Guilt, suicidal tendencies, thoughts, liquor, Mary... repeat. That damned letter lead him here, to Room 312, back at the hotel near Toluca Lake. Mary died of that damn disease 3 years ago... or that's what he told himself to forget his sinister actions. He felt the fog seep inside from the cracked window, he couldn't handle the stuffiness of the still air inside. His eyes flickered outside, to the banister near the lake, the fog billowing around a woman, her body bent over as she gazed over the trees there. He didn't really remember what her name was, but that she offered to help him find his wife. She had nice legs, hidden behind the dress she wore. He felt his mind snap as guilt weighed on his heart from the thought- his wife... how could he think that... about someone other than Mary? He wasn't allowed to defile her memory- but he was becoming sunken in trying to keep her memory alive, instead of making new ones.