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They entered from the construction side. Going through a little gate, Finch walked toward the side of the building. He opened the small door with a key. The door admitted them into a dark, large, arched hallway.

Reese walked about half way in, but things were not feeling right. He stopped and looked around. He suddenly felt very anxious. "What is this?" Reese looked at the high arched ceiling. His headache was starting to pound. It didn't look like any library he had ever been in. Warning bells along with the pounding went off in his head. His mind was racing. Where was he being led? Two men had just tried to attack him. He had been shot at and the only connection to all of this was the little man leading him into an abandoned construction site. He reached down into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the twenty-two caliber Saturday-night special.

Finch stopped, turned and looked at Reese. He felt a touch of concern at seeing the subtle change in Reese's expression. The distrust was back in Reese's eyes. Finch hadn't seen that look in months, and now it was present again. In the beginning Reese had been unsure and wary about everything Finch had shown or told him. Reese had questioned him again and again about what he was doing and how he was getting the information. It had been frustrating. He knew Reese was just trying to get the whole picture, but he had been alone so long without someone questioning his every move, and now it was back. Maybe now was the time?

Finch looked around the arched hallway, adjusted his glasses and looked at Reese. "Mr. Reese, the numbers we receive lead to people who are about to have a major problem in their life…" He saw he had Reese's attention… "They are in danger or could possibly put someone else in danger…A life threatening danger. We never know if they are the victim or the perpetrator of a violent crime. But, one thing we know for sure is that some person's life is in danger and we can stop it from happening by getting there in time. And that's what you do…You stop bad things from happening-."

"Bad things happen to people all the time…You can't stop that." There was anger in his voice; his eyes locked in on Finch. He stepped toward him. "There is no way-."

"Mr. Reese!" Finch's voice also carried a touch of anger, and he instantly regretted it. He was tired. His shoulders actually slumped and he lowered his head slightly. He felt exhausted; he had not slept in two days. He knew Reese could go several days with only little cat naps here and there, but he couldn't. Looking down at Reese's feet for a moment, he regained control. When he looked back up there was tiredness in his eyes, and the anger was gone. "We've had this conversation…close to a year ago." He glanced away from Reese and then looked back. "I realize this is hard for you-." Finch's eyes widened, he saw Reese grab his head with both hands, bending over, gasping in pain. He started back toward Reese. Worried and concerned for his friend, he watched him stagger and almost fall.

The memory came like a baseball bat slamming into Reese's head. Pain erupted. In his mind's eye, he was on a subway or a train. Out of his own eyes, an image in the window of the train or subway car reflected back at him. He saw a dirty, long haired, bearded man looking back at him. Reese felt bile rise in his throat, He could taste alcohol as the vision continued and he glanced around the car to see several young men lying on the floor of the train, bleeding. Then his mind flashed and he was standing in a park, holding his hand out straight, a gun in his hand. There was an overwhelming sense of sorrow as he saw the grey haired man in the suit from the earlier memory flash and Reese pulled the trigger. That was where the Wellrod gun had come from. He was a killer. Reese staggered, still bent over, moving to the wall in the so called library, he put his hands out to catch himself from falling. His life flooded into his mind's eye so fast that he felt suddenly totally disoriented. Every joy, every pain, sorrow and heartbreak, every threatening experience, every life he had taken slammed into him like a Mack truck striking him physically.

The next moment his mind showed him another flash. He was standing, looking at a beautiful, blond haired woman. She was smiling up at him and asking him to tell her to wait for him that she would wait for him if he asked. He had been on his way to his first CIA assignment, and standing there he had weighted everything he had done in his life up to that point and he knew in his heart that this woman would wait for him. But he also knew that she deserved someone clean, without blood on his hands. He had done things that he had been told were necessary, for his country, and he had done them with no hesitation. That was why he had been recruited by the CIA. He had to let her go. He wanted her to be safe and happy. His hand was reaching out to her. There were tears in her eyes. 'I waited for you'. The hurt and pain in her eyes cut him like a knife. And then he knew she was dead…he could see it in her eyes…She was dead and he had caused it…Shame, then anger, wrapped themselves around what was left of his mind, and he folded in on himself.

Reese staggered, bumped his shoulder against the wall and put his back to it. Sliding down into a crouched position, his whole body shook. His hands were pressed against his temple. The pain from the head wound was throbbing. But the pain of remembering was even greater. There were bright flashes going off behind his closed eyes, and from somewhere far away he could hear Finch calling his name. He wanted to die…wanted to cease existing wanted to stop the pain of remembering.

"Mr. Reese? John?…what's wrong?" Finch moved to hover in front of him, panic written across his face. He felt so helpless, so useless. He started to get down on his knees. "John what can I do?"

Reese's voice was a hissing snarl. "Harold…Your name is Harold…" He looked up between his hands, still holding his head. "Get away…!" There were unshed tears in his eyes. His face was twisted in pain… "I am a monster…Why did you save me?" He drew in a gasp of air… "I remember…Oh God…Jessica…I couldn't save her…I couldn't get there….I…" He curled up into a ball, drawing his legs up and rolled sideways, lying on the floor. His hands covered his head as he tried to curl his long frame into tighter ball.

When John hissed at him, Finch straightened up and stepped back. He saw the anger and self loathing in Reese's face before he rolled sideways, curling into a protective position. Finch drew in a deep sigh and let it out slowly. His voice was soft, just a whisper "You are not a monster. All you needed was a chance, just like we all do." He let a small sigh escape as he said it.

Finch moved toward Reese's prone body. He carefully sat down next to John's tightly coiled body, seeing silent sobs racking his frame. There was no sound. Finch felt tears of his own form over what he was watching John suffer through. He was unsure what to do next, so he sat quietly next to John's head and shoulders. Finch straightened his legs out in front of him, his back resting against the wall and after a moment, he reached out and placed his arm protectively over Reese's shaking shoulders.

He sat and waited.

POI

Finch woke slumped over, leaning against one of the uprights of the arched columns beams. It took him a long minute to become fully cognizant of where he was and what had happened. He winced as he straightened up. Craning his shoulders sideways so his head could move to the right, there was no Reese lying next to him. Finch adjusted his glasses. He looked around the hallway. "Mr. Reese?"

Reese stepped out of one of the recessed doorways across the hall. "Here." He voice was husky and low. His face was devoid of emotion. His right eye was swollen shut again; his left eye was deep green against the redness in the sclera. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of the London Fog overcoat. He walked the short distance to where Finch sat and looked down at him. He saw Finch try and move, trying to get off the cold floor, sand saw the pain it was causing. Taking his hand out of his pocket, he bent and offered his hand to Finch. "Come on Harold; let me help you up."

Finch took the offered hand. Reese's hand wrapped around his wrist, making a smooth pull upward. Finch felt himself being pulled gently to his feet. He glanced at Reese's expression; there was a deep sadness there.

Reese made sure Finch was steady on his feet, before he let go and stepping back. His good eye was cast down, looking at something on the floor. His whole demeanor was one of defeat. He glanced up at Finch and then back at the floor. "I still have some holes in my memory." He moved further away by a few steps. "I remember the two men that shot me. I saw their faces in the muzzle flash, but I can't remember who I was following, or who our latest number is."

Finch took the time to straighten his tie, his jacket and he ran a hand over his hair. He had slept hard. Two days with no sleep had taken its toll. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearing noon, and he felt a bit of a shock at the hour. The whole time he was still watching Reese and assessing him. "Perhaps seeing their faces…up on the board will help." He saw Reese glance briefly at him, then look away.

Finch turned and headed for the far end of the arched hall. He continued making his way in the dimness of the hallway. There was ambient light coming in from the opposite end of the hall, as the sun was well up in the sky.

Reese glanced around the hallway but followed Finch as he walked down toward the opposite end and then turned left into another door. Stepping inside the door, He saw that the room was littered with books and trash. Many of the books lay scattered on the floor. He followed Finch to a curved set of stairs looking up, he stopped.

Finch was half way up the stairs when he realized Reese wasn't behind him. He stopped on the staircase, turned and looked back down at Reese who was on the bottom step. Finch was breathing hard from the physical exertion of climbing the stairs. "Mr. Reese…are you alright?" Worry crossed his face; fear that another memory episode was coming. Reese had a strange look on his face.

He reached out and touched the banister on the stairs. His hands caressed the wood. He stood on the bottom step but did a 360 turn around. "I'm fine, just remembering." He looked up at the Finch standing above him.

Finch watched as John did another 360 and then followed him up the steps to the next level. Finch walked around the corner of the landing area of the second floor and headed into a narrow hall that was lined with rows and rows of shelved books. Coming to a T intersection, he turned right. On the left side, he walked past several windows that looked out into a large open topped courtyard garden area that had gone wild over the years. On the right side of the hallway, there were a couple frosted glass offices and a restroom; then it opened into another section of books. There was a locked expandable gate across this area. Finch pulled another key from his pocket and opened the lock and pushing the gate sideways, to allow enough room for him to pass.

Finch turned and looked at Reese who was lingering between the T and the gate. He was looking out the windows, looking down at what at one time had been an award winning designer garden. Now it was a small jungle.

Finch glanced at his computer desk as he walked by it and headed to the right extension of the hallway. The area was about fifty feet across and was shaped in a half circle with windows on the outer wall, overlooking the jungle. From here three different branches of hallways extended like a labyrinth from that open area. Finch walked to the Diesel Generator that sat on the floor. He very slowly knelt in front of the generator, holding his breath as small spikes of pain erupted up his back.

He checked on the six batteries nestled behind the generator and saw that the indicator light was still half green. The batteries were an electrical source for the series of 'night lights' that were strategically placed throughout the building.

The generator powered his computer system and all six screens attached to it. He pressed the start button, saw the indicator light for the glow plug come to life and hit the starter button. It was a very quiet generator. Finch had spent extra money for the silent exhaust system. Using the generator to steady himself, he got to his feet and looked up at the piping that sent the exhaust out through the roof. Finch turned and saw John standing just inside the gate. He watched as Reese took the room in.

Reese stepped to the desk and reached out to touch it like it wasn't real. He placed all ten fingers on the top of the desk, his eyes looking at the computer screens as they came alive. The center one was the only one that went past the start screen. It sat patiently waiting at the command prompt for a password. Reese glanced at the generator as Finch moved toward his office chair. There was another chair pulled up at the corner of the desk, but it wasn't an office chair. Reese looked over to a wooden framed, clear glass board that had several pictures and papers taped to it.

Stepping around the desk, he walked the short distance to the glass board and looked at the pictures hanging there. His eyes studied the pictures and text. Two of the pictures had extra paperwork attached to them.

The papers contained information about their numbers that hey were working; aka's, home addresses, club associations. Both had wives and children. There were several surveillance pictures on the glass board. Reese turned his head, looking at Finch who had sat down behind the computer screens and was busily typing on the keyboard. "I was tailing these two." There was a frown on his face. He looked back at the photos. "They are fight promoters…" He reached a left hand out, extending his index finger to the picture on the left. "This guy sets the fights up, his finger moved to the other picture. "This one handles the fighters." He looked over his shoulder at Finch.

Finch was now in his element. He looked up from the screens and adjusted his glasses.

"Yes Mr. Reese, that's exactly what they do." Finch saw John look past him, and watched his face draw down in a look of curiosity.

Reese moved toward the desk but went around and toward where the generator was sitting, between rooms. He had seen something he had seen in one of the memory flashes. He walked into the room and saw another table with a closed laptop on it. He knew this was the wireless system Finch sometimes used. Next to it were two thin computer monitors that could be hooked up to it. Harold sometimes worked in here, with his list. John turned and saw the list.

John stood staring at the list for a long time.

Finch was running searches, trying to find out what had happened in the last twenty four hours. He didn't hear Reese come back into the room. He jumped a little as Reese spoke right behind him.

"I was trailing one of Anderson's fighters." Reese saw the twitch that Finch made, he looked down at him, reaching out he briefly touched him on the shoulder as he moved. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump." He moved around to stand where Finch could see him. "His name is Jerrod. I think he was the one in danger?"