The cabin, dark and silent, chilled rapidly in the late fall air.  Outside, wind cut and slashed icy blades between shafts of barren old growth.  Inside, at a small table near the rough stone hearth holding the last dying embers of a warm fire, Jason took a quick, stuttering breath and his back spasmed, arching like he had been kicked in the spine.  His arms stretched wide, and hands flexed and tensed, dropping the snub-nosed revolver he held.  It tumbled with a clatter to the wooden floor, spun for a few turns, then lay still.  He watched it with calm detachment, rubbed the small circular dent the muzzle left at his temple, then stood on shaking legs and looked around the interior of the cabin.  Jason knew he should recognize this place, but the memory of where he was or how he got the...

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