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Lucas had misjudged Noel yet again. It was becoming a habit. She had seemed so hurt as she sat in that office chair and now she had reverted to being perfectly fine in the blink of an eye. It was extremely difficult to get an idea of what she was thinking at any time. Whenever he thought he understood her, the vibrant young woman would surprise him.

He watched her as she sat on the floor before him, completely oblivious to the world while she wrote her list. Peering over her shoulder from his vantage point on the bed, Lucas read it through. “You forgot ‘No Apartment’ “, he added helpfully.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make a list of what you don’t have but what you do have?” Lucas suggested. It seemed it would be a much more positive exercise to him. “While you’re doing that, you can tell me a bit about yourself?” The words sounded like a cheap pick up line and the young man wished he could have reworded the sentence now that it had escaped his lips. Instead of getting an idea of what Noel remembered of her past, he had come off like they were on some awkward first date. He decided to try to fix it so she didn’t misunderstand his meaning.

“What I mean to say is...Rupert, Nick, that photo of your parents....I would love to hear your story if you don’t mind sharing what you remember?”

“Smooth Lucas.” He groaned inwardly. “That sounded SO much better.”

Noel’s joke about stabbing went right over Nick’s head. Maybe it was some inside humour from a long past experience they shared that he was unable to remember now. She had seemed serious when she said it but how could she be? What possible reason could she have to stick a knife in him?

The prisoner stopped shaking his cage and addressed Nick like he was talking to a small child about not playing with an atom bomb. “Nick, you have to stop this and remember. Please....just try to remember.” He pleaded

That didn’t help at all. He knew he couldn’t recall anything but mirages and was trying to piece things together for most of the day. Nick just couldn’t seem to get anything straight. Nothing made sense. He was somehow blocked from his own past, unable to see the truth. There was something nagging at him that seemed right in front of his face but it was like he couldn’t quite see the forest through the trees. If he could only find some solid clue, maybe it would jog his memory.

“Hey Noel,” he said as the idea popped into his head. “Let me see that map of yours.”

Nick got up and walked over to the desk to take a look. Its surface was crowded with the plate of food, the towel and other assorted items. He saw the ankle pouch and reached for it, removing the map inside. His hand brushed the side of the towel and the handle of the gun slid more clearly into view.

With nowhere to lay the map out, Nick turned and spread it on the bed and bent over it, starting his scan. Writing littered the papers surface with details of all the important places in Noel’s life. It only stood to reason that since he was engaged to her, his home would be marked on it as well. If he saw where he lived, maybe it would help reset his mind.

It hit him suddenly, as if from nowhere. The tree in the forest he had been missing. It wasn’t his apartment he was looking for, or what he ate for breakfast, it was another question entirely. He had just accepted everything based on the fractured images in his head, but the real problem was not who, but why. Why did he share the same affliction that Noel did? She had an intricate system in place to protect her from her memory loss which meant she understood she had the issue. Noel knew that she would lose her memories over and over again so had detailed notes to help her. The only thing she didn’t forget was that she would. It didn’t faze her because she remembered it would happen and was prepared for it. How could she understand that?

A cold chill went down Nick’s spine as he turned and sat on the bed to face Noel. She watched him idly as she slowly spun back and forth in her chair. The black pistol grip lay on the desk beside her, easily within reach. He was afraid to ask the question but needed to know. Reaching out, Nick grabbed the arm rests to stop the woman from swinging and to force her to look him in the eye.

“Noel,” he asked. “Why can’t I remember who I am?”

Nick’s mind recalled his dream as the couple’s eyes connected. The prisoner had warned him that he needed to let him free while there was a chance left. He hadn’t been warning him about her. Noel was strong and could take care of herself. It was Nick that was in danger here.

The door shut behind Noel as she scurried out of the bathroom like a frightened mouse, leaving a bewildered look on Nick’s face. “What the hell was that about?” Nick said to the empty bathroom just before he noticed the shower curtain didn’t provide the level of protection he had originally anticipated. Whoops. Any lingering doubt of what the woman had or hadn’t seen was pretty much solved. “Good thing the water wasn’t cold.” he mused to himself.

Nick proceeded to finish his shower and dry himself off at a leisurely pace. When dry, he tied the wet towel around his waist until he was ready for his robe just in case another soda related emergency should occur. He found a complimentary razor and toothbrush beside the sink and put them to good use. The mirror kept fogging up with steam and forced the man to wipe it down occasionally to complete the task. The results were worth it. All he needed now was a good night’s sleep and he would be a new man. He went over to the door, discarded his towel, threw on his bathrobe, and picked up his dirty clothes before stepping back into the main room.

His eyes fell on Noel who sat in the office chair opposite him, hiding under her gown. Her toes barely peeked out from beneath the cloth as she had pulled her legs up tightly against her body while she hid. It appeared like the encounter in the bathroom had been more traumatic then Nick had realised. He chucked his clothes into the dirty pile by the door and slowly walked toward the woman at the desk, kneeling down on the carpet in front of her.

As gently as he could, Nick lifted the end of the robe up to look inside the makeshift tent. Two hazel, doe-like eyes blinked back at him. Noel gnawed absentmindedly on her right thumb nail while her fortress of solitude was slowly being peeled away around her. Smiling warmly at the adorable creature before him, Nick tried to soothe her fears. “You ok?” He asked with a reassuring tone. His hands continued to move the terrycloth off her head and let it fall to the side. He let his finger comb a few stray hairs behind the brunette’s ear and finished by cupping the right side of her face delicately. A sudden urge took hold of him and he leaned forward slowly, hoping not to frighten Noel further. Nick pressed his lips against the lovely woman’s scarred left cheek and kissed it softly. Her skin felt warm beneath his lips and a fire began to blossom from deep inside of him. He followed the line of the scar with light and gentle pecks until he reached his destination. Their lips met in a tentative embrace before he reluctantly pulled his face away and kneeled before her once again, gazing at her affectionately.

Nick’s instincts tried to push him further but a small voice in the back of his head had fought back. It was like it was screaming to Nick from a deep, dark pit; unable to escape its prison in the farthest recesses of his mind. The voice was trying to warn him. Tell him this was wrong and to stop before he made a huge mistake. The animal and the prisoner wrestled for control before the voice won out.

If Noel looked doe-eyed before, she was a deer in headlights now. She seemed to be frozen in place, unable to move as the couple stared at each other from a few inches apart. Nick tried to read what she was thinking but couldn’t find a clue in her exquisite feminine features. Concerned that he had just overstepped his bounds, Nick decided to back off and try to give her space to deal with the thoughts and emotions swimming inside her head.

Reaching his arms underneath her, Nick scooped Noel out of the chair with ease. She felt weightless in his arms as he held her against his chest. “So, the bathroom is all yours.” He told her as he carried her towards the door. “Take your time and we can watch some TV, talk or whatever when you get out.” Carefully bending down, he let her feet touch the floor and lifted her into a standing position in the doorway as he righted himself. “I’ll take care of the dirty clothes so just throw them out before you hop in the tub.”

Not knowing what else to say, he turned and began to pick up the pile of laundry in the corner so that they could be sent off for cleaning.

The bell sounded and the large Russian lurched forward to squash his prey. Lucas knew he couldn’t win by trading blows in the center of the ring so he brought up his arms defensively and moved away from the corner to more open territory. Gregore came in strong, leading with a two jab combo to the stomach and finishing with a right cross to the side. The jabs were insignificant but the right cross had connected solidly with Lucas’ ribs. The power behind the punch caused the young man’s body to shift farther then he expected, unbalancing him for a moment. It was a solid blow and would probably leave a bruise.


The Russian was obviously strong but it seemed he had some skills as well. The combo was meant to feel out the smaller mans defence and formulate a plan of attack to finish things quickly. It was aggressive for an opener but it had given Lucas another clue to the fighter standing in front of him. Gregore was dropping his left shoulder when he punched from the right to gain more power with his extension. It was a subtle flaw, easily corrected, but it was there to be exploited.


Gregore struck again with another three punch combo to the head and chest but the young mutants arms help up to the onslaught and protected him. A quick shift of weight and a few deft steps to the side pulled Lucas out of striking range and gave him another second to analyse. This combo was more advanced but the dropped left shoulder was there again. His opponent was an excellent fighter and the error was subtle. If he could get a punch in at the right time, it would be enough.


Mistaking the look in Lucas’ eyes as fear, Gregore sneered and tried to taunt his opponent. “What is da matter liddle mouse? You not want to hit me?” He said as he threw himself forward to attack again.


In Lucas’ mind, the fight was already over when the giant opened his mouth. The verbal quip had telegraphed the coming attack and that was the last piece needed to drop the man. Gregore’s padded fist bounced harmlessly off Lucas’ left forearm as he dodged right and brought a sweeping hook around to connect with the Russian’s temple over the lowered shoulder. The punch disrupted the giant instantly and the muscular man lifted his left arm up, overcompensating to cover his exposed cheek. This cleared up the center, leaving it virtually unprotected. The opening seemed as wide as a chasm to the smaller boxer and his lightning quick hands took advantage. Lucas’ bicep bulged a he brought his left fist up in a devastating uppercut. It connected solidly with Gregore’s chin and the barrel-chested fighter’s knees turned instantly to Jell-O. A final right cross cut past the weakened left guard and slammed into the man’s jaw, sending his mouth guard flying and the lower half of his face wagging like an excited dog. The entire combo was executed in less than a second, leaving the gawking crowd almost as stunned as the recipient.


Gregore tumbled to the mat, his eyes glassy and staring into oblivion, unable to do anything but lie on his side and push out laboured breath. Lucas turned and leaned on the ropes with his arms as a trainer sped into the ring to check on the fallen fighter. The Russian would recover his senses soon. His pride might take a bit longer.

“What do you think coach? Am I hired?” Lucas asked innocently.

Lucas had had enough. He had moved to New York to make a positive difference in the world but instead, had become another statistic. Sure, times were tough and the economy was in the toilet but it didn’t mean that sitting on a street corner waiting for hand-outs was the answer. If he was going to change his situation, he needed to do it himself and stop waiting for some miracle to do it for him. They said that if you could make it in New York, you could make it anywhere and it was time to take on the world. But where to start? It’s tough to get a job when you only own the clothes on your back and tough to get clothes without money. It was an endless cycle, and Lucas decided to look to what was familiar for his solution. He found it in the help wanted section of yesterday’s discarded newspaper.


The single story building on Front Street had probably been built in the early 50s and it had left its best days behind. Graffiti decorated the red brick surface now where flower boxes might once have been. The bulb in the cracked and dirty yellow sign blinked sporadically to either warn or welcome passers by. It read “McMillan’s Gym” in bold black letters and an arrow pointed to an old green door with sun bleached streaks. Financial cutbacks by the city had left this part of Front Street cracked and broken, swept under the rug of the mayor’s office. Though the gym was in obvious disrepair, McMillan’s would be perfect; if they would have him.


Lucas pushed through the front door to find a cramped, dingy stairwell leading to the basement. A single bulb hung from a string to illuminate the dusty passageway. He descended into the building’s depths and another doorway opened into the main training area. The room was large and the overhead lights gave the entire space a sterile feel that was common in these kinds of places. A dozen boxers went about their daily training routine; either working on the speed bag, jumping rope or using other miscellaneous equipment. The walls had been painted a deep burgundy, the sporadic cracks and scuff marks showed that another coat was long overdue. A boxing ring took up the center of the hall and it’s faded blue canvas and ropes were a comforting, familiar site.


An old oak desk had been set in a closet sized office and a hard looking older man, probably in his late sixties, had planted himself there. His head was completely bald and a pair of black rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he read the morning newspaper. His white collared t-shirt was loose fitting but immaculate, as if it had just come off the rack. An old black and white picture hung on the wall behind him, a captured image of the fighter from long ago in his glory days.


Without looking up from the paper, the man addressed Lucas with a gravelly voice. “What you want kid?” He asked.


Lucas placed his own newspaper down over the man’s and pointed at the small rectangle of information he had circled.


Help wanted
McMillan’s gym
77 Front Street, Brooklyn
Handyman, janitor, jack-of-all-trades
Boxing experience a must


“I’m here about the job sir.” Lucas answered politely.


The man reached up and took his glasses off before squinting an eye and studying Lucas carefully. He snorted a snort of fained disgust and stood up to his full 5’4 height. The desk didn’t prove an obstacle and the short, old man navigated around it easily to step out onto the gym floor. Lucas followed behind him, waiting for what would happen next.


“Gregore!” the grizzled trainer called out, his gruff voice echoing in the cavernous room. “We got an interview!”


The heavy bag in the corner that had been lurching wildly a moment earlier stopped moving as two gloved hands gripped and steadied it. A huge, barrel-chested man with no visible neck line leaned to the side to get a look at the applicant. The man at the heavy bag didn’t look as much like a person as he did a shaved gorilla. It was obvious that his training had focused on bulk instead of speed and it was working very well. Gregore smiled menacingly at the new arrival, showing his stained teeth as he stared. The look made Lucas feel like he was a glass of water to a thirsty man who had just crossed the Sahara. Gregore stood about 6’3 and had at least 50 pounds on Lucas. A match against him was not going to be a picnic.


“Coming coach.” Gregore said in a heavy, Russian accent.


The old man beside Lucas seemed pleased with himself as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Last chance to back out” He warmed, the hint of a smile creeping onto his lips.


Lucas held Gregore’s stare. The fight had already started as each fighter tried to gain a psychological advantage before the gloves went on. “I don’t have any gear.” The young man said without looking away. “Got anything I can borrow?”

Welcome to MRO, eh.

The cool, wet cement caressed Lucas’ cheek and begged him not to go. It whispered promises of comfort and warmth as long as he would just keep his eyes closed a little longer. The young man struggled indecisively before finally managing to lift his heavy eyelids to take in the scene before him.

Rain continued to pummel the alley mercilessly and everything seemed to glitter and shine with the reflection of the blue neon sign across the boulevard. The world had a hazy, groggy feel that was difficult to shake. Lucas had been knocked out in the ring a few times in the past and some baser instinct began to go through the motions of getting up, taking hold to guide him until the young mutant could regain his faculties.

He heard the ref inside the ring as he yelled numbers in the fighter's ear, adding a sense of urgency to the process. Lucas’ body felt sluggish and dull but he knew he needed to get up or he would be counted out. He had already lost track of the seconds in his dazed state.

“4!”

The ref screamed down at the fighter’s prone body as he lay on the unforgiving asphalt. Lucas put his hands on the ground under his shoulders and pushed, raising his upper body out of the puddle he had fallen in. His head hung heavily, a stream of water rushing down his scalp and leaping off his chin to the earth bellow. His muscles burned with the exertion but he gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain.

“5!”

Dragging a leg up to beside his hip, Lucas got his foot planted and teetered, barely able to keep his balance. Taking a second, he found his center of gravity and exhaled a long gust of air to help steady himself.

“6!”

Lucas drove into the ground with his leg and his body started to rise up above the muck covered floor. Some old, wet newspaper clung to his leg as he rose, refusing to be left behind.

“7!”

The sound of running could be heard behind him. Two people were trying to reach him in the darkness. Lucas brought his second foot under him and got up to his full height. He wobbled slightly and shuffled his feet wider apart to keep from plunging back down to the canvas.

“8!”

Scanning the near black corners of the alley, Lucas looked for his opponent. An electric convulsion shuddered through his body, an after shock from the energy that had coursed through his veins only moments ago.

“9!”

Lucas couldn’t focus on anything as his vision swam about randomly. The dark skinned monster was nowhere to be seen. Lucas jerked his head from side to side and stumbled like a drunken man on a ship. He had to find the monster so he would be ready when it struck again.

“10!”

The ref exclaimed with finality, throwing up his outstretched hands in front of Lucas’ eyes. Seeing no cognitive response, the ref turned and waved his arm to the ring judge to signal the fight was over. “You’re out!” He screamed as the bell sounded outside the ring and echoed in the boxer’s ears.

Lucas’ left hand ached painfully and he looked down to see his fingers had blackened and burned. He tried to flex the muscles and tendons of his ravaged hand and they throbbed menacingly as they responded. His hand still worked but would take time to heal completely. It would be a week, maybe two before he regained full use he imagined but these things were tough to gauge. His coach and trainer came up behind him and grabbed hold from both sides. He let himself go and their arms caught him as he started to fall, keeping him on his feet.

“Dude, are you ok man?” The trainer said. Lucas couldn’t remember the teen in the large coat being in his corner but he was glad to see that he had come to help him. The fighter’s entire body felt used up. He had given it everything he had. Lucas may have lost the fight but his opponent would remember him if they faced off again. “I got him good coach. I got him real good.” Lucas mumbled to the ghosts only he could see.

“Sure man, whatever.” The other teen said as he rolled his eyes at the ramblings of the barely conscious homeless man. “Diego, get his arm. Let’s get him back to the street where it is safe.”

The two youth each took an arm over their shoulder and helped the fighter exit the ring.