Clark was rather surprised to find Atlantis empty (deserted would perhaps be more accurate) at a time when it should be doing good business. It couldn't exactly be called a slow night; the staff had also disappeared. Happily, they'd left the door open. Very likely because he was walking into a trap.
"Mate in three moves," said The Memento, emerging from the owner's office, his voice echoing throughout the whole building. He was holding three fingers up, one of which had a gold ring on it. He was also grinning as if he'd just seen his oldest, dearest friend for the first time in years. He outstretched his arms for a moment and walked over, looking like he was about to give Clark a hug.
"Where's Chloe?" asked Clark, though it sounded more a demand than a question.
"We have a lot to talk about, Clark. Let's borrow the office."
"Here's fine," said Clark. The Memento just shrugged at this. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of Scotch from the shelf. He held the bottle up, silently asking Clark if he wanted some.
"What have you done to her? Is all of this because of you?" asked Clark. The Memento paused with the glass half-way to his lips.
"Is that what she told you? I reckon you've been kept quite in the dark, young man."
"I'm not going to ask you again."
"Oh, please. Are you threatening me? I sincerely hoped it wouldn't come down to that. I know all about your powers, of course. Chloe told me all about them," he said with a smile.
Clark considered for a moment claiming not to have any powers, but it felt like a waste of time. Time Chloe might not have. Instead, everything around him began to slow. The man's eyes had closed in a half blink, glass by his side, horrible smile frozen in place. Clark moved forwards, arms reaching out, and using some of his strength slammed him against the bar. He held him firmly in place but the next thing he knew he fell forwards as the man's weight stopped propping him up. He heard the glass shatter on the floor beside him.
"It takes more than throwing me around to beat me, son."
Clark turned to look at the stranger. He didn't look any different to him, and even using his x-ray vision, there was nothing that seemed to separate him from a normal person.
"You can't stay like that forever. What exactly are you?" asked Clark, tensing himself, ready to his powers if the man became tangible again.
"I am a reminder of the things people forget. Or maybe just the things they'd rather forget. I am something ancient, something that carries many faces and names. Today, I am The Memento. I was human once, but that was long ago and not well remembered. I have become something else entirely. You, on the other hand, have never been human, yet there is more humanity in you than in say… a Luthor."
Clark's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Luthor name.
"Is Lex involved in this?" he asked, earning a chuckle from The Memento.
"Not a bit. It's funny; nowadays you judge him more harshly than your father ever did. How is your father, by the way? Heart not so good, from what I hear. You might want to keep one of those meteor rocks – kryptonite, I think they're called – handy. I just may be visiting you again soon, in a more official capacity."
The Memento laughed again. Clark had a lot more to worry about than just his father now. He did not think Jonathan Kent would be joining the other dead in Smallville just yet… but the demise of the town would surely finish off both he and Clark soon enough. Clark had felt guilty enough about 'bringing' the meteors to Smallville. How would he feel once he knew he'd been here, chatting away while the good citizens of Smallville partook in a little mass suicide?
"I don't know what you are, but I promise you: If you've hurt Chloe I'm going to make your life a living hell."
"I bet! But it isn't her you want, is it? Lana's always been the one for you, right? Oh, you've had feelings for Chloe now and then – feelings more real than you thought – but they were soon forgotten, weren't they?"
Clark shifted uncomfortably. He was finding himself overburdened by memories for some reason. His father's heart attack, finishing things between himself and Lana, running away to Metropolis. I have to concentrate, he thought. Why am I thinking about all this now? I have to help Chloe. I have to stay focused.
"I could make Lana forget all about Lex, you know. I have complete control over people's memories. Why, you could forget Chloe Sullivan even existed if I wished it."
Clark struggled to stay on his feet. Too many memories were coming back to him at once, terrible memories, each of them struggling to dominate his mind. Alicia's death, the destruction of the spaceship, resulting in the death of his mother's unborn child, discovering the depth of Lex's betrayal. Lying to his friends over and over, hurting them every time. Then everything went away apart from his memories of Chloe and Lana. When he'd met them both for the first time. Lying to them both, hurting them both, always wanting the best yet somehow making the wrong moves over and over. Images of them both flickered through his thoughts, both of them seeming to battle for supremacy over the other. He screamed as he became totally overwhelmed by the power of the memories, the intensity of his own feelings. He fell backwards, clutching his head. Then finally, he began to understand something, and the flow of memory stopped. Righting himself, he took just a moment to recover.
"I loved Lana from the first time I saw her. She was the first person I ever loved, and I'll always care for her. But… she's not a part of my life anymore," he said, apparently speaking to himself. "And… Chloe Sullivan… is more than just a memory to me."
Chloe pressed the doorbell again, looking around anxiously as she did. Bill stood patiently behind her. She hadn't wanted to get him involved. The whole point of not telling Clark was to avoid putting anyone else in danger. She figured if anyone could understand keeping a secret to protect someone, it was probably him. She certainly hoped so; she couldn't bare the thought of Clark resenting her.
"You sure this is the right place?" asked Bill.
"Yeah, this is where Lionel told me to come," she replied, checking for any sign of life at the window. "I think she used to work for him or something."
He had turned up at her apartment after her initial meeting with Lionel, much to her surprise. Talking to Bill in the first place had really been when she'd reached the point of no-return. She'd tried her best to explain to Bill just how dangerous the situation was. The fact that he was here with her now showed her she hadn't been entirely successful in this.
"I have nothing to lose," he'd said.
Looking at him then had given her a glimpse of what she could have become. Bill had no-one else in his life now; no-one left behind for him to protect or be protected by. Were there people who reached out to him at one time and failed? Still, he was a comforting presence. He reminded her painfully of how she'd pulled away from her father.
She noticed he was sweating now. In fact, he didn't look all that well. She was about to say something when he nodded at an upstairs window.
"I think there's someone up there," said Bill.
"We need to get in. If he's gotten to them first…"
Bill just nodded and strode up to the door. Again, Chloe was glad he was here. She never would have been able to kick the door down by herself. It burst open on his third try. He was charging up the stairs before she could shout a warning. She hurried up after him. It was right he be here, she supposed. This 'Memento' had effectively turned him into a complete recluse. When he'd first met him as a child, he'd learned there were things in the world that were… well, weird. Things she'd spent most of her life chasing. One of which she'd been in love with for about as long as she could remember. But 'weird' things were things that most people always tried to avoid.
"Sweet Jesus," she heard him say. He'd stopped dead upon entering the bedroom, causing her to almost run right into him. She gasped when she saw what he was looking at.
A woman lay slumped on a chair, her face covered by a bloodied tissue. There was blood flowing freely from her wrists. A knife lay by her feet on the floor. She was vaguely aware of Bill kneeling down to pick it up.
"Call for help," she told him, handing him her cell phone. She gently took hold of the woman's hand.
"Where's the box? Where IS it?" she screamed, startling Chloe.
"It's going to be all right," said Chloe, who didn't believe that at all. "Are you Stephanie?"
The woman nodded slightly, causing the tissue to slide slightly down her face. A big empty socket where an eye should be was revealed.
"Who did this to you?" Chloe asked.
"Don't you understand?" said Stephanie, sobbing hysterically. It sounded like she was struggling to hold on to her sanity. Chloe squeezed her hand, looking away from the missing eye. "I did it to myself. WHERE IS THE BOX?"
Chloe had no idea what she was talking about, but took a quick look around. As she turned her eyes widened at what she saw.
"No!" she cried, lunging forward, knowing it was too late.
Bill plunged the knife straight into his heart. His eyes looked horribly grateful as he collapsed dead to the floor. Chloe could only look in stunned terror.
"You have to close the box," said Stephanie in a strained voice. "Everyone's going to kill themselves."
Feeling nauseous, Chloe picked up her cell phone. Bill had dropped it onto the floor. She knew she had to call… to call for help…
But it was hopeless, of course. Stephanie was dead. Bill was dead. There was nothing more to be done now. Everything was just so… hopeless. Yes.
The knife was embedded so deep in Bill's chest she wasn't sure she could pull it out. No matter, she thought, kneeling down and pulling the lace from her shoe. There were no shortage of ways to carry it out. She pushed Stephanie's corpse off of the chair, shuddering slightly as she saw her cut, blood-soaked face. Stephanie had tried to fight it. That could only make things worse, she realised, looking up at the ceiling. There was nothing she could see here to hang herself from, but an unknown voice spoke up inside her. The attic. There would be beams overhead in the attic.
She pulled down the stairs leading up there and proceeded with a terribly powerful, single-minded purpose. She placed the chair and, standing on it, tied one end of the lace around one of the beams. As she made a noose she had time to regret not kissing Clark goodbye. Of not spending time with him in her last weeks alive. Things she had wanted to do but lacked the courage to follow through on. As she put her head in the noose, she knew she'd follow through this time.