He'd been running and hiding ever since he left the hospital. Every time he went some place new they'd find out where he was again. Sometimes it was the FBI agents and sometimes it was the others. He wasn't sure who the other people were. Some of the same faces kept popping up. Others were new every time. Probably just hired thugs picked up from where ever the others found themselves. He thought some of them might be Mafia or something. But at the same time he didn't really think that was quite right. The Mob part didn't really fit what he was seeing. The looked more like… yeah, that sounds more like it. Russian Mafia. Somehow he knew that was right
But how could he know that? How would he know the difference between Sicilian and Russian Mafias, especially from just having them chase him around a few times? How? Why?
He was getting seriously confused and bewildered by it all. He couldn't figure out if he was a good guy or a bad guy being pursued and hunted by all bad guys or by both bad and good guys. All he knew was that he was being kept on the edge and on the run and everything just kept getting worse and worse as time went on and someday soon he might snap and break in pieces with who knows what result.
Everything was getting all jumbled up and amplified within him. He was highly confused because he had no idea why these things were happening to him. Not knowing even his own identity had made the whole experience of being lost, uncertain and ungrounded, like he could fall away at any moment and not be found or be able to find himself again. He often felt as if he kept spinning around and around in circles and even when he threw up from the dizziness, it. Just. Never. Stopped.
He was constantly watchful, forcing himself to stay wary and distrustful because he never knew where the next knife or bullet would come from. And because he could never trust, never let himself get to know anyone and never had anyone, he was so, so lonely. More often than not the loneliness ached so badly that he couldn't move, couldn't do anything except curl himself into a ball and cry and cry and cry until the rest of the world just dissolved away.
His terror kept growing and overwhelming him and he often honestly wondered why he didn't just let them end it for him. He was just so bone wearily exhausted by it all.
But something small and almost unheard deep within him kept nudging him not to give up.
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