The next morning...

Rather than wait until the end of the week, you catch the next flight home. You talk very little, barely able to stand your own thoughts. You try to read but can?t focus. Sleep comes, but briefly, and filled with nightmares of white rooms filled with blood, gunshots. At one time you even think that if the plane crashed it wouldn?t be so bad. You?ve never felt so depressed. Looking over at Alan, his face is also emotionless and worn. Grabbing his hand, you squeeze, hoping to feel some emotion. Staring out the window, he squeezes back. And you start to cry.

The End