A/N: The final part! The hidden goodie here is Monsieur Florbelle's letter responding to Professor Herbert. It is laying next to his grave. Enjoy, and thank you so, so much for reading!

Amnesia: Justine (c) Frictional Games

~CHAPTER FOUR~

Taking another breather, she leaned against the door again. How many more scares was she going to be put through!? By now, she had seriously had enough.

After she caught her breath and let her hands stop shaking, she reached over to the phonograph and turned the crank.

"Inspector Marot," Justine was addressing the police officer in the Dungeon, "are you still with us?"

"Yes!" the woman proudly boasted. After enduring the most terrifying experience of her life, or at least what she could remember, saving the man was quite a feat.

"I'm looking forward to see if you managed to save him or not," Justine continued. "I know very little about him, but surely he had a family, don't you think?" The sociopathic woman mused on as if Marot was dead. "Poor, poor, fatherless children. But he falls on his own sword. His kind is not meant to come for people like me. Laws are made for cretins."

What? "Laws are made to protect people, you crazy woman!"

Justine spoke on, "The aristocracy doesn't need to know right from wrong. We are always right."

"I beg to differ," she huffed, furious at how she let her social status corrupt her. Venturing on, she pushed the door open to reveal a graveyard of sorts. "Poor souls." Looking around, she saw two rooms at the end of the Crypt, one room having a large angel statue, the other a plain headstone. The young woman could only assume they were the graves of Justine's parents. She walked into Madame Florbelle's grave room, wondering if the statue was a reminder of how beautiful she was. She could almost hear a little girl and her father speaking.

"What was mother like?" the girl asked.

Her father replied, "She was the most beautiful creature ever to grace the world."

"I can't remember what she looked like," the girl spoke solomnly, "no matter how hard I try."

"Her beauty was blinding, Justine. We could never dare to chain such memory to our minds. It would be too much to bear."

For a moment, the woman pitied Justine. She must've lost her mother when she was a child. She could only imagine how painful it must've been, growing up without her. "Repose en paix, Madame Florbelle," she whispered, the thought of losing a parent tugging at her heartstrings. If she could remember her parents, she would definitely be saddened if she lost them.

After a few minutes, she went into Monsieur Florbelle's grave room, wondering how he must've met his end. Inspecting his headstone, she could barely make out the inscription.

It all made sense, he thought, we all appreciate symmetry. Everyone is comforted by the causality of logic. It gives the impression of a grand plan and that we may be able to grasp the inner workings of this perfect universe.

You see, his wife died while giving birth to his son. That is why he was able to forgive. His family was just giving in to the symmetry.

Looking down at the ground, she noticed a letter. Once more, it was an exchange between Monsieur Florbelle and Professor Herbert, though this time, it was Monsieur Florbelle writing, and it was unfinished. He apparently had read the letter the professor sent him as he wished him luck on his expedition, then digressed, feeling terrible about the psychological observations with Justine and expressing his urgency to mend their relationship.

Sighing, she moved on to the end of the Crypt, where another phonograph was found, and she turned the crank.

"Well done," Justine congratulated her, "You have triumphed - conquered my cabinet." Does this mean no more scares? "I wish I could tell you how you did, but alas, this is a recording. You will have to figure it out all by yourself. Did anyone survive?"

"Of course."

"The doctor?"

"Yes."

"The priest?"

"Yes."

"Or perhaps the policeman?"

"Oh, definitely yes."

"Who was allowed to live? Why?" Wait, what? Allowed? She thought she had to. "You should really reflect on these past events and consider what they meant to you, what you have learned about your true nature."

Justine paused for a moment before continuing. "Father never knew me. He thought he did, but then he was frightened and nothing was ever the same again. I can still see him, lying there on the floor. He looked so surprised." It was beginning to dawn on the woman that Justine had killed her own father.

She then began to speak in rhyme. "The star-shaped soapstone stained by his blood, fell to the floor with a sonorous thud. Blame me not, for I was but a child, with careful ambition, I dared a smile... Rest in peace, papa."

That's when it clicked. 'What elements are important.' Was her own escape more important, or the precious lives of those Justine had imprisoned? Now it all made sense. But no... She couldn't...

She opened the door to the long, dark corridor, beginning to weep for the first time as phrases written in red adorned the walls. How could this be? Why? Just why!? This can't be! Is she really?

She is Justine herself. She set this up to test her own psyche! All of the puzzles, critical thinking, major scares. It was all a set up! And she herself had done it all.

Justine was still crying from her realisation when she reached the last room at the end of the long, dark, and twisting corridors, and the final phonograph, strapped to a dead body on the ceiling, was triggered.

"And so it comes to an end," her voice projected from the recording. She realised just how different her voice sounded to herself and in a recording. "Now that you have seen what you truly are, you are able to go on and face eternity without fear. Without doubt." A rumbling sound then caught Justine's attention. The room seemed to be getting smaller.

The walls were closing in on her!

"No!" Justine screamed, throwing rocks and boxes at the gears in an attempt to jam them, but it was no use. The young aristocrat began to panic and shook at the door, but it was locked. No matter what she tried, the walls continued to close in and she soon passed out.

Several moments later, Justine awoke to see the walls pulling back and her memories returning to her. Her fearful whimpering slowly became triumphant chuckling. Oh, it was great. "This..." she remarked, "This was the best one yet. So elaborate. It's just... too much..."

The young woman was proud of herself as the motive of her self psyche test became crystal clear. She tested herself to see if she even still had compassion or humanity. Throughout the test and with her final realisation, she discovered that she did indeed.

"Enough of this," she said to herself. "Get up, Justine."

The door behind her began to pound as Doctor Fournier, Father David, and Inspector Marot thanked her.

"Well done, child!"

"God be praised. You have saved us, child. Open the door."

"Hey, you? We are almost free. Come on, get us out of here."

Had she not have gotten her memory back, Justine surely would've let them go. But no. She pulled the bar down in front of the door, latching it. It's already locked, but you can never be too certain.

Looking around a final time, her attention was drawn to the dead body and the skylight. "Such light was never meant for me." Then she took note of the machinery that controlled the walls. "Such intricate machinery," Justine commented. "I can't for the life of me understand why he built this..."

Before leaving, Justine went to test the door, but stopped. "It's alright," she told herself. "No one will be coming through that door."

She then left the room. "I should really keep this door locked," she mused, closing and locking the door. "Don't want any of the guests coming in here." Turning around the corner, she went upstairs.

"Mademoiselle Justine?" a voice called out. "Are you down there? Is everything alright?

"Of course, Clarice," she answered, "I'm quite alright. Is everything ready for tonight?"

"Yes," Clarice called back. "The goose is ready any minute now, and the guests should be arriving within the hour."

Justine shut the door behind her and picked up a letter she had sitting on the desk. She folded it and placed it in an envelope. "Clarice," she called to her friend, "I know it's a busy day, but make sure to post this letter for me, okay?"

Clarice took the letter, replying, "Certainly, Mademoiselle Justine. Urgent, is it?"

"Not really," she shook her head. "It's already years late. I just thought they should know... I'm still alive."

~THE END~