[ WP ] You are a medical student , doing questions from an online databank to prep for an exam . You read one question stem and it describes a patient that sounds exactly like you . Suddenly , you start to remember things from your past that start to click into place .

THE SECOND ASSASSIN 
 
 Los Angeles, California – 1971 
 
 The question described a patient brought to the hospital ER at 3:30 am on June 5, 1968. He was late twenties, unconscious, with two mysterious burns on his head, one on each temple. 
 
 A lightning bolt exploded in his mind. Jim pressed both palms to his temples. The fire in his head was a blazing inferno that caused strange thoughts and images to race through his brain, like a tv show set to fast forward: 
 
 A dark-haired man, a hotel kitchen, gunshots, a gun in his hand— 
 
 Holy crap! A gun in his hand. Why was he seeing a gun in his own hand? He didn ’ t even own a gun. Had never fired a handgun in his life. 
 
 Another bolt of lightning. The pain was unimaginable. More images flashed before his eyes. A familiar man on the floor, blood pooled beneath his head. Was that --? 
 
 Surely not. He quickly opened another tab on his computer and punched in the relevant date. His heart sank as his worst fears were confirmed. June 5, 1968, the day Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated in the Ambassador Hotel kitchen by dark-haired gunman, Sirhan Sirhan. 
 
 Sweat pooled beneath his hairline, dripping down his forehead, from his eyelids to his temples. And then he pressed his hands to the two scars he had no memory of receiving. He sprinted to the mirror and stared at what most certainly could be the remnants of horrible burns he couldn ’ t remember… 
 
 Another flash. More pain. But memories: Looking through his own eyes at the back of a head in a crowded room. No! 
 
 He hears shots from in front. Everyone turns to look. He places the gun just behind the man ’ s right ear. No!! 
 
 Pain fires deep inside his brain, cutting its center like a torch. He ’ s strapped down on a table. Men are holding him down. Their pressing something against his temples. It ’ s set too high, he thinks. The electric shocks are going to melt his mind. 
 
 Jim sits at his desk, drool dripping down his chin. A urine stain spreads over the crotch of his pants. 
 
 He ’ s inside his own head now, his mind completely shattered. He ’ ll never come out again. A memory hidden from its owner, programmed to wreck his psyche if ever uncovered. 
 
 His last thought before he descends into the black pit of nothingness is, strangely enough, a fond memory from childhood: His mother gently strokes his cheek to soothe him, after he skinned his knee. Odd, but not a bad thought to go out on. 

