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Raymond had everything an up and coming producer could ever want, a flourishing theatre house, an awe-inspiring ballet cast, and most of all a loving, supportive family. He had no idea that it would only take one person and as little as five minutes to lose everything. The night of the great Fulcrum Production Company fire, Raymond lost his family, his best friend, and all of his assets. Only two people made it out alive from the night of that fire, Raymond and Elizabeth; he with a burned back from saving her life, she with a burn on the wrist trying to put the flames out. He swore he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. He knew people whispered about how bad he was, especially being twenty years her senior. They had done well, running from the past and began to build a life together; until he let his guard down unintentionally. That old demon came back, looking to claim what should have been his all along, thirty years too late. Raymond would never let the guilt go as he looked helplessly, the doctors and nurses telling him that it would be a miracle if she would ever wake up. "Wake up! Wake UP!" It is all he could hear in his head.
Raymond found himself walking through the dimly lit chateau; the only light supplied by the sun that had just set over the Swiss Alps moments ago. A sense of anxiety and urgency fell over him, yet he could not find its source. He tried to scream for her, not knowing where she was, but to his dismay, no sound uttered from his lips. His speed hastened as he carried his sluggish body up the marble stairs and rounded the corner at the top; standing, studying the hallway and rooms he could choose to enter. An unnaturally bright light was coming from the last room on the right. He tried to run, yelling again for her, but alas nothing. As he approached the doorway, this leading into the library, he could finally see her; his Lizzie was standing at the window encompassed within a light brighter than the hottest burning fire. He heard her strained voice, faintly calling; she was in pain. He tried to reach out to her to remove her from the fiery beam, but he was met with searing hot pain, burning his hand. He pulled it back and examined it only finding an aged scar that mimicked the one she wore on her wrists from so long ago. His attention was pulled back to her; the once faint voice was now loud bellowing screams; she was engulfed in flames, the same flames from thirty years ago. His mind was flooded with memories from that night, the thoughts, the guilt: “It's all your fault Raymond … You can't save her … I'm here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you … All I've brought her is pain, misery and ultimately death …” He lunged for her one last time, as he heard her say, "Raymond, I do…L…"
Raymond shot straight up in the overstuffed, farmhouse style, wingback chair, and heard a loud thud, startling him more than he already was. He had fallen asleep while reading from the red journal he'd had made for her when she had her accident. He sighed heavily, looking round about the oversized bedroom, his eyes descending upon the grand, hand-carved, oak four-poster bed that anchored the room. The body lying within, being kept alive utilizing medical technology and, miracles in Raymond's opinion. He picked up the large book and ran his hands over the intricate patterns stamped into the fine Italian leather, and flipped through the gold-gilded pages finding where he left off. He picked up his glasses and began reading again, "Day four hundred forty-five, we celebrated Agnes' third birthday today …"