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He realized he had been staring at a light for several minutes before it registered. The light was from a single lamp, he thought on the side of a building. It hardly cast enough illumination for him to see anything; it was partially blocked by whatever he was lying in. Slowly his senses started to return, sight first. Hearing was next. There was a buzzing in both ears, but somewhere in the distance he heard a horn honk. The next sense to return was taste. He had a copper taste in his mouth. He thought maybe it was the taste of blood. Next was feeling. His head felt like it was going to explode and he raised a hand to touch his forehead. He was lying on his back. He felt a lump and a lot of pain. His depth perception was off and his fingers hit the lump on his forehead. He blinked his eyes back into focus and thought his hand had blood on it from where he had touched the wound above his right eye. There was something wet and sticky on his fingers. A cough erupted from his chest and he moaned. Pain suddenly seemed everywhere. Then came smell. He could finally smell and he didn't like what assaulted his nose, the smell of rotting garbage. The pain in his body dulled to an ache, his head still pounded, and the smell was horrific.
His next realization was that he was in a garbage dumpster, looking up at a two storied building and suddenly two men were looking over the edge of the roof. He could see a gun in one of the hands. He froze.
"I told you he fell from here…"
They were about ten feet down the wall from him, opposite the light. He could just see their silhouettes against the night sky, and the gun, and light glinted off it as it the man holding it pointed it down.
"Well then he must have flown off because I don't see a body..."
He had stopped breathing, afraid he'd make a noise.
"Well I know I put a bullet in him…There is a pile of trash over there…"
If they shot into the trash dumpster he was dead for sure.
"Well let's go down and look for him…"
He saw the two men disappear back over the edge of the roof and he realized they had not seen him lying in the big dumpster in the dark …Whoever they were. But the one man had said he had shot him. He sucked in a slow silent breath.
His mind began screaming at him to move, get up, get out of the dumpster and he tried to roll sideways but the pain that shot through his head would not let him. Even on his back his world spun. With an instinct for survival he took his hands and heaped trash over his body and burying himself deeper.
He heard voices, heard them walk by the dumpster.
"I don't think you shot him…"
"I told you, I hit him…"
"Well it looks like he landed and took off; because I don't think he flew away…"
He felt a flash of fear as he felt the dumpster being looked in…
"Oh god, what in the hell is that smell…" A voice spoke above where he lay.
"Hey…over here…these here boxes look like someone landed on them…its your trash pile."
He heard the guy that had been leaning over the dumpster drop back to the ground and footsteps moving away. He lay still, breathing in the rotten smell for a slow count to a hundred. There were no more sounds. With great care he started to extract himself from the garbage and the dumpster. His head pounded and there was a pain in his lower right back that he hadn't felt until he started to move.
It took him a couple tries but he got himself upright and hanging onto edge of the dumpster. He carefully peered over the top of it and saw no one in the alley. He took a moment to assess himself. His hands worked their way over his body. First his head, yes it definitely was blood. He had a large cut across the right side of his forehead. He realized he was dressed in a suit jacket and dress pants. He thought the shirt he wore was maybe dark blue or black, no tie. His right hand went to his back and his fingers closed over a gun. Pulling it out of its holster he looked at it in the dimness of the streetlight. It was an automatic.
He slid the gun back home into its holster, feeling momentary pain as the gun went back into place. He felt around his pockets, and from the left pocket he pulled out a folded wallet. Opening it, he tried to make out the name on it…or the picture…in the dimness he couldn't. He folded it and put it back inside his jacket. Searching the right side he felt his hand fold around something odd shaped and a little heavy. Pulling it out, it was a badge. He stared at it for a couple seconds and then put it back in jacket pocket. Reaching into the inside right pocket of the jacket he pulled out another wallet. Opening it he could see by just the length of the name, it was different but he thought the picture looked the same as the other one…but in this light it was hard to tell. Besides, he had a feeling his vision was a little off. He replaced that wallet back where he had found it.
He looked around the alley. He didn't know where he was or even who he was…his head hurt and his forehead needed some kind of attention. He had two ID's, a gun and a badge…The badge was the one thing that had felt wrong…Why…?
Moving carefully he crawled all the way out of the dumpster, hanging on to the side for a long moment. The world beneath his feet rocked and rolled. He felt bile rush into his mouth and he threw up. He staggered to the side of the dumpster automatically seeking cover. Twice more he threw up, and it made the pain in his head almost unbearable.
It took him several moments to get things back in focus and get control of his stomach. He wiped his mouth against his sleeve, instantly regretting it as something slimed across his lips and chin. He wiped his face with his hand, removing the offending feeling and concentrated on his breathing, stopping the heaves from continuing. "Fu...k" his voice gagged on the word…his stomach wanted to revolt again.
Finally getting himself under some kind of semblance, he went in the opposite direction from where the voices had gone. He brushed garbage off his clothing and tried to straighten himself up. He hesitated at the corner of the alley and the street. The street was deserted. He stepped into the shadows at the corner and waited, surveying what he saw. It looked like a quiet street. Looking about a block to his left he could see traffic traveling in both directions on the cross street. Glancing in the other direction it was a couple blocks before he saw traffic there and it all seemed to be going one direction. It felt late night or early morning to him. The street that the alley exited onto was lined with what looked like apartments and then he saw something that caught his eye. It was a cross. There was a church to his right, on the same side of the street.
The word Sanctuary popped into his throbbing mind…
Moving out onto the sidewalk, he headed in the direction of the cross, realizing that it was lit up, a bluish color…He wanted to put his hands inside his coat pockets but between the throbbing in his head and his fuzzy vision he decided to keep his arms available for balance. He stumbled once, not seeing the uneven surface of the sidewalk, and was glad he had his hands free as he fell against a rough bricked wall. The throbbing in his head made it hard to think and hard to focus his eyes. He swallowed, his stomach wanting to revolt again. He took several deep breaths, working through the pain and the nausea.
Moving to the edge of the last building he looked at the side of the church. He saw that it was set alone on the street, not connected like the rest of the buildings were. There was a small well trimmed lawn area and it looked like it went around toward the back of the lot where there was a low structure with windows.
There was a light inside the church. He went to the window, and peered inside he saw that it was from another glowing cross. He saw no movement, and the pews were empty. He tested the window and felt that it would be hard to get into. Moving further back toward the long section of the L he saw where there were three steps leading down to a door going into the church. It was in the corner of the church and the building that L'd off of it. He stepped down to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. Without thinking his right hand instantly went to the upper inside jacket pocket and he pulled out a very slim black case about a long as his palm.
He looked at it quizzically. Taking his left hand he unzipped the little case and saw a thin flat metal tool, round on the end with a little wavy curve and a handle encased in what felt like a red rubber sleeve. The other small device was a flat piece of metal about an 1/8 wide that looked maybe three inches long. The medal was twisted making it into a L shape.
His mind told him they were picks…it was lock picking equipment. He let his hands move freely and in seconds, the door knob turned in his hand. He didn't hear any alarms go off so he quickly put the tools back in the little case, zipped it up and put the case back into his inside jacket pocket.
He moved into the little hallway and shut the door. There were small hall lights on the floor and he saw a back lit sign that said restrooms. He walked down toward them. He found the men's room and went in. Finding the light switch, he flipped it on and stood staring at his reflection in the mirror.
There was a tall man, green eyes, with what looked like spaghetti hanging off his head and the sauce running from his right temple. He stepped up close and saw that it was blood mixed with the sauce.
Just over his right eye brow was a large gash about four inches long and the whole area was swelling. He hadn't noticed it in the dark but now that he was in the light, he found he had having difficulty seeing out of the right eye. His clothing was spotted with all kinds of strange things. There was more spaghetti on his right shoulder, along with some kind of lettuce leaves clinging to his lapel. It looked like smeared chocolate cake, a least he hoped it was cake, across his left pants leg.
He stepped closer to the sink area and started peeling spaghetti, lettuce and, yes, it was cake, from his head and clothing. Using paper towels he carefully washed his hands and face, taking extra care around the wound, it was still bleeding. He got his face and neck clean. He noticed when the heater kicked on that in front of the vent there were cobwebs. He walked over to the vent, reached up, and captured the cobweb with the corner of a dry rolled paper towel; he walked back to the sink.
Leaning in toward the mirror he carefully layered the cobweb back and forth across the wound until all the cobweb was stuck to the wound. It quit bleeding. He looked at himself in the mirror.
How did he know to do that…?
He continued cleaning himself up. But the aroma from the garbage dumpster was still with him. Taking the jacket off, he laid it across the top of a stall and pulled his shirt out.
He pulled the holster and gun off, setting it in front of him on the sink. He raised the back of the shirt, and lifting the right side of the shirt out of his waistband he looked at the spot where the gun had been sitting against his back. There was a black and blue bruise about twice the size of the holster. That's what had been causing him the pain in his back. There was nothing he could do about it right now, there was no ice.
He took a couple more towels and soap and washed the spots on his trouser legs to clean them. Then he took and did the same to the jacket, laying it on the little counter top around the sink as he scrubbed and rinsed it several times.
The whole time the pounding in his head kept rhythm with his movements. Finally when he thought at least most of the stains were gone, as were the paper towels, he stopped cleaning.
He took a minute and looked at the wallets and the badge. He pulled the first one out, John Rooney said the drivers license with his picture…The other one said John Hays with his picture. Both drivers' license were issued from State of New York. Then he looked at the badge, a New York City Police Department badge…He set them all down on the counter, the wallets open and the badge in between them…
"Who the hell am I…?" He leaned his hands against the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He studied his eyes, his face, and the best he could figure was that his first name was probably John…He looked back at the wallets. "John, that's a start." He looked back at himself in the mirror. "John…Nice to meet you…John…" He rolled that around his tongue a couple times.
John decided he needed to go sit someplace quiet for a while. He cleaned up around the counter, stuffing all the paper towels he had used in the trash. Wiping the sink clean, he picked his wallets up and went to put them back in the jacket. The edge of the jacket thumped against the counter…There was something down in the corner of the jacket. He set the wallets back down next to the gun and badge. It took him a couple minutes but he found that one of the inside jacket pockets had a hole in it and as he worked the small compact lump up toward the hole he discovered a cell phone. It was very slim, ultra light and he figured it was expensive. He set the jacket back over the sink counter. The phone had been turned off. Finding the button he turned it on. It immediately rang.
A little startled he answered it. "Hello?" His voice was soft and unsure.
"Where have you been Mr. Reese? I have been calling you for hours." The voice was angry.
Great, either another last name or he had someone else's phone. "Ahh..I don't know?"
He heard hesitation on the other end of the phone.
"Mr. Reese are you alright?" The voice now sounded concerned.
John blinked at himself in the mirror, he wondered it he always looked that pale. He tried to form a question that would make everything clear. "What's my first name?"
"Excuse me?" Now the voice was now confused and sounded frightened.
"What's my first name?" He looked at the ID's he had set back on the counter and the badge. He heard an indrawn breath on the other end of the phone.
"You are currently going by John Reese. It is the name you like the most…but you have other names…" The concern was back in the voice. "John… are you alright?"
"And who are you?" John knew his name, now he wanted who he was talking to. He heard that indrawn breath again and a distant 'oh my'
"I am Mr. Finch and I want you to stay right where you are…I am coming to get you-."
"How are you going to find me…I don't even know where I am…?" He looked around the small restroom.
"Mr. Reese, I know where you are, and I am coming to get you…Stay there, do not move…I will be there in under twenty minutes…Ok…" Mr. Finch's voice had gone back to panic. "We can remain on the phone if you'd like… Are you injured?"
John looked at himself in the mirror again…He decided he needed to sit down somewhere. He walked into one of the stalls and sat down.
"John…are you injured?" The voice was now sounding breathless, hurried.
"Ah…My head…I have a cut over my right eye…" He felt his back throb…"Oh…and I think I fell on my gun."
"Fell on your gun?" The panic was back in the voice.
"Yes…I think so…I have a bruise on my back…where my gun was clipped…" He felt his world spinning… "Why do I have a badge…?"
"It's complicated John. Just stay there…Don't move…I am at the car and on my way…"
John felt himself lean back, felt the pain in his head explode. He thought he said something before the phone slipped from his ear… "That's alright Finch…I don't think I am going anywhere…" And he slumped down in the stall, braced against the cool metal of the divider…
