For someone who's business largely involved pain and suffering, The Memento was always surprisingly happy. And why shouldn't he be? It was his time now, time for him to become much more than he was. He lay against a wall right across from Atlantis, a Metropolis nightclub that's doors would remain open for a few hours yet. The night was still young. He was smoking a cigarette and running his hand through his grey hair.

"Hey, Johnson, how you doing?" asked The Memento, striding forward and skipping the queue entirely. The doorman didn't recognise the old man, but that wasn't unusual. The guy looked like he might have gotten into some mischief in his time, but looked harmless enough. He never even considered stopping him and never thought later why he should have.

Memento took a standing position at the bar, ordering himself a vodka and coke. He turned to get a look at the floor. Not too crowded – the owner was perhaps neglecting their business. Plenty of women though, gorgeous women, drunk women, stoned women. They were a sad bunch that visited this place. Most of them just wanted to forget… and sometimes, he reflected, that's what we all wanted to do.

Most of the dancing was lifeless but one girl caught his eye. He flashed her a winning smile and raised his drink to her. This body he wore now was older than the others; strange that women found this form most attractive. But then again, he was moving out of the background now, and his joy could be infectious. Not that you'd catch it for long. It was only ever a matter of time before their bad memories overwhelmed their present. It was his gift, his curse, to draw those memories out of people. He could not stop it even if he had a mind to; his very presence caused it to happen.

He was going to have to make the most of things. His time, even once it had fully arrived, would not last forever. Eventually it would be someone else's time. They had an eye on him now, he knew, and were dimly aware of his doings. But Zod's days in this world were not here yet.

He winked at the dancer as she came over. He slipped his arm around her and bought her a drink. It was his time now, and the party was about to get started.

The toilets here were not the best place for a quick screw, but this did not present The Memento with a problem. He knew the owner's office was empty, and he knew that it would remain so. Not counting him and the young lady, of course. They got in completely unnoticed. As a precaution he shoved the desk against the door – there was no lock on it, strangely.

Of course the girl, whose name he knew as Ashley – a naughty girl, was Ashley – was no real prize. She was sexy, in a skinny sort of way, but not particularly to his tastes. But she'd do, oh yes she would.

She lay on the sofa, waiting for him.

"My friend says I should watch out for you. She thinks you're a bad guy," she said.

He grinned at her and nodded his head to the somewhat drowned out music.

"Chrissie? Sure, I all now all the sinners round these parts," he said, then joined her on the sofa. Ashley giggled a little and he laughed along with her.

"Do you think I'm a sinner?" she asked as he ran his hand through her dark hair.

"You all are," he said with a smile. "We all are."

She didn't laugh this time, and he saw it in her eyes. A memory had surfaced. An unwanted one. One she always tried to block out, especially before sex. Naughty, naughty Ashley was HIV positive, knew it, and had slept with four men since finding out. Denial was a powerful thing, but she couldn't deny the memory, the precious little memory of it. He knew it wouldn't be long before she developed full-blown AIDS.

This didn't concern him. Nothing so small as a disease was going to touch him; not now, not then. They weren't even going to use protection. The memory, the knowledge of her illness meant that Ashley wasn't really going to enjoy this.

But memory wasn't going to ruin it for him at all.

Clark had left messages on Chloe's phone all day, but she hadn't gotten back to him. He'd even tried calling Lois to bring her in on this. If Chloe wouldn't let him in, he figured she might listen to Lois, and her cousin was about the most persistent person he knew. He hadn't managed to get hold of Lois either. So he'd been left with no choice expect to drop by Chloe's apartment. He had no idea what he was going to say but there was no way he was giving up. Not on her, not ever.

I'm too late, he thought with horror as he saw the door to Chloe's apartment had been kicked open. Zipping inside, he saw nothing else untoward at first glance. Using his X-ray vision he looked through the door into Chloe's bedroom. There was someone in there and he recognised them at once. Opening the door, he walked in to see Lois hovering over Chloe's laptop. She turned her head as she saw Clark enter.

"Lois, what happened here?"

"What happened, Smallville, is that I got a bunch of messages on my phone from you telling me something was wrong with Chloe."

"Well something IS wrong. You saw the door. Someone must have broken in here and…"

"Uh… that was me. Kinda."

Lois shifted defensively as Clark rolled his eyes.

"Well, I was worried sick. For someone like you to notice something was wrong, I guessed it must have been pretty serious."

Clark's exasperation at Lois was quickly swallowed by relief as he realised that Chloe hadn't been kidnapped after all. This relief did not last.

"Oh my God," gasped Lois, looking at the screen of Chloe's laptop. "This can't be right."

Moving alongside her, Clark saw what had startled Lois so much.

"Clark… this is a suicide note."

To Those That Care,

I'd just like to say that I'm really sorry for everything lately. I chose to turn to despair rather than my friends, and I realise now that was wrong. Clark, it was you who made me understand that. The reason I broke my promise, the reason I didn't tell you everything when we talked… it wasn't the reason you think it is.

I don't think I'm going to see any of you again. Not where I'm going.

Dad, I'm sorry we drifted apart. We were so close all those years when it was just you and me. I suppose it's a part of growing up, but I miss those days.

Lois, so much more than my cousin, it was fun to see you in Smallville for awhile. It wasn't that long ago that I hated the place too. I guess it kind of grows on you.

Lana and Pete, my friends, Smallville High seems a long time ago now, doesn't it? Lana, you've grown so much. I'm a little jealous, and not just because you're the prettiest girl around anymore. Pete, sorry I never found out about Kryptonian video game technology for you. Some stories are beyond even this reporter.

And to Clark… don't feel like you didn't save me. You did. You do.

Clark looked at Lois then read the note again carefully.

"I don't think that's what this is, Lois," he said slowly. "We both know Chloe would never kill herself."

"Then what?"

"Wherever she's gone, whatever she's doing, I don't think she expects to come back. But I don't think she went there to die. I think she went there to live."

"You're not making any sense!" cried Lois, standing up and looking like she was about to throttle Clark. Clark just looked at her sadly. I know this isn't what you meant Chloe, he thought, but if you're still alive, if you're still out there, I'm going to save you. Believe it.

"I tried calling you yesterday. Martin said he didn't know where you were," said Vanessa. Trying to sound concerned, instead coming off only as curious. No doubt wondering if Martin had lied, was keeping her from the phone, keeping her quiet. Stephanie knew none of her friends trusted Martin. He'd actively kept them from seeing her at certain times. Once of twice it might seem normal enough, but hadn't it been more than that by now? And hadn't he seemed the tiniest bit anxious as he politely explained that Stephanie was feeling under the weather and no, they couldn't see her?

Of course none of them came out and said such a thing. Yet here in Smallville news had a way of travelling even if it were never spoken aloud.

"Just a communications problem," said Stephanie.

So where were you?" Trying to force the issue without forcing the issue. Knowing Martin was upstairs in the bedroom. Like Martin, oblivious to that little box that was hidden away in there. That little box that even now might be suggesting Stephanie take the lid off for a little peek at the contents. Or was that now a treacherous voice all her own?

"Just visiting a friend."

"Without your husband knowing?" An entirely innocent expression on her face, but Stephanie knew another 'rumour' would soon be spreading among her friends.

"Like I said, just a communications problem."

"More like a total breakdown."

No point trying to squash it now. Besides, this was still far better than having Vanessa – or anyone at all – know the truth. Vanessa changed the subject to her own husband at this point, but Stephanie was barely listening. Her thoughts kept turning to the box upstairs… and just how close Martin was to it. When she'd first tried to hide it – something she'd done several times before being happy – The Memento's voice entered her head. He explained to her that her husband (or indeed, any others – say, Vanessa) would not be able to hear the voices in the box. The Memento might hear them, Alice might hear them, others would not.

She'd eventually settled on placing the box inside a box, a box filled with old photos of herself and her family. Martin never liked looking at photos, even recent ones. He barely gave their holiday photos a second glance. The boxes were placed under a pile of albums. Memories beneath memories. It wasn't the best hiding place… but it would have to do. The Memento's voice never told her to keep it nearby, but her own did. She could only hope her husband would stick to form. Because if he found the box, he would open it. And if he opened it…

The Memento opened his eyes. He checked in on Stephanie and that precious box every now and then, just to be sure. Everything now depended on it. His power was slowly weakening, but that box held the means to restore him. He supposed he should thank Chloe; it was her who had put him in mind of Smallville. It was truly perfect, a town small enough for his plan to work. A town burdened by tragedy.

He saw Ashley lying across him, looking even less a prize to him now. She was gazing at him with something approaching awe. It was like she had just slept with a celebrity.

Clark would be here soon. The Memento would summon him, or remind him might be more accurate. Young Clark needed to be reminded of quite a few things… and informed of others, thought The Memento.

Ashley's skin felt cold. Her hand moved forwards but he slapped it away. It had been fun, but he'd already grown tired of the memory and more tired of her. He was tempted to open a portal and toss her screaming into the void. He stayed his hand. Leave her to her fate.

It was still better than that of the good folks in Smallville were going to get. The Creamed Corn Capital of the World! The Meteor Capital of the World! Well, he figured they'd be getting a new name pretty soon. Oh, he doubted he'd get all of them – his power was not strong enough for that, and some of them would possess willpower that he could not overcome. But the place would never truly recover.

Welcome to Smallville. Suicide capital of the world!