John sat cross-legged on the floor of his room. He didn't know what time it was. 

It was a cramped but cozy room in the utilities area of the building, closer to the bathrooms and kitchen than the actual bar. Apparently it used to be an extra storage room, because there was a very large cupboard that took up most of the space. In fact, the cupboard was large enough to fit a person in, so John had taken the doors off completely and fit a small mattress inside. It was big enough for him; he wasn't very tall and wasn't one to toss and turn all night either. Above where the doors used to be John had put up a disjointed curtain rod and panel for extra privacy. All that was left in the room was his keyboard sitting comfortably on its stand, a desk and dim desk lamp so he could sketch and a chair for both. His room was always dark and warm.

John didn't want to stay in the Order's headquarters under the bar, even when they said that there were bigger and nicer rooms. Being down below frightened him, and not because of the supernatural elements. He supposed that being underground reminded him of his own mind; when you thought and traveled too deep, all the weight and rock pressed above you, ready to collapse and bury you in the dark again. Then there would be nothing to do but scream and shout and cry into the void, and wait until forever for the nothing to answer back. 

He stood up and looked down at the black and white keys of his instrument, glowing softly in the muted light of the room. When he placed his fingers on them, his jumbled and drifting thoughts seemed to coalesce. Everything was all right then, because he knew what the keys were; the keys could make notes, and John knew which notes to play to make a song. He didn't recognize the songs, but he knew them by heart and could play them whenever he wanted, even if he was feeling especially lost that day. The keyboard, the notes and the songs were his anchor to his life before. When John played, it was like a window opened to the 'before' time, and he could reach out and touch his past self of which he knew so little. So he started playing. 

This song was the easiest to remember; it was short, slow, simple and very sweet to John's ears. His hands and fingers moved lazily as he lost himself for a few moments, only to be brought back by the sound of a faint knocking on the door next to him just before it opened. John could recognize the silhouette of the person out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to look away from the keys. It was his doctor, or he supposed that the man was a doctor. They met regularly so he could ask John questions like “How are you feeling?” and “Do you remember who did this to you?” and “Will you tell me if this man looks familiar?” The last question was always accompanied by a picture or a drawing of someone he had never seen before. He didn't have a briefcase this time though, so maybe John wouldn't have to try and remember anything today. He relaxed. 

The man glanced at John's keyboard for a moment and listened politely before asking, “How do you like the keyboard?” 

“I love it, thank you. It helps me.” John said, his voice softer than he'd like. It made him sound out of place; all the other men he had met had strong, tough voices. 

“Well, Jennifer approved the request. All I had to do was ask her and explain what it meant to you.” 

“Thank you.” John said again. They were both silent for a while, then out of confusion about his presence, John said, “You said yesterday that we weren't doing questions today.” 

“That's not why I'm here. I just wanted to check up on you, and to make sure you're feeling comfortable today.” 

John didn't understand why. There had been plenty of days where the doctor didn't visit at all. He turned his attention back to his song, slowing down the melody because he was getting near the end.

“Going Home.” The other man said suddenly. 

“You are?” John asked, furrowing his brow. 

“No, that's the name of the song. It's actually part of New World Symphony, do you remember?” 

“No.” John answered quickly. Truthfully, he didn't even try to remember. John thought he said that he wouldn't ask any questions today. 

“That's all right. Well, you let me know if you need anything, I'll be...you know, downstairs.” 

With that he left, leaving a confused amnesiac in his wake. John sighed and stopped playing. He wasn't feeling too good today, his thoughts were dark and he couldn't help it. Maybe work would take his mind off of it. John shuffled out of his room, hoping to find something to clean or sweep up to distract him for a while, at least until people started showing up.