Three lost people, each one searching for what is important to them in a strange new world, wrought by a common tragedy.
Three separate paths, intertwining as they all flee from a common force, united by one enemy none can overcome alone.
Three people with three things to search for. One seeking vengeance, one seeking justice, and one seeking herself.
Three Blind Mice. See how they run.

Alex Lordon
It was nothing special really. Just an old picture in a worn down frame, sitting on top of the motel nightstand. It was a normal picture, just a man, his wife, and two kids. Nothing extraordinary about it. The man had hardly gone a day without looking at it in seven years. This small memory, captured years before, was all that remained of his shattered past. It was all that was left of the life he had once known. Since that fateful day seven years ago, Alex Lordon had kept it safe, to remind him of his mission. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, and looked at the faces in the picture. These were his family. His wife and children. Why would someone do this to them? What was the reason? He was determined to find the answers.

A sound from outside his window stopped his train of thought. The wind outside was blowing, and something had fallen. He knew what it meant in an instant. He rose from the bed and grabbed the picture from the nightstand. He opened the drawer and snatched up his gun and knife. He rushed to a suitcase that sat in the corner of his room, and hurriedly shoved the items inside. In moments he was at the door. There wasn't a second to waste. They were coming again, and he had to escape.

Once he was out of the room, he broke into a full run, dragging the suitcase behind him. He had to leave. Had to get as far away from this place as he possibly could. All he could hear was the pounding of his feet against the asphalt, and the wind whistling all around him. He knew they were following him. He had to get away, as far away as he possibly could. He dashed past the check out office, and into the deserted streets. The light had left the sky by now, and he was running out of time.

On the other side of the street was a parking lot full of cars. He ran forward, barely escaping an oncoming car. He ran along the rows and tried to fight off his panic. Not much time left. He found a suitable car, and pulled a screwdriver from his pocket. In seconds he was inside. He soon had the car hotwired, and pressed the pedal to test. As soon as he heard the engine, he stomped on the pedal and raced from the parking lot. Once the town was behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. Another night had fallen, and once again he was safe.

He hated this. He was a family man. He lived in a good neighborhood, raised two boys, watched football on Sundays. He didn't spend his days stealing cars, staying in cheap motels, and running like a frightened animal. He was a good man, not a criminal. They did this to him. They destroyed his life. He was on the run now, but not forever. He was going to strike back. He would avenge himself.

The road was long and straight, and for miles he didn't pass a single car. He tried to focus, but nevertheless his mind began to drift. It drifted back across the years, to that very afternoon. He could see their smiling faces as if they were still there, and he could smell the summer breeze in the air. They had gone to the lake for a day, to relax and fish. It had been a great day, full of joy and laughter. That night, he had gotten a call from a friend, and had to leave them for the night. What he saw when he came home was more horrible then he thought a thing could be.

He remembered how his heart had dropped into his stomach as he drove up to his house, and saw it surrounded by police cars. The police had stopped him, and told him to wait outside. He told them he was the home owner, and they began to ask questions. Where were you tonight? Do you know why we're here? Strange questions he couldn't answer. He demanded to know what was happening. Again and again they ducked the question, and by the time they told him, he had already realized that his worst fear had come true.

"Sir, I'm afraid there's been a murder here." The words felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He dropped to his knees, and the tears began to flow. This couldn't be happening. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. But it wasn't a dream. For a long time, he couldn't bring himself to stand. The officer looked at the broken man, and offer a hand to help him up. Alex stood up on his own. "I know how you must be feeling right now," he said, "but we need you to identify the body." The policeman lead him inside the house, and into the living room. The floor was covered in blood, and a gruesome trail lead down the hall, to the bedrooms. The sight made him sick.

As the officer opened the door, he revealed he true horror of the scene. On the bed, his wife was lying, blood dripping from her neck. Her throat had been slit, and there were stab wounds on her body. Alex could look no longer. He turned for the door and stopped on the spot. The officer looked at him. "It says in your files that you have two sons, but neither one is here. We are acting under the assumption that they have been kidnapped. We are doing the best we can to find them." Alex nodded blankly. He was only partially listening to the officer. Something had caught his eye when he had turned around.

It was hanging from the doorknob, tied to it by the tail. A little white mouse, dead and with gouged out eyes. It was so small that he nearly didn't notice it there. He had seen it only by chance, but now he couldn't take his eyes off of it. There had to be a reason for it to be there. It was a clue, the only clue he had. When the officer stopped talking, he reached the doorknob and opened the door, taking the mouse at the same time. He would find who did this. That was the first thought in his mind. At that moment he could think of nothing else.

That night was only the beginning. In the following days he was questioned, accused, and ultimately forced to run from the law or be put in prison for killing his wife. He couldn't let that happen. He had to find the killer. Find his sons. So he ran. He ran and never stopped running. Since that day he had been searching for something. And he had found it. But his mission wasn't over. The rules had changed. He was no longer looking for something. Something was looking for him.