"You can't blame yourself, sweetheart," said Jonathan, gently pulling his wife away from the oven. The kitchen table was only set for two this evening, but any hopes of a romantic evening between the two had been dashed by news of Joe's death. The Kent's had known Joe and his family only vaguely, yet the whole town would surely feel the impact of his suicide. It was another tragedy in a town that seemed increasingly to be cursed.

"I should have gone over there, today of all days. That poor man, having to endure that all alone. I remember going over after his wife killed herself and her poor baby… but I just didn't know what to say," she said, even as Jonathan soothed her.

"I know. I still remember how proud he was the day his daughter was born. He looked so happy. They both did, he and his wife. Both looked just as happy as we did the day we adopted Clark."

"But it didn't last, Jonathan," whispered Martha. Before he could say anything else both of them heard a car fast approaching. Breaking off from his wife with a reassuring glance back at her, Jonathan took a peek out of the window.

"Hey, it's Chloe," said Jonathan, managing a small smile. "She made it."

"Clark's been looking forward to this all day. Maybe things are all right between them after all."

"Maybe," said Jonathan, frowning. He loved his son dearly, and it broke his already burdened heart to see his secret alienate him from so many people. It had completely destroyed his once solid friendship with Lex and finally ended things between Lana and him forever. It had also put a terrible strain on the friendship of Clark and Pete, ultimately causing Pete to leave Smallville. Clark had tried so hard to keep in touch with Pete after he left, but Pete always kept an emotional distance from him now.

Jonathan had always believed deep down that the same would happen between Clark and Chloe sooner or later. He saw Chloe getting out of the car. From this distance he couldn't quite tell what it was, but something about her bothered him. He wasn't sure she looked all that well… or perhaps she just looked upset about something. He had a pretty good idea what that would be, too. Right about then he had to suppress the urge to run out and grab her by the shoulders, to tell her that he wasn't going to be around much longer and his son needed people like her.

No, he corrected himself – he needed her. But he knew he wasn't going to tell her that, now or ever. It simply wasn't fair to put that kind of burden on her. How or if she continued to support Clark was entirely up to her.

Clark's initial reaction to Chloe's arrival was embarrassment.

"I wasn't quite expecting you this early," he said, using his speed to change into his dinner jacket and pants. Chloe frowned; he surely would have been almost nude in front of her at some point, but he'd moved so fast it hadn't registered. Clark's eyes widened when he got his first good look at Chloe. She looked away, waiting for some comment about how thin she was or how terrible she looked.

"Uh… I was kind of expecting you to dress a little more formally," he stammered, noting Chloe's jeans and tight white t-shirt.

"I didn't think your barn had a dress code, Clark," said Chloe, pulling up a chair and smiling mischievously.

"Yeah, but I figured I'd take you out and…"

"I'd rather stay in, if you don't mind," said Chloe, lowering her eyes. "I kind of have something I need to talk to you about."

It wasn't until then that Clark did begin to notice that something wasn't right about Chloe. At first he'd just figured she was exhausted – and she probably was too – but looking closer he knew it was more than that.

"I don't mind," said Clark softly, putting his arm around Chloe in much the way his father would when comforting his mother. Not that he knew this of course, and would have been embarrassed if he did. He'd already put down a deposit on the table, but he really couldn't care less about the money. "What is it?"

She pushed him away, chewing her bottom lip for a moment.

"Mind if it waits a little bit? I'd really like to just have dinner with my friend first. I've missed that."

"But you promise to tell me after that?"

"I promise, Clark."

Clark spread his hands wide.

"Dinner it is then. Though I have to say, even with all my powers I think I'm going to struggle to fix something up. And I can't ask mom to fix us up anything. She's been upset all day, what with the suicide up at…"

"Suicide?" asked Chloe, horror appearing in her eyes.

"Chloe, what…"

She waved the question aside, blinking the horror out of her eyes much as she would tears.

"Later. Dinner first. And I want to hear what the hero of Smallville's been up to without his reporter friend to help him out. We won't need your mom to fix us up anything – and I wouldn't eat anything you made, no offence – since you're going to use your super powers to run out and bring me back whatever I want."

"Am I now?" asked Clark, managing a smile. He was concerned over what Chloe wanted to talk to him about, but more than happy to put it aside for now. He'd been missing her terribly, and still he hadn't realised how much until she'd shown up. "So what takes Madame's fancy this evening? Everything in the world's on the menu…"

There was a room. It's occupant did not know exactly where it's location might be. He did not know how long he was going to remain here. He did not remember how he got there.

There was no other. The man had seen no-one since his arrival. Yet he had heard someone – perhaps more than someone – outside the door. They made no attempt to communicate with him or enter the room. He had called to them but received no response.

He is a prisoner. The door will not open. The door will not budge, even when he throws his weight against it. This happened quite a few times before he gave up.

The room was virtually empty. Only one single item of furniture was provided for him: a single hardback chair. He found himself making use of it more and more in his recent imprisoned hours. Earlier he'd preferred pacing back and forth at the door, either pounding it or quietly listening for any sounds outside it. There was no letterbox to aid him in this endeavour, nor was there a peephole to show him what lay outside. As far as he could tell no-one remains out there for long; merely passing by on their way elsewhere. More than once he had heard a man whistling cheerfully out there. His captor, he assumed. At least he knew it was a man. For a man like him it was a useful enough distinction.

No windows. Not even any paint on the walls, he ruminated, running his hand through his facial hair. It looked as though it had all been stripped away. There were only two items in the room save for the chair that were not on his person: a plant and a nametag. He had no idea who placed the plant in the room, but the nametag was dropped on the floor by him. It had, at some point between his leaving his home and arriving here, gotten pinned onto his jacket. The name on it was Lionel Luthor. His own name, if not his own nametag. To Lionel it looked like something a store employee would wear. He was not such an employee. As for the plant, it was of little interest to him. There was no key under the pot and even had there been there was no keyhole in the door in which to use it.

Lionel was not entirely unused to being kidnapped, but he was already realising this was an unusual case. The distressing silence of the room was broken only by his own breathing and an occasional clearing of the throat. His throat felt rather dry, and why shouldn't it? He hadn't had a drink of anything in some time. Yet the need for drink or food wasn't what he would have expected it to be by this point. He had tried to come up with an explanation but soon given up. He'd seen plenty of weird things in recent years, but for now he simply did not have enough information to go on.

There was another sound. Lionel picked up on this at once, leaping to his feet and striding to the door. He pressed his ear up against it.

"Who's there?" he bellowed. There was no answer. The footsteps grew closer and Lionel sighed in the sure knowledge that his captor was going to stroll on by once again. Incredibly, he could hear the man singing. He was quite terrible but the man clearly didn't care. He sounded like he was having a swell old time out there.

"I need water. Or perhaps you plan to have me die in here?" asked Lionel.

And the singing abruptly stopped, a note dying in the crooners throat. He had also stopped walking; by Lionel's reckoning right outside the door.

"Oh no. You don't need water. You can go without water for a very long time in there, old chum. Anywhere at all in this place in fact. I can't remember the last time liquid touched my lips in here. Memory seems to be my problem, actually."

The voice sounded quite old, yet with a merry quality to it, almost offering a feeling of youth as well.

"Who are you?" asked Lionel.

"Not even liquor. I swear it on my mothers name," said the man outside, ignoring the question.

"What do you want with me?" Raising his voice now; clenching his fists. At the next question he would likely be thrusting them against the door.

"Step away from the door, Lionel. I'm a-coming in, and I really don't want any trouble from you. Don't want you bashing that plant pot against my noggin' or nuthin'!"

Lionel pushed his ear off the door and took a half-step back.

"Oh no, my friend, that's no good. That won't do. Go sit on the chair. Only then will I come in."

Lionel's face managed a snarl, though he'd have been surprised to see it there, preferring to think of himself as composed. When he turned around he found the chair was gone. In it's place was a chair. Trouble was, this was a chair exactly like one from the Luthor Mansion. His mouth froze in an 'o' shape.

"I suggest you hurry, Lionel, or shall I leave you again?"

Lionel had no idea how this chair had suddenly gotten there or how this man was seeing all this. However, none of this mattered when the man was teasing leaving him here again. Lionel backed away, keeping his eyes on the door as though expecting it to come flying off it's hinges at a moment's notice.

Instead it crept open slowly, a hand appearing in the crack before Lionel had even finished seating himself. As the man entered Lionel noticed something from the corner of his eye. A picture of his son Lex had appeared on the wall. It had come from out of nowhere.

The man closed the door behind him and leant his own frame against it. As he had been distracted by the picture (which even now appeared to be staring accusingly at him) he had failed to see what lay behind the door. His apparent kidnapper looked to be passing through middle-age. His cheerfulness did however give him a sense of vitality. He was wearing a black bathrobe, beneath which appeared to be his pajamas. It would have been comical under other circumstances. His nose was slightly too large for the man to be called handsome, but his eyes gleamed brilliantly. This was one happy fellow, thought Lionel grimly. The man's hair was greying, not that this appeared to be spoiling the party.

"No-one kidnaps Lionel Luthor without wanting something. What is it you want?" he asked again. The man was clearly insane and he knew he held some sort of power. Lionel knew too well that the situation was dangerous.

"You're fulfilling your part of an old agreement. As it turns out, you don't remember what that was. Now, my memories not what it used to be either partner, but I didn't go forgetting our deal, did I?" he asked, sounding as annoyed as he previously had amused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No sir, I didn't forget. I'm offended, Lionel. Horrified, in fact. How could you forget me after all I did for you?"

Lionel blinked. He was genuinely stunned that somehow this bastard was trying to turn things around on him.

"How are you doing all this?" he asked.

"I would strongly suggest you stop letting thoughts of that armchair dominate your mind," the man said quietly. Lionel made to stand up then took a minute to regain his composure. He wasn't sure he had the strength to take down the man… and even if he could, the door was shut. Unless this man had been foolish enough to trap them both in here (which he considered was quite possible) only he could get them out.

"As you wish. Shall we get to business then, Mr… forgive me, what should I call you?" asked Lionel with a sudden cheerfulness that rivalled the strangers own.

The man on the door grinned again and wagged a finger at him.

"You should know. All of you should," he said. Then in a lower voice, as if confiding in Lionel, added "That's what took me so long to get to you, you see."

Lionel frowned slightly at this. Exactly how many prisoners did this man have?

"Really?" he finally managed.

"Certainly so. Regardless, you should address me as The Memento." The Memento bit on his lower lip, looking puzzled for a brief moment. "Or perhaps Memento would be more correct when addressing me personally."

Lionel just nodded as if acknowledging that this was quite right.

"And you said we had some sort of agreement? I find it hard to believe that I would forget you, sir. You have rather a… well, there is a certain presence to you," Lionel said mildly. "Not to mention your rather distinctive name."

"I wasn't going by that name then, as it happens. Didn't even look like this, not at all."

"Then how could I be expected to remember you?" asked Lionel, indulging the lunatic.

"I just thought… I rather assumed you would just know. Everyone always has before. Until now. Still, it should come to you eventually. It did with the others, at least. I'm good at drawing memories out, you see. Was good anyway. That gift seems to be failing a little now… but it will come. Like the armchair, or that picture of your dear son. In time I could even fetch every stone of the Luthor Mansion, much like you had them brought over from Scotland. But hopefully we won't be here quite that long."

Lionel considered this for a moment and as he did he noticed a fireplace slowly fade into view on one of the walls. The Memento beamed magnificently as it arrived. He was even more pleased when a radio arrived.

"There now… we'll be able to listen to some music while we wait." And he sat there on the floor with his legs crossed, and they both waited.

As it happened, much to Lionel surprise, in time he did remember. Then he realised with some horror what The Memento actually was.

"See? I told you it would come. Though had I arrived much later, perhaps we'd be waiting here forever. And now I think we should talk quickly, before I have a chance to forget much more. So listen to what I tell you… and don't forget."

The Memento gave his largest smile yet, revealing savage canine teeth and an unnatural amount of saliva.

"Let's talk about Chloe Sullivan, shall we?"