Forged Memory

The cigarette had burned down to the filter searing Frank's lip as he pointed his pistol at a man in a deep black trench coat. Frank's grip tightened on the pistol as he stared the man down. The alley was cloaked in shadows, the only illumination coming from the flickering street lamp at the end of the narrow passage. The man grimaced, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"You don't want to do this," the man said, his voice a mix of scared and broken.

Frank's jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Memories of betrayal and deceit flooded his mind, fueling his anger. Without a word, he cocked the pistol and took a step forward.

Frank watched the man in the trench coat as he threw his hand in front of his body, a pitiful attempt to protect himself. 

"Don't do this, some things can never be undone man." the man shouted as tears streamed down his face.

Frank's resolve was unyielding, like a steel wall built upon the ashes of his family. The memory of their brutal deaths consumed his every thought, fueling a burning desire for revenge that simmered just beneath the surface of his skin. Every step he took, every breath he drew, was driven by an unwavering determination to make those responsible pay for their crimes.

The anguished cries of his loved ones echoed in his mind, driving him forward. With a steady hand, he aimed the pistol at the man's chest and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the alley, shattering the stillness of the night. The man stumbled back, a small red dot appearing on his chest before collapsing to the ground, blood seeping from the wound.

Frank's heart pounded in his chest as he stared down at the man in disbelief, a mix of relief and regret washing over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a mistake. The man had been right - some things could never be undone. But, deep down, he knew he had no choice. He had to protect himself from the danger that lurked in the shadows and avenge those he cared about.

With a heavy heart, Frank turned and hurried out of the alley, leaving the body behind a grim reminder that sometimes, in a world filled with chaos and deception, there were no easy answers.

As Frank made his way through the city, his mind reeled with a whirlwind of emotions - guilt, regret, and the burning desire for vengeance. He knew that he had to leave the past behind and focus on the present, but it was easier said than done.

The streets were bustling with activity, but they were now alien to him. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, as if he were carrying the sins of the city with him. He passed by crowds of people, their faces a blur, their chatter indistinct.

Finally making it to his office, he opened the door. It was a single room with an old wooden desk and folding chair. In the corner of the room, a rusted metal shelf Holding various files, evidence of his career. On the other side a beat up old leather couch worn smooth from years of use.

Frank couldn't shake the lingering feeling of loss. His hands trembled as he took a seat behind the battered wooden desk, the cold metal of the pistol digging into his thigh. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that seemed to stretch across the floor and up the walls, adding to the melancholy atmosphere.

He picked up a nearly empty glass and downed its contents in one swift motion, the burn of the liquor numbing his mind for a moment. Frank didn't notice his assistant leaving, and he wondered how long she had been gone.

As the night wore on, the dimness of the office began to seep into his soul, and the ghosts of his past seemed to be closing in on him. He began to hear whispers, like the soft rustling of the wind through the alleyways, but he pushed it away, he had to finish what he started. 

He poured himself another drink, his gaze shifted to the glass he held, and the dark liquid within. Swirling its contents he was lost in quiet contemplation, searching for an answer to a question that eluded him. 

The weight of his actions weighed heavily upon him, a burden he carried as he went about the motions of his life. He glanced at the photograph on his desk, a fading image of two faces he once knew so well, but now seemed like strangers.

The soft whispers grew louder, turning into a cacophony of voices that seemed to come from every direction. It was as if the city itself speaking to him, urging him to avenge their fallen friend. Frank could feel the power of the words, a force that gripped him and wouldn't let go.

His resolve strengthened, Frank stood up and walked towards the window. The cityscape outside was a sea of lights, a constant hum of activity that never slept. From this vantage point, he could see the faces of the people, each one a story, each one a life.

Frank finished the stale beverage and lit a smoke as he walked out into the cold night air. The smoky haze from his cigarette mingled with the mist that hung over the city, creating a shroud around him. He took a deep drag, the nicotine slowly calming his nerves.

Frank's mind was awash with thoughts of the past and the long road he'd traveled to reach this moment. His heart heavy with the memories of those he'd lost, he made his way onto the streets, blending into the shadows as he walked.

The city was alive with the sounds of the night, each street corner a new story waiting to be told. He wandered aimlessly, his thoughts consumed by the whispers of the past and the specters that haunted his waking hours.

As the night gave way to the first light of dawn, Frank found himself drawn to the subway, a place where the city's secrets often lay hidden. He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the darkness, but the whispers of the city drove him forward. In the deep, murky shadows, he could almost feel the presence of the one he sought, their ghostly form barely visible in the thin light that trickled down from the entrance.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, damp air, and then he started to move forward. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the station, a stark contrast to the silence that surrounded him. His heart beat rapidly, the thud thud thud a reminder that this was not a game.

As he made his way deeper into the darkness, the whispers grew louder, becoming a chorus of voices that seemed to guide him towards his goal. Frank's mind was focused like a laser beam, his thoughts consumed by the need for revenge.

There, in the shadows, stood the figure he had been searching for for so long. Frank's heart pounded as he took a step forward, his hand gripping the handle of the knife he had hidden beneath his jacket. This one he would do close, this one was personal. The figure raised a hand in surrender, their eyes glistening with tears.

"Please," they pleaded, "It wasn't me, my boss forced..." their voice trailed off.

Frank's jaw clenched, his mind reeling with emotions. He had chased this person for years, seeking vengeance for the pain they had caused. Now, here they were, begging for mercy. He hesitated, the weight of his decision heavy in the air.

In that moment, Frank's resolve wavered. The figure in front of him was not the faceless monster he had imagined, but a human being, just like him. Tears filled his eyes as he looked deep into their pleading gaze. Suddenly, he remembered the love and laughter that once filled his life before the tragedy struck.

He lowered his hand, the knife still hidden beneath his jacket. "I don't want to do this," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I have to."

The figure's eyes widened, their heart pounding. "Please, don't do this. I have a family," they said, backing away slowly. "I can get you money, you can disappear. I won't even say anything to anyone, not even my boss."

Frank took a deep breath, the taste of revenge sweet on his lips. He had to do this, for his daughter and wife. He lunged forward with the knife in hand burying it in the man's chest.

As the man's lifeless body collapsed to the floor, Frank couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had let his thirst for vengeance consume him, leading him down a path of darkness and destruction. The chorus of voices that once guided him now seemed to mock his actions.

He knelt down beside the body, staring at the crimson stains now spreading across the floor. The figure's words had resonated with him, reminding him of the shattered remnants of his own life. The laughter and love that once filled his home were gone, replaced by a void he had been trying to fill with vengeance.

He made his way back toward the light of the subway entrance, feeling the weight of his actions bearing down on him. As he emerged from the darkness, he cast one last look at the scene behind him, a testament to the destructive power of vengeance.

The streets of the city stretched out before him, a cold and unforgiving expanse. Frank knew that he could never go back to the life he once had, and that the path before him was now a lonely one. But as he began to walk, a strange sense of peace washed over him. He had finally avenged his family, and in doing so, he had found a measure of closure. He walked off in the direction of his office at a slow but steady pace.

As he made his way through the city, Frank couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right decision. He knew that his actions would have consequences, and he would forever be the one to blame for taking another life. But he also knew he had no other choice. His wife and daughter's faces haunted him, along with the memory of their final words. The pain of their loss had driven him to seek vengeance in the only way he knew how.

Frank approached his old building, the familiar façade seeming alien now. He pushed open the heavy glass doors and walked through the silent lobby, feeling the eyes of the security guards on him. He had changed, and they could see it.

Making his way up the stairs to the 12th floor, he took a deep breath before opening his office door. The room was haunting him now,  the remnants of past memories still hanging in the air. The desk where he spent countless hours, the worn leather couch where he took much-needed breaks, and the shelves overflowing with papers and books representing his life's work, It all seemed irrelevant now.

He sat down behind the desk, staring at the faded picture of his family that was in front of him. It was a reminder of why he had embarked on this journey, of the love and happiness they had brought into his life. And yet, it was also a reminder of the emptiness he now felt. He had avenged them, but it did nothing to bring them back.

Frank's mind wandered back to the man's words before he had pulled the trigger – a confession of guilt and a plea for mercy. He knew in his heart that he had to do it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let his family down. They would never know the truth, so he would carry the burden alone.

The phone on Frank's desk suddenly rang, jolting him out of his deep thoughts. He took a moment to compose himself before answering, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. The caller was a woman, her voice somewhat familiar. She had told him she was on her way to his office and instructed him to stay put and wait for her arrival.

The woman arrived a short time later, she looked familiar somehow like someone from a dream. He tried to place her, but he couldn't quite pinpoint who she was. Despite the stranger's friendly demeanor, Frank couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"Frank, I Have been looking everywhere for you," she said in a soothing tone, Her eyes were warm, but something in her smile seemed forced.

The woman's eyes flicked to the picture of his family on his desk. She hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath and speaking.

"Frank," she started, "Do you even recognize me?" she added her face growing solemn.

Frank's mind began to race as he stared at the woman before him. He felt a sudden and inexplicable sense of dread wash over him. There was something about her, yet he couldn't quite place her. He had seen her somewhere before, but his mind was shrouded in a dense fog, a fog that seemed to be growing thicker by the second.

"Maybe," he stammered, feeling the weight of the past suffocating him. "I can't quite remember right now."

The woman looked into his eyes, searching for some recognition. Her expression twisted into a frown as she shook her head.

"You don't even recognize your own wife?" she said, the tone of her voice changing from warm and friendly to worried and frantic.

Frank couldn't respond, his mind racing with a thousand questions and a thousand fears, this was his wife but how. Frank's eyes widened in shock as he finally realized the truth.

"Lena... is that you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lena's expression softened as she nodded, her eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry, my love," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "I know this must be a shock, but you need to come with me. You have been gone for two days."

Frank's mind reeled as he tried to piece together the events that led to this moment. Lena had died years ago, right in his arms. Now, standing in front of him, she looked younger, healthier, and more vibrant than he had ever seen her. Awestruck he followed her in a confused silence.

"What happened? Where have you been all this time?" she asked, her voice raw with emotion. Frank tried to speak, but words seemed to get caught in his throat. His mind struggled to make sense of this surreal situation.

"Lena," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper. "I...I don't know anymore”

Lena sighed, hesitating for a moment before she began to speak again. "Your daughter is worried sick, you know." She grabbed his hand and led him through the populated streets to someone's house.

The house stood tall and proud, with bright blue shutters and a vibrant red door. The freshly painted walls reflected the sunlight, giving the house a warm and inviting glow. Colorful flower bushes lined the driveway, adding to the picturesque scene. He had seen this place somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it.

As they entered the house, Lena continued, her voice filled with a mixture of emotions. "go and take your meds Frank." as she flicked on the news and started listening intently. He somehow knew where they were and it all started flooding back.

Frank stared at the now familiar surroundings, his mind whirring as if trying to catch up with a dream. Images flashed through his mind, disjointed and fragmented like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit. He felt a chill run down his spine as he realized that Lena was right: their daughter was waiting for him.

He managed to swallow the lump in his throat and nodded, walking over to his medicine cabinet. As he grabbed the bottle of pills, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The reflection stared back at him, older, tired, and lost. It was a stranger, yet one he knew all too well.

Frank's eyes fixated on the pill bottle in his quivering hand as Lena's panicked voice rang out from the other room. "The serial killer's back, Frank!" she shouted, her words laced with fear and urgency. "They found an accountant in the alleyway on 6th and a mailman in the subway by that place you go," she added.

He read the label on the bottle, which stated in bold letters "DONZEFIL." It listed its purpose as treating dissociative identity disorder and promised to lessen auditory hallucinations. The instructions advised to take it with plenty of water, so he did.

Entering the bathroom, Lena locked eyes with Frank and let out a sigh of relief as she spoke. "Thank goodness you weren't in that subway station; it could have been you who was stabbed."