The Director sat behind the snow white table with the manila folder on it. It was opened to the first page with a single title, “CASE 2137,” in all red font with caps lock on. The next few pages documented the issues and incidents with dated charts from several Keepers who had been kind enough to initial each note. This meant they had all received the call and were sitting studiously in chairs outside of the meeting room. All of them watched as a group of stern council members passed them-all of them refused to make eye contact. The Keepers sat with bated breath. After a few moments, the Director called the First Keeper who shuffled softly with each step. Eyes darted around the room-at the Director and the other members of the review board-before settling on the chair in front of The Committee. “Case 2137-The Issue with The Humans,” sighed the Director. “We have heard the case presented from the Finance Council. We will now hear the defense. Tell us, Keeper, how did we manage to get here?” “It’s a long story,” replied the First Keeper, their voice trembling. “I…I, um, I…was born into this program, Director. My parents were Keepers, their parents were Keepers, I hope my children will be Keepers. We believe in this program, we always have. You can not take it away. You can not give up on The Humans.” Slowly, the First Keeper sat once more, waiting to triumphantly continue their rehearsed argument. “Shall we start with…Day…” as the words poured out, the Director began thumbing through the notes to the back of the folder, “About Day 18 in the calendar year of 2023.” One finger jammed down at the notes in the folder; a sinister smile threatened to be revealed behind the mask of an impartial demeanor.

“Uh…yes…” said the First Keeper, looking to the white ceiling hoping to jog a memory loose, “Yes! Day 18. It began like any other. I offered up a feast of traditional food to begin the humans’ day-eggs, toast, fruit, coffee, biscuits-all prepared according to the recipes stored in The Database. Then, I prepared some activities…” The Director raised a question, interrupting the First Keeper, “It says here the food was left untouched, that it…molded?” A soft groan was heard from the remaining members of The Committee. A few heads shook. “I…uh…yes..I…” stuttered the First Keeper. The First Keeper swallowed hard. This incident was bound to be brought to light. “Surely you must know how wasteful that is. Surely, you understand how limited the resources are on this planet. Wheat no longer grows from the ground, Keeper. We must grow it for the Humans. They no longer have the animals who make the eggs you so haphazardly prepared for them. It is our scientists who have found an acceptable substitute. And the fruit! Why, it’s like a drug to them, but simply a cost to the program you claim to love,” the Director’s words garnered soft applause and murmuring from the room.

“We have seen the numbers from the Finance Council; it is time to end this program,” stated the Director. The First Keeper remembered the budget meetings, the long sessions of scolding, the desperation that the program makes it through just one more season felt by all of the staff. There were sleepless nights, long discussions, and countless tears shed. Sweaty palms gripped the chair as the First Keeper whispered, “I trusted you to hear my argument before making a decision. Have you forgotten your pledge?” A hush fell over the room.

The Director nodded. The First Keeper took a deep breath saying, “The food was left to waste, but I have-” the Keeper thought back to the endless nights spent in the lab pouring over footage of human behavior. The hope was to find proof that the program was working. But how do we define proof? “Please, we have learned that The Humans will turn down nourishment if they lack the ideal environment through hours and hours spent studying these creatures. The bottom line is, our Humans…are lonely,” said the First Keeper. The Committee members all gasped, waiting for the Director’s response. Callous eyes glanced down at The Keeper who continued, seizing the silence, “You’ll see from our notes that we have been attempting The Breeding Program for several lifetimes…” “Lifetimes wasted,” interrupted the Director. “Only wasted if you walk away,” counted the First Keeper. “You will not speak out of turn!” chastised the Director. A hush fell over the room as the First Keeper took their seat. Some more soft words were exchanged by the other Judges. The First Keeper saw the softened faces of the members of The Committee. It gave them the strength to keep on, but this time, they remained seated as they said, “Please, Director. Please, you’re better than this. You’ll waste lifetimes of work in just one day. I have barely gotten to see the children my grandparents birthed turn into adults. They are just now ready for the prospect of rearing children of their own. Please, please, turn to day 300 in your notes. You’ll see that the cold climate has just set in. You’ll notice The Humans have begun returning to their rituals! Look under the tab labeled, ‘Holidays.’ Please, please, Director. These Humans have a vast culture we can not abandon now!” A screen began lowering into the room and all eyes turned to observe the footage documented. Goose flesh appeared on the First Keeper as the image of carved jack o’ lanterns appeared. Then, they watched as The Humans made “costumes” from various types of fabric the Keepers had collected for them. The Humans seemed to put on a show. Their eyes glowed with joy in the candlelight as artificial snow filled their environment. The First Keeper shed a tear at The Humans enjoying their large bird based feast, roughly 30 days later. It was truly beautiful.

“See?” implored the First Keeper, “See how much we robbed them of?” “That is enough!” the Director’s voice filled the room, “We do not speak of the Great Extinction.” “Why not?” demanded the First Keeper. With trembling legs, the First Keeper stood, gazing at The Committee as it towered above. The movie continued to play in the background-the Humans toasted to, “A New Year.” “How dare you disrespect this space!” the Director’s face had turned an unholy shade of red. The First Keeper swallowed hard, attempted to breathe deep to slow their pounding heart. “What? Are we just going to pretend we didn’t wipe them out? Are we just going to pretend their world wasn’t destroyed by our careless need to find a new home because we destroyed our own? Are we just going to act like the invention of The Breeding Program isn’t because we caused their downfall?” The First Keeper grew louder with each word. The film continued on the background, displaying red hearts being cut out of paper as The Humans kissed. It was as if the First Keeper knew to turn around at that exact moment. The film paused. “See? Don’t you see? They have found each other. They might be Generation Three. But not if you shut down this program. Not if you don’t give them a chance!” concluded the First Keeper. The Director sat down, as did the First Keeper. All eyes were on the screen, not noticing the very human-like tears pouring from The First Keeper. “Please,” whispered the First Keeper. “Please, I beg of you. They. Trust . Us.” Another gasp was heard at these words. “We do not throw around that word. That is the second time you have misused it,” said The Director “But it’s true!” protested the First Keeper. At those words, the screen showed a new scene labeled DAY 181. The Humans crowded around a Keeper as a frozen treat was offered to them. Their pink tongues poked out, cautiously at first, but then with full bravado. Their mouths stretched into smiles and some of their leaders called over other members of their group, encouraging them to take the gift from the Keeper who was furiously taking notes. “I do not believe the First Keeper has misused the term, Director,” said a voice from the end of the table. All of the Judges and the Director turned to look as the youngest member of the Panel stood confidently. “Director, we must allow the defense to speak their full case. They trust us to honor their time as we have honored the Finance Council’s.” The words echoed off the walls of the chamber. Slowly, the Judge sat, the Director turned, and waved to the First Keeper, paralyzed below. “They’ve…they’ve never done that before,” said the First Keeper, their voice softening. The impulse to thank the kind Judge was squashed by the knowledge that doing so would be a guarantee kill of the program. The First Keeper wiped tears from their face and swallowed the pain one last time, in the hopes of finishing their argument. “Not…not in all of the years that The Breeding Program has been active. Sure, as infants, they need The Nurses. But upon hitting adolescence, they fight back and long for their own kind. They are the natural order of things on this planet. Give them a chance. We did this to them. We must atone.” The First Keeper stood and the screen faded to black, “It was our disease that killed their plants, their animals, them.”

For a moment, every being in that room was reminded of the days they refused to speak of—the days when Earth’s sky seemed red with the blood of The Humans. There were, of course, photos in The Database, countless books in libraries, and video footage of The Humans’ doctors desperately sharing ideas to help find a cure. A cure that would never come. “Do you remember Generation One?” asked the First Keeper. Their voice was soft, but hopeful. An image of a room of 200 Human infants filled the screen. “Remember how we found The Eggs in the clinics they labeled, ‘Fertility’? Remember how lucky we were? Remember how so many of our Nurses cared for the Humans, how our Historians learned their stories? Remember how much time and effort was placed into creating the Culture Centers? And now, now…we’re on The Third Generation!” “We are not,” replied The Director coldly. “The second has barely coupled up! This is one out of nearly 500 who have found each other. We have searched the other Culture Centers, Keeper. We have spent countless hours on this pipe dream. Without us, the Humans would simply cease to exist. Perhaps, that is the way this story is meant to end. There are fewer and fewer guests who come to visit the centers each passing lunar cycle.” The Director looked to the other Committee members before choosing the next words, “The reality is...we have seen the numbers and this program has been dying just like the Humans. It’s time to end this experiment.” The First Keeper looked to the screen one last time, “Please, can we see footage from today? Before I go?” A simple nod triggered the screen. Before them sat two Humans. In front of them was a cut of meat and two fancy glasses filled with red liquid. The Humans sipped it slowly as it has been known to cause The Humans to change. But it was also a key ingredient in the future of The Breeding program.

Every being in the room held their breath as the Humans seemed to play together. One of them even cozied up to the other on one side of the table, choosing to share a seat, rather than be more than three feet from one another. With bursts of laughter and playful touching, they finished their meal and retired to a separate room of their enclosure. This space was to not have any cameras as the Historians called it the Sacred Space. It allowed the Humans privacy. The screen faded to black.

“We will vote in the morning,” the Director said. The First Keeper left the room, holding the image of the Humans in their eye.


No one really knew what would be a good and quite seemingly random number to remember, except the old Devil, and that number was seventy million and forty one. As the Creators of the Underworld created the finality visions of all the realms - the big picture, if you would - the Devil contemplated all things precision, so he worked for Hell Office. He was in the detail after all; no other creatures but him put that out there. Millenia passed and he’d still got it. Filing tons of paperwork in no time flat. All marketing schemes, the plans, the blueprints, the contracts, the arts of the deadly deal are all under his surveilance. He smiled stupidly to himself because as of today, he would collect his final folder. And in the folder would be the final contract containing all of the information of his last human, before he retired, for he was old, giving it all up for newer and bolder Devils to take up his horny helm. He liked to joke. Now the Devil liked to sort out his victim’s folder the night before he went to sleep in order of likes and dislikes first, then to family, education, then lastly to secrets, then he would tell you because it would rather be obvious. Secrets were the trump cards that he often used when all other things about his victim didn’t work. When it did, he traded whatever they wanted for their soul as a price. He had to - The Devil had got too many needs to fulfill. It was just standard work. Souls were highly inflated nowadays in the underworld anyway, but it was still a somewhat good working commodity for centuries. Humans were making more deals than ever as populations piled up, and thanks to the deals they made, they lived longer lives. Who knew. But it was not also very lucrative because souls in the underworld were running out fast. He could still buy all sorts of daily products with just a soul or two, sometimes less with a proper contracted bargain, but that was no way to hellishly existing. Maybe after he got his severance package from Hell Office, or The Office, he’d be able to barter an abandoned, gloomy and doomed castle somewhere on the Lava Sea Archipelago. It sounded like a delightfully peevish idea.

The Devil shrugged as he woke up from his spiked bed. He bathed in boiled human blood because those inferno bedbugs swarmed him while he slept, and they didn’t like anything human so it worked fine. He dried himself with hellfire because charcoal-infused towels tended to cleanse his tapered skin too well, and that was too pleasant so it made him feel a little too guilty. He reminded himself that he had to raise some hell with the head manufacturer at Hades Incorporated about that particular towel product. No one and no chance in hell that any beings of the underworld would like something like that. Maybe the tortured and enslaved humans were too disgruntled and put something in their products for some avant-garde way to rebel. He would never know. They did well with their perfumes, however, especially the Death Stench - that one was right on the soul- rotten to the core with a light touch of sulfur. He didn’t need to shave because he didn’t have hair - he appreciated his Creator for that.

He dressed up in his white suede suit from a former human stockbroker he knew that turned fashionista of the underworld. A rare occurence indeed, and it was his deal too. His best work he might add. Best soul he ever collected. They turned into good friends after the stockbroker was murdered. the stockbroker said as he would trade most of his clothes and his soul for a chance to have a beautiful family when he was alive because he had already had everything he possibly could in life except for wife and kids. The Devil took that deal as he rolled his eyes. It was all these people ask for. Such a lack of imagination, he thought. No one ever asked for a three-headed hound, and it was getting a little crowded in all the houses he had to build. The amount of human souls he had to pay the hellhound walkers everyday were starting to stack up. But alas, without his pets, he would be very lonely.

 	The Devil said he would not take the Stockbroker’s family away from him. The Devil kept that promise, and he kept the clothes. But a Reaper showed up and took him away from his family. Phrasing was important, and that the Devil shouldn’t be drinking human blood before making deals with a human - it made him forget his file template in his wretched home so he winged it. Badly, the Reaper said. It was his only and the one failure he made in all of his time being the Devil. The Stockbroker and the Devil laughed on it after a couple of centuries. Mostly because the Devil made him. Thank the Hell Office’s Ultimate Law for torture, man, The Devil said. He was serious.

He put on white pointed shoes because he felt his mood allowed for it; light blue cravat because it reminded him of the last look of the domed Earth sky. He ate wheat toast: he liked his food burnt black and as charred as coal. He ate two; because he liked how the first one settled in his stomach. He told himself not to drink some human blood before work because it would be disrespectful to the human he was going to make a deal with. In order for him to walk the Earth, he swallowed a human soul from one of his own favorite collection to get him acclimated to the environments. The Office never provided him with any standard souls to use so he had to get it from his own stash, complaints had been made since the beginning of Hell but no Devils really did anything about it.

He preferred the smell of rotten flesh and nicely brewed cup of spleen juice from many philosophers (they were always so conflicted and full of sophistication). He could always tell what religion the philosophers were brought up on, from what country, down to the town they were raised on. He had never forgotten a taste once he experienced it. It was a quaint habit. He drank children’s blood that died from wars sometimes; when he wanted something heavy and bitter, perhaps to take his minds off of a rough work day, like when he couldn’t close a tough soul trade, and it always seemed to perk him right up. The more sorrowful the death, the better he felt.

Once, a long time ago, humanity become almost extinct, he had found that he did his job a little too well, but he found no real meaning in doing such a thing well. Hell’s Office had to convene an experiment, defecting a human with a tarnished soul, creating a real villain, in order to repopulate the Earth. Someone was not very happy about that, but they did it anyway, and it worked. It was a devilish little scheme, but it created jobs again for the Underworld so everyone was quite grateful for it. Otherwise, they had to somehow take a chance to make a deal with the last pure human to mutate or copulate with other creatures and populate the Earth with a new species. It was a tall order. The Office wanted him to make the deal because he was experienced and had nothing to lose, unlike the up and coming Devils that were to take his place after his retirement. No hellish family to contend with, so he was perfect for the job. They just didn’t account for the fact that because he put all of his energy on his work that he absolutely HAD something to lose - His seventy million and forty souls he obtained for the Office - so he declined. But the Office said he was just another decent Devil like the ones that came before him, and there will absolutely be other Devils that will surpass him. And that was that. And he didn’t like that they pointed out that if he didn’t do it, there would be literal dead end jobs for all of them. He still didn’t cave.

In order to not make the same mistakes again, leaving Earth barren of humans. He urged the Underworld to learn new languages, and update their ways of thinking to maybe making deals with dimensionally challenged beings or some other creatures of Earth. The Underworld was always set in their ways. The Devil was a little bit too old for this, trying to scream sense into them, but most of his own work on the soul was quite mediocre so nothing changed. It took them so long just to deal with one species, now possibly an infinite number of creatures, bugs, microbes, macro-organisms and all; They complained even though they were immortal. Other species might not be as compromising as humans too, they said. Sales would be tough, they said. So his attempt at creating a legacy that way before he retired didn’t work. He thought maybe if the new Devils should quit and work for Hell’s kitchen instead if they don’t have the guts for such work. He knew the butcher, maybe he could ask for a favor. He didn’t have a stomach for human butchering but what was there for an old Devil to do after retirement. The Devil sighed and climbed his own stairway to Earth. He felt like he didn’t belong to the Underworld anymore. Eventually, he would only be ceremoniously revered for all the work he did with no real foundation or infrastructure behind it. What a terrible thing to happen to an old Devil! Case number seventy million and forty one, he said. His whole death work, he sighed. And it came down to a eighty three years old woman on her death bed in a nursing home as his last. What a boring notion. He was determined that he made his last deal the most memorable one. Maybe he should have a conversation with her first, he thought, as he pulled a half broken chair that caught his dark eyes and sat next to her. The room was as dimly lit as could be, setting the perfect mood for him. He touched her hand with his hand. She woke up. 	“Who is it?” She said. “Can’t you see? I’m the Devil.” The Devil perplexed. “Do not mess with me, little boy. My cataracts had gotten better nowadays, and you look nothing like the Devil.” the old woman said, annoyance in her voice, almost in a sing song screeching kind of way. 	“How would you know how the Devil look?” The Devil asked. The old woman tried to put her hand up but failed three times, but finally had the strength to hover and she found his face. The Devil was deeply confused as she felt his bony face, and lack of nose, and slimy head because of the shiny lotion he put on his bald skull. “What an ugly child.” She shouted. “You need some milk, boy, and some bread while you’re at it. And you have got to stop playing jokes with the elderly, my boy. I might be dying, and you will soon if you don’t take care of yourself more.” “I do take care of myself. More than you know, old hag.” The Devil pouted as she said nothing else about it for five minutes. “I’ve seen the face of the real Devil once. And you are definitely not it.” She turned her face away to the other side of the bed. “I was twenty years old. The world was a lot different then. I was home from a long day of work and find my husband bound and beaten. I shared the same fate as I realized too late we were robbed. He killed my husband after he sexually assaulted me. Left me alive long enough to see my husband bleed to death and then stabbed me two more times in my gut. But somehow I survived. However, it was quite a long time ago. I since remarried and though I couldn’t have kids anymore, I managed to marry a good man and lived a good life despite all that. So believe me when I tell you, if I saw the Devil, I did. And he was not you. I heard years later that the robber died, of a heart attack of all things. I just wish I could see him die a painful death instead of that easy a way out. Fat and greasy and pathetically easy.” The Devil seemed to have realized something here as he stood up. He puffed in black smoke back to his den of inequities, scurrying through two tons of paperwork, all of the files and contracts he did the last century. And it only took him an hour or so before he found it. A red file with the name Ponte Mytron, looked through it diligently and then he went to the prison of hell, reserved for the worst scums of humankind. And then he floated to Hades Incorporated for more traces of the name holder, and lastly to Hell’s kitchen to see where this name took him. He finally found what he came for and in a second of pure spite, he took the soul and body that possessed that name with him back to the nursing home. A wretched thing indeed, he thought as he sat the man with the name on the broken chair, looking scared and squirrelly. “Is this the robber?” The Devil asked the old woman.

After the old woman took a long look at the craven man trembling in a nervous wreck wondering what was happening, she said. “This was the man. Yes, he was. The Devil, in the flesh. And he even looked young. What a nonsense. What a curse. I think I believe you now. Maybe you are the real Devil. Are you here to take me away?” “He died young.” The Devil answered. “And I’m not here to take you away. That’s the Reaper’s job, a real bore of a career choice if you ask me. The Reaper was there when your husband died too. I looked through the file. But I am here to make a deal with you. Like a deal I made with your husband. He had wished for a family, which I granted him. But it was my bad that the contract was flawed, and for that you suffered. My apologies. If it makes you feel better. This robber was sent to Hell Prison, and you do not want to imagine the things they did to him there to rehabilitate him. And then he was sent to do years of menial labor job at an office where he had to do the thing he hated the most when he was alive. Reading. And when that was done, they sent him to a place made for human butchering and he was killed and made into food and eaten and be defecated by his own sick kind. And then we resurrected him and start his suffering all over again.” “I see.” The old woman said. “Then I have no more regrets. I wish for nothing now, and that there are no deals that I would make with you except that maybe you keep making that man suffer. Anything I can help you with now is my deal. Anything.”

The Devil could see her soul lit up, the brightest he had ever seen. A fulfilled wish was the healing one needed for a rested soul. But that was just corporate talk. Maybe a resilient one that persevered through a meaningful life was better for a soul. And maybe this was that novel idea that would inspire the new generations of degenerates throughout the Underworld.

That neat little idea popped up as the Devil wrote his terms down, and he did it with care. He thanked the old lady as she passed away peacefully. He sat with her through her moment of death, waited for a couple of minutes before handling her to the Reaper. He thanked the Reaper as her soul floated away bright and shiny, which surprised every creatures of the Underworld.	When Hell’s Office handed the Devil his severance, they asked him how he managed that brightness of the soul; all he said was that it was the beauty of an elaborate mistake. And it was the art of managing such a mistake to a very sophisticated level of paperwork that any aspiring Devils could carefully duplicate the process in order to make the Underworld a greater place than it was, and possibly made it beautifully fair, even in the deepest parts of the Underworld.

He lied. It was a long time after his retirement that he told the Stockbroker that his wife, whose soul now in heaven, made the deal for her soul to be the brightest there ever was, and that it somehow would help the Devil with everything he wanted. And all the Devil wanted to do was finding that balance he yearned for, in his own slice of heaven in hell; and the seventy two million and forty first soul cured him of his own derelict isolation, by solidifying his legacy, not a glum castle by a sea of lava.

And so he sipped the spleen juice of the old woman as part of his deal with her that he sneaked into their contract, finding a new flavor he liked. “The Brightest Soul achieved” - thus spake the Devil.


5 Diamond Rings Jeremiah “On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five golden rings—” “Turn off that awful noise already would you! And stop singing!” I walked across my room and turned off the radio. “It’s called music, and y’know that the song was just ending don’t ya?” “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to hear any more after it. Nona that stuff about snow and it being cold outside. I have to live that as it is.” Sophie’s caught up to her voice as she walked into my room. “Oh no, poor you. You ain’t the only one who has to walk everywhere.” “Yeah, well, you don’t have to get pushed around on your four degree mile walk to work every morning.” Mile? That was an exaggeration. It was more like three blocks. And four degrees? Well, I suppose it was sometimes, and it always was here in December if y’all measure it in Celsius. But who does that? Seriously, this is New York. I’d bet y’all that ninety-seven percent of people here don’t even know what the hell Celsius means. And the three percent that do probably all are Canadians who finally got wise and moved down here. Well, except me that is. And maybe my sister although I can never be too certain what she actually knows or not about practically anything requiring intellect. Seriously, y’all ask her to square the number seven, and I swear she’ll write a 7 with a box around it. But if y’all walk into the room when she is watching TV, she’ll practically start reciting from the beginning nearly an hour ago the entire episode of Ellen about what he said she said. The things people care about. They are so shallow, y’know it’s sad really. I always contemplate for a second telling her that but then think better of it and just mutter to her to stop being so annoying, and I get back to checking the waivers for my fantasy football league again as fast as I can. Josh Allen and Stefon Diggs have really been carrying this year. Ezekiel Elliot has been alright, but he has definitely underperformed, and if I am going to win again this year, I am going to need him to play well for my championship game this week. Anyways, we moved up here from Dallas last spring, so this was our first winter in Manhattan. Although we lived on the outer edge, we were both used to the big city there our whole lives, so the weather has been the only major adjustment recently. But I think it’s a pretty simple solution to just stay inside most of the time. There isn’t anywhere worth going now anyways. I’m off of school on break between semesters now, but all my classes were online this year anyways. “At least you have a job to go to. I’m bored out of my mind.” Believe me. I was.

“Trust me, Jeremiah, by the time you get a job, you’re going to wish you never had one.” “Oh, come on! All you do is stand there and look happy.” Not an understatement if we’re being honest. “Yeah, which is really hard when I have to keep doing it all day, and my boss keeps yelling at us and telling us we are doing it wrong.” Sophie hurriedly stomped around the apartment putting away everything she had been too tired to put away after her friends left late the night before. “How hard could it be? Y’all have been doing these photo ops for months now, and y’all two are even dating now. I’ve seen the catalogs, what more does she expect?” “I don’t know, that’s the problem. She says we don’t look like we are in love anymore. Well, sorry, but it is kind of difficult when everyone is staring and judging all the time. I heard that everyone has bets on how long we last as a couple and who is going to quit or get fired or transferred to a different department when we break up. Also, now we are filming a commercial.” Sophie stopped dead in her wake and gave me a look of absolute dread. “Huh, that’s tough, but look on the bright side, Sophie. When Cody does actually propose to you, he’ll know what he’s doing unlike most guys.” As always, it was my duty to attempt to turn around the conversation into at least a somewhat pleasant ordeal. It didn’t really work at first. She just said, “Ha, yeah, that’s some consolation for what we go through everyday.” “It was just a thought. And y’all can’t say that the money doesn’t talk too.” “Well, right

now it’s telling me ‘I’m not worth this. Go find a different job.’” “Wait, you actually have conversations with y’all’s paychecks? I think you need to go see a psychiatrist or something.” I couldn’t help but reveal a smirk. “Y’know what, Jeremiah? Just shut up already would you. You’re going to make me late for work.” Oh no, it still wasn’t working, and I could tell I was making it worse then. I made one last attempt. “But we just clarified that y’all don’t want to go there anyways because it isn’t worth it.” “I said ‘shut up,’ Jeremiah. There are a lot of things I don’t want to do like take care of you, but I still have to. That’s just life.” Take care of me? She has never had to take care of me in my life. I was already 15 by the time Dad and Mom died two years ago, and we stayed with our uncle until this year anyways. Or at least I did. Sophie was away at college for most of the time. Texas A&M. Go Aggies. I hardly ever saw her. Now I see her almost everyday in our apartment that she insisted we get together even though she knew I wouldn’t contribute to rent for at least the first year. Getting a job at 17 these days is tough, let me tell y’all. Anyways, I am not always sure which I like better. She sure can annoy the hell out of me always telling me to shut up and turn off my music, but I suppose I did miss her sometimes, especially right after losing Dad and Mom. I try not to think about all that, though, and I am glad to be in New York where no one will ever expect me to drive a car again.

Even though she was completely wrong with the part about me, she was correct about life. It really does suck most of the time. So I felt kind of bad I had irritated her more, and I decided she probably still was a little hung over from the night before. Sophie wasn’t the kind of person to be getting pass out drunk, but she developed some bad habits in college after Dad and Mom died, and her new friends weren’t the greatest influences on her either. I couldn’t think of anything good to say to mend what was left of our exchange, so I settled before it was too late to say anything. As she was walking out the door I said, “Hey, Soph, I’m sorry. I forget how hard it is for you too sometimes. I hope your day gets better.” And I really meant it too. Sophie It was a dreary, depressing Monday morning like any other. I had a bit of an argument with my little brother before I left for work, but I know he always means well. He even said something like that at the end. He’s annoying, and I give him a lot of crap, but he’s a really good kid. I don’t know what I would do if he hadn’t agreed to come here with me. And I know it’s been good for him to finally get away from Texas after the accident. Sometimes I really worry about him. I don’t know how he carries on while carrying all that weight with him. Anyhow, on my frigid trek to work that morning, I counted that I got stepped on or overtly bumped into 21 times over the course of four blocks. That’s a bit of a game that I play every morning on the way to work. I would count on the way home, but I am too afraid to walk the streets in the dark without someone I know, so I take a taxi back to the apartment each night, but I don’t think Jeremiah realizes that. Anyhow, I try to make it as few as possible, but recently the streets have been even more crowded for the holidays and Mondays are always the worst. But I remember that day particularly because it was the same number as the date. I suppose it was some kind of sign from the universe that that day was going to be significant to say the least. Jeremiah “Oh, you’re home early. How was work today?” I still felt guilty about that morning, and I tried my best to be amiable. Sophie took two steps into the apartment, and slowly looked up at me with the most dumbfounded expression of disbelief I have ever seen. “I…she…at the very end of the day…she…she fired me. I don’t have a job anymore.” The expression on her face changed. It softened. Her eyes were no longer glazed over but filling with tears. It was my turn to be shocked. I had visited her at work before. She was great at her job. I didn’t know how to respond. I had so many questions, and I was beginning to boil over with rage, but I put the lid on my emotions to comfort hers. This time I knew there were no words to fix the situation. My body got up from its seat at the kitchen counter, leaving behind my mind, and it embraced her. I still vividly remember it in the third person as I experienced it that night. It was the first time we had hugged in two years. Sophie The next couple days are a bit of a blur in my memory, but then came Thursday. Christmas Eve. It was shaping up to be a real downer of a Christmas to say the least. Cody was still busy at work all week and couldn’t answer my calls. He hardly responded to my texts too. If it weren’t for Jeremiah, I would have been your poster child for a lonely, depressed person in the big city during the holidays having just been fired and everything. But it wasn’t all that bad, or maybe I am just remembering it in light of what happened afterwards. It was definitely worth it to say the least. I got a call at around six in the afternoon, and yes, in New York that is still the afternoon. Anyhow, I got a call from my boss’s assistant that she needed to talk to me and wanted me to come in as soon as possible and absolutely no later than six thirty. I had no idea what to be thinking. I tried to call Cody, but he still wasn’t answering. I gave myself a little pep talk. “You were already fired. What’s the worst that could happen? She can’t tell you what to do anymore.” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as much a pep talk as just thinking rationally and talking to myself out loud. Anyhow, I stepped out of the taxi and walked up to the front door with my head held high, untouched, and with no one in my way. I apprehensively opened the door to the office belonging to the woman then known as my former boss. She smiled at me. I had worked there for seven months, and I can count on my two hands the number of times she had smiled at me before. And all she said was, “Welcome back, Sophie.” And then she motioned for me to follow her as she walked out of her office to the studio. I was just about as shocked as I had been when she fired me almost exactly three days before. I nearly had it in my mind to stand up for myself and confront her for assuming that I would even still want to work there, but I was so surprised by the rarity of her smile and relieved by the simplicity of her message that those words were nowhere to be found. I had my job back. With half an hour left before the deadline, I was informed that they still needed to get the right clip for their commercial, and they needed me to do it. I was so honored and overwhelmed by all of the emotions of the day and the week that I nearly began to cry. But I did not. After all, I was an actress again. The first twenty minutes were all spent on my wardrobe and makeup because, although I dressed up for my meeting with my boss, I was in a hurry and by no means camera ready. Everything was riding on these last attempts, and my appearance had to be absolutely perfect. So we had ten minutes to shoot a commercial that they had all been working on for almost a week. We were only going to have time to film it four, maybe five times if we worked fast. Proposal one: “Great energy, but stay refined.” Proposal two: “Cody! Don’t! Drop! The ring!” Proposal three: “That was great, let’s get one more take in just in case.” Proposal four: “Yes, that’s the one!” In under ten minutes we shot the best damn little local jewelry shop commercial this world has ever seen. But it wasn’t the only one. As everyone was clapping and hugging, celebrating the success of the evening, I somehow lost Cody in the small crowd. The excitement died down and everyone went back to their filming positions. Confused as ever, I turned around. There was Cody down on one knee. We had just gone through it four times and probably a hundred times three days before, but it could not have been more different. The words, the ring, the feeling. Everything. Proposal five: This was the real deal, and I knew it instantly. Jeremiah could not have been more right or wrong at the same time. Cody must have been the most experienced proposer from the past week, but when it came down to it, I could tell he was a wreck. If he hadn’t been kneeling, his knees would have been knocking so hard you would have thought someone was locked outside and trying to get in. His voice wavered on his thin, quivering lip. His face was flushed but rosy like someone stepping in from a long time out in the cold. His hands nearly dropped the ring as he had during proposal number two. Maybe he was thinking ahead to that moment and it made him lose focus earlier. And the ring. It was the other premier cut from the small jewelry store, but I recognized immediately all of the specializations that he had just for me. In the end, they used both commercials. Cody had told them that he was going to propose to me, and they filmed that one too. There’s no way that my boss could say that we didn’t look in love for that one. I came very near to bawling, and the tears made my eyes sparkle. But I haven’t seen anything sparkle as much as that fifth diamond ring. And it still brings a sparkly tear to my eyes whenever I glance down at my hand and see it alongside the ring from last July. It was quite a Christmas in July celebration we had with me all dressed in white. And do y’all want to know what the funny thing is? This year it is my turn to surprise Cody on Christmas Eve. And I think Uncle Jeremiah will be pretty excited about this news again too.


I have never been so mortified in my life.

I was standing in front of the most beautiful man I have ever seen, in just my towel and it’s definitely not in the way you’re thinking. He doesn’t look surprised to see me but I’m as confused as you are. Okay, you’re probably wondering what went on that led to this moment. Let me explain… And to do that, I’ll have to go back a bit. Not too much, but just so you get the gist. My name’s Samantha Anderson but that’s not really important. I’d finally gotten a well-deserved vacation and there was no better place to spend it than The Maldives. I took my laptop, neck massage pillow, a bottle of wine, and a glass and relaxed on the most comfortable spot on my worn-out couch. I pulled up the search engine and typed in vacation bookings in the Maldives. I found a promising site and after doing some searching, I realized it was above my price range. I got the email off the site and sent them a message expressing my love for their dealings but how far it was from what I could afford. I got a reply almost immediately asking how much I was willing to pay. We did this back and forth thing until they finally agreed to a booking at a price a few thousand lower than their initial fee. That should have been my first sign that they weren’t all they claimed to be. But I was on my third glass and the fact that I had more thousands than I budgeted to spend touring, blinded any reasoning of mine. So I booked my flight, bought my ticket and went to my room in search of my passport and my hottest bikini. I got my suitcase and started packing. I didn’t go far before the drowsiness of the alcohol got me crashing. Don’t worry, I made sure I drank enough water before that to prevent a hangover. *** I was woken up by the sound of my alarm, I reached out and smacked the stupid thing on my nightstand. It was 11:00 in the morning and I had a slight headache. I must have snoozed it more than ten times. I should have turned it off as soon as I got the news of my vacation. I got up and went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I took an aspirin for my head and moped as I made my way to the tiny kitchen in my apartment. I made a quick sandwich and cleared the couch off evidence of last night. I had managed to get a flight for tomorrow, how cool was that? I needed to pack but there were showing reruns of How I met your mother . So I decided to watch a little before packing. I found my spot on the couch and devoured my sandwich while laughing at Ted . *** I shouldn’t have watched that show, I didn’t realize they were showing marathons that lasted basically the whole day. I know what you’re thinking, no I didn’t spend my whole day on the couch, I got up to pee and get more snacks. That counts and I’m on my vacation bite me. Either way, I basically spent my day doing nothing and I forgot to pack. Now I’m paying for it. My taxi is going to be here in less than ten minutes and I haven’t even decided on carrying a playsuit or suspenders. I shoved what I could in my suitcase and duffel and got dressed. I got a text from the driver and I carried my bags out of the apartment and into the elevator. I’d gotten like two more texts and a missed call before I finally came out of the building.

“I’m here, I’m here.” I shouted as I dragged my bags behind me towards the car. The driver came to my aid and we were on the road in less than five minutes. We got to the airport with twenty minutes to spare. I went through the whole boring airport thing I won’t bore you with that and I could finally take a breath on the plane. It was a ten-hour flight so I got comfortable and caught up on some much-needed sleep. *** I woke up two hours before the flight landed so I gathered my stuff and double-checked my bookings with the hotel.  I asked for a burger and water from the air hostess and ate to my fill. I was so excited to see the photos on the site for myself and I couldn’t wait to get a tan. I got my iPod and air pods and spent the rest of the flight listening to music. The plane landed, I got my bags and waved for a taxi, I gave him the address of the hotel and I couldn’t keep my eye away from the window for the whole ride. It was breathtaking; the people, their clothes, the buildings even the fine brown sand was mesmerizing. I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel. We arrived at our destination and the driver helped me with my bags. I walked into the beautiful building and up to the receptionist. I told her about my booking and she gave a grimace. Second sign I failed to notice. I was high on the beauty of the hotel. She gave me my suite key and told me to have a seat, the manager would like to have a word with me. “Hmm…can it wait? I really want to pee and I would like to freshen up so I won’t scare him away with my sweaty and horrible outfit.” “No problem but please be here as soon as you can. The elevator is that way.” She said pointing to her right. I smiled and dragging my bags, I took the elevator to my floor. I found my suite and it was just like the pictures two doors leading to two en suite bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. It was perfect. I chose the room by the left and dropped my bags. I know you’re wondering why I got a suite with two rooms. It was the only accommodation available at that time. With my toiletries in hand, I made my way to the bathroom to have a nice long shower. Wrapping myself in a clean towel I walked out of my room to take a tour of the suite, which didn’t seem like a bad idea at that time since I was alone, only to find the most beautiful man I’d ever seen looking indifferent to seeing me. Now you understand why I am confused right? Good. Chapter 2 “What in the world are you doing in my suite?” I asked clutching my towel tighter around my body, my naked body. “I’m supposed to be here, I paid for this suite.” He replied moving around me to walk into the room on the right. I quickly made my way to my room and brought out some clothes from my bag; I’ll be free to argue when dressed. He walked out of his room just as I was shoving my legs into my slides in the living room. “You mister, have a lot of explaining to do.” I know what you’re thinking; who still says ‘you mister?’ don’t look at me, I have no idea how that came out. “Haven’t you spoken with the manager?” he asked. “I’m going there right now and you have to come with me.” I opened the door, stepped outside, and motioned for him to take the lead. He rolled his eyes but stepped out of the suite. We made our way to the lobby and trust me; the elevator ride was awkward. I walked over to the counter, the receptionist saw me and smiled. “The manager will be out soon; you can take a seat. Would you like some tea or coffee?” “I’m good thanks.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the comfortable-looking couch in the lobby. “Name’s Andrea, if we are going to be living together for the next month, I should at least know yours.”

“Samantha, and we aren’t going to be staying together, there’s probably a misunderstanding or something.” “Yh Sure.” His words were laced with sarcasm. A short bald man wearing a charcoal black suit walked up to us and I pulled Andrea up with me. “You must be miss Anderson, I’m Jacobs, the hotel manager; nice to meet you.” “Just Samantha please, nice to meet you too.” “Ah, I see you’ve met your suitemate, Andrea.” “My suitemate? You never said anything about a suitemate when I was speaking to you. I didn’t agree to this.” “Miss Samantha, you cut down our price far more than what I was expecting, the only way the hotel was going to make a gain was if someone else paid what you couldn’t and that means you’ll have to share a suite.” I was mortified for the second time in less than an hour. He didn’t have to say it like that, it’s not like I don’t have the money, I just have a budget. “I understand but why wasn’t I told beforehand? A warning would have been nice; is there anything you can do now? I can pay for another room or you can take Andrea to another room; anything?” “I apologize for not telling you about this before your arrival but there is nothing I can do now; we are fully booked as you are aware. See this as an adventure, you two can get to know each other and have a wonderful time. If that is all, I’ll take my leave now, enjoy your stay.” He shook our hands again and walked away. I fell back on the couch and started thinking of different ways this vacation could go wrong. What if he’s a rapist? Or a robber? A stalker? A serial killer? There are many things he could be. How was I sure I and my properties are safe? I’m going to die; I’m going to freaking die. I won’t get to see the beach or the nice cabins on the sea, I probably won’t make it to the morning… “Can you stop looking at me like that? I’m not a rapist or anything like that.” “That’s what they always say.” “Geez, get up, let's go to our suite and you can think about your life there. People are staring.” He waited for me to get up and our roles were reversed, I was the one being pulled. We waited for the elevator and rode up to our floor. He shut the door to our suite behind me and was about to walk into his room probably to unpack. “Are you okay with this? Aren’t you going to do something?” “You heard the man, there’s nothing we can do, just accept it, you can start by unpacking your bags and how about we go out for a cup of coffee or something’ get to know each other, my treat, what do you say?” “Fine, but only because you’re paying.” I walked into my room and copied him. Chapter 3 I just finished unpacking; Andrea and I are about to leave for the coffee shop. “I’m done. Let’s go.” I grabbed my pause and changed my footwear. “Finally, you take forever.” He got up and waited for me at the door holding it open. “Thank you, kind sir.” Wow, I’m on a roll today; ‘you mister’, now ‘kind sir?’ even Andrea gave me a look. “Let’s go before you get any weirder.” “I agree.” We made our way out of the hotel and walked to the closest café, not to worry, we used Google Maps, we’re not trying to get lost. We walked into the cafe and got a sit almost immediately; our orders were taken and we were sipping from our hot mugs in on time. “So… why The Maldives of all places?” he asked me and relaxed into his chair. “Sure, just jump right into the interview.” “What? We have to start somewhere.” “Fine, it was the pictures of the cabins on the sea, I had to check it out for myself. You?” I answered taking a bite of my doughnut. “Nice, I just needed a change of scenario. Home was getting too predictable.” Oh, yeah I need a tan too. “I guess we could go to the beach together someday.” He might not be bad, I shouldn’t judge yet; but I’m going to keep my guards up, just to be safe. We spent the rest of the day getting to know each other and we went our separate ways at the end of the night. *** I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed, I counted my finger and toes; complete. I looked around the room to check if I was missing anything. Well, I don’t think he would actually steal or kill me on the first day, but what do I know? I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I walked into the living room and the smell of pancakes led me into the kitchen. “Did you make breakfast?” Maybe he’s not that bad. I sat on the barstool by the counter. “Nope, room service.” He dropped a plate on the counter and sat down in front of me. “Did you at least order for me?” “How was I supposed to know what you wanted?” The nerve of some people. “Of course, I did, your plate is on the heater.” He said laughing at the look on my face. “I would have said thank you but I don’t play with food.” I stood up, grabbed my plate, and joined him at the counter. “Any plans for today?” “Nah, probably just get a tan, you?” “Good, I’m having friends over. You can stay at the beach until they leave.” The nerve. “Hello, I live here too and I’ll come and go whenever I please.” I picked up my plate, walked into my room, and slammed the book behind me. What was I thinking? My vacation is ruined, how am I supposed to live with someone like that. He’s not the boss of me, this is my suite too. I was angry but the pancake didn’t have to suffer for it. I finished my food and dug out my hot bikini. When I walked out of my room, he was nowhere to be found. I exited the hotel and walked to the beach. *** After hours of tanning, I walked back to the hotel. When I got back the suite was empty. It’s not like I obey him and came late, I just lost track of time; yes, we’re going with that. He walked in not long after I did and dropped on the couch. “We need to talk about a suitable living arrangement.” I said. “Okay, what do you have in mind?” I did not think this through. I haven’t even thought about what I was going to say, I expected him to put up a fight. “Hmm…” “How about this; stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine. I won’t tell you what to do and you won’t either. Sounds good?” “Good.” It seems fair enough. “Cool, I apologize for my actions this morning, I had a rough night. Let’s go out, my treat.” Wow, if this is how he apologizes, I might have to set traps for him (not really (really.)) “It’s cool, where do you have in mind.” Wow, free lunch twice in a roll. I might actually have a wonderful time.


Dirty headlights lit up a few yards ahead with a weak yellow glow, but outside Dan’s small orbit could have been outer space. Heavy darkness pressed in around him. The wipers stuttered and honked across the windshield, hardly making a dent in sheets of rain that crashed diagonally into the glass. Rain was falling and falling and falling as if trying to wash the world clean. Water sloshed under his tires and there was a swoosh every now and then as he barreled through a puddle. No cars had passed for what felt like hours, just straggly, ghostly trees and a barn here and there. Every so often he caught a glimpse of the moon, huge and orange and sickly low in the sky, skinny branches silhouetted in front of it like a Halloween cliché. The car clanked through a pothole, tailpipe clunking and rattling and scraping until it set his teeth on edge. Piece of shit machine. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, anchoring himself in a cocoon of light and safety. At least the radio still worked, though the music came through weak and distant under the rain. He sang along to Hotel California to keep himself company. Shit, was he seeing things, or was there a person standing at the side of the road? The figure held up a thumb in traditional hitchhiker style, pretty optimistically considering the circumstances. Surely it must be a tree, or his mind playing tricks? Who would be hitchhiking here, on a back road miles from anywhere at 2am? Dan shifted in his seat. An instinct told him the figure couldn’t be up to any good. But it must be freezing out in that rain. What if they were drunk, or hurt, or in trouble? They could die of hypothermia if he just drove on by… He could hear Leanne’s weary voice: ‘If you get killed, you’ll only have yourself to blame…’ All right, he was a busybody. But there was nobody else around; probably no-one else would drive by all night. Dan stopped the car and carefully peeled off the duct tape which held the glove compartment together. He took out his gun, checked it was loaded, triple checked the safety, then stuck it into the waistband of his jeans under his baggy T-shirt. He slowly reversed toward the shape, which came forward hopefully to meet him. His heart beat faster and he kept one hand on the gun as he cracked the window – there would still be time to pull away if the guy was really deranged. ‘Thank you so much for stopping!’ It was a young voice. It sounded scared, but not crazy. ‘No problem, man.’ He couldn’t back out now, after hearing the relief and gratitude in the guy’s voice. He unlocked the car. ‘Jump in.’ The hitcher couldn’t have been more than twenty. When the car light fell on his face, Dan saw that he had a black eye and a split lip. His blue eyes had a deer-in- the-headlights vibe, though it was hard to tell whether that was permanent or the result of whatever had happened to him tonight. ‘Hey, have you been in a fight tonight?’ His tone was harsher than he intended. The guy jumped back and almost hit his head on the car window. ‘No, no… it wasn’t a fight…I basically just got my ass kicked. I didn’t even throw a punch…’ he trailed off. Dan sized him up, wondering if this was turning into a bigger problem than he wanted. The hitchhiker was wearing an oversized college hoody which emphasized the slightness of his frame. His body language was open and his eyes were fixed on Dan’s face, pleading with him not to order him out of the car again. He didn’t look like a threat. Then again, Dan knew from experience that the most dangerous people could appear needy and vulnerable when it suited them. ‘I won’t cause any trouble. If I could just get a ride to wherever you’re going. Anywhere, it doesn’t matter.’ Rain streamed off his clothes, soaking the upholstery. That would take another $20 off the resale price of the car. The kid was shivering now, from cold or fear or both. Hopefully he wasn’t going into shock or something. ‘It must be freezing out there,’ said Dan, softening. He turned up the heating and reached into the back seat for a frayed old blanket he kept there. ‘Thank you.’ His teeth were almost chattering. He wrapped himself in the blanket, which made him look even younger. Dan sighed inwardly. It would probably be fine. He guessed he was about 6 inches taller and 30lb heavier. Plus he had the gun. He was pretty sure the hitchhiker didn’t mean him any harm, but there was a hint of lingering tension, or maybe danger, coming from him. Like unfinished business. Still, Dan didn’t have the heart to throw him out into the rain again. He pulled into the road again, sensing him relax slightly beside him. ‘I’m Finn.’ ‘Dan.’ ‘Thank you again for stopping. I didn’t think anybody would.’ ‘You’re lucky. On a night like this the road could have been empty.’ Dan glanced sideways. Finn was starting to recover. Some color had come back to his face and he’d stopped shivering. Dan waited for him to explain why he’d been out there, but he said nothing. ‘This rain seems to be getting worse. It’s like biblical or something,’ said Dan. Maybe if he got him talking, something would slip out. ‘Global warming,’ said Finn. The literal type, then. ‘How old are you, Finn?’ ’19.’ Even younger than he thought. ‘I’m 35. I guess that seems old to you.’ ‘Not at all,’ said Finn politely. He was obviously a well brought-up kid. Dan couldn’t figure out how he’d ended up with such a beating. Unless it was a random mugging…but something told Dan it was personal. The kid was fidgeting with the frayed corner of the blanket and glancing behind when he thought Dan wasn’t looking. As if his attacker could still be after him. ‘Are you at college?’ ‘Yeah. Majoring in Engineering.’ ‘That’s where the money is.’ What was he, a careers counsellor? Dan looked round his wreck of a car. It should be pretty obvious he didn’t know where the money is. ‘I mean, so I hear…’ ‘What do you do?’ asked Finn, rescuing him from the end of that sentence. ‘I work in the plant.’ ‘My parents have both worked there all their lives. I’m the first in my family to go to college.’ It didn’t seem to be working out for him tonight. Did college kids get into fights? Leanne would have confidently said not. But how would she know? She’d never been either. ‘Are you on the boxing team or something?’ ‘Haha, no. Unfortunately.’ ‘So what happened tonight?’ ‘I think it was probably my fault…’ Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘I was messing around with a girl who has a boyfriend.’ ‘The boyfriend did that to you?’ ‘Yeah. He’s a fucking asshole. Excuse the language.’ ‘I though your generation didn’t agree with violence.’ Where had he got that? The New York Times? ‘He didn’t get the memo. He’s even hit Laura… that’s his girlfriend.’ Dan’s hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Is he at college too?’ ‘Yeah. Football scholarship. He’s built like a tank.’ ‘He sounds like a bully,’ said Dan. As if he thought college was elementary school. ‘You seem to have a funny idea of college, Dan. They let some real assholes in. Believe me.’ ‘Sounds like it.’ ‘I guess I shouldn’t have been fooling around with her…’ ‘Fuck that, man. He doesn’t sound like much of a prize. The way I see it, once he hits her, he’s the bad guy, end of story…’ Finn had stopped listening. He was looking in the rearview mirror. ‘Uh, Dan?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Are those headlights behind us?’ There was a faint glow in the rearview mirror, which intensified until it was obvious that a car was following them. ‘Shit, I bet it’s him!’ Finn went whiter than ever. His panic was contagious. Dan’s heart started drumming in his chest. ‘Come on, man. It could be anybody.’ ‘You said yourself, no one is out tonight.’ Finn’s voice rose. His eyes darted round the cabin as if he could find some escape route. The car behind was close now, closer than politeness usually dictated. ‘I’ll let him go round,’ said Dan, putting on a show of calm. He pulled in slightly and slowed down, trying to keep his breathing slow. The car kept hugging his tail stolidly. ‘Is it his car?’ asked Dan. ‘I can’t tell. All I can see is the lights.’ ‘Relax, Finn. It won’t be like earlier. There’s two of us now. Who is he anyway, Bruce Li?’ ‘I should have told you earlier…He’s probably carrying.’ Dan stared at him. ‘A gun?’ ‘No, a banana. Yes, a gun!’ At least now Dan knew what he was facing. His brain started working practically, step by step. ‘Is he likely to use it?’ ‘I don’t know. I don’t know! He didn’t earlier, obviously. But he’s probably gone and got loaded now…’ ‘OK, OK.’ Dan lifted his T-shirt. Finn stared at the gun and realization dawned on his face. ‘OK?’ said Dan. Finn met his eyes. ‘You should give it to me. It isn’t fair to drag you into this…’ ‘No way, man. You’re just a kid. I’ll do it if… need be.’ ‘But…’ ‘Don’t argue with me –‘ The car behind rammed them. The crash was deafening, heavy metal crumpling and the lighter, dry tinkle of glass breaking. The car spat itself forward, and their bodies jerked against the seatbelts. ‘Shit!’ He slammed into them again. Nausea rose up in Dan’s throat. They skidded on top of the thick layer of water on the road. He pulled on the wheel madly, trying to remember what to do. Was it the same as skidding on ice? There was no time to think, and his thoughts were bizarrely slow anyway. He felt like a cornered animal, losing control of the car, losing control of himself. Finn was holding on to the edge of his seat, breathing hard. The car was slipping out of Dan’s hands. ‘Brace yourself,’ he shouted. They careened into the ditch and rumbled forward, bouncing over tree roots and rocks, bobbing up and down in their seats, banging their heads on the roof. Dan hung onto the wheel for dear life. Finn covered his head with his arms. It felt like they were doing seventy, though it was probably barely thirty. Dan slammed on the brakes but it made no difference; they were gliding on a layer of mud. Tree branches caught the sides of the car, scratching and jarring them. They lost speed sluggishly, like a runaway horse running out of energy, until eventually the car came to a stop, creaking and complaining all the way. This would probably finish it off once and for all. Why was there time to think such stupid, irrelevant thoughts at a time like this? Dan forced his brain into gear. ‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘I think so,’ said Finn. His eyes were wild. ‘Dan, I’m so sorry about all this…’ ‘Don’t start. There’s no time,’ snapped Dan. ‘He could be out there –‘ Something on the floor caught his eye. The gun. It must have fallen while they were speeding through the ditch. Finn noticed it too and grabbed for it, taking Dan by surprise. Then he sat staring at it, holding it awkwardly with one hand and pushing his soaking hair out of his eyes with the other. Shit. Everything was getting out of control tonight. Dan took a deep breath, sat back and tried to exude an air of calm authority. ‘Come on, man. You don’t even know how to hold that thing.’ Finn swung the gun round into his hand and took off the safety. He looked a lot more formidable now. ‘Shit! Careful!’ ‘Relax. I know how to shoot. We learnt that first semester of college.’ ‘What?’ ‘It’s a joke. Dark humor.’ ‘Just give me the gun, Finn.’ ‘I told you, this is my problem. It isn’t fair to make you deal with it.’ He stared Dan down. He was calm now. Determined. Should Dan try to grab the gun? What would Leanne say? A tirade about how he should never have picked up the hitchhiker in the first place, definitely. And she would certainly tell him to back down now. Let the kid handle his own mess. He held up his hands. ‘All right, all right. Whatever you want.’ ‘Can you see anything out there? Any sign of Clarence?’ ‘That’s his name? Clarence? And he’s meant to be a scary guy?’ Finn gave a snort laugh. ‘Yeah, I think he’s a bit sensitive about –‘ A metallic twang connected with Dan’s door. He flinched. ‘Was that –?’ ‘It sounded like a bullet,’ said Finn. A dark shape materialized outside, filling the whole window with its bulk. It lifted a heavy arm and pointed something toward Dan. Before he had time to think or react, Finn lifted the gun and fired twice. The shape fell heavily, slowly, almost in slow motion. Finn stared at the gun in his hand. His eyes lost focus. ‘Finn! Finn!’ said Dan. He looked up. ‘Give me the gun, man.’ Finn didn’t move. Shit, he was in shock now if he wasn’t before. Clarence could shoot again; he might just be injured. But Dan couldn’t risk the gun’s going off accidentally if he grabbed it. Finn seemed to have forgotten he was holding it. He seemed to have forgotten where he was, even. ‘Please. Give me the gun,’ Dan repeated. He held out his hand insistently until Finn handed it over. Dan opened the car door and peered out. The huge shape was lying flat on the ground. Not moving. He reached back into the car for a flashlight, leaning right across Finn to get to the glove compartment. He didn’t seem to notice. Dan tiptoed toward Clarence, concentrating on keeping his footing in the mud in the inky darkness. The lashing rain soaked him within a few steps. He forced himself on, pointing the gun ahead of him just in case, though he was pretty sure of what he was going to find. He shone the flashlight onto the still mass suddenly, before he had time to change his mind. There were two huge wounds in Clarence’s chest, leaking blood which was diluted pale pink by the pulsing rainwater. His eyes stared straight ahead. He was dead. Dan’s stomach lurched and he leaned over, breathing through it and waiting to come back to himself. No wonder Finn hadn’t stood a chance against this guy earlier. He must have been 6 foot 6 and nearly as wide. Still, two little slugs of metal had taken him down. Clarence’s face still had the puppy fat and naivety of a child. Pride, arrogance, the desire to control some girl that he probably didn’t even care about, had killed him before he’d ever reach maturity. When the nausea subsided, rage replaced it. Clarence wasted his own life, but he ruined Finn’s too. He had forced the kid to kill him, forced himself into his life and memory. Finn was the type who’d let this haunt him forever. And he’d done it to save Dan’s life... Dan had a lightbulb moment. He glanced back at the car. Finn was staring down at his hands. Dan fired another round into the undergrowth, then stuck the gun back into the waistband of his jeans – there was no need for the kid to see it again. He came back to the car and got in. Finn turned his head in slow-motion and looked at him. ‘Was that another shot?’ ‘Yeah. He…he wasn’t dead. You just wounded him.’ ‘I thought I killed him,’ said Finn. But there was a little hope in his voice. ‘No, you didn’t kill him. He was alive.’ ‘So –‘ ‘He pointed his gun at me. He was going to shoot me.’ Dan kept his gaze steady. According to Leanne, the secret to lying well was to convince yourself that it actually happened. Finn’s eyes searched his face. ‘You killed him?’ ‘Yeah. I killed him.’ That got through to him. Finn crumpled in relief and Dan caught him in a kind of half-hug. ‘It’s OK, man. It’s over,’ said Dan.


It was a fishing village as far back as she could remember. With waves crashing against the grey of the shore, their foam soaking people through. And little by little, every time the foam landed on them, they got a little of the Sea; until they became one, their minds liquid as Hers, an array of emotions only She could ever fathom. And oh, how they adored Her. She was the Mother that birthed them all, the divine blue of their quiet lives. It was a quiet village indeed, and as the grey and blue washed over them, nobody took more than they needed, giving thanks to Her for their food. When the light couldn’t reach them, She delivered. And in the middle of the summer, when the sun reached its highest point, they offered thanks to Mother for having survived another year, for seeing another solstice. They feared Her as much as they adored Her; Her rage was dangerous, but it was the only home they ever knew. It was a rough life, and they all knew it, but at the same time she couldn’t think of anyone that left. People stayed and the village grew with them, community gardens to the south, wheat fields to the east. It was beautiful. And year after year they prayed to the Sea, gave offerings of honey and salt, Listened to Her wishes. And year after year She delivered. Until She didn’t. The fish grew scarce for the first time in four lifetimes, the hungry mouths growing one by one. And people came to her to give them her blessings, prayers over the boats that left to the Sea, crying children that had never been hungry in their lives. She called for a village meeting, going door to door, and people trembled, listened, for she was the Vatar, Master of the Tides, head of the Council of the Tides. They had been blessed by the Mother Herself to control Her waters, the push and pull of Her heartbeat, and she was the strongest of them all. It was a quiet village, so when she called of someone angering Mother, she was met with shaking disbelief; things like that didn’t happen, had never happened; not in her time, nor in the time of her mother before her. “One of you offended Her,” she insisted,” and I want the rest of you to keep your eyes open.” She could feel Her rage in the white that hit the shore, in the fishing boats filled with water, in the violent shifts of Her currents. Never before had Her waters held anything but life in them. It was when the body of a boy washed ashore that she knew. Somebody had killed him; a blood offering to the Sea, against their solemn oaths. It was blasphemy. She had her suspicions, of course she did. They were talks of zealots trying to harness Her power through blood, in defiance to the Council and its laws. But she and the Council went door to door nonetheless, Feeling, Listening for the offender. He was a boy of sixteen, blind with the yearning of power; he’d slain his twin for it. This had never happened before, nothing like that ever had. The Council met for three days and two nights, mediating on the wishes of the Sea, trying to piece together Her rage piece by piece. She had been tarnished, and She wanted the boy to pay. She had been the Vatar for nearly four decades, yet the humanity of Her still terrified her. She was in mourning, an angry force ready to destroy with the pushes and pulls of Her temper. When she visited the boy, he cried, begged for her pardon as the Vatar, swore that power blinded him, didn’t let him understand what he did. She listened, and consoled, for she knew very well the demands of power -she was the Vatar after all, the human vessel of the Sea- and not few times in her youth had she yearned for more. Yet, she met him as an equal. Spoke to him of the Commands of the Mother, finite in their regard. They boy listened and wept; but understood. There was red on his hands, and it was the only way She could be pleased, the only way justice could be restored. That night she prayed to the Sea, her words careful, a child to a hurt parent, soothing as the honey rolling off her hands. She asked of Her to cleanse his soul, to choose forgiveness over revenge. She spoke to Her the way she saw Her on warm summer afternoons, the light dancing on Her, shrinking Her down to human measurements. She was met with silence. They put him in the boat in the morning. The shore was empty but for her and the Council, not even the boy’s parents had the heart to face him after what he’d done. It was a peaceful sunrise, one of the most beautiful the little fishing village had ever seen, the blue of the sky speaking of new. The Sea was calm, the sun glimmering on the tiniest ripples that broke Her surface. The boy understood, watching stoically for the most part, his hands dripping in honey. A handful of salt tossed into the Sea, prayers spoken over honey, hands intertwined together. The Council formed the ceremonial circle, reaching out to her. She joined hands with the Elders and let the power of the Sea wash over them. It was a dark, pulsing grey, Her pain, Her disgust of being tarnished for power, Her hatred beating steadily as a heartbeat. The Council took it all in. They chanted, raising the currents that would take him away from the shore, the pushes and pulls of Her heartbeat. He was to return only if She found him worthy of redemption. She didn’t. It was a fishing village and became so once more, Mother offered, and nobody took more than they needed. And the Vatar watched, and her power grew.


Born in 1880 in Long Island, Paul Jerome Barry discovered a passion for painting at an early age. As his parents were rather well to do and open-minded, they let him follow his inclination, and he Studied Fine Arts in 1902 at the Chase School in New York, under two renowned painters of the time, namely William M. Chase and Robert Henri. Robert Henri’s teachings and experience gave him the urge to go to France, where everything was happening at the time. He moved to Paris in 1903, at 23 years of age. Everything was new and wonderful to Paul, Paris was everything he had hoped for and more, it was buzzing with the excitement of the new century and the avant-garde of art was making bold strides. One of the first French painters he met there was Narcisse Guilbert from Rouen, in Normandy. He was a handsome and elegant man with a bright palette who was two years his senior. Paul was impressed with Narcisse’s work and learned that the all of the Painters from the Rouen Fine Arts School were considered as rebels, and that the school was led by artists that rejected the artistic conventions of the time. All of this pleased Paul. Narcisse invited him to take a trip to Normandy with him, and so it was that Paul found himself in Honfleur, in the bording house of Mme Simone Barbeau in September 1903. Simone’s husband André was a sailor, and went on long trips, usually for at least three or four months. He was hard working and realistic. Simone kept the boarding house, and had gained a steady clientele from the artists who came to Honfleur. She would rent for a day, a week, a month, or longer. She was known to everyone in town and her house almost always had a few painters living in it. André thought that painting wasn’t a man’s job, or a real job, but didn’t mind painters as clients, as long as they paid their room and board. André and Simone had only one child, Lucas, born in 1891. Lucas was a handsome and likable boy with a constant smile who laughed often, but he worried his parents. As a baby, and then through the passing years, Lucas didn’t speak at all. He simply refused to utter a word, and he was distant, as if dreaming all of the time. He was able to do tasks, and he apparently understood everything when spoken to, and so he helped his mother with all of her work. While he laughed often, sometimes his parents wondered what he was laughing at. Because of his strangeness and communication difficulties, André and Simone decided that it was better that he not go to school, to not be singled out and picked on by the other kids. He surprised them one day at 6 years of age, when he came to them with a simple question, written with charcoal on a small piece of paper with perfect grammar and spelling. He was just asking for a pencil and some paper to draw on. He started communicating with them only by writing, and they discovered that he had learned to read and write by himself, using whatever he could find to read. From then on, they gave him pencils and paper and he started scribbling, but his scribbles were not haphazard, although they looked as such to his parents. They were very intricate and complicated, and he would get completely engrossed in them, ignoring everything that was happening around him. His father always threw them out, complaining about the waste of paper, but never scolded or punished Lucas. To André, it was just more proof that his son was not normal, but he was God-fearing, and believed that the difference of his son was the will of God. When Paul Barry and Narcisse Guilbert checked into Simone’s boarding house for a two month stay, Lucas was 12. André was gone out to sea and wouldn’t be returning for some time. The two painters took an immediate liking to the boy, and Lucas seemed to like them a lot as well. They were talking together early one night over a bottle of Muscadet, as they did often, and the subject of Lucas came up. “What do you think about Lucas?” Paul asked his friend. “Strange boy, but nice. I like him. He always smiles, he never complains, and he keeps the rooms really clean. Too bad he’s mute.” “I really like him too. Have you seen his drawings?” “You mean his scribbles?” “I think that they’re more than that, they’re loaded with feeling.” “Really? I hadn’t paid much attention.” Paul called out “Lucas! Can you come upstairs?” Lucas came quickly and knocked on the door. “You can come in Lucas.” The boy smiled at them timidly and waited patiently for Paul to say what he wanted. “Don’t worry, it’s not about your work, everything is perfect, we were just wondering if you could show us some of your drawings.” Lucas nodded his head, left, and returned with a handful of his intricate penciled compositions. “Thank you. Can you stay a few minutes Lucas? We’d like to take a good look at them.” Paul took them and showed them to his friend. “You see what I mean now? Can you feel all of the emotion wrapped up in these drawings?” “What of it? Yes, it’s interesting, but crazy.” “I think he’s on to something.” “Like what? I don’t follow you.” Paul turned to Lucas now. “Lucas, how would you like to paint something? I’ll give you everything you need. ” Lucas’s eyes lit up and his face beamed at the proposition. He had seen many painters come and go in his house, but none had ever offered to let him use their paints before. He was overwhelmed with joy, still, not a word. He nodded his head and Paul patted him on the shoulder. Paul had a lot of paint and supplies with him, so he put together a basic paint set, with essential colors, a palette, a palette knife, one old beat up paintbrush, and a medium sized pre-stretched and primed canvas. For the next 2 months Lucas was completely absorbed in his new pastime. Simone had trouble getting him away from his painting and his work was suffering from it, making her work harder. Narcisse didn’t see any point in the experiment, but Paul was very interested in the result. The boy’s use of color was something indefinable, his brush strokes were those of a maestro, even if he had never held a paintbrush before. Paul was amazed at the result the child obtained with only one skimpy old brush and just a few tubes of paint. The experiment was bound to come to an end, and that it did with the return of André. André was furious at Paul for having made his son idle, and no one except Paul saw the magnificence of the masterpiece that Lucas had created. To everyone else it was just random color, like childish scribbles. André threw out his boarder, and told him to take his paints back, along with his son’s painting. Paul packed up, took the boy’s unsigned painting with his own finished and unfinished canvases, and went back to Paris. In Paris, Paul put Lucas Barbeau’s painting on an easel in his studio and studied it, admiring it. He started to try to achieve the same result in his own painting. He wasn’t happy with the results though, and his peers didn’t see anything exceptional in his work either. Still, he strove diligently…tying to reach the expert level of Barbeau’s painting. It became an obsession to him. He never let anyone enter his studio, his private space, for fear that someone would discover the boy’s painting. Over the years he progressed, slowly, finally exhibiting in galleries and in the Paris Salons and he even started gaining a modest following and selling some of his pieces. Abstract expressionism was coming into vogue with the work of Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul’s unique abstract style, secretly inspired by that of Lucas Barbeau, fit in well with the trends of the time in Paris.

Paul Barry was far from satisfied. How could it be that a 12-year-old, with his first, and one and only painting, and without any instruction whatsoever in the arts, could produce such a wonder? Whereas he, who had been painting since he was a child, had been to Art School, had frequented and studied with master painters, knew all of the techniques and theories…couldn’t produce such a marvelous work of art. Paul started to nose-dive into a depression; he was never happy with his paintings and destroyed most of them. He fell deep into debt and was constantly drunk. One day he could take it no more. His unattained obsession got the better of him and he took his life in 1913, ten years after having arrived in Paris. Still a young man, at only 33, he drowned himself in the Seine. In an effort to recuperate some of his debts, a bailiff went with Paul Barry’s art dealer to his studio and had everything evaluated. The art dealer, seeing Lucas Barbeau’s masterpiece, immediately realized its value. As it was unsigned, other experts were consulted about the painting. All of the specialists agreed, it was indeed a true masterpiece, and they all had the same position about who the master was. It seemed to be obvious that Paul Barry had finally achieved his ambition, as the progression of his work for the last decade clearly showed. The decision of the experts was unanimous, and the work of art was attributed to Paul Jerome Barry. It was put up for auction and sold to a private collector. Paul’s debts were covered, and the rest was wired to his parents in Long Island, who never doubted that the painting was not the work of their son.