I don't remember anything. The crazy thing is, I don't care. I came to myself six months ago on an island, and I've been relaxing ever since. This is a good life. One I am certain I wanted. My only purpose is to take care of this island, and the little girl who came with me. Nothing else matters. We're cut off from the rest of the world. I don't think anyone else knows we're here. A part of me says I need to keep it that way. Another part says I left some people in grave danger, and it's all my fault.

But it doesn't matter. I won't leave my island, ever. I am ignoring the part that says to leave. Some instinct I buried deep inside says I am too dangerous around people.

Not that I would know. I don't remember.