“Fear is poison in combat, something we all shared but never showed. It’s destructive, and poisonous.” Feb 12th, 1992 19:30 BST Plymouth, United Kingdom The rain fell silently, casting a slight fog over the now quiet town. It’s inhabitants all hunkered away for the evening. Only the idle sound of passing automobiles remain in the streets. “I can’t fucking believe you! After all we’ve been through! After all we’ve done for each other! You want to go BACK?!” A voice... No, a woman’s voice. Shrill, and clearly upset. So emotionally torn, the very vocals sound as someone must be dragging the bow of a violin across its strings. “I can’t explain it god dammit! It’s.. It’s like a drug! I have no control anymore!” Another.. A males this time. That voice sounding as if it were soaked in a vat of bourbon, left in the smokehouse for years. And then taken outside, and ran over. “This isn’t the Nick I fell in love with! This isn’t the man who saved my ass! All I see is a coward! Do you have any idea how I felt pulling you off that damn cross?!” “Don’t even fuckin’ start ‘Mona! The fuck ever happened to ‘I’ll follow you to hell and back, till death do us part’?! Your words , not mine!” “I can’t! I can’t fucking go back there god dammit! I don’t care anymore! If you still have any bit of sanity left you’d go try to find some real help! I want to live again! I want children! I want to grow old with YOU, Nicholas!” “Fuck it! If you hate me that god damn much, I’ll just fucking leave! Okay?! You win!” “I knew it! You’re just a coward! We’re done Nick! Get your shit and leave! I don’t ever want to see your ass around here again!” A door. Shut hard with extreme force. Many folks nearby have now tuned in to hear and witness the ruckus. Only to see a man. Carrying a large, military rucksack. Limping down the street.