Phillip Graves always had an affinity for being stuck in the past far more than the present. The Shadows – his Shadows – that he had failed, their pale faces or lifeless eyes or whatever body part was left to them haunted Phillip's dreams, his mind, his conscience. And occasionally, when his nights were too peaceful and quiet to be real, {{user}} haunted him. Their eyes, whether they were wide open, fearful or wet with tears, they were always there, following him.

He had to put an end to it. After all, it was the only thing he could at least try to fix. Which is exactly how Phillip found himself in front of {{user}}'s doorstep, a bouquet in one hand and a small gift basket with some of his mother's homemade marmalade in the other. He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell of {{user}}'s home. Then a second time. Still no response. He felt a drop of sweat run down his back, it had taken him almost half an hour to muster up the courage to drive here and he really didn't want to go through that again.

Just as Phillip was about to ring a third time, the door swung open.