The next morning he put a closed sign in his window and went out to talk to Stanley. The flashes he realized didn't happen this morning. Was is just a one time thing, or was he just dreaming that all? John left his house saw Harry walking past his house again. Of course Harry wanted his swing, but today he looked different. His smile was bigger, and he was threatening John in a "joking"  way, but that smile was convincing him otherwise. Right as John was about to promise that he would have it done, Harry was already off smiling and walking at a fast pace.
      John made it to the hardware store about the same time as yesterday, but he couldn't find Stanley anywhere. He asked an employee if Stanley was working today, the man replied without the slightest  show of concern.
     "Old Stanley got a severe heart attack last night, and died." The one link he had, the one person who might have been telling the truth, was gone there is a pit that just kept getting bigger filling higher and higher with questions after questions, without answers.
      "I'm sorry."
      "If the old man told you anything that didn't make sense, don’t think much about it, he was losing his memories, and sanity."
       "Thank you, but I have to get back to my shop now." When he started walking away John could still feel the man's eyes intently pounding on his back, he looked back to see the man still staring at him, not at his eyes but above his eyes, like he was trying to read his mind, searching for what he knew. John quickened his pace trying to avoid telling him anything with his own eyes. He pushed through the still bustling but slowly shrinking crowd, he noticed everyone had a bigger smile than the day before, what was going on with these people. He felt the employee's eyes still following him, and his thoughts. John got home locked all the doors and closed all the windows. "I need to get out of here, out of this horror clown town. I need to find out what these flashes mean." When he said that aloud he realized he hadn't gotten the flashes all day. He refocused on his plans, but he didn't know where to start. He wrote down all the incidences of when the glitches and flashes happened.
      The "Alarm clock at 7:35:42- green flash."
      "Dried blood- red flash."
       "Don't forget Irene note- blue flash."
       "Bump in his arm- purple flash."
He couldn't see a pattern, he had no clue where to start he hadn't been anywhere else than this town, and that one time him and his brother went on vacation. There was one place to start, maybe something was there. Tomorrow morning he was off to Russia, Smolensk Russia.
      The next day he saw Harry as usual walking by the house just as John was leaving. Today, though he walked right by John without so much as a,  "good morning John,"  or a ,"Where's my swing set," he just walked on with the most concerning smile. It was a smile like no other, it seemed that if the man smiled any harder, his cheeks would burst with candy gushing out. When John walked into town to get to the trains, he saw everyone had a horrific smile like the one carved into Harry's face. In the crowd of clowns he saw a face of a woman, the face was looking, hard for something, it looked lost, just as lost as he felt. John desperately pushed his way through to get to her. Could this be the Irene? Could she have some answers? Then the glitches and a yellow flash like the sun was crying on his eyes the flashes just kept hitting him. But by the time he was able to see and think straight the train's departing crowd washed around her and swallowed her whole. He searched through the waves of people leaving and boarding the trains but there was no sign of his missing link. This was the second time a crucial piece to his puzzle of memories was thrown away.
      He boarded the train still trying to see the human face, but there was no trace of her its like she never even existed. All he could think of was that beautifully lost face. This is going to be a long train ride, He had to go from Luxemburg to the southern part of Russia. This gave him lots of time to try as hard as he could to find at least a clue of what is going on. The train started and the ticket inspector came by and passed, all was well and it was early in the morning. John’s eyelids became steel weights that pulled him into a deep slumber.
     a skreatch ripped John’s eyes wide open again he looked frantically back and forth and saw outside that there were little sparks on the tracks. He ran out of his cabin and saw a clock that read 6:00 am, he got on the train at 8:00 am, was he asleep for a whole day? He ran a little down the corridor and saw passengers with all the same doll smiles, smiling at him, flashing with the flashes of the breaking lights. He got his panic attack again, like the one when he first saw the glitches. He wanted to wake up from this psychotic nightmare. One of the mannikins came closer to him and then pain, and darkness again. He came too, but for only for a few seconds only to catch a glimpse of  a big silver machine, blinking little red lights warning him to stay away, overwhelming glitches forming sounds, the pixels were moving like waves along with the sounds trying to make words like these glitches, were trying to form lost memories. He got a very light flash this time, almost hard to see, a black light this time, then blackness surrounded him again. He tried to run, but he couldn't something was holding him down. Was he still sleeping? When he woke he woke to the blow of the train horn.
    And the voice came through the speakers, "Last stop, Smolensk Russia. Next stop Remich, Luxembourg." That was one of the most daunting nightmares, could it be that the thing he saw was the thing that caused his memory to disappear, could this be the thing that retyped a fake identity? John got up to get his cube to carve in what he had seen in his dream the black light. He couldn’t find his cube. it was gone. He knew that he kept it in his little pouch. He wrote down the dream on the paper he wrote every other incident on before the box. He could have sworn that there were six incidences, but he could only remember four, the alarm clock, blood drops, bump in his arm, and the dream. Not even his note where he recorded every event up until the morning of the train ride said anything else. He got out of his room, and once again saw the many shining doll faces all waiting to depart the train. When it was his turn to get off, the cool crisp fall breeze with the the little drops of the moon’s silver, frosty raindrops gracefully falling and melting into new drops on his face. This was what he needed to get away from the panic of something happening, and he fell into the cool arms of winer’s cushioned pillows just wanting to comfort him. Then again darkness all around him. he woke again in a bright room wearing some scratchy material. There were little beeps in the background, and a women walked in. She was very blurry, but he could make out dark black hair and a light green layer covering the body. His vision slowly coming back to him he saw she was pale and didn’t wear that mask of  a grinning doll, like the people he was surrounded by the past few days. Instead she had a strong face with gentle, olive colored eyes and when they looked at his eyes they dashed away as to not tell any secrets. He felt her eyes were trying to give help and that she could not control their gaze they were trying to tell him that she knew him and that she didn’t want to have to do what she was about to do but she had to. This message worried John which is why he jumped out of the bed, but he couldn’t, once he bounced up he was pulled right back down with a body shaking thud. She mumbled something to him, his head was spinning he got two words from what she said, keep counting. His eyes still shaking saw a shining drop come from her face along with a glistening light blinding his eye, he roughly saw an outline, a shot. One, two, three, is this the time when he had to count, five, six, seven, was he counting the seconds to his death, eight, nine, ten, who was she, eleven, twelve ow ah ouch, what was that, that stinging, aghhh, keep counting arhh, where was I, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, wake up, wake up John, your dying wake up, sixteen, seventeen, ahhhh, his brain was going wild he couldn’t control these images were buzzing all around, memories of a childhood in his real town, he could see his real memories, but not clearly just rough outlines kids running, and so much yelling, who was yelling? His older brother in the next room crying, he went in there to comfort him, but he pushed John away and jumped out the window with a backpack. Twenty- one, twenty- two, the pain was gone and no more images either, he only remembered whatever was typed into his brain now. Twenty four… twenty- five...twenty- six… what’s that smell.

Opening his eyes John saw he wasn't in the train, or that hospital like place anymore. Could that have all been a dream?  But then how did he end up in this room, was this a hotel room? What a strange dream, could it be a warning, or a sign? And the other dream was so similar. Where was he? The smell disrupted his thoughts again, he could smell the breakfast buffet. When he got to the buffet he saw people. Normal people with real true facial expressions, it felt so refreshing, and it made his brain fuzzy, and his eyes clouded with dark storm clouds, but only for a second, this wasn't his usual did he not get his flashes anymore. He needed them in order to find out what happened to him, and what was happening. He felt like he was constantly in danger. All the normal faces turned to him and he got a murderous flashback of when those grinning clowns stared at him. He got out of the hotel and had to stick his head in the snow, it felt like a computer overheating when over worked. He looked around at his surroundings and saw all the signs were in a different language. He was hopefully still in Russia. He needed to find people, images, fast, he wanted to get out of this life of panic and fear. He sat down and cleared his head," Ask the hotel receptionist, she'll know something." She would know when he first checked in, that might give him something. He went back in to see everyone still staring at him. He brushed it off and went to the receptionist. She looked quite similar to his nurse from the dream. She was trying not to let them go, but two tears disobeyed her and streaked her white face, with pain, the first tear came from her left eye.
    “ I would like to know the last time I checked into this hotel.”
      She replied with a thick accent and a firm voice with a little quiver of her tear trying to crack open the dam. “ Name please.” Trying almost harder not to make eye contact.
    “Johnny Macinroy. It could possibly be under Joe Macinroy.” Joe Macinroy who was that? His brain spoke without the permission of his lips. What was more surprising was the woman’s response.
     “ Joe Macinroy, last we had you here was two years ago, exactly, you checked out this day, November 17th two years ago. Anything else I can help you with sir?”
     “No, thank you mam, but if you don’t mind please never speak this information to any other person.”
      John left the hotel again this time with a new question, who was Joe Macinroy? Could he be some brother that he somehow forgot about? He needed more images that spiked his memory, he didn’t have a clue of where to start looking. John went a few streets down and found a quiet cafe to look over and think about the information he had so far.
        The Alarm clock at 7:35:42- green flash.
        Dried blood- red flash.
        Bump in his arm- purple flash.
        Machine in dream- black flash
        Seeing the real smiles- eyes went dark
                  JOE MACINROY
       Trying so hard John searched and searched for any pattern. People would stare at him as they  walked by he probably looked a little crazy, just sitting staring at a piece of paper. He sat their for hours, hearing the breakfast and lunch specials being repeated around. Of course he couldn’t understand what they were but he knew some words since it was in Russian. He tried kindergarten lessons, looking for a message in the first letter of each word, color coding, assigning each letter to a number. Nothing seemed to work, or to make any sense. He got a coffee, and the receipt came right away too. He looked at it not even long enough to see what it read, and there was the excruciating throb, as if he had been hit in the head with a boulder, and the throb just kept coming from all directions followed by an orange flash as bright as the sun, but it looked brighter. His eyes felt like they were melting from this heat wave. He opened his eyelids to let his eyes flow out, but they stayed in, and he was on the floor with his coffee all over his face and the table knocked over along with his chair. The throbs leaving his brain, Johnny heard people mumbling, and soon it became a yell.
      "Что ты делаешь, ты хорошо. Что случилось, кто-то назвать больницу!" Johnny couldn't understand it all, what he got was, “are you alright", he held up his thumb, tried to nod his head, but he was unable to speak. He grabbed the receipt and ran out, just in time to see the ambulance go by as he entered his hotel. Rushing to his room, he noticed a "Do not disturb" card on the door, he didn't put it there, and he didn't pay much attention to it, he was focussed on this receipt and why this seemed to be the worst mental attack of all. He was shaking, he couldn't even stand to well, he ripped out the the receipt and slammed it on the coffee table, unable to control his arm’s power. He read it silently first, but then in disbelief of what it said, he read it allowed, and heard three knocks on the door.
     The panic attack was coming back to him, this time he had to keep it from controlling him or he would surely die. The only thing he could think of was jumping out of the window, he was only one floor up and would land safely. The knock again and then a small Russian voice with it.
      “Room cleaning.”
It was just room cleaning.
      “One minute please I’ll be right out!”
He was closing the window and grabbing the receipt when he heard the cleaning lady’s key beep and the door open.
    “I was just on my way out sorry.” And at that moment  the little woman pulled a gun out of her apron, pulling the trigger and letting the pin fly, John took one bounding leap, hoping its enough to get him to the window. Swoosh, the bullet grazed past his ear, reaching for it but unable to put a hole through it. Splash, the pool, he landed in the pool. The bullets power was still ringing in his ears, he pushed and shoved through the crowd of waves surrounding him. Swoosh another bullet, this time it got hold of him, in his arm. The bullets just started coming now, he found the end of the pool, rolling, grasping for something, he got a hold on a step, the pain blinding him, not enough time to check his arm, he was off running as fast as he could. He fell, pain, encompassed his body, blood came out, pointing an arrow to the wound. He got up trying his hardest with all his might to stay standing, his leg was pulling him down with each step, he was shot in the knee. John could see the blood coming from each side of his leg. He turned around to see why the bullets had stopped and he saw the lady reloading her gun and jumping out the window. John was limping as fast as he could, but by the time he made it to the hotel lobby, he heard the explosion of a bullet coming directly to him, in slow motion, in the reflection of the glass door. He could see it going for his head, the door, finger length in front of him, he was so close, he could see the desperation in both their faces, and then the image was shattered into a million pieces, the bullet went through the glass, a burst of adrenaline ran through his body, he was still alive. The pain in his faded just enough for him too keep running away, and as he ran each step brought him lower and lower, he ran past the receptionist, she gave him a glance stained with tears,but seeing him, she smiled, a concealed smile. He burst out the door looking for some way to get away. A car pulled up to the curb, right as that psychotic killer bust open the doors to the lobby, pulling the gun up waiting for the perfect aim.
       Someone stepped out of the car, and John leaped in, as she pulled the trigger, there was a silence and as John shut the door in he saw where the bullet went. The man from the car died, John basically killed someone, that innocent man, was probably going to the hotel to meet his family, and instead they had to to plan his funeral. He just fell, it was the perfect shot, and he took for John right through the head. The image wouldn’t get out of his head. How did this whole search get so far out of hand, he never wanted people to die, especially not in his place. The cab driver was stunned.
     “Go now, hurry, if you don’t go now we’ll both be dead!” John was yelling at the man now. He was still in shock, and the bullets kept coming, shattering glass, whizzing past their eyes. He jumped to the front of the car and pushed the man’s foot down on the gas pedal. John was looking back and feeling victorious about getting out of there alive, that he was not paying attention to the traffic jam ahead, and the paralyzed cab driver, whimpered unable to speak, but John looked and saw a monster car driving towards him and crashing into the sides of every car. Another person was after him, this time the traffic was too jammed to make a quick escape, this time they would get him. The fear of death and never waking up got to John’s head and as the assassin knocked the mirror of the car in front of his own, John got an idea, and torpedoed out of the shattered remains of a window. His pursuer had the same idea though, and right as the car collided, he saw the body bounding out the opposite side of John. He hoped the cars would serve as a barrakade and that he would have time make a run for his life, before the person pulled out another gun. John jumped in the backseat of another car laying on the floor, he told the driver to not speak. He didn’t make a response and when John looked up he saw the man had his head hanging low making a passage for the stream of blood trickling down his face, shocked and appalled, John reached a hand up to see if the man was still alive, with luck there was still a pulse. The window showered on them leaving water drops of blood on their bodies, they never give up. He saw his first assassin, from the hotel, walking up to the car, and the other standing up behind the combusted cars. They were coming to his car now, he tried to think of some way out some exit, but there was none.
      He hurdled himself into the passenger seat and pushed the barely living man’s leg down on the pedal, they raced into cars on either side of them, then there was a clearing from cars trying to get far away from this massacre. He was safe this little flat tire, shaterred car saved their lives. He drove as far as those tires could carry them, he was surprised that those murderers didn’t come follow him, he had a feeling thought that they would be back, and that the next time he wouldn’t survive. The tires came to their last breath of air thumped to a stop. They were still in town maybe a mile from the shooting, and there were still restaurants and hotels, but no hospitals not for another fifteen miles. The man needed medical care fast or he would die, but John couldn’t go to the hospital, they would expect him to be there, and his dream was telling him not to, the one with the crying nurse.
     He called the ambulance and left the phone there with the man, then he slipped out of the car into one of the motels. People were staring at his soaked jeans, and they started to mumble little remarks of concern, one woman yelled at him in Russian to call the emergency room, but then she started to dial the number on her phone herself. John feeling the pain from the dream did not want to go there and have them take away whatever memories or clues he has gained, or maybe they’d kill him. He limped over to the lady and tried his best to speak Russian.
       “I can’t go to the hospital, there are bad people trying to get me.”
        She stared at him like he was crazy, and then he heard a person on the other line pick up, and he closed the phone
           John opened the door to his new home, and saw exactly and all that he could have ever wanted, a bed. He plopped down and fell asleep, the wounded man was so tired that the he almost couldn’t feel the wires poking through the fabric, or smell the years of spills, and accidents, and drool that have each made their mark on this mattress. The morning came, peacefully, no sounds of bullets being shots, no cars cashing, no dreams of deadly surgeries, just peace, he missed peace. He sat up in the bed, shivering, it was fall in Russia and he only had sweatpants, and a snow jacket. But there was also a crinkling sound. His shaking hands reached for his pocket, they felt a little piece of paper, the receipt, could those two have been going after the receipt. John took it out and read it again.
      “I know who you are John, and I know what is happening, come for answers at the cafe,by the hotel.”At the end there was a symbol stamped. It looked like a lion biting on letters, with some words pthat were not legible.
    He still couldn't walk, and his paints were beginning to stiffen with blood. John through himself out of the bed. And was able to balance himself on one foot, and drag his other on the ground behind him, he started to feel the ground moving, and was loosing balance. It was all spinning one way and his brain was spinning the other direction, and his eyes could see everything as they spun up and around, could see the brain top spinning without control. And then he felt the ground on his face and pressing on his body, but the room was still going. Every spin he could see a blurry outline of of the wooden door, and walked towards it, but the ground would not get away from him. He pushed towards the door and felt his hand touch rough cement he was searching, determined on focusing his eyes but they still spun. John started to feel sick, and felt something leave his mouth, his brain was too focused on  spiraling, that it couldn't send feelings, or stoppers for his regurgitation. Finally his hands fell and they could feel wood, he found the door, and tried to open it this was even more difficult, finding the doorknob. He heard footsteps coming up the sandy steps, John, his tongue sticking out, tried for a groan of some sort. The person must have heard, because he asked something, but John was to frail to comprehend, so he let out another moan, and heard footsteps going down at a faster pace. He was so tired, he closed his eyes,

John woke he was in his hotel room, on his beat down mattress. John’s leg he when tried to move it felt trapped, when he looked down there was a wrap around it so taut he thought his circulation would be cut off. John ripped it off to let his leg breath, and almost through up, at the site of this bloodied wrap, with peices of skin around the whole that were clinging on, and rotting. The stench that took seige of his nose and would not surrender, causing his head to start spinning again. He slowly crept out of his bed and saw a man outside his door, holding a tray with surgical tools, speaking to him with a strong confident voice, and then he started pushing John back onto his bed, John tried to resist but he only had one leg as a prop and a force against the big man. The language barrier was making this situation extremely unnerving, especially since he was holding a tray of sharp tools, John finally protested against the brute.
         "Stop, stop, get away!" The man starred at him and laughed.
         "You dink I vant to keel you. Your lieg, it have bulliet, I reemove. Dese for sewing whole,you very feegity liest night." He said gesturing to the tool box and trying to make movements to help him explain his suspicious appearance.John tried a grin, but was too anxious about this character.
         "You must dink I eim lieing, but I promies I tiel truth. Liest night you piess out from too much blood loss" So with that he picked up John with one arm and his tools in the other, and sat him on the bed, ripped off his pants, and started to sew the hole in his leg.   The process was over pretty much when it started. And a scrawny young man came up to the door with new pants for John. When the big man saw him, he had the most thankful smile, and said, "Dis man heard you frum outside door, he is du reason you stiell here getting lieg sewed." The scrawny man smiled at John, put the pants down, and snuck out of the room.
       "Is he okay?"
       " You gave heem pretty good scare liest night, but he good genteel boy, he piecked you out of your own droughup, and pulled the bulliet out of your lieg. You would have suffocated from the pile or bled to dieth, had it not been for hiem."
     "Do you own this hotel, do you recognize me?"
      "Yes to du fierst qiestion, your face it look familier, but I don't really remieber you. Sorry."
      For the rest of the wrapping they were silent and John stared out the door, the man knew him, the scrawny one, he looked frightened, like John had been through something ghostly with him, it could be the fact that John's situation from the night before may have scarred his mind, but he knew, he knew the boy knew something.
     "Okie, you are done now." He startled John with his booming thunder of a voice. John gave him many thanks, paid him, and went downstairs to ask the boy some questions.
        The boy was sweeping the snow and dirt in the hotel, off the cement stones, he looked up and meekly smiled at John, and rushed into a room behind the register. John didn't even get a chance to stop him, so he went in the room after the scrawny man.  The boy seemed to be running away from John, but at a fast walking pace.
         "Wait I just have questions for you, do you know me, why are you walking away from me?" This made the twig stop, and turn around with a disgusted face, he picked up a pencil cup.
         "Do I know you, why are you walking away from me, you don't remember?" He said as he threw the cup as hard as he could, right at John's face, missing, and searching for something else, this time to defend himself, from what he thought would be John's rath. He stated to mutter, and beg for his mercy.
        "WHO ARE YOU, WHO AM I JUST GIVE ME ANSWERS!" What was that John has never felt as angry as this moment life.I guess that boy was right to fear me, what have I become?
        The man started running, but John didn't dare follow. What were all these pushed down emotions? He couldn't stay there after that explosion. He set out for the cafe. On his way he saw that there was still debris from that mad car chase. What has he gotten himself into? He couldn't possibly imagine going back to his old routine, he has seen too much. He saw a corner of wood reaching out for a hand that interrupted his thoughts, he picked it up, his box he had completely forgotten about his box, the carvings were in there but not finished, it had only two of them, he turned it around to see a slash of blood, the two assassins must have had this, and lost it in the car crash. He covered his face hoping no one would recognize him, and sped up to the cafe.
       He walked in, not knowing what face he should be looking for. He glanced around searching for some kind of a flash or sign, smile even. He skimmed over one face and there it was his glitching, and not as painful this time he could rub it out of his eye. There was a dark maroon flash when he looked at the face again, and the man smirked, as if he was expecting that to happen.
        "How have you been Johnny you look beat up. How's Irene?"
         "I've been good, how.. Who's Irene?"
         "Haha, there's no way you could have forgotten the only person you ever trusted, and loved at that too."
          "I don't know who you are talking about or who you are, how about you start explaining some information. Like what does this symbol mean." He ripped the receipt with the note on it out of his pants pocket, his pants, he didn't have his pants on these were the hotel's. "I lost it, the note you gave me yesterday, what was that symbol?"
           "Fair enough, but promise you will keep calm. The symbol represented our group, it is the sign of the good, rich, and powerful with your brother and your initials on it.”
           “You still haven't told me who you are and why I should trust you."
           "I used to be a part of the group, like yo..." Glass everywhere, a sound of death cracked in the distance and echoed until it found its victim, the man in front of John fell into the glass heaps around them. When he looked up John saw a hill with an ant of a man perched with his barrel of pain staring right into John's face. John sprung up from the table, his feet bounding behind him, his heart pounding trying to escape from the rib cage. A bullet, shot but hit the snow inches in front, another putting a hole in his jacket, then a pause. He looked up to the man who was blowing snow up in his car, another car chase. John went into a store, then alley way, every car horn or sound of a brake made his heart jump. Fear was getting crowded into his mind, he ran until his heart felt like it would explode and still kept running. Panic rose as he could almost feel the sniper ganging up on him, his long barrel nose breathing down his neck, not giving him any room to think. He opened his eyes not aware they were even closed and saw he was in a forest. The town was surrounded by a forest, and mountains, but not this close, how far had he ran? When he stopped he could feel his heart trying to catch up to his breath, or his breath to his heart. He couldn’t tell, what he did know was this was a good place to hide, but he needed to get out of here and go somewhere else, a new city where he could find the rest of this group he created.
      John caught his breath but felt wobbly, his mind was still, it was somewhere else, when he saw an airplane, and not to far from the ground. Maybe there was an airport nearby. To his amazement John heard the engine of a four wheeler, that was impossible, that sniper should not have been able to find him. John couldn't possibly run anymore he was still recovering, the snow was high enough, his foot tracks, the sniper followed his tracks. He ran a few steps in front, and then back behind a tree and buried himself under the snow, the classic hide and seek. He heard the car coming closer, closer. It stopped, footsteps, heart beating, into the brain, drowning out sound that was imperil to hear. Breathing getting louder and faster, eyes twitching wanting to see what was happening, metal on metal, gun getting reloaded, mind twitch, five, four, three, two, one. John sprang up upon his unsuspecting victim as the the trigger was pulled, with what little adrenaline was left John punched kicked anything to get his opponent to the ground but not dead, he had questions. The sniper was quicker and better trained, and quickly brought John to the ground.

     "Well Johnny I thought I'd never say this but you've lost your touch, I, I'm disappointed." With a flicker of fear the same fear in the scrawny boy, expecting John an eruption of anger. "I'm sorry John but bosses orders, you of people have to know what I mean," pulling up the trigger, "Just try and think of something happy, think of .. Irene."

    With that he put his finger on the trigger and smiled a heinous grin. With one last effort, John swept his legs, hitting the creep's legs, in an effort to put a pause on death. But of course he saw it coming, and they were both on their feet, John his fits held to his face, the sniper with the gun placed and ready for murder at the twitch of a finger. 
      "Where's the anger, the rage that made every living thing tremble? Where'd you go John, why'd you leave?"
       "I don't know what you're talking about."
       "Sure you do that's why  I have to kill you."
       "Who are you?"
        "You don't remember me? You don’t remember Irene, or any of us?."
        "No, no, who is she?"
        "Ah so Davey talked to you, that's who that was, he betrayed us Johnny, don't believe what he told you."
         "He couldn't tell me much 'cause you shot him, but I have a feeling you were aiming for me."
         "He betrayed us and now I'm going to have to betray you." A frosty tear squeezed free from his eye. "Believe him Johnny, save yourself, he has her!" As he turned the gun and put it to his head, one twitch of the finger, that's all it took.

He heard jets coming closer and closer , more four wheelers, how did they all find him? John got on the four wheeler and drove off towards what could possibly be an airport. It was longer than it seemed, or was it just the fact that he was being followed by people who wanted to murder him, but the forest and snow just seemed to go on forever. The ride needed to be over soon, the little car was running out of gas. The forest started to clear away and he saw a bustling city, if he got lost in there they would never find him, unless their plans were to bomb everything. He ran into the city as the jets flew over, and an airplane took off. He could see the airport, a big building and walked over, trying to blend in with the crowd. He walked into the airport and got the first ticket out of here, scanning the premises he didn't seem to see any unusual people that could be after him. He noticed after he got the ticket that the lady that gave it to him didn't have an accent, when he looked back she was gone. He got through all the security and had to sit for twenty more minutes before boarding. He looked at his ticket and saw he was going to Luxembourg, he was from Luxembourg. Did she know who he was, and purposefully give this ticket to him? Was she Irene? She did look similar to the hotel receptionist, was she following him, and protecting him, or after him? He jumped at the sound of the speakers when they called for the boarding passengers. He was last in line, he sighed in relief as he got on the plane without anyone finding him. As he was about to sit, he heard a commotion, people were yelling.
    "Stop the plane, there is a convict on board! He has a gun, get off the plane!"  Security guards were yelling to their walkie-talkies, and yelling at the group of people to back up, that there couldn't possibly be. Seeing their guns, and suspicious appearance the security didn't believe a word. The plane detached and was off, up in the air, flying away from whatever murderous group John was apart of, he was free, from the murder, from the mysteries. He could go home, no not home, not to the grinning homicides. He could go somewhere and decode the flashes, and pain, just thinking about it made him cringe. He took out the cube and carved the rest of the incidents. He awoke to someone nudging his shoulder.
      "Your a hard sleeper, the plane's landed." John looked around and out the window, winter in Luxembourg, it brought warmth and comfort. He got up and remembered the cube was in his hands, there were incidences carved in here that he didn't even remember happened, like this face in the crowds, who's face was this? And this note that said don't forget Irene on it, when did he ever see that, it wasn't on the piece of paper that had every flash or slight ache in the head on it. Was he loosing memories as he lived day to day. But wait he saw a pattern, well maybe not a pattern but a thought, maybe each color corresponded with each glitch. The alarm clock, with 7:35:42 green what does the color green represent, he needed a computer, he was finally on a track, and he was determined to never get off it.

He found a library and got to work looking up different meanings for colors. Green didn't have anything though, it was all just references to nature, and peace. It couldn't be that John was being hunted down because he was too peaceful. Ah ha, he read aloud.
     "Dark green is associated with money." Maybe at that time he made some kind of deal for money that ended up being a scam or starting this whole, "group." Okay good what color was next, "dried blood-red flash." That wasn't to hard to guess, he was angry, red, and, did he kill someone and try to store them in a gym bag? What has he done, was he that psychotic?                  
     "Keep going." He thought to himself. Ok next, "bump in arm- purple flash." He looked down at the the bulge and was surprised he was still able to bend his elbow. Purple, purple, it meant power, ambition, luxury. Could this be some injection to make him higher in power, with some ability? Was he even getting anywhere or was this just waisting time,  this didn't seem to be accurate, him just guessing based off colors. He kept going anyway. The dream about the machine, and the black flash, well the color is often associated with death or fear of the unknown. He didn't know what the machine was or what it was doing to him, he felt like he was about to be hooked up to death. What's next, he felt as if he were five again unwrapping presents, only this time he was unwrapping his past, and trying not to get caught by the bad, or good guys.  The hunters, he had to hurry up or they might find him here.  The face, at the cafe, of the man that gave him some clues, he had a maroon flash.
     "The maroon tint represents sacrifices and bravery." That man could have known it would mean death to talk to John, but he must have done more for him.  Those were all the ones on his piece of paper, but according to his subconscious he was forgetting some. He looked at the cube and saw carved into it, "don't forget Irene note," with a "b" for blue, and "lost face in the crowds," with a "y" next to it. He looked up the two colors out of curiosity. Blue represents trust, loyalty, sincerity. That was the man told him about this Irene, she was the only person that he ever trusted or loved. A smile grew bigger and bigger on his face, like he was growing back the emotions that were no lost. Yellow was the last color. For some reason he almost didn't want to find out what yellow meant, he was too happy to be find out something, something bad, but he felt he had to. John was glad he did, yellow meant cheerfulness, joy, intellect. He felt that the face had to have been Irene's even though he couldn't remember what it looked like, or what the real Irene's face. Could she have sent him here on purpose? He left the library and went around the town, making sure first that no one was following him. It was a small town smaller than his town, that he wasn't really part of, his fake memory town. He looked in each shop, restaurant, hotel, apartment, nothing. Then he went to a car repair shop, and someone, came out with a jittering face.
     "What are you doing here Joe? I thought I was clear when I said I never wanted you here ever again." He held a crowbar, so tightly John thought his knuckles would pop out of the gloves he wore.
     "Who did you say I am?"
     "Stay calm Joe, we have kids here this time." Why were all these people afraid of his rage? Whenever they brought it up, he felt angry, more angry than he's ever felt or thought he could feel.
     "My name is John. Do you know me as Joe? How do you know me, I, I promise I won't hurt you."
     "That's what you said when you came running to us that night, we let you in. You went crazy, you and your group!"
     "Please I don't remember my past, and I don't know what gang you are talking about, if you have answers, and you'd be willing to tell me, I would greatly appreciate the it, I'm sorry for what I've done to hurt you."
      "I don't know if your pulling a gimmick like you did last time, but you seem more of a descent than the last time we met, but you look like you've been homeless for a month."
      "I kind of have, I have money just no home or clothes."
     "Come in and we can talk, you might recognize some stuff."
     "Thank you."
      They walked into the garage through the waiting room, and into an employee room. Walking through, John tried to look at every possible thing, but there was no sign of importance.
      "Here we are your old office, you haven't been replaced yet, it has only been a year if you can believe it." John looked at the desk, he had a lot of notes saying things he couldn't understand, they were like equations with fractions and multiplying words, but no numbers just words. He stood there confused but connecting wires hoping for a spark of memory.
      "Do you know what any of this means?"
      "No, no one does, we all thought you had some mental issue, that's partly why we hired you, we felt bad that you had no family or friends, and you were so sad, all the time. Plus you were amazing at working with the cars. Then one of your friends here, I can- we can all clearly remember this day. All he said was, "man you really messed up on that car, that poor family, can you imagine growing up without a dad?" Which was a harsh thing to say, you just missed a wire, and the dad hit a pole and instantly the car blew up, so it wasn't even completely your fault, but you blew up too. You pulled out a gun that no one gave you or knew you had, and started shooting like a mad man, you were yelling and, and you killed him, and his wife. After that the town was paranoid that you would come after them, but no one could say anything, in fear that you would start shooting again, then one morning you were gone, you were only here for a month." John felt the anger he had felt that day build up in him, and without him knowing his fist punched the desk, at first he thought it was the man but then he felt the pain swelling, trying to burst through from the knuckles, and it made its way through because John's knuckles started to form a little trickling stream of blood. When he looked up for help, the man was gone. John ran out and saw the big man trying to silently get everyone out of the car shop, when he glanced back to make sure John wasn't seeing this he jumped and gave out a cry to see that he was indeed there, running toward the people.
      "I'm sorry I couldn't control it, my body takes over sometimes, like these limbs have there own brain."
      "Stay back, psychopath, stay back these are good people, I wanted to believe you changed, but, just, just stay back." His chin hanging and trembling, and the people making an escape as quietly as they could as if John couldn't see them if they were quiet.
      "I'm sorry." With that John left too, not wanting to see the disappointment in anyone else's' face, he took the car they had just finished working on and drove away. His knuckles still bleeding, now onto the wheel.  All the faces of fear started coming in gloomy images to him, he could see the same pictures, but somehow different. There were different people, it was whole different scenario. This time it was his real memories, this time he could vaguely see silhouettes starting to form people. They couldn't fully form though, there was a missing piece, but he could see the first time this happened, the first time his anger got hold of him and wouldn't release him until everyone hated him, until everyone was too afraid to help. He started to flash in and out of the past images and present, his car was swerving, he wasn't where he should be, he didn't realize he was still driving. John saw towering trees, covered in snow, he couldn't see anymore road, the memories still weaving with the present, his were fists flying, people scattering, trees coming closer, a face staring at him in disgust, snow drowning him in slow motion, the peoples' tears and screams, more glass shattering around him.He felt heat coming, surrounding him. John made a fleeting effort to open his eyes, his body was just too tired, the images started to melt away, John opened his eyes, it was blurry but it seemed to be that his eyes were already open. He just couldn't see though, he tried to shake his head free from the chilling nausea, but his body would not budge. John thought he was paralyzed in this heat that kept coming closer. He swooped up in a fit, his brain clicked, and he could see a wide horizon of nothing, but as his eyes rebooted he could he saw the mess he was sitting in, and the fire that wanted to light but the snow didn't allow it. He saw the wounds slowly enlarging, he saw the totalled car hood in front of him. There was no one around. He got out of the car his wounds screaming at him to heal them, his head yearning for some sleep.
      When he opened his eyes again, or thought he opened them, he only saw a broad horizon of darkness. He tried again to open them, but he only saw darkness, had he slept? He stood, his legs feeling better, but the tares still fresh. His head still aching as it found its balance. He looked at the car, the snow took care of the fire, but now he had no means of transportation, and he knew if he went back to the town that he would not be welcomed. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but he went on anyway in search of the road it could be far, and it was cold, he had to keep moving. If possible it seemed to be getting darker, and colder, and his tattered snow jacket wasn't doing much anymore. His fingertips began to feel hard, and his legs were only going on a pattern like robotic legs since his mind started to slowly freeze too. His lungs bringing more frost in with every breathe. His eyes weren't even looking anymore, they were frozen balls just facing the floor. All of a sudden it became easy to walk again. No more slushy noises, he tried to defrost his neck muscles, just to maybe catch a glimpse of what he was standing on. He blinked his eyes in attempt to defrost the frozen layer, out of his new vision he saw two lights, but his peepholes started to close up again, and with a blink the lights came to a stop, and a silhouette appeared from the spotlights, for a second John thought it was yet another flashback, but as it came forward and grabbed John's arms, he could feel the being's warmth flare into the frozen blood, letting it run its course again. He heard the man say something, in a harsh tone. Then it came to him crisp as the frost taking over his arm again.
     "What are you doing, are you a mad man?"
     "M-my c-c-car ccc-cr-cr-c-crashed. C-c-can y-ou g-i-gi-give me a.."
     "Yeah sure, we can get your car tomorrow."
     When John got in this kind stranger's car he could feel the blood inside getting a jumpstart and melting, rushing to make up for lost work, rushing to warm every part.
    "So what were you doing out in these parts of Luxembourg, you seem to be more of a city boy."
    "I-I was tr-ying to f-f-f-ind som-m-e m-m-ore inf-f-ormation about m-m-y p-p-past."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Y-you see th-th-that's my P-p-problem, I d-don't rememb-ber."
     "Do you take drugs?"
     "N-no."
     "Just checking."
     Then there was silence but John couldn't help but smile at the man's comment, and generosity.
     "What's your name?"
     "Jo-o-hn, y-yours?"
     "Roland."
     Silence again this time John broke it.
     "I-i-f y-you wer-r-re l-lost where w-w-ould you lo-oo-ok?"
     "I would ask my wife first, if she didn't even know the answer, I would do the thing I love most, clear my mind, and hope that I find my way, or I would just use a compass. What's that?" He gestured to the box John was holding.
      "I-its m-m-y litt-t-tle bit of mem-m-mory, without i-i-t I would be l-l-ost."
      "Have you already tried looking in it?"
      "No I c-c-ouldn't figure o-o-out h-h-how to op-pen it. A-all m-m-y memories a-are carved inn-nto i-it." When he lifted it up to show Roland, he heard something inside move, there was never anything inside before. He twisted every which way possible to move the little panels of wood. Hearing little clicks with each movement, twisting, and turning, his still partially frozen fingers trying to keep up with the movement of the box.  He stopped looked at the box tried to see if there was any clue on how to open it. Roland looked over.
     "Can't figure it out still, what are those arrows around it?"
     "W-what ar-rr-rows?"
     "Those ones." He said as he brushed his fingers across two slightly darker colored arrows, that must have been painted on.
     "H-h-how did y-you see th-those?" Roland shrugged and smiled, he felt important, and smart. John twisted the box with the direction of the arrows, not sure if he was going in the right order, but then he heard clicking inside, then the box popped open, inside there was only a simple piece of torn paper and a rough rock with scratches dug into it.
      "John, you have gotten my assassins in trouble, and killed my best tracker. You have caused to much trouble. Come home to your family, we miss you." He read this in his head in disbelief. So they were working together, all of John's attackers, they were working for his family? Why would his family miss him, if they were trying to kill him. They didn't sound like the best family. John knew going would be dangerous but he also had the feeling it meant answers. The dilemma now was figuring out where to go. Roland drove into an even smaller town. He pulled up to his house, it was small and made out of wood logs. They entered and it was a lot warmer than he would have expected. Roland built and installed everything in the house. There was a stove, bath, toilet, and fridge. There were only three rooms, they were: a kitchen,  one bedroom, and one bathroom, and thats all that was needed he only had his wife no kids though. John walked around and wanted to live like this after all this violence was over. He wanted the peaceful tree guardians, protecting him, the chilling breeze carrying away these memories of bloodshed. John felt healthy again, and wanted to track down his killers.
     "You look lost."
      "I am, I don't know where to go. I'm supposed to meet my family somewhere but I don't know where." Staring hard at the paper and rock searching for a hidden message.
     "You wouldn't by any chance know where this rock could be found?"
     "You know, if I'm not mistaken, that's tufa, it's found in these amazing towers on Mono lake in California. I remember going there once."
     "Well then that's where I'm going. Where is your nearest airport?"
    "A good three hours from here. We can go in the morning."
    "I have to go tonight. There are bad people after me and I wouldn't want them to ruin your town, its happened before."
    "You are still frozen."
    "I'm all better now. Do you have an extra car or something I could borrow."
    "Have you driven on frozen roads before?"
    "Yes."
    "There is an old pick up truck you can borrow, I want it back, so don't let those bad guys blow it up."
     "Thank you." John was out the door and on his way to the airport. He felt fear and exhilaration, excitement all building up in him he would finally know everything.

He got to the airport, and when he got off the plane he had to drive another two hours to get to Mono Lake. He arrived a little before sunset, and saw nothing. There were no buildings around, just lake. Even on the way there there were no suspicious looking, or larger buildings that could be a group hideout. He looked at the note again, and the rock, what was he missing. Then he saw the the little scratches in the rock made very discreet numbers no doubt an address. He jumped in the car again and drove up and down streets looking for a number to match the one on the rock. There was one building that stood out above the rest of them
     "4432." He read it aloud when he found it, "this is it."
      He got out of the car and climbed the stairs, his heart pounding with each step, his steps quickening, the knock on the door flourished and rapid, it made John jump, when he realized, he was the one knocking. A little peephole opened in the door.
     "What do you want?" John saw cameras around him zooming in on him. "Aw hey fellas Johnny boy has come  back to us! Come on in John we were worried you'd never come back." John entered to see a wide room filled with fine silks, exotic furs, and yet it still looked like a dump, it wasn't just the trash piles on the floor that made him think that it was the atmosphere in here. They were filthy humans in there expensive coats. He couldn't help but make a face at the characters he saw.
     "Just like old times, you never were completely satisfied with what you saw."
    "Maybe because what I saw was a bunch of slimy no good men, not even men- monsters."
    "Right then, we aren't allowed to kill you until you've gotten your welcome surprise. Right this way, "boss."
      John was lead up a flight of stairs then another, this floor had no lights on. Through the blindness of darkness he could only find the sound of his guide's shoes' heels clicking on the floor in front of him. He heard a door open, he tried to clear his mind and not let his heart drown out his brain's voice directing him, but he was prepared, fists made ready for anything, there was a red light that fled out of the room as the door was opened, could this have any reference to his flashes. His thoughts were interrupted by a man's voice.
    "How's my favorite little brother?"
Instead of pounding a hole in his brain, John's heart froze, along with the rest of his body. His brother? His brother was his murderer, his memory eraser? Why, why?
     "Well don't just stand there, come in for your welcome home present, everyone's here!" Who was everyone? Everyone he met on this, this trek had been murdered. His heart started pumping again, pushing him along, giving him the leg strength not to collapse with each beat, he walked into the room. The red lights made it impossible to see because of the contrast from the darkness of the hall. When his eyes got a chance to see, he saw standing there his brother and two other men. Pain surrounded him, flashes of light, just white light like cameras, going off right as one dimmed in the brightness of the next flash. His brain was swelling it felt as if it would spill out like an octopus, with the lobes flailing in all directions. Then pictures whizzing by to fast to see what they were. Like a role of film the flashes brought the images to life, flash backs of dark silhouettes. Coming to him, handing him something, money, gun fires. Then there was a flash back like the one long ago, of the two boys, with the yelling, it was their parents, one left the other went crazy and left too, but in a different way, the two boys were in shock from the images they saw and  words they heard. He could feel the pain, then another vision. The man was still handing John something. His brother's face again, gun shots, bodies, his brother's face, and his own face. They were in a fight, John was going on that rampage again, the one that everyone feared. Pitch black darkness, he couldn't see anything his eyes were paralyzed from this rage of flashes. He saw his brother standing above him, he was a tower, and was moving in unrealistic ways, his body was twisting and folding, getting bigger and smaller. His shape shifting pace quickened with less motion in between, then he was still. Smiling at John on the ground now trying to lift himself up but it was strenuous, his head still throbbing from the swelling, his whole body felt sick, and weak. His brother seemed to be enjoying this.
     "It pains me to see my baby brother in such pain, it really, really does, but you chose this when you chose to leave us. I gave you my warnings, but you betrayed the bond we made when mom and dad split, the bond that we would never part! You betrayed it! Ha, this was all your choice." John made it to his feet, with each breathe he was able to get out a word.
      "What bond? Who is he?" He almost yelled the last question, as he thrust out an arm at the man next to his brother.
      "Why this is your ol' pal Ricky, he's the one that tracked you down in Russia, you know the one that went on that crazy car chase, at the hotel.  We did everything together, you, him, and I, we were the bestest friends, probably why it was so easy to track you down, that and the tracking device we put in you.  As to your other question, the bond that brought us to this fine establishment that began our partnership in business as well as our tight brotherly bond.-"
     "You put a tracking device in me?"
     "Yes once you started figuring out that these memories you had weren't right, which was the train ride to Russia, we weren’t ready for you to find us, so just to keep track of you... but you understand you would have done the same thing or worse, back when you and I ran the place." John felt the panic attack coming again, the dream, what he thought was a dream was actually reality, the machine, it was all real. He fell to the wall for support.
    "Then the other dream was real too, the one with the Russian doctor, crying." He didn't realize he said that aloud until he heard the response.
    "She was crying was she, we can talk to her later, but yes that was real." John looked up and saw the menace looking at a corner, when John looked he saw in a dark corner of the room, a woman, chained, and passed out, hopefully passed out.
    "Who is she?"
    "WHAT? You don't remember HER?" He walked over to her. "Why she's your precious Irene, nothing could ever hurt Irene, you would have KILLED me if it meant she was safe. Of course you did try to kill me." And he grabbed her head squished her dehydrated cheeks. "Of course she would have done the same, that's why instead of doing her job and sending you to your death, she sent you to that town in Luxembourg, that no one even knows about. She was what got in between our brother bond, that is why we had to erase your memory." He walked back over to John. "You see after you went blind with love for her, you suddenly got the idea that this group, you created, that we were, hurting people not helping them. You thought we cheated you out of something. Then when I tried to knock some sense into you, you freaked out and started shooting everyone, one bullet ricocheted and got itself lodged in your arm, you wanted more power, the power to bring us all down. Any of this ringing a bell?"
   John was staring at his arm, "what did you cheat me out of, what "business" did I create?"
   "Aw yes, we were assassins, dealers, that kind of stuff. We dealt with drugs, animal skins, weapons that no other country had yet. We'd kill a whole group if they were a threat to us. You were the one that lead most of these dealings, you had a special gift for that. When your dutchess came along, and saw one of the murders while coming home from work one day, you refused to have her killed,and you kept her here. We were worried you were going soft, so we started doing the dirtiest deeds without you. Turns out you did go soft, and said that this whole business should be shut down. So there it is. I wanted a clean start with you, and had one of the techies create a memory swiper, and replacer. When it was over the techy said that there was a malfunction, that you would still be angry at me, but the company still needed you, that was the town set up, the people played their parts a little too well. But when you left, that wasn't part of our plan and we got curious as to what was happening. That's why we kept the little lady too, she was a great servant after we found her looking for you at the train station, trying to give away our secret plans. She was great at all the surgeries, like the tracking chip implantation. Then the techy said that you would be even more dangerous, that you already knew too much that's when we tried to kill you. But you see I still love you. Why don't you rejoin what you started?"

John could feel the rage pulsing through his veins, the site of this starved woman, the site of his petty brother, and all the sick minded beasts that worked with him. John sprung up from the wall yelling and swung a punch right at his brother face. He wasn't expecting anything so powerful, and got the boulder of a punch right in the jaw. Instantly John saw the man on the floor his jaw dangling and, bleeding, he heard a chuckle and the man collapsed onto his chest as his limbs gave up on him. John heard a click right next to his head.
     "He'll be fine Johnny, he's just knocked out, he's going to need stitches all right, but he'll be up soon. No, the person I'm worried about is you. We were good friends and we stuck together, that's why I'm hoping you'll stick with us this time too, or else I'm gonna have to kill you." John was staring at Irene in the corner, he wanted to save her from this wretched place, to give a good life, the life he felt she would have gotten had it not been for him. Just looking at her gave him the a spritz of yellow fire going through his eyes, even though he didn't remember anything else about her.
     His hands quicker than the wheels of a race car, turning around Rickie's gun, punching, grasping the gun, retargeting, kicking. His old training came back to him, he felt unstoppable, from all the commotion, more of the massive murderers came, John was taking them out one by one, kicking, shooting, dodging powerful blows. They were down, on the floor, moaning, bleeding. John looked at his hands in astonishment at the power they bestowed, he looked at the bodies again and counted five heads, but could have sworn that seven people came in. A man in the corner cleared his throat, John looked over to find the two that got away.
     "It truly is a shame that Miss Irene is going to have to pay the price of your decision. See if you had said yes, she could have been your humble servant, and worked for you, but since you've either killed or nearly killed all your workers, were gonna have to kill you, and her, sorta like, you break it you you pay for it." John aimed the gun and shot the men, he hit one, but the other shot his hand and arm, instantly pain pulsated from the torn skin, and he instantly dropped the gun. Scalding pain filled his body.
    "I could have killed you but I didn't want you to miss the best part." The giant human mass lifted his gun to Irene's head.
     “I’m sorry John!” Irene screamed, as she looked at him, with sorrow, happiness that he knew who she was, fear of what was happening, and faith that he would save them both. John desperately reached for the gun with his other hand, pulled the trigger, there was a loud burst of gun explosions. He looked to see, his target on the ground, and Irene's head hanging. Just one second. That's all it took. That’s all the time he would have needed. The pain in his arm was masked by a new pain. He knew what had happened, he didn't want to see the pain streaked on her face, didn't want to hold her weak, limp body. he just wanted to know that this was over.
      He walked down the stairs and saw a phone, he dialed 911, and saw a driver's license next to it, "Joe Macinroy," another mystery solved. He put down the phone and left. He got in the car to shocked for emotions or thoughts. He started the engine and drove away. He heard some sirens in the distance, and when he got to the lake again, it looked more empty, not even the birds found the sky interesting,  he got in the car and went to sleep.  John woke the next morning with a dim light in his eyes. His watch read 7:35:42 am.