Poker Face
The first thing he noticed after realizing he was staring at nothing, completely oblivious to the world, was that his ears were ringing. Nick could hear nothing, even when his eyes had finally focused back onto reality. He paused mid-step in the street, eyes taking in the throngs of people, moving to and fro. Everyone was oblivious to the man standing in the middle of the street, left hand shielding his eyes as he overlooked the urban landscape.
The sun was overhead, and the heat was already radiating from the asphalt and concrete of the city. Even in his loose button up shirt, Nick could feel sweat soaking in the fabric as if he wasn't used to the heat of the day. He looked up to the sky, noticing the cloudless sky and the impossible shade of blue. The sun had not yet peaked over the surrounding buildings, meaning that it must have been morning.
As Nick grew more aware of his surroundings, his feet started moving without his command. He still wasn't able to hear, the ringing nothing more than a constant buzz that clouded his thoughts and judgment. He felt drunk as he stepped forward, feeling as if there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. Nick stumbled onwards, towards the side of the street, reaching for something to steady himself.
He accidently grabbed a shoulder, and a young blonde woman turned around to glare at him. She wore earbuds, a clear cup of coffee in her hands as she spoke to him, and her tone was definitely scornful. Nick couldn't hear her, the buzzing in his ears had left him practically deaf.
He quickly shoved her off and continued on his way, his pace quickening. The intense feeling that he had to be somewhere pushed him through the crowds. He barely registered the fact that others were around him, except for when they were in his way. Nick wouldn't look at their faces. There was an inkling in the back of his head that sent nervous chills down his spine. It was telling him that something was wrong with their faces; that something should be something wrong with their faces.
But as he passed by an elderly man, Nick could clearly see that nothing was wrong with him at all. But his stomach still churned when he made eye contact with the man. The man smiled at Nick, and he couldn't help but avert his eyes as guilt and a sense of complete nausea washed over him. As he passed the man, Nick flinched when their shoulders touched and he instantly left the busy sidewalk for the emptiness of the road.
Something was wrong. He couldn't remember why, but something was wrong.
His hearing returned soon enough to hear the roaring horn of a vehicle. Nick turned to see a truck rushing towards him, the grill of the vehicle eye level. The bright headlights blinded Nick, but his instincts kicked just as his heart threatened to shoot out of his chest. Nick leapt for the sidewalk, doing a small roll as he landed on his side. The truck whizzed by him, the loud roar of the horn lessening into a dull reminder that Nick could have very well met his demise right then and there.
It was only when Nick stood up that he realized that he had reached for his side, hand searching empty air for a firearm. He stared at his hand as if it was insulting him; he couldn't legally carry a gun around with him in public. And even if he decided to, it would have been concealed within a coat or a jacket, not strapped onto his leg where everyone could spot it.
Slowly Nick lowered his right hand and turned around, only to find that he had gained an audience during his near death experience.
"Sir, are you okay?"
It was a woman, dressed in a T-shirt with a band logo proudly displayed on her chest and worn in jeans that would have definitely been comfortable in the hot, humid weather. She was holding a small child's hand tightly, and Nick instantly knew she was a mother. The woman picked up her child and then hugged it protectively as she took a step towards Nick. And for reasons he wasn't sure of, Nick slowly took a step backwards.
"Are you alright, Mister?" The woman asked again. This time her voice was louder, the woman believing that Nick hadn't heard her. "Should I call 911?"
It took Nick a minute to find his voice.
"N—no, I'm fine. I'm . . . okay." Nick said as he stepped back onto the safety of the sidewalk, his legs feeling like rubber as he did so. The woman gave Nick a doubting look, which aggravated Nick and made him more frustrated than confused. "No really. I'm just . . . peachy."
The mother still looked unconvinced, but with a sigh and a shake of her head, she left Nick to continue on with his day. The other bystanders seemed to take that as a cue to leave as well, and Nick was grateful. He didn't want any more eyes on him until he figured what the hell was wrong with him. So that left him alone to wonder what the hell was wrong with him.
He stumbled around the streets for a few more minutes before finding a small diner. The place was practically empty and it was silently peaceful compared to the deafening city on the other side of its windows. Nick found an empty booth and fell into it without giving the diner's sole waitress a single glance. He propped his elbows on top of the booth's cold counter and rubbed his tired face, enjoying the relief he felt as he did so.
Why did he feel like he just woke up from a horrible hangover?
He didn't know how long he sat there before the waitress finally took interest in him. One moment, Nick was alone, trying to collect his thoughts and calm his panicked, restless body. The next, a menu had been slapped in front of him, startling him to look up at the waitress. The woman was chewing gum, and she already had her small notepad out to take his order.
"What'll it be, sweetie?" The woman asked in a heavy southern accent and with a smile at the edge of her lips.
"Uh, coffee. Coffee right now." Nick stammered after staring at the waitress in a dazed state for a few seconds. Quickly, he added, "And a newspaper."
The waitress nodded before leaving Nick alone to his own business. Nick was fine with that, because he had to figure out what was happening to him.
All that he knew was that he couldn't remember what he was doing here, or wherehere was. What had happened to him? There seemed to be a block in his memory. Fortunately, Nick could remember some things, like his name and his unusual and illegal choice of profession. He could faintly remember his childhood and siblings, but most of it was just names and dates that he ought to remember. Everything else was a blank to him.
What Nick couldn't remember was why he was here, clearly in the south. As the waitress returned with the daily newspaper, Nick finally learned he was in the heart of Georgia: Atlanta. The date was listed as June 16th, and Nick couldn't believe that. That didn't look or feel right to him. For some reason Nick felt that it should have been later in the year than June. Nick skimmed through the local newspaper, reading events that he could care less about. What he was looking for were more dates or words that would jog his memory, and he was displeased with his results.
With an angry huff of breath, Nick shoved the offending newspaper aside. The waitress returned a few minutes later, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.
"Thanks, sweetheart." Nick said before he realized what he was doing. Damn, he was back to swindling even before he could collect himself. The woman smiled at him before winking, clearly accepting the man's small flirtation. Nick smiled back, only to keep the con going; maybe he could get a free breakfast while he was at it. "Eggs over easy and a piece of rye toast."
"Coming right up."
It took a few minutes for his food to be prepared. Nick wasn't impatient during his wait; his mind was too focused on other things. Even the soft rock music that the diner's radio played in the background didn't bother him as much as it should have. Nick barely registered the words as he slowly patted himself down, feeling for any of his belongings he kept on his person.
He found his phone, his wallet, and a large wad of 100 dollar bills held together by a single rubber band. Nick knew better and kept the bills in his pants pocket, where no one would be able to see the exact amount he had on him. Nick went through his wallet, finding receipts for gas and restaurant bills. There was his driver's license for Massachusetts and four different credit cards, two under a false name he knew he occasionally used, and one of them not belonging to him. Nick frowned and set his wallet aside to look at his phone.
He flipped the phone open to find that he had missed a few calls. The waitress came back then and Nick silently thanked her while he listened to the voicemails he had received. He took his fork in one hand and pressed the cell phone to his ear with the other.
"Nick, the meeting's been cancelled. Something's come up and Andre won't be able to make it. I'll call you back when we can meet next, but it won't be in Atlanta, that's for sure. It might be a smart idea to lay low for a while until then. And next time, pick up your god damn phone."
The message ended with that. Nick stared at his small phone before registering that it was one of his fellow gang members. Yes, that was right; he had a meeting with Hell's Legion soon. He was a member of a gang, and a high ranking one at that. That was why he had been holed up in Atlanta, a bug infested cesspit of a city, instead of Boston.
Well, apparently he didn't have to waste his time here any longer than he needed to.
Nick went to the next message.
"Hey there little bro, this is your sister Sarah. I'm calling to remind you that David's birthday is coming up in a couple weeks, and we'd be really happy if you decided to turn up this year. He really loves his uncle, and he was really disappointed last year when you didn't make it last year. And the year before. And last Christmas."
Nick heard his older sister sigh. She sounded tired.
"Look, I'm trying to offer an olive branch here. We've all said and done things that we all regret. Mom misses you, bro. Everyone misses you, and we forgive you. Hell, half of us just hope that you're actually alive and haven't been dead in the ditch for the past four years. Just . . . just give me a call when you can."
His sister had ended the call then. Nick looked back at the timestamp of the call. That had been well over two months ago. He had left that message unattended for two months, completely ignoring his sister. Nick listened to the message again, hoping that the call would jog at least some part of his still foggy memory. Nothing came back, save for the fact that Sarah was his sister, and that something happened to cause a rift between him and his family.
Nick decided not to delete the message; he wanted to save it for later, just in case he wanted to call her or something. The last message had come from someone that Nick couldn't remember, and after hearing the message he decided that he didn't want to remember. It sounded like it was some man that he had swindled a couple hundred dollars out of, and he had somehow found his phone number.
With a frustrated noise escaping him, Nick shut his phone off and pushed his empty plate away from him. He turned his attention to his cooling cup of coffee and sipped it angrily. He spent a few more minutes there, listening to a vaguely familiar song and hunched over like a grumpy old man nursing an alcoholic beverage.
It was only when Nick found himself humming along to the tune did he realize was more than familiar with it. He paused and listened to the lyrics, wondering where the hell he had heard the tune before.
Save me some sugar,
This won't take long.
Don't give it too much,
I won't be there when you fall.
Save me some sugar—
"I had no idea you liked the Midnight Riders." A voice brought Nick out of his stupor. Nick looked up to see that it was his waitress. She was smiling at him before crossing her arms. Biting her lower lip, the waitress sat down across from Nick, as if wanting to start a conversation with him. Nick looked at the woman incredulously before realizing that he still could get something out of her. "They're one of my favorite bands."
"I've heard a couple of their songs. A good friend of mine introduced me to them." Nick lied, the words coming out easier than they should have been. He didn't doubt the words, knowing that if he didn't sound confident, the waitress would see through him. Nick let out a small breath, pausing the conversation as he thought quickly. "This one is a favorite of mine."
"Mine too . . . it's a great slow dance song." The waitress said with a small, but very suggestive wink.
Whoa.
That was a bit too much. Nick just wanted a free brunch. Not a date. Nick coughed before he recollected himself. The waitress looked slightly concerned, and perhaps a bit offended, but Nick motioned for her to sit down and smiled at her. Shit, he'd have to place this careful if he still wanted to pull this off.
"Sorry about that, I was sick last weekend." Nick said, feeling tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He hadn't coughed that hard in a long while. He patted his chest with a balled up hand, hoping that she would believe him. "Yeah, the Midnight Riders. I heard there was a concert coming up in a couple months."
Where had that come from? He didn't know that.
The waitress grinned at Nick, practically struggling to sit still in the booth. She propped her elbows onto the table and leaned forward, giving Nick a good angle of her face. Nick just stared at her forehead, hoping that the woman would believe they were sharing eye contact.
"The one at Whispering Oaks? That concert's been sold out for half a year!" The waitress said. "I tried to get tickets the night they went on sale. Can you believe that it was sold out in five seconds flat?!"
"I didn't hear that." Nick said, a frown on his face.
He leaned back and scratched at his stubble before frowning in surprise. Stubble? When was the last time he had shaved? He scratched again, and Nick could feel the stubble beginnings of a beard he should have shaved days ago. He shrugged it off for the moment, knowing that this metaphorical game he was playing with the waitress was just beginning to tip in his favor.
"But . . . I do have a couple friends that owe me a favor or two. I might be able to get a few tickets. You know, if you'd like to go with me."
Nick could practically hear this woman congratulate her on a great catch of a man. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement and happiness, and if Nick hadn't been used to conning suckers, he would have pitied the poor woman. But he was used to the look of complete trust, and he was even more used betraying it.
"Would I?!" The Waitress said, her southern accent full of excitement. "Why, that would be the nicest thing any has ever done for me."
"It's a date, then." Nick said, a fake smile plastered on his face. He reached for his pants pocket, looking for a piece of paper or a pen. "Here let me write down my number, if I can find something to write on . . ."
As if on cue, a pen and a napkin materialized in front of Nick. Nick glanced up and saw that the pen had come from the waitress, and she waited patiently for him to give her his number. Nick let out a silent sigh and quickly jotted down a string of numbers from the top of his head. He set the pen down and pushed the napkin forward, winking at the waitress when their eyes met.
"The name's Eric Harding, sweetheart. What's yours?"
"Andrea. Andrea Brown." She answered quickly. She quickly ripped half of the napkin off and wrote down her own number before handing it to Nick. "I must say, it's really nice to meet you, Eric."
"Same to you, sweetheart. I'll keep this in reach and call you tonight." Nick said as he pocketed the ripped up napkin. In truth, he'd toss the paper as soon as he turned the corner. "Now let me pay for my . . . ah, shit. I must have left my wallet at home."
"Oh, that's okay. Consider it on the house." The waitress said with a carefree wave of her hand. The woman let out a small sigh before she continued. "That is, if you're more than willing to take me out sometime for dinner."
"I can do that. Hell, let's do it tomorrow." Nick said with a grin, standing up from his seat. "Thanks for the help, Andrea. I owe you one."
"You sure do, Eric."
Nick let out a small chuckle before exiting the diner. As he passed by the window, he spotted the waitress and winked at her. At least he had been able swindle a free meal out of her, even if he had to break that girl's heart. But that was the least of his concern, because it was just then that Nick realized that he had no idea where he was staying for the night.
"Ah shit." Nick muttered as he went down the street, looking for anything that was familiar.
Nick had spent two weeks trying to figure out his life again. He spent those weeks stumbling around Atlanta, trying to figure out exactly why he was here and why it felt so wrong to be. Nick still felt like he was forgetting something really important as his days went by, the unease that had made its home in the back of his head never really left since that day he had almost been run over. But he learned to ignore it as his life went back to normal. Well, at least as normal as it always had been for a conman.
He spent most of his days in underground gambling dens, earning his stake to continue living there. He spent his nights in bars, enjoying the taste of alcohol on his lips as if he hadn't had any in months. Nick wasn't an alcoholic by any means, but he certainly felt like it when he had taken that first sip of cheap beer. For a brief second, he thought something was wrong with him, but soon forgot about then when he spotted a fairly beautiful woman. He left his half empty beer bottle unattended to make casual conversation with her.
And Nick didn't complain when that led to casual sex afterwards.
However, his sleep was plagued with nightmares that left him gasping when he woke up. Nick would wake to find his whole body shaking from fear and his mind set on "Fight or Flight" mode. Sometimes he would be crying. The dreams would escape him as soon as his eyes opened, and Nick would be left wondering what had terrified him so much.
Nick was forced to walk around his small hotel room to calm himself, unsure if his jittery legs could support him. It became a habit for Nick to walk to the bathroom, splash his face with cold water, and stare at his face in the mirror. Each night he could see the bags under his eyes grow larger and darker in color.
He soon considered Coffee his new best friend.
And so that was his lifestyle in Atlanta.
The call from his gang, Hell's Legion, never came. He started to doubt if they would ever call back, but decided to stay in Atlanta until then. It wouldn't help Nick if he left the state for Las Vegas, one of the destinations he remembered he had planned, only to head back to Georgia. But as June turned into July, Nick grew bored of Atlanta and turned his attention to Savannah.
Gambling was risky in Atlanta. Savannah was completely different; they had casino boats that would take people out into international waters, where Nick would be able to use his skills freely and without fear of arrest. And Nick grew tired of the stale, southern humidity that Atlanta was well known for. He yearned for any kind of breeze, and he knew from experience that the ocean would grant him this wish. Plus, the bugs weren't as intense.
So on the 3rd of July, Nick packed his bags and left the hotel that had been his home for two weeks. Nick rented a car and drove the few hours it took to get to Savannah and quickly took up residence in a hotel that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The room was small and expensive, but he had more than enough money on hand to rent out the place for at least a month. And if he was able to win big in the casinos, then he could last for a lot longer.
Savannah was different than Atlanta. It was slower despite the city being more attractive to tourists such as himself. Perhaps it was the intense summer heat that was beating down on the city; it seemed to make everyone slower and less likely to go outside. Nick couldn't blame them. When the temperature had risen over the 100o mark, he wasn't stupid enough to leave his dark, air conditioned hotel room.
But on the days that it was slightly cooler out, Nick decided to endure the heat and explored the city, enjoying it much more than he should have. Something felt right about the city, and Nick was glad he made the decision to travel there. The small feeling in the back of his head felt satisfied, and the lack of unease, that something was wrong, was a huge relief.
It was on his fourth night in Savannah that everything came back to him.
Nick was having one of his nightmares, as per usual. The only difference was that he could remember the dream after he woke up. He could remember everything about it.
The ground underneath him shook with an intensity that threw him off balance. Nick screamed a wordless plea for help, one hand reaching towards the backs of his companions. His other hand was holding machete with enough force that it locked his fingers around the hilt. It was covered in blood and guts, and his white jacket was stained in red below his elbows.
His leg felt like it was on fire, and Nick turned just in time to see a person with glowing yellow eyes and rotting flesh clawing at his foot. Blood escaped from the gashes they made. Nick screamed in pain and quickly swiped at the infected with his machete. It lost an arm, hollered at him, and then continued clawing at nick.
"Help, I'm down!"
"Oh, shit! I'm coming Nick!" A southern voice answered.
One of the retreating figures turned around as he spoke, and he had a look of complete fear on his face. It was Ellis. The mechanic raised his shotgun and shot the infected off of Nick's back, and the thing fell to the ground, dead. Nick looked at Ellis, silently thanking him as the kid ran to his side. Swinging Nick's free hand around his shoulder, Ellis managed to pick the large man up while Nick protected him from an oncoming swarm.
"We already lost Coach, I sure as hell ain't leaving you behind!" Ellis grunted as he started to carry Nick towards the other end of the bridge. Ellis dragged Nick a little further ahead and then they reached a small truck, where an assault rifle had been left behind by the military. Nick felt onto the truck and grabbed ahold of it for support. "We need to leave now, can you walk?"
Nick nodded and tested the weight on his bad leg. "It hurts and I'll be limping, but I'll manage. I owe you one, Overalls."
"That's what friends are for, Nick."
Nick nodded again and grabbed the abandoned gun. He slapped the safety off and turned to stop the infected from gaining any more ground on them. Ellis let out a small groan and joined in the fire. The two soon turned and ran, hoping to catch the last member of their small group. Ellis stayed with Nick at his slower than usual pace, and Nick tried his hardest to ignore the pain shooting up his leg.
They had almost caught up with Rochelle when they felt the ground shake again. Nick reached for Ellis to steady him, which the kid allowed. They heard a blood curdling scream followed by a car alarm going off. Another scream joined the other, but this one sounded furious, and much more dangerous.
"Shit, Rochelle's got a Tank on her ass!" Ellis yelled.
The mechanic charged ahead, at a much faster pace than Nick could ever achieve. Nick yelled at the kid to slow down, but Ellis hadn't heard him. Ellis disappeared from sight as he ran towards the scaffolding, gun ready to fire. Within seconds there was gunfire from ahead and Nick cursed at himself. Rochelle and Ellis wouldn't be able to take that monster down alone.
When Nick finally caught up, the brute was ablaze. Nick could feel the heat from the flames where he stood, but didn't stop to stare at it. Nick readied his assault rifle and fired at the Tank, knowing that the beast was growing angrier the longer it was on fire. It was currently charging at Ellis, who Nick noticed was short one Molotov Cocktail. Ellis was trying to flee, but the abandoned cars were proving to be too much of an obstacle for him.
The Tank let out on loud roar before it brought both monstrous fists down onto the bridge. The entire structure shook with the force, and several cars went flying. One landed on another, setting off an alarm. Another tipped over the side of the bridge, and then fell into the river below. However, Nick's attention was focused on the car spiraling towards the other survivors. He watched in horror as the car unceremoniously tumbled onto Ellis. The hick screamed in pain from being crushed, and the gunfire stopped.
"Ellis! No!" That was Rochelle's voice.
Nick flew into action then. He yelled in anger at the Tank, not caring if his voice was alerting the other infected to his location. He just wanted that beast dead. He gained newfound energy and adrenaline and fired at the Tank, not taking his finger off of the trigger until the thing fell to its knees. As it fell to the ground, Nick threw the gun away and ran towards Ellis.
The kid was there, the overturned car crushing his left leg. He was crying from the sheer pain the thing was causing him, and Nick felt his heart drop. There was absolutely no way he would be able to lift the thing off of Ellis, even with Ro's help. Still, Nick fell to his knees and reached out for Ellis.
"Oh, shit. Oh shit!" Nick panicked, looking over Ellis' prone form.
"I don't feel so good. . ." Ellis muttered, lying on his back and staring up at Ro and Nick's faces. His eyes were dazed, and Nick was sure that his vision wasn't clear. He gulped and chewed on his lip, speaking slower and with a lot less energy. "I don't . . . I don't think I can make it, guys."
Nick wouldn't believe it. "No, just like you said. We're not leaving another behind!"
There was a hand on his shoulder and Nick looked up. Rochelle was beside him, tears running down her face. Her lip quivered as she shook her head.
"We can't, Nick. We can't." She said, her voice struggling to stay confident.
"Screw this!"
He would have remained there, trying to help Ellis get out from under that car if it wasn't for the butt of a gun hitting him in the side of his face. Nick held his stinging cheek as he looked up at Rochelle accusingly. She looked absolutely furious at him, but he could see the guilt all over her face. Her grip tightened on her submachine gun before it rested against her side.
"There's nothing we can do, Nick! We've got to leave him behind, or else we'll die too!" Rochelle yelled at him. She was well aware of the waves of infected rushing towards them. Her grip tightened on his shoulder and she futilely attempted to bring him up off of his knees as she fired at the surging crowd. "I don't want to either, but we need to think about ourselves!"
"We're not leaving him behind! We have to try."
"She's right Nick." Ellis said through a cough, bringing the two's attention. He reached for his pistol and grabbed it tight. With both hands, the mechanic fumbled to put in a new clip. Tears were streaming down his face now as well. "I won't be walking out of this one. The best I can do is cover your backs while you get to the chopper."
"Ellis, you're not—"
"The hell I am!" Ellis shouted. He sounded both furious and terrified, and the look on his face only confirmed this. He scowled at Nick, seemingly angry at him. "I'm not gonna be the reason why you die, too! Now get out of here!"
Nick froze there; he had never heard Ellis this angry before.
"Go! Now!"
If it wasn't for Rochelle, Nick would have remained there. But with a single tug of his white jacket, Nick was brought back to the danger of this situation. He could hear the horde approaching from behind him, their shouts for blood and flesh sent shivers down his spine. In the distance he could hear the screech of a Hunter, and he knew that he had to leave, even if he didn't want to.
Nick ran after Rochelle trying to hold his composure as he did so. His leg was still on fire, but he managed to ignore it as they fell down a level and off of the bridge. The sounds of a pistol going off multiple times made Nick flinch before he forced himself to ignore it. There was no turning back now. He tried hard not to notice that the pistol had stopped as he and Rochelle grew closer to their destination.
As they ran, Rochelle found a pipe bomb and threw it as soon as she picked it up. The beeping of the bomb attracted the ever growing closer hoard and they were free to run.
The chopper was there, waiting for the survivors. Rochelle ran before him, falling onto the Porto-Potty underneath the ledge. Nick followed her without a second thought, the angry cry of another Tank pushing the conman forward. Together they helped each other back down onto solid ground, and with Rochelle's help, Nick managed to limp towards the helipad.
The ground started to shake, and Ro moved faster. They reached the back of the helicopter, and the doors closed as soon as they entered. Just in time too, as a Tank started to barrel towards the contraption. Instantly, the chopper took off leaving behind a furious Tank, Ellis, and whatever remained of Coach. Nick limped to the window, his eyes never leaving the bridge even as the Chopper turned around, heading for the Gulf.
"I'm so sorry, Ellis." Nick muttered as he placed a hand on one of the small windows. His voice was rough with tears, and he could feel himself breaking.
And then the worst happened: the Bridge exploded.
"No!" Nick shouted as he watched the bridge collapse under fire and debris. He watched as the bridge to New Orleans crumbled into the river. Within seconds, the bridge was gone. Soon, there was nothing there but smoke as a reminder of the ruined infrastructure. If Ellis had still been alive before, he was certainly dead now. "Ellis! You Fuckers!"
Nick broke down then, falling to the floor of the chopper and held himself. Rochelle soon joined them, tears and sobs escaping her now that they were safe and the adrenaline from the fight faded away. The two held each other as they mourned over their friends. Nick clung onto Ro's form, afraid that she would disappear from him as well. He didn't think he would be able to take it if she did.
Nick woke up crying. He turned to his side and felt the stain of tears on his pillow. He grabbed it and pulled the object into a tight hug. Nick let out a loud sob. He cried like there was no tomorrow, knowing that no one would be able to see him in this state.
He remembered everything, and secretly wished that he didn't.