Chapter Two:

The apartment was empty. Never could he stay in any place long enough to call it home. Did he even want to be settled?. He couldn't decide…Though he definitely needed to be on the move, part of him wanted to stay here. It had been foolish of him to ever come to America. Yes, it was time to go.

Jason took the necessities – the valuables in his black leather briefcase, and the common things like clothing in his duffel bag. Everything was in order. The bills paid…the landlord had not been informed, but would find everything as he desired it.

The morning was crisp. The sky was still grey…waiting for the first rays of sun to splash it with color. He wished that he could stop in the coffee shop one more time…but knew that he couldn't. He turned to lock the door and paused – hand raised. A note was taped to the outside, written in female hand on plain printer paper.

Thanks. – E.W.

Jason's heart pounded. E.W. E. Windham…Had she followed him here? Why was she thanking him? Had she waited in the shadows to trail him to his apartment merely to thank him for his help? Strange…Something was off. But he did not have time to think about it. Not now.

JFK was always busy, even during the early morning hours when most of the passengers were yawning and coming off of red eye flights. It was quiet…the employees were just getting into their days…the night-shift was leaving, the morning crew coming in.

It was always the same routine…bag check…security…finding the terminal…and waiting. He relaxed in the folding chair and let his chin rest on his chest, holding the briefcase close.

He tried to bring himself back to the place he had seen in his mind yesterday. Why had he been angry? Who with? He searched and searched, but came up blank. Now he was only frustrated with himself. Let it go. A voice in his head probed. But another part of him fought back. No, I know it's there somewhere. If only he could peel back the layers of memories…but they were cemented over, and it took a jackhammer to push through. A jackhammer that could not be produced on his own will. The jackhammer had a mind of its own, and it could either be a tool, or a weapon of mass destruction.

"Now boarding zone 3." Jason ran his hand across his face and stood up to join the line. He wondered briefly where those around him were headed from this flight to Denmark. Vacation? Home to see family? He spotted a group of exchange students wearing their college t-shirts, and a newly married couple on their honeymoon. They were an attractive couple…clearly enthralled with each other.

The line moved forward and Jason's mind when back to Marie. His chest filled with a small pain – a familiar pain that he was forever pushing away. He was a man who resisted pain – was trained to fight it, but this kind of pain was not something that had been taught about in any kind of training. Stop it. She's dead. He obeyed the voice this time. Romance had been a foolish move for him. Not that he had planned on getting involved with her – it just sort of happened, and it had been the most memorable time of his life. He laughed aloud – surprising himself. The most memorable…what a joke.

Some of his memories had come back…but not all of them. Not even most of them. Of his training at Treadstone…of the things he had been talked through, those he remembered, and regretted. Or did he? Why was his mind at constant war?

-Denmark, September 8th-

"Man, you're motivated." Jason's flat-mate commented. Jason had just come back from his morning work out, drenched in sweat. Fred, an apathetic twenty-something had been kicked out his house by his mum, and was a perfect description of the term bum.

"Yeah. That's what the military does to you, I guess." Jason smirked at the repulsive look on Fred's face. His parents had tried to push him into the Air Force, but he took his second option, and was now employed at a fast food restaurant, not quite making his parents proud, but not risking his lazy bottom nonetheless.

Jason sat on his bed, freshly showered, paging through a book from the library. He couldn't induce a desire to read. Maybe he had worked up a lot of energy that morning…he simply felt the need to be in motion. It was like an athlete's high.

He mumbled something to Fred and left for another jog. He would take a different route this time – make it more interesting. It felt so good to move…the air pounding through his lungs, his legs burning, his feet hitting the pavement…the euphoria lasted for about 45 minutes…and then he had to stop. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees for support – gulping in air – head pulsating.

Something was familiar about the neighborhood. He closed his eyes – trying to picture the documents…Had he been on assignment in Denmark before? No. Not on assignment. White lights – twinkling…a warm contentedness…Was he finally breaking through and pulling out a memory? Or was his mind making it up. Would he ever know?

The weeks flew by. Jason got a job. He needed one, or he would've gone crazy. He was working at a junk yard, helping to sort through parts – find them for people. It was not satisfying, but it was keeping him sane. The men didn't question him – they all worked silently as he did. He did his job well, that was all they cared about.

Sometimes he was sent to go pick up machinery and such from other parts – sometimes far away. It was those long trips that made it possible for him to stay in Denmark longer.

"See you in two weeks." Louis, the owner of the junk yard, handed Jason his check and bid him a happy Christmas. The months had passed slowly. Jason would not return to his job after the New Year. He would be gone by then. He had been planning for a few weeks, getting his papers in order and everything.

He bent his head against the bitter wind, his steps crunched against the frozen gravel as he made his way back to his apartment. The streets were quiet. Everyone was either home with their families, or out getting drunk. A street lamp flickered…he was almost to the apartment now. The lamp flickered again, and went out completely. The alleyway that the post had stood in front of was now almost pitch black. Jason stopped, his instincts were driving him before he could register what was going on.

He pushed himself flat against the brick building, steadied his breathing, and watched…A lone figure, bundled in a down coat, emerged, tucking something into his pant pocket. The strange looked about alertly, and then hurried the opposite direction with purpose driven strides.

When the coast was clear, Jason moved into the alley and found a small body hidden among garbage bags. He pressed his fingers to the slender neck – a slow pulse revealed life. Jason hoisted the man over his shoulder – surprised at his lightness. He, too, checked both ways before making his way back to the apartment.

Fred was asleep on the couch – Jason moved quietly passed him and laid the stranger on his bed. His turned his lamp on, eager to get a look at the victim's face. His eyes widened as the light washed over the features of E. Windham.