolde closed her eyes but her body did not take on the usual slack posture of someone seeking sleep. Hamish did not try to hide his smile as she tried to reassure him that she was no longer tired. She was reassuring him! The woman’s strength was amazing!<br/><br/>“Your wounds were severe but your strength did most of the work,” Hamish told her, softly laying the newspaper on the table next to the bed. “You are a remarkable woman, Frau Deveraux. Many others would have died from those wounds.”<br/><br/>Hamish would never explain why but he bent low and placed a kiss on her forehead. A flood of relief was released in that act. He had said to himself she would recover, had told Myra, Chaya, and Josef that she was strong enough to pull through. But until that moment, it had all been based on fleeting hope. He touched his forehead to hers and they stayed that way for a few passing heartbeats. Finally, he stood straight and turned away to the window as footsteps excitedly plunked out a strange rhythm on the stairs. Hamish closed his eyes and let the sun burn away the tears of relief threatening to make their escape.