

Drifter On The Horizon

Written By: Travis Pasch

Edited By: Abigail Gripshover

Drifter On The Horizon

Original Edition

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Travis Pasch. Originally published in 06/2017

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited By: Abigail Gripshover

Artwork and Book Design By:Heather Pasch

Isbn # 978-0-692-91621-6

This book is dedicated to:

The best parents a wandering soul could hope for, my unbelievably beautiful and supportive wife Heather, and, of course, UJNA

Stagnation is Death...

Prologue

"I guess that's it?"

Is all Clint can say through his suppressed tears and seething hatred. From where she stands fidgeting in the dark hallway Azelia's expression is more or less impossible to see; Clint assumes it's one of overflowing joy and happiness. He's wrong, but thinking clearly through the surmounting pain isn't an option.

"This is best for both of us. Don't you dare pretend like you're happy, I know you're not, and I sure ain't," Azalea says and turns, her dreadlocks sway against the heavy breeze as her dark skin pimples to the non-existent cold. She manages to carry all of her belongings in just a couple of over-sized bags. Clint wishes he could offer help and try to end things on a good note, but he can't force his body to move an inch from the small doorway he occupies.

"I ruined my life to be with you, you know that? I left behind everything, I even disowned my parents for you. And now... this? You're just going to leave me with nothing?" he says meekly to her back. He barely holds back an arsenal of obscenities. In moments like these he wishes his tongue were sharper and his emotions more acute.

"You know I didn't want it to be like this," she says without turning around, rubbing the tears now freely flowing down her naked face.

"Obviously you did," Clint says and slams the door. Entering his dark apartment, he halfheartedly tries his best to banish all thoughts of her from his mind. Stumbling over fallen objects scattered after their most recent fight, he finds his way to the recliner he almost always finds himself sitting in these days. His reflection in the unlit TV screen mocks him with its ugliness and anger.

"I can't let it end like this," he spouts and jumps up to find his keys. Something in his mind tells him it's a good idea to follow her, wherever she goes. As he grabs his keys off of the bedside table he tries to resist the temptation to follow her, but he can't help himself. What if she runs directly to another man's house? At this point he couldn't handle such an offense.

Part One: How It All Starts

CHAPTER ONE

The Glowing Woman

Zale's eyes burst open. Initial attempts at moving his rigidly stiff neck fail; it is only after much coaxing from his sweaty hands that he's able to straighten it. The only rational explanation is a sad one: he must've spent the whole night sleeping with his head pressed against the window of his car, currently doubling as his home.

"What the hell!" comes a booming yell from outside. He knows the source all too well, the deep voice belongs to a parking attendant who's made a hobby of hassling him. His strong chin, dark eyes, and height make Zale feel inadequate in his presence, a fact that makes his cavalier attitude that much more annoying.

"This is the third time I've found you here. I'm gonna call the cops," he says, banging his hand incessantly on the window.

"Sorry man, I'm movin'," Zale retorts. He snorts as he jumps into the driver's seat of his mid-90's station wagon and pulls out of the ten car parking lot. He yearns to get back to the previous night's dream. Those violent dreams are so much more fantastical and fun than his actual life. He speeds through the deserted early morning streets of the city and rubs his neck again in an ill-fated attempt to try and relax his muscles.

As the buildings fly by he wishes he didn't have to stay in the city, with the barren peacefulness of the desert lying just outside its sprawling grasp, looking like a welcoming escape. As he drives mindlessly, a flash of light explodes so brightly it nearly blinds him. It's more than just a light though, it's a glimpse of something so great he can neither see nor focus on anything else. The world slows, his surroundings disappear, and the front of his beloved wagon smashes into the car in front of him.

"What were you thinking?!" the other driver yells as he heads towards Zale's car. Zale just drops his head down onto his horn. He lets the sound of the horn drown out the man's annoying voice. His mind is only concentrating on two things, sleep and the bright light that caused this whole thing. The heat radiating from the early morning sun and the stillness of the air have always been able to calm him and help him think. Unfortunately, the man yelling about the damages to his precious car is so intrusive even a loud horn and the hot sun can't silence him. The light again nearly blinds him, but he pushes through the pain in his retinas, and uses all his strength to focus on the source, which reveals itself as a beautiful and radiating woman. He can't make out her full features, but he knows he has to meet her.

The man's slamming fist on the hood of his car breaks him out of his gazing.

"Get out!" Zale decides to comply and gets out of his car, coming to stand within inches of the irate man, whose loose tie and sweaty dress shirt make Zale wonder if he ever went home last night. Zale looks past him, trying his best to focus on the glowing woman. Luckily, yelling never bothers him; he grew up in a loud family and shouting at him achieves nothing, a fact this man surely doesn't know, judging by the amount of expletives flying from his lips.

"Don't make me ask you again, come see what you did to my car. And how is a bum..." the man continues as Zale forces himself into reality and away from the disappearing ball of light absorbing all of his attention. He finally manages to listen, and looks down to see the damage his boat of a car inflicted. It's nothing more than a scratch on the man's Mercedes, but still, Zale decides to resolve the situation before the man can get even more pissed.

"You better be prepared to pay for all the damage, idiot. And I'm willing to bet you don't even have insurance, do you? Huh? Well do you?" The man spurts through cracked lips before Zale can respond.

"I'll give you five hundred bucks if you shut up," Zale says, already reaching into his wallet.

"Oh, you think I'm going to take your drug money? I bet you don't want the police involved, afraid of what they'll find in that thing you call a car," the man responds.

"You think they'd side with a drunk driver?" Zale retorts. The man balks visibly.

"How dare you threaten me!" the man yells. Zale almost takes the offer back. His attempts to fully support himself as a writer are not succeeding, partially because he doesn't have the prerequisite talent, and five hundred dollars is a lot of money. That money is supposed to last the next two weeks, but the man is right, his insurance ran out months ago.

"I can smell it on your breath!"

"I bet you got drugs in that car!" the man yells. He's right again so Zale relents.

"Do you want the money or not dude?" Zale says as he pulls the money out of his wallet and hands it to the man. Zale gets back in his car quickly and drives off before the guy can refuse. In a heartbeat the only image he can remember from the whole incident is the blazing woman. An ideal and picture are now firmly embedded in his mind. Even the fact that he has to fast for the rest of the week, or - maybe more importantly- not smoke any weed, is unimportant to him. He flees for the desert, plagued by an unknown angel.

CHAPTER TWO

Dreams

The weight bearing down on Zale's eyelids drags them shut before he can even think about resisting. He wants to survey his new surroundings before succumbing to the sweet embrace of sleep, but his body doesn't allows him that luxury. At least the pestering sleep enables new ideas to burrow themselves into his brain. That's the reason he moved thousands of miles away to the desert after all. In a moment the dreams are playing out before him, plastering the back of his eyelids with viscous scenes from his disoriented imagination...

The hero tries with every ounce of his will to focus his eyes on the man standing a full twenty paces across from him. The dust tries to disrupt his concentration and march unopposed into his already crowded vision. Finally, in this nasty little town, he managed to track down the wanted man. The hero's long and battered duster coat flutters in the desert wind as the entire town looks on from the imagined safety of their wood homes and shops. The killer is better known as the Butcher, and has somehow managed to kill over twenty men in his short life.

"I hope you said your prayers this morning bounty hunter!" his prey yells at the hero over the howling desert sands. The hero doesn't respond, but removes his large hat in an attempt to get a better view of him.

"Well? Are we going to do this?" the Butcher yells to him again, visibly becoming unnerved by the inhuman calm of his adversary. The hero's hat floats gracefully through the air as he tosses it aside. Without warning the Butcher's bullet rips through the dry, beautiful day. A shooting pain explodes through the hero's left side, but pure calm plays across his face.

The gathered townspeople let out a collective sigh when he finally and methodically begins to remove his pistol from his holster. The gleam from the sun coming off the gun is powerful enough to blind the strongest hawk. The hero has to admit to himself that the Butcher has more pride than he expected, even as he takes aim the man stands there with his head held proudly, though the rest of the killer's body is shaking violently beneath his heavy jacket. Miraculously he doesn't even attempt to fire off any other shots.

The hero's draw comes almost as if in slow motion. With every inch he moves, a thousand pounds of dust assault the decrepit buildings that surround him. Then in a flash, he fires, the Butcher is lifted from his feet, and his heavy gun flies from his dead hands as he falls. His ten gallon hat starts its lofty descent to earth from its former, grand perch. Again the townspeople let out a gasp, this time not in relief, but in surprise.

Kicking the dead man's boot the hero takes a short glance at the man's destroyed face, now nothing more than a mass of bones and blood. He picks up the Butcher's hat and gun before shouting, "Who's in charge of the bounty?"

CHAPTER THREE

Unanswered Questions

Clint had attempted for weeks to get a hold of her; finally, after hundreds upon hundreds of tries she agreed to meet him. But the very sight of her makes Clint's eyes boil over, love and hate play against each other, both vying for the object of his obsession. She turns immediately after seeing the ire on his face. Without a word she leaves him sitting alone, in anger, once again.

"Azalea wait!" he calls at her back. She fights against every muscle and thought in her head begging her to turn around and give in to him.

"What? Please just stop," she cries, tears already cascade off her cheeks.

"Just tell me this, what... no, where did I go wrong? I treated you good, didn't I? I did everything you asked," he pleads, still not possessing the fortitude to rise from the park bench. She tries to stymie her tears in the wind before responding.

"There's nothing to tell... It's nothing you did, can't you see? We're terrible for each other. Things just fell apart and I couldn't live like that. I hate to see you like this," she says, taking two tentative steps towards him. She grabs his hand without sitting down. At her slightest touch his eyes lose all sense of hate, instead envy and regret rush to fill the void. "I can't tell you where you... where we went wrong. But it was both of us, not just you, we both screwed things up. If we bring each other this much pain... we shouldn't be together," she says meekly.

She takes a calming breath then with resolve she continues, "either way, it's over, you have to accept it," she lets his hand slip away, he lets her go without resistance, all the fight in him has momentarily died. The breeze dries his heavy tears enough to let great salt deposits build on his rough cheeks. He sits for hours, waiting for at least one wound to heal. None do. Hatred has replaced every emotion and fiber of his being.

__________

As Zale slowly lowers himself down in the backseat of his car he tries to let sleep overcome him again. If he's lucky he wakes up with ideas which he writes down to create his meager living. After the small and constant catastrophes of the past few days, all he wants to do is sleep and find some real adventure. The ball of light from yesterday has already driven him to near madness and another drive deep into the desert seemed the only remedy, to be in the solitude he so craves. Just him and his trusty vehicle in a land of nothing. His car, that not only serves as his transportation but his home, has caused unwanted inquiries into his personal life. The question of his living situation has been brought up more than once, why on God's good earth would someone with enough money to not live out of their car do just that? It seems simple enough to him, why would he sleep in a stale hotel room where the rare smell of other people's filth and the harsh reek of cleaning products mingle freely, where the hallways seem more like something out of a horror film than a place of rest. The idea of an apartment doesn't make sense to him either, the idea of establishing any sort of roots or tying himself to worthless objects sounds like a new type of waterboarding; any form of commitment has always scared him to death.

Zale lets his mind drift away from the troublesome day and into the nothingness that is sleep, the great void of time where nothing and everything about the world are truly relevant. He used to have the hardest time sleeping, but after he realized how exciting his dreams are compared to his boring life, sleep now comes at his slightest command. The blackness of his eyelids start to slowly change into a landscape of pictures and colors, merging to become one all-dominating vision. He hopes for a dream of the glowing woman but he gets this instead...

The woman's carefree approach makes the hairs on his exposed wrists stand at attention. It's not very often that such a noble-looking woman would be willing to approach the hero in such a filthy place. The saloon has dust competing for every available square inch, the bartender's skin seems to be made from the same wood as the disgustingly beer covered bar top, the fat sweating pianist has been passed out on his instrument for at least the last two hours. The hero's table is so dilapidated he can't understand how it's still standing. The approaching woman's lace shoes look like they're worth more than the whole place put together, alcohol included. The rest of her dress is worth more than he can even fathom; it would be best not to get on her bad side.

"I'm in need of your assistance, ranger," she says to him, her voice reeks of wealth.

"What can I do for you?" he asks and polishes off his drink. She motions towards the chair opposite him.

"By all means," he says and pushes the flimsy chair decorating his table with his right boot towards her.

"Thank you," she says with a minor curtsy. The plump and overly friendly waitress hurls herself at him yet again, her sweat mixes repugnantly with his.

"Another drink hero?" she says with only the slightest note of sarcasm. Everyone around this nasty town knows how much money he made after collecting the bounty on the Butcher's head, and everyone single person is trying to pry the recently acquired coins from his frugal fingers.

"Why not? Did you come to join me for a drink?" he says to the rich woman and pushes the waitress towards the bar.

"No, I have a business proposition for you."

"What might that be?"

"Transportation is awfully dangerous for a woman of my stature. And you... you seem to be just the type of man to help me. The way you handled that outlaw was quite impressive," she says, her southern drawl reveals itself fully throughout the sentence. The waitress drops off his drink without a word but eyes the far luckier and prettier woman. The hero stares at her, weighing his options. The drunken pianist explodes back to reality, his fingers start plucking a song before his body recognizes the effort. The hero's silence lets the drunken playing of the pianist fill the void between him and the stunning lady.

"What's your name? Obviously, you must have quite the name to match your elegant appearance," he says with the slightest of chuckles.

"Michele, but that's more than you need to know. There's no need for other formalities, I've done enough snooping around to find out everything important about you," she says with such authority he dares not challenge her. "Are you coming with me or not?"

"Where are you going... Michele?" he questions. It takes a minute to remember her name after so many drinks.

"Not far, it's only a two day trip. Yes or no? I have to know now. We depart in the morning," she says giving him such an icy stare he almost feels cold in this unbearable heat.

"Why not?"

A blazing light cuts the the conversation short, the rays of light compound to infinity, into something nuclear that turns everything in his little town to dust. A woman follows in the center of the blaze, floating through the desolation, demolishing everything except for the hero. He can't resist her power and falls.

When Zale opens his eyes he's greeted with the bland and ripped ceiling of his station wagon instead of the awesome power of the glowing woman or the dirty saloon. He brushes aside a dangling piece of ceiling cloth, sits up, and sighs.

"Just as it was getting good," Zale complains to no one in particular, a disturbing habit he picked up after one too many long and frequent spells of isolation. He knows what must be done to continue his dreams, and by extension his writing. He's going to have to find the radiant woman, who has somehow managed to interfere with both his dreams and his real life after one encounter. He looks into the cold darkness of the desert night for answers.

CHAPTER FOUR

Stalking

The morning hadn't been a total waste, at least not for someone who never actually does anything. Zale saw the woman walking into a building before getting lost in some grand delusion his own brain invented. At least he acquired the knowledge of her work place, meaning he's achieved more this morning than in the past two weeks combined. He tries to convince himself there's nothing wrong or creepy about stalking a supposed angel; how can a mere mortal resist? The pounding rays of the day combined with his rigors of spying fatigued every inch of his body. He climbs over the middle console of his station wagon into the back of his car, where the seats are perpetually down, and covers the windows with some blankets, a failing protection from the the various police and attendants who keep interrupting his vital sleep. Why can't they just give him parking tickets he'll never pay? His head falls for the pillow.

Images of the west tentatively start to assemble. Before his mind can form anything substantial the glowing woman jumps back into his mind's eye; the sight startles him and his head smashes into the side of his car. His eyes rip open, breaking the fragile barrier into reality. As he rolls over the weight of his moving body tears his favorite black shirt, he must have caught it in the car door when he fell asleep. He mourns his shirt, but only momentarily, as a more pressing concern grabs his short attention. An evil pounding noise keeps repeating on his fragile car.

"What's goin' on?" Zale says.

"Get out of the car, sir," an ominous voice from the outside beckons. He slowly rolls to his back, trying not to damage his clothing any further. He lies still, hoping the problem will just leave. He puts his hands on his head and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. The pounding won't stop and the man yells again. He realizes getting out of the car is his best choice but wishes playing dead like a opossum would make the man leave him be. He cautiously opens the car's trunk door, and squints against the obvious evil awaiting him.

"What are you doing in there sir?" says the menacing cop, chest protruding in the sunlight. As Zale's eyes finally manage to work, a giant belly covered with a police uniform materializes. An oversized flashlight rests in the officer's gloved hands.

"What's the problem officer?" Zale asks. He looks at the officer with a completely blank stare, still wishing he was dreaming.

"You can't sleep here, especially not during the day. You're making people nervous, got more than one call about you already," the officer informs him. Zale nods, barely acknowledging his presence. Zale closes his trunk door and jumps into the driver's seat, preparing for a smooth exit. The officer seems unsatisfied with the encounter and slams the hood of Zale's car with more than enough force to dimple the hood, and almost enough force to get Zale to pay attention.

"Show a little respect!"

"Will do, sorry," Zale mumbles and scoots the wagon forward just enough to scare the officer off his car and clear his path. But the officer doesn't budge in the face of the couple thousand pound vehicle. The two stare each other down for the better part of a minute, eventually the cop relents his foothold a few inches. Zale peels away instantly, signaling his surrender in their short game of chicken. As Zale speeds away he wonders if normal folks are forced to deal with these types of avoidable scenarios almost daily, maybe he should give up his abnormal lifestyle, join the ranks of the working class world, and give in to the constant pressures of society. What would he do in the realm of society? Could he be a productive member of the world? Nothing feasible comes to mind, even after sitting through three red lights. No, he might as well keep giving this life a shot, despite its minuscule success and joy. He makes up his mind here and now, he must finish his latest book, continue life in his car, and see that damned glowing woman again. He can't remember the last time he had such a feeling of instant conviction, a time when he so convincingly felt in control over his fear of failure.

Nothing lasts forever unfortunately and his conviction promptly takes a back seat to the afternoon traffic as it wiggles along at a centipede's pace. With every inch he gains a hundred pedestrians fly past. He feels like he's been staring at the same white-washed brick building on the left for a small eternity. The need for an afternoon beer is becoming irresistible.

This speed, or lack thereof, lets his thoughts drift off to the reasons why he came here, why he left his cozy life. Such thinking is dangerous, but he indulges regardless. Everything seemed so easy in his little home by the beach: the words flew from his fingers, family had his back, and nothing troubled him more than the decision of what to eat every day. But then the dreams went black and a void of nothingness followed his rash of creativity, just as he was able to quit his day job, his ideas went to mush. He tried everything from abstinence to mind-expanding drugs but nothing even budged his mind into inspiration. A total change of lifestyle and surroundings seemed a last resort, which worked, in a sense. The dreams have returned, to his relief, but the current pressure he's receiving from all sides is coming close to making none of it worthwhile. At least, at his old house, if everything else was failing he could still go surfing in the afternoon and lie around without being hassled; he can barely take a nap in this city. Still, the dreams are the only way for him to get anything done and they just weren't happening there. He's always felt the desert's hot call, so this seemed the only logical place to go. This spiritual journey to restore him has only been halfway successful.

"Move up!" some unknown female voice from the car behind him screams. He quickly fills the diminutive gap to the car in front of him. The car somehow moves less with each passing second, soon he fears he may have to start reversing. All this traffic makes the sometimes present temptation to rip out his own brain all the more appealing. He tries to see the good side of things. He knows where the glowing woman works and he plans on that dilemma being finished soon, one way or the other.

The traffic eventually relents to the passage of time, and he pulls into a little corner store, right near his favorite spot to sleep. He crosses the empty parking lot and his shoes nearly melt off due to the roasting asphalt. Once in the rundown store he heads right for the sunglass rack, making his way past useless knickknacks, all overpriced for their 'convenience'. It's not the best neighborhood, and a hairy preoccupied cashier rests safely behind thick bulletproof glass yelling at someone on the phone in a language Zale can't understand. Like a fifteen year old girl he tries on almost every one of the cheap pairs of sunglasses and checks his reflection in the small mirror for all of them. After grabbing a pair that he thinks makes himself look dashing he remembers to buy booze on the way. He decides to hatch the first part of his multi-tiered plan to meet the glowing woman tonight since he can't shake the urge to see her again. Besides, tonight seems as good as any to find out where she lives. On his short walk through to the refrigerators a piece of ceiling hitting his head only worsens his fears that the whole place might collapse on him at any second. The building's tenants have long ago let the termites and rats infesting the place make it their permanent home. He opens the door to the fridge with the alcohol and is severely disappointed by the warmth blasting his already sweating face. His new aviator sunglasses don't even fog.

With drink in hand he walks to the counter and suffers incredible luck. A blinding ball of light, which has to be his angel, walks right through the front door, wrapped in unearthly illumination.

He acts quickly and pulls the sunglasses back over his eyes. He's astounded by the woman he can now slightly make out from behind the glasses. Brown hair cascades down her shoulders outlining a near perfect face, which leads to the rest of her breathtaking figure. He can't make out the color of her eyes against the glow. He forces himself to look away before she spots his gaze and pins him as a creep, which he is. He runs to the counter and cuts off a massive construction worker whose legs and neck are engulfed by his mass of a midsection. The man takes the transgression well and doesn't react.

"Sorry," Zale sputters as he waits impatiently for the balding clerk to ring up his items. He taps his fingers in frustration; the woman hasn't seen him, not yet, and he doesn't want to give her the chance. He lays down a ten before the clerk finishes his slow and laborious motions and rushes out the door, caring little for the change, even though he should. He bolts to his car and clumsily navigates it into a better position to follow the woman. Now all he has to do is wait and follow her home, seems simple enough, he thinks.

Her graceful gait floats her to her newish beige car. Zale never knew or cared much about cars, and the only thing he can discern about this one is its color. In the half second he takes to adjust his sunglasses she juts into traffic much more aggressively than he expected. He panics and races after her, cutting off a red truck and almost hitting a woman pushing a stroller, still falling a few cars behind despite his dangerous maneuvers. Things calm down just as fast as they accelerated, she doesn't waiver from this road for ages.

Riding behind her ignites a strange sense of purpose, along with an unshakable feeling of guilt. For all he knows she isn't even real, or really a woman, she's more likely an apparition, angel, or a figment of his imagination. His thoughts use her like a springboard to float far away from his current reality to his happy childhood when his actions had true purpose and he only did something because he wanted to, not because he imagined it was right. A very similar feeling is growing inside him now, the woman has already granted him a rebirth of sorts. Night falls upon the area during the long drive. He gets so wrapped up in his own mind he almost misses the beige car swinging a right turn. He swerves to keep close. The quick turn takes them into a new and, seemingly, expensive apartment complex, complete with a now closing iron security gate. A race ensues against his wagon and the closing gate, he slams the gas pedal to the floor and grits his teeth, jumping the curb in the process. He's rewarded for his zeal and flies into the complex unopposed. A large flaw in his plan just revealed itself to him, considering he never really thought he would get this far, he has no idea of what he's going to do once she gets out of her car. Despite his urge to tell her the truth, that she glows like the sun to him, he realizes just how crazy that sounds. Maybe things will just play themselves out to his benefit. Doubtful, but maybe.

Even the way she parks is graceful, and yet somehow aggressive. He parks as close as he can without raising suspicion, well, more than he's raised already. Despite the darkness of the cloudy night he has to don his sunglasses to watch her as she walks into the building. She walks with an elegant poise into the nearest complex, painted a drab grayish yellow, defying its youth. It doesn't seem fitting for such a powerful woman to live in such a place, he assumed she would live in a castle. He focuses on her every move but her light slowly disappears into the confines of the building. He's forced to take off the sunglasses, blind against the moon's weak light.

"What to do now buddy?" he asks himself, he long ago forgot just how disturbing pet names whispered to oneself are. Even though he can't see her there's something heavily comforting to him about being this close to her. Despite the assembly of walls in the way, he still senses her presence. Maybe her closeness will actually let him get some sleep, and grant him more than just a couple of useless words to write. He climbs to his home in the back of his wagon and fights to stay awake a little longer. He wants to plan out something to say to the woman but fails, falling asleep before he can come up with anything useful.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jade

The smell of death will greet Jade's nostrils sooner than she expected today, a stench she relishes. The poor soul standing naked and ready in front of her hailed her at a red light around twelve thirty. It normally takes her much longer to find a suitable target, but after only twenty short minutes of hunting he had tried to sell her a batch of bad dope. Through some coaxing and disgusting promises she got him back to his place, a drug squat where filth controls every surface and the smell of long-spoiled food owns the air. Bare mattresses are the only furnishing, most replete with blood and who knows what else. She doesn't care if he's harmed one or a thousand people, she's going to end his time on this earth tonight.

"Come on baby, you promised," he whines through a toothless mouth. The moonlight glints off his receding hairline while black dirt rests firmly in his many bodily creases. He looks so pitiful she almost debates going through with it, but that would be doing the public a huge disservice. She is one of the few, true, vigilantes left. If she doesn't kill this roach of a man, who knows just how many other people he'll kill with his tainted supply. "Don't get shy on me," he adds, walking towards her.

"Turn around, I get nervous when people are lookin'."

"Aw, but that's my favorite part."

"Please?" she pleads.

"You ain't got nuthin' I ain't seen," he says. She doesn't budge, and after a few minutes he relents. She doesn't hesitate and a long thick hunting knife emerges from her garter, a smile breaks on her lips.

"I hope this feels as good for you as it will for me," she says closing the gap between them.

"Oh I..." he starts but the knife smashing through his midsection cuts his words short, his arms flail uselessly in defense. Her strength is unbelievable and she lifts him off the ground with nothing but the knife, his sickly body tears against the sharp steel. One last scream tries to rip from his destroyed body, but she muffles it with her left hand, while lowering him to the ground, her right hand still gripping the knife. His head rolls to the side and his eyes go blank and she doesn't feel the need to close them. She tries to breath in his escaping soul, the smile stays on her lips.

The blood spilling from the heroin dealer's midsection manages to ruin Jade's new shoes; she curses herself for being so careless. She stands over the emaciated body for a moment of triumph before attempting to clean her prints from every surface of his house. The beauty of committing crimes against criminals is that the police don't try all that hard to find the culprit, still, she always proceeds with caution, just in case. Bile hits her throat after touching a floorboard that hasn't been cleaned since the Civil War. Fire is about the only option for a place this disgusting she decides, quickly following a vomiting bout. The thousands of cockroaches scuttling about the floor make the decision all the easier. She pulls a pack of matches from her blouse, not wasting a second, in a place like this someone could show up at any time. She lights the whole pack at once and throws it at the ripped curtain in the corner, the ignition is instant and raging. The old dry wood of the house takes the flames willingly, wanting to be put out of its misery. She kicks the dead man for good measure and sprints for the front door. As she tumbles through the door, smoke billows behind her; she underestimated just how fast it would ignite. Her lungs burn instantly, but she doesn't stop running.

She makes it to her car before any onlookers can gawk at the fire. She starts it and peels away, in her haste she half hits half runs something over; she could care less and flees with all due alacrity.

_____________

The smell of the acrid dust and particle-filled wind blowing in his face always makes the hero feel nostalgic. His childhood home was so far from another homestead that his only friends were the people he was always drawing in the dust; soon after he told his parents about them they moved closer to a city. The hero pulls a red handkerchief up over his nose and mouth, despite the memories it produces the dust still makes it near impossible to breathe when it's invading every snort of air.

Michele, the woman who hired him, sure wasn't lying about her wealth. The carriage he's sitting shotgun in now is worth more money than he could make in three life times with bounty hunting. He can only imagine what sort of treasures she's carrying in the massive trunks weighing down the back, of which he was tricked into loading. She brought them along despite his advice against it. The sun setting in the west, at their backs, makes the entire world turn a deep purple hue. The woman's mute driver sits to the hero's left; the mute smells worse than the horses he mercilessly drives onward, his scraggly beard appears to be caked in old horse dung.

"Keep speed through this pass," the hero says to the mute driver, the hero has been ambushed once before in this very pass and doesn't want the event to repeat itself. The man nods, his large hat nearly flies off with the gesture. The hero grips his shotgun all the tighter as the desert pass closes around the magnificent carriage.

His fears come to life as a shot echoes through the pass, knocking a large chunk from the carriage walls off in a hurry. A half dozen bandits descend on them, riding near starving steeds, loaded with more guns than a whole army battalion. The hero proves in an instant he's worth the price he charged the woman, firing before the first rider has a chance to reach them. His first shot knocks the lead rider from his horse with such power the man is propelled ten feet backwards. The second shot is just as accurate, another bandit is readily taken care of, the man's massive girth stops him from flying like the first one though.

The mute driver's obviously experienced. The second the bandits start their descent he pushes the horses harder; his demeanor remains just as stoic despite the gunfire. With four bandits left and no bullets in the shotgun the hero pulls his pistol and lets fly another bullet, swiftly slaying a third thief. The woman screams uncontrollably from inside her expensive ride. Blood splatters the left side of his face; the mute's right arm is basically destroyed by a rifle shot. Once again he shows his worth and keeps driving the horses without so much as a wince.

One last accurate shot from the hero's pistol is enough to turn away the bandits, even though he only wounds the fourth member of the gang, they decide to fall back and find easier prey. He goes about reloading the shotgun and pistol just in case they come back. The mute driver gives him a nod of respect and pushes on, not seeming too worried about his arm.

"Watch out!" the hero yells, the glowing woman stands in the road ahead. Her magnificent arms herald the sky with her head thrown back, letting her beautiful hair hang down past her lower back. The carriage explodes against her radiance, the hero sails through the air. Before he lands on the hard rocks below Zale jolts awake.

"Not again," Zale says as he wakes slowly from another unfinished dream. The sound of a careening vehicle peeling out forces him into full cognition. A glance at his clock throws him into a short panic.

He gets ready in no time to follow the woman again, though brushing one's teeth with a water bottle isn't all that hard, it's still fast and early for him. As he spits out his overly minty toothpaste he looks over and spots a dent in the front of the glowing woman's car. He can't remember her leaving last night, but he swears it wasn't there yesterday. Someone must have bumped it on their way out, that was most likely the jarring event that woke him up way too early this morning. He will have to keep himself up one of these nights to actually see if she moonlights as a stripper or something altogether worse; that seems far-fetched considering her assumed integrity. She probably just went to go get some milk and hit a deer by accident. Are there deer in the desert? He honestly can't remember, but at this point he cold care less what happened. His obsession runs strong enough to put a little dent out of his mind.

CHAPTER SIX

Homeless Patrons

Azelia's legs burn from the long walk. She fears sweating through her work clothes and slows down despite already being late. Why in the world do they make the baristas park so far away? She walks the well-known route from the parking garage in a zombified state. She closes her eyes for a moment, seeing if she can make the walk from memory, she fails instantly, bumping unceremoniously into a large woman.

A man, whose obvious lack of style puts him far out of place here, grabs her attention the second she opens her gray eyes. Anxiety swarms over her at his glance- she's felt a supreme lack of self-confidence since things with Clint worsened. The feeling of hopelessness doesn't pertain to her looks, she knows she's pretty enough. It's just the idea of starting something from scratch, after spending her entire adult life with a single person, it scares her half to death. The two months since their breakup have been horrendously hard, but the pain is starting to fade with every passing day. Unfortunately, the paranoia has increased exponentially, every day Clint seems to become more unhinged. She doubts he will ever let her live in peace. In those two months she's often wondered if she's meant to die alone, meant to fade into obscurity with no one to pass the time. The out-of-place man helps change her opinion on staying lonely and alone.

She crosses the final street to her work, the cool breeze quells her building nervous sweat, much to her relief. The shift manager working today finds a sick joy in making her life a living hell, and her newly multi-colored hair won't make dealing with him any easier. Clint sneaks unopposed into her mind again against her wishes, just what she needs before dealing with snobby people for the next six hours. She can't escape thinking about him on a daily basis. He's been relentless and invasive. She tries to pinpoint a day since their break up that he hasn't tried to contact her at least once, nothing rises to her thoughts. She's changed her number twice, to no avail, like some cell phone ninja he finds her new number within hours. She tries to see his side of it. He did give up a life of normality and comfort to be with her, a fact not lost on her, but she can't understand why he's being so difficult.

Amidst her swirling thoughts she almost forgets about the man from earlier. She doesn't want to forget him and tries to hold his image in her mind. She's already attached an entire made-up persona to him, turning whomever he may be into her savior. She knows she's way too mixed up right now to do anything about him but what can daydreaming hurt? As a bonus, the thought of him helps expel Clint from her mind. She uses the momentary lapse and a deep calming breath to wipe the slate clean and climbs the brick stairs to work with aching legs. The smells of coffee and self-absorbance overcome her the second she gets a whiff of the familiar and crowded room. This place could not be a more typical coffee shop, dark wood decorates every surface and comfortable chairs adorn every inch of available floor space. Normally this place holds some form of comfort for her but not today, even people working quietly by themselves raise her blood level to dangerous highs. She feels a pair of eyes bulging at her from behind thin rimmed glasses, as her creepy manager eyes her up during the short walk, his comb over makes her want to slap him into tomorrow.

"Azelia, you're late, two minutes," her manager says and looks to his watch for confirmation, his hairless pale arms unnerve her. She points to the clock on the wall, prepared for his onslaught.

"It says I'm three minutes early," she retorts while power walking across the room. If she's going to be scolded, she really doesn't want it to happen in front of all these people.

"How many times do I have to tell you? If you're not five minutes early you're late."

"Sorry, won't happen again," she answers.

"I hope it doesn't, I really don't want to have to fire you," he says, his scratchy voice laden with contempt. Maybe she should just give in and start sucking up to him like the large contingent of bimbos working here, it would certainly make her life easier. She un-shoulders her blue bag in the small break room and recomposes herself. She takes solace in the fact that Maya is on shift today, a co-worker who has become an actual friend.

"Hey girl," Maya says, her disproportionately thick legs carrying her quickly into the break room. Azelia always wondered how such a thin girl could have such big legs.

"Hey," Azelia responds, and dons her already dirty apron.

"What've' you been up to?" she asks.

"Nuthin' really. Wishin' he wasn't here."

"He givin' you a hard time already?"

"Of course," Azelia answers, trying to stall in the back of the shop as long as she can.

"You know how anal he is, why can't you be early once a week?"

"Guess I'm too hard headed. What you get into this weekend?"

"Same old stuff," Maya answers. They both, begrudgingly, head out front.

"I'd kill for some normalcy right about now, I'm still living in a tent for God's sake."

"You're feisty today, you gonna be ok?"

"I doubt it," Azelia answers, they both laugh. They start their rounds around the full cafe, wiping down the few unoccupied tables and picking up empty glasses. The manager was going to put them on the unwanted duty one way or the other, they might as well not give him the satisfaction of issuing the order.

"Wipe harder! I can see the dirt from here!" the manager yells from across the room, every patron in the place turns their wandering eyes on the girls, they blush from head to toe. Azelia wonders if the man has respect for anything other than his hourly twenty minute visits to the bathroom, she shudders at the thought of his activities in there. Her arm tires from the new intensity she puts into her scrubbing, she uses that pain to forget about her boss. Maya taps her shoulder pointing her eyes towards the entrance, a heavily bearded bum is the object of her impolite staring. He ignores the judging looks of the richer patrons and begs with every ounce of power left in his body for food or money, looking for compassion in those same ignoble people. Judging by his emaciated frame she doesn't doubt the truth behind his claims of hunger. If he didn't have on so many layers his ribs might poke through his parchment paper thin skin. She feels a twinge of guilt at the amount of people turning down his pleas. She falls to that guilt, heads to him, and hands him a few dollars without a word.

"May God bless you," he says with approving eyes. Helping the man fills her with warmth.

"Sir, you have to leave, we can't have you in here. This place is for paying customers only," her manager says, leaving his precious counter for the first time today. She tries to use mind control on the bum and make him slug her manager in the face. It doesn't work and the bum keeps his arms by his side.

"Have a heart my friend," the bum says with pleading eyes.

"Get out," the manager retorts. The homeless man's head hangs low as he trudges to the door. A lightning bolt of an idea hits the man before he reaches the door; he turns on a dime. He snags an empty tray from a trashcan and swings down into an empty seat. He slams the tray down with more force than necessary and presses his fingers all over it, just like it's a keyboard.

"What're you doing?" the manager screams.

"I'm just being important like everyone else here. Working on something so great everyone in the world will praise me," the homeless man says still typing away on his tray.

"Get out or I'll call the police," the boss seethes, grabbing the bum's arm. The man twists away and persists in his passionate pursuit of pretending to be pretentious. He stands up to deliver the rest of his performance.

"Look at me, look how important I am, working so hard, ooh, look at me!" he screams, sits back down, and keeps pretending to write. "Get me a coffee, SIR!" he demands and puts Azelia's fresh money into her manager's hands.

"I don't think..." he starts to say but is cut short.

"Now even if I pay, you won't let me stay and work?" the bum asks sweetly.

"Get him what he wants."

"Not her, you," he says while staring straight through the diminutive manager. He accepts the money and grumbles to himself all the way to the counter. The homeless man and Azelia smile at one another; it uses every ounce of self-control she possess to not break out in joyous laughter. Today's already held two high notes for her, something that hasn't happened in over two months. Maybe her boss will let her off easy if she is out of his sight for a while, she heads out back to deal with the ever present trash.

__________

This constant brooding certainly isn't helping Clint's mood, but he's incapable of not helping himself to the pain. His whole backside is beginning to sting from sitting so long on the park bench in Azelia's campsite. He feels good being this close to where she's living, even though she's not here. The shade cast from the massive water oak hanging above him cools his seething anger and helps him feel at home. He marvels at the tree's audacity for life, how can something meant for water survive in the opposite of climates? Not only survive, but flourish? The tree makes him feel worse about his inability to adapt to his new situation. He tries to drop the comparisons between himself and a plant.

Despite the blistering dry heat, cold chills assault every inch his body as the idea of ridding the world of Azelia tries to sneak into his brain. He knows that he can't let the idea fully form or things might get out of control and no one could guess what that line of thinking might cause.

He looks around the site, debating whether or not to trash the place. It would make him feel better, even though he knows it wouldn't help anything. His legs carry him to her tent, he pulls back the flaps and looks inside, fixing his hair as he does so. Chaos reigns supreme inside the orange tent; he couldn't make the place look any worse. He leaves the inside unmolested.

He lays back down on the splintery bench and thinks about what he can do to right the situation with her, he knows for a fact he's been overreacting to everything. He can't seem to control his constant anger anymore, his father would be disappointed. He's wasted every waking moment of his adult life on her and he's still struggling with the prospect of throwing away all those years and never seeing her again. The idea of dishing out pain to anyone associated with her burns its way into his brain and embeds itself firmly there. With each second he's slowly able to get himself back under control. He just wants to show her how much he still loves her and that he would do anything for her, regardless of her many transgressions against him. How can she not understand that? He can't let her go just yet.

He crosses his fingers steeple-style on his chest, feeling oddly comfortable. He will try his damnedest to make his life livable, he wants nothing more than to feel happy again. He forces himself to hold onto any tendrils of optimism left. If she refuses to take him back, revenge is still a form of redemption in its own right. He desires to return to his old life, but for now that's not an option. The feel of the warm, slight breeze and the type of shade only a good oak tree can give lets his mind run away with ideas. For the first time in months a tinge of exhaustion winks into existence, the girl has been driving him into insomnia. He in turn has been trying to cure the insomnia by a few substances not exactly legal. He bolts to his car and races home, happy to accept sleep for the first time in days. His dreams are violent and filled with vengeance. He's filled with disappointment when his alarm goes off after only a few hours of sleep. He has to make the difficult choice of quitting work today or waking. He eventually relents and rises from his slumber.

__________

The day went by slowly but Maya kept the whole thing bearable and Azelia sane. She notices the man she made a guilty pleasure of looking at this morning again on her way to her car after work; he inches his way among the heavy foot traffic of midday. She gawks openly at him, daydreaming about anyone who isn't Clint feels like heaven. His eyes meet her gaze, she doesn't notice for a half second, when she does blood floods her cheeks. She casts her eyes down and sprints for her car.

She throws her right leg into her car, almost falling over in the process; her already poor balance is thrown off by her embarrassment. She recovers and brings the car's small motor to life. She still can't understand how she hasn't mastered the mechanics of walking yet. Just as she is about to take off, the one sight she abhors appears from the crowd of people into view. A blue arm followed by the rest of the suit that accompanies a traffic officer winds into view.

"Hey," Clint says. This day is turning into a disaster for her.

"What do you want?" she asks, sighing into the ceiling of her beat up car.

"Is it a crime to talk to you Azelia?" he asks leaning on her window.

"Yes! It is, remember? Leave me alone!" she responds and tries to jettison away. He boldly attempts to step in front of her, she keeps her foot on the pedal, her moving car bounces him like a tennis ball off the bumper.

"You coulda' killed me!" he yells after her, she half wishes she had.

She can never understand, or doesn't want to, what happened to him after they moved. He used to be the coolest guy; but something in him snapped when they moved here. She wonders how much pleasure he derives from ticketing people for running out of quarters.

Lost in thought she nearly rams her vehicle into the stopped garbage truck in front of her. She flips on her radio, needing any kind of distraction, only to hear endless news about the first successful human enhancement trials. She flips through the channels until she finally hears some music playing. It doesn't help much as she crawls through the city traffic. She really has to get back to her peaceful tent.

__________

Opening his eyes offers no respite from the darkness. The pitch black of the drab night is complete and stifling, replete with unbearable humidity. Squealing tires are once again the culprit for the interruption, why do people drive so crazily through this complex? Zale can almost feel the pressure from his newfound agent crushing him every second of the day, even in the middle of the night. He knows the deadline's close for a rough draft of his first story, he also knows the chances of him meeting it are slim to none. But he's stubborn enough to keep trying. The trait is often quite the hindrance, but he likes to believe that's just the way he is. He lies back down trying to re-conjure the images. The thought of whether this story is any good hasn't crossed his mind yet, why think on such trivial things?

The fatigue weighing on him is far above what it should be. His arms feel like jelly and his legs not much stiffer. He had such a bout of paranoia earlier he nearly fainted. A pair of eyes were obviously staring at him downtown, he takes some solace in the fact they belonged to a woman. But a tremendous and unfounded fear of being watched is buried deep within his core. He uses those fears as crutches, they make great excuses and he's tricked himself into believing them. Another day had gone by and he still hadn't said a word to the glowing woman, or found a way to live without her- his situation is becoming rapidly untenable.

His thoughts start reminiscing without his permission, transporting him from this dark car to a warm beach and better times. He tries to force the thoughts away to no avail. His father's funeral pops up, blazing out all pleasant thoughts. His death a few years back nearly ruined Zale. He can barely remember the service, save for his pain and anguish, his sisters' bawling eyes hurt the most. His yearning for them mounts higher with every passing day, he avoids talking with them at all costs. A single word from their tiny lips would bring him running home and, essentially, mean giving up his dreams of writing forever. The government should look into using them for mind control.

"Stop it," he tells himself. Every thought he lets slip by like that is just one more nail in his coffin, they all bring him one inch closer to abandoning his new life. The majority of the world would look down on his seemingly useless conviction because he really has nothing here, but going back empty-handed would signal his defeat and failure. He uses his proximity to the glowing woman to calm himself down, and put himself into his wanted dream state. Will the courage to talk to her always elude him? Is this odd situation of following her and living in her apartment complex all he will ever have? Breathing deep he once again forces himself to calm down. But if she denies him, or worse yet, finds out where he's staying, his entire life will inexorably turn to ruin. He decides those are all problems for tomorrow. Tonight he concludes, is for dreaming, and hopefully he gets something worth writing.

He lies to himself, tells himself everything is going to be all right. He allows himself to be deceived for the rest of the night. He weighs the positives and negatives of smoking a bowl before bed, and eventually decides against it. Sadly the only thing on his mind before he drifts back to sleep is the sound of his sisters' cries. In answer to his greatest wishes a dream of the west builds itself inside his head...

The acute smell of horse dung stings the insides of the hero's dry nostrils. He's never been able to understand the allure of cities and why so many enjoy their claustrophobic confines. Being around people never comforts him. Not to mention the smell, the smell of all cities makes him gag. But for the amount of money Michele is offering him there aren't too many places on earth he wouldn't go.

The mute driver doesn't make many attempts to communicate, he just sits atop the carriage, unmoving and stoic. Despite the total lack of conversation the driver has grown on him, almost similar to how a statue can become familiar. The mute navigates the carriage like a ship's captain, adjusting perfectly around a maze of horses, vendors, and people trying to clog the way. He's obviously been driving Michele for some time and knows these streets well.

"Here will be fine," the woman yells, her voice arrives muffled from deep within her plush ride. The mute reins the horses to a halt in front of a massive hotel, it's soaring walls are dotted with ornate windows and the monstrous columns framing the front archway have somehow managed to stay pristine in spite of this endless filth. The hero can't remember the last time, if ever, he'd seen such a structure. A gaggle of overly dressed men sprint to their carriage; elbows, punches, and a few kicks are thrown among the neatly dressed group. They all vie for the prize of opening Michele's door. Four gloved hands find the handle simultaneously instead of a single victor emerging. More than one of the men has blood trickling off their faces from the scuffle.

"My lady," calls an extremely overdressed man from the mud- unfortunately his hand didn't make it to the handle, his competitors pushed him headlong into a puddle.

"You've really let this place go in my short absence," she retorts, using his body as a stool to save the edges of her dress from the mire.

"Sorry, we've tried our best. You're just so talented, there's no way we could compare," the man whines in a high pitched voice, he's now fully enveloped in the mud and filth thanks to her.

"That much is true, let's get to work," she says and gracefully moves through the admiring group of men towards the ornate archway.

"My payment?" yells the hero from his perch on the carriage.

"Take care of him for me," she says and continues unabated to her gigantic hotel. The mute looks sadly at the hero, he has also become rather fond of his traveling companion and wishes things didn't have to end this way. Fortunately for the hero the sun is full in the sky; if not for the glint coming off of the mute's blade this story would be over and the woman would have claimed another hopeless victim. The hero's instincts kick in and his hand manages to just deflect the killing blow meant for his throat before he fully comprehends the situation. The knife sails past and fastens itself in the ornate wood of the chariot.

The hero reaches for his revolver but a lighting speed punch almost topples him off the carriage into the mud, from which the unfortunate concierge is just now removing himself. The short second in which he reels back is all the time the mute needs to gain the upper hand and jump on top of him. The mute pulls another knife from his boot, and once again aims for the hero's exposed neck. He's once again saved by a stroke of luck, a passing cart bumps the carriage and pushes the mute off balance, this time the hero doesn't hesitate and the distraction is all he needs to shoot the mute through the gut. He pushes him into the sludge and turns to the stunned men waiting below.

"Tell that witch I'm taking the carriage as payment," he says to the shocked men, debating whether or not to finish off the mute. He decides better of it and whips the reins on the horses, sending them careening through the town at near suicidal speeds. He'll never trust a rich woman again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Early Mornings and Late Nights

Zale awakes with a start; but the familiar smell of his vehicle calms him before a panic sets in. Laying on his back staring at the sagging ceiling of his beat up wagon he has a realization: this is the best car he could own, maybe someday he could pass it on to his kids. The very thought of children frightens him, he abruptly forgets the sentiment. With a heavy head he prepares to get his day going.

The sound of his car starting on cue always makes him optimistic. The city seems as good a destination as any to break up the monotony of the parking lot. He rolls down his window to feel the cool breeze on his skin; the feeling reminds him of home, and the early mornings before surfing, getting up before all the tourists and down to the water at sunrise. There is something magical about it, the cool breeze mixed with a slight chill from the water, not fully re-energized from the hot summer sun. Seeing no one else around in such a vast and expansive thing as the sea is majestic.

The rumble strips emit a barking noise awaking him from his daydream. He makes the prudent decision to focus on the road and decides this is the day he finally makes contact with the woman. He hurtles forward faster to reach his destination, only slowing when he lets the risk of getting pulled over outweigh his great urgency. That would ruin his whole day if he were to get arrested for something as mundane as reckless driving. He parallel parks into a spot just ahead of the building where the woman works, a giant one with more windows than seem possible for a single building to support.

A glance at his clock forces him to realize the woman won't be at work for an hour and a half. Leaning back in his chair he thinks about falling back to sleep, but imagines if he does he'll probably either get harassed by a traffic cop or not wake up in time to talk to the lady; he doesn't want to contend with either right now.

He decides to get some coffee while waiting. He gingerly gets out of his car, not even bothering to lock it.

__________

The early morning chill still hangs in the air, dawn has barely broken the barrier into reality as Azelia rouses her tired body awake. Why in the world had she offered to work the early morning shift? Her tired mind looks into the currently empty space known as her thoughts for the answer, and then it comes to her: Maya. She wouldn't stop crying about the morning shift. Azelia felt bad and volunteered. A silver lining to the morning has yet to show itself and she bursts through her tent door, not ready for the day that's coming.

She speeds through the city and sprints the remaining walk to arrive only ten minutes late. Once again she's assaulted by the smells of the shop the second she opens the heavy doors, something she has inexplicably come to like. Seeing Maya's pale face is worth more than a gold mine this early in the morning, pain is better when a friend shares it with you, even if she's the one who caused it. She quickly puts her things down in the back and gets into her dirty work outfit.

"Get out here Azelia!" a gruff voice yells from the front, she fails to remember why she still works here.

"Coming!" she yells back, "asshole," she whispers to herself as she hurries out to the front. A long queue of angry, tired people have built a disorderly line nearly out of the door already; they've been open a whole two minutes.

"Miss, I'm in a hurry can you please take me on the other register," sputters a woman with a chin rivaling Mount Everest and a perfume wafting of skunk. She begrudgingly follows her suggestion, while the woman scoffs at her obvious lack of enthusiasm. At this point Azelia could care less if the the woman doesn't like her, she just prays she doesn't ask to talk to the manager.

"Is that it?" Azelia asks, keeping the majority of contempt out of her voice, not even hearing the woman's order.

"Yeah, oh wait and one of those scrumptious chocolaty things," Azelia complies and pulls a biscotti out of a jar on the dirty counter.

"Five eighty."

"That's a little much," the woman grumbles to herself while pulling the money out of her duct tape wallet

"Have a great day," Azelia says without emotion when the woman finally manages to get her money.

"Next," she spouts. She freezes completely, the man who steps up is the man she got caught staring at yesterday. She tries to fix her hair subconsciously, she didn't even look at herself in a mirror this morning.

"Morning," he says while attempting to rub the leftover sleep from his eyes.

"Hey," she sputters and stumbles back slightly. She pauses for a moment, and then remembers what she is supposed to be doing. "What can I get you?"

"I'll just take a medium coffee please," he says, smiling at her and trying his best not to look exhausted.

"Easy enough, anything else?" she asks nervously flipping a stray hair from her face.

"No that's it. Didn't I see you yesterday?" he questions. Red floods her cheeks and she does her best to hide her face.

"I, I don't think so... it's uh three forty two."

"Oh, thought I did," he says with a shrug as he hands her the money; he turns and leaves the store without so much as a look back at her. He's so focused on the door you would think he's on a mission. As he leaves Azelia slaps her palm into her sweaty forehead. She's left feeling stupid again. He'll be back, she thinks, sometime.

"Hello?" a woman asks Azelia, breaking her away from her thoughts for now.

__________

Keeping pace with the other people on the busy sidewalk, Zale feels intensely out of place, the business people surrounding his sweaty, nervous self bring on a thick panic. He would like to say his state of mind is stable, but even he knows that's a bald-faced lie. His mother's phobias couldn't fit on a single page and she pushed all her fears on him at an early age. Despite his weaknesses he feels strong this morning and he won't let himself come up with another excuse. He's been trying too long to say just one word to a woman about whom he knows nothing.

The further he walks, the more his mind wanders back to the girl this morning at the coffee shop. The more he thinks about her the more convinced he becomes she's the same woman who had been staring at him the other day. Why was she staring at him? Why would anyone stare at him? Maybe he looks a little too much like a bum to be in this part of the city.

He holds out a slim hope that there's a chance she's interested in him. He makes a mental note to see her again tomorrow.

"What am I thinking?" he mumbles to himself. He's already fixated on the glowing woman and hasn't managed a word to her yet, and here he is already trying to get another woman into his life.

His pointless rambling thoughts have distracted him so intently he hardly notices just how close he his to his next failure. He draws closer and closer to the glowing woman's work place with no plan in mind how to approach or talk to her; and even less of an idea how to explain his situation to her. Turn around, his mind screams at him, but his feet are kept moving by an unknown force of will, or maybe fate is driving him closer to his doom. Before he knows it everything is getting brighter and brighter, a single object envelopes his view. He stumbles the last few feet to the door of her office in a haze.

In his moment of panic and fright he tries to avoid contact with her. She walks right up to him and he freezes on the spot, praying she'll pass by him. She eyes him suspiciously. Five awkward seconds tick off the clock before he realizes he's blocking the door to her office. After the realization hits him he swings his arms to the handle of the heavy door and holds it open for her. The problem is he can't fully make out her face to see if she's smiling or scowling. The assumption of scowl slams him with the force of a hammer. He tries to form some remnants of a conversation to engage her for at least one second. Even a single second would feel like a thousand years at this point.

"You, well, I mean, I'm..." is all he manages to stumble out before letting her walk through the door. His worse fear is realized, he just ruined everything. His face stings from the heavy rush of blood ambushing his features. He runs from her building in shame.

"You idiot, way to make a fool of yourself!" he half whispers, half yells. A man walking by stops, confused, and points a finger towards himself.

"Oh, sorry not you, just mad at myself."

"I know that feeling all too well," the man responds and laughs as he walks away. Zale wishes he could laugh at himself right now. After five minutes of self loathing he forces some hope. The woman probably didn't even pay enough attention to him to recognize him and the possibility of the coffee shop girl gives him a glimmer of hope.

The hope is short lived. When he returns to his car, a ticket rests on his windshield. His nemesis, the good looking traffic cop, waves at him from across the street. Zale's middle finger looms large at the man. The man smiles back, and Zale lets his finger down and gets in his car without removing the ticket. It flies off and becomes trash as he speeds away, yelling incomprehensibly at the traffic cop while passing him.

Zale keeps driving as fast as he can without killing someone, the further he can get from the embarrassment of the morning the better he'll feel. Still, his faltering doesn't stop him from making the decision to follow the glowing woman tonight, just for good measure. He sleeps the rest of the day away before returning to the city.

__________

After all her failures, especially today's, Azelia felt like she didn't deserve to go home when her original shift ended. Her boss left hours ago, so the seven extra hours of work have been nothing compared to the disappointment she feels in herself. Regardless she hopes she can coast the day away with no more customers.

"Hello?" a man says and snaps Azelia out of her own bubble.

"Hey," she says without looking. He asks for a black cup of coffee, she rings him up without another thought. She again prays that no other customers wander into the desolate shop and he's the last person she'll be forced to help.

"You been workin' all day?" the man asks. Those words run an instant and spine chilling feeling through her entire body. She tries to compose herself before answering.

"Yeah, all day," she lets out all her air at once, finally looking up at the man she stumbled with earlier.

"You ready to get outta here?" he asks with a sly smile.

"Can't wait," she answers in relief, his reaction is all the nudging she needs. He grabs his coffee and slowly turns to go. Her mind freezes.

"See ya," he calls.

"Wait!" she yelps louder than she intended. He turns around, waiting, and she realizes she is supposed to have a reason to yell at him other than to make him stay. "Uh, you forgot your receipt."

"Oh, thanks, I'm Zale by the way," he says as he walks up and grabs the receipt from her, letting his fingers linger in a close warm proximity to hers.

"Azelia," she responds, and works up all the courage she can muster before adding, "You gonna be free in about half an hour?"

"I wish. I'm busy tonight," he says. She casts her eyes back down, trying not to blush, she berates herself for being so dumb. "I'm serious, I got something to do, I'm not trying to blow you off. I'm free tomorrow though."

"I'd love to," she responds, maybe a little too quickly. She's already taken a strong liking to his sly smile.

"I'll meet you here, same time tomorrow?"

"Sure," she answers, he smiles at her and walks gingerly out of the shop.

__________

Jade's had the feeling that someone's been following her for days. Today she confirmed her suspicions when a car, well, a station wagon, had tried to tail her. It couldn't be the police, or even a professional, because she's never lost someone so easily. She makes another unnecessary turn just to be safe.

An extra pair of eyes have been burning into her back for sometime now, this is the first time she's felt such a presence. She has an idea of who it is, she's been expecting him for ages now, she's surprised it has taken him this long to show. She has an interesting choice resting in front of her now, he may prove useful, so she can't do anything rash. She has to do something about it though, she has business to attend to that can't be impacted by this. The neat interior of her clean car reeks of obsession. She looks into the backseat for her mission papers. They peak out of the top of her blue bag in the backseat, the only thing she keeps in the car.

She's felt like someone has been following her for her entire life. Now for the first time someone is, she should of planned better for this eventuality. She can't rest on her mistake, she has work to do. As her car rolls to a stop at a red light her grinding brakes agitate her. Sitting at the light she opens the bag and pulls out the file of a man named Thomas Straut, he looks innocent enough, with a crew cut and no noticeable features other than a large nose, but every night he visits a place renowned for its child pornography. The reason she does this, no, the reason she's called to this, is to rid the world of evil. A calling she has wholeheartedly embraced. Being a violent vigilante has made her life fulfilling.

She accelerates slowly and sees a cop car ahead, so she makes an unnecessary right turn to get away from the law. She looks again at the paper to see the address one last time, even though she has memorized the entire file from staring at it in anticipation for days on end now.

Her car lazily drifts into a parking space in front of a nasty, old, and fading brick building, looking all too fitting for its purpose. The building resides in the most downtrodden part of town which makes the trip all the more exhilarating. The cop she saw before probably knows what happens in this place and doesn't shut it down due to bribes. As she puts the car into park she gazes one last time at the picture of Thomas' face, every time she looks at the picture he becomes uglier and uglier.

She opens her door and straightens her dress. The poison she's chosen is fast acting, making her exit very dangerous; if she doesn't move fast she'll undoubtedly be killed. She grabs it from her bag and locks her doors. The sound of her heels precedes her. She knocks a few times on the large wooden door, much like the ones she imagines they have on old English pubs. A big burly man looking very cliche with his cut off denim jacket, jeans, and arm tattoos, opens the door.

"Whadya' want?" he demands in an equally burly voice, spitting on her face in the process.

"Just tryna' have some fun," she responds. The man starts laughing but steps aside and lets her enter

"I know you're new, but you're just our type," he says. He pats her back while she squeezes by him through the small entry. She almost topples over from the rough smack, she regains her composure and looks up at the space. This isn't anything she thought it would be, there's nobody here at all. A big unfurnished room stands in silence with a gaggle of halls springing off the main atrium. She turns back to the bouncer, confused.

"A man named Thomas invited me, could you tell me where he is?"

"Why should I tell you?" the bouncer responds, trying to look mean, but his mouth is already curling into a snarling smile.

"I didn't want to sound new to the scene, so I... I told him I knew how it all works."

"I'll take you to em," he says and heads right at her, she jumps out of the way just in time and falls in line behind him.

"You could just tell me where he is," she says. Hoping by some miracle he'll stop leading her. Otherwise things might get messier than she wants.

"It's not a problem," he says as he heads down the second hallway to their left. They pass a few barely closed doors, she can only imagine what type of men occupy those rooms; their repulsive moans emanate so loudly in her ear drums, she tries her hardest to not think about them. The task at hand is going to be more than enough for her to handle, especially if that doorman doesn't leave her alone, she can't kill them all, at least not tonight. Luckily for her she never leaves without packing some extra protection, but sadly today all she brought is a knife she got from a retired marine a few years back, she made the mistake of leaving her pistol in the car. She almost runs into the back of the bouncer as he stops on a dime in front of a very diminutive door that looks older than the rest of the building. Her nerves suddenly start to build, everything around her slows, her breath comes thick and fast. Her fingers quiver around the rough knobby handle of the knife in her purse.

"Here you go," says the bouncer, pointing at that disgusting little door, he grunts for her to enter.

"Would you mind opening it?" she responds. Without replying he opens the door and turns his back on her. That's the opening she was looking for and rams the large knife straight through the base of his skull where it connects with his spine. He smashes face first through the door, his teeth break on the cold wooden floor. She portrays the angel of death, standing in the dim light of a television screen covered in the bouncer's spray of blood. Thomas looks up from some ungodly form of child porn, his face a mask of fear and disbelief, his hands move unsuccessfully from pleasing himself to protecting his face. Her knife finds Thomas' heart before he can move. His hands remain frozen in front of his face; she wishes they were still covering something else. With a larger smattering of blood now covering her she removes the knife from the still warm chest of Thomas and surveys the situation. She hasn't touched anything yet, a fact the bouncer helped her out with a great deal, and has no clear motive or any ties to any of these people, she should never be a suspect, just as long as she can get home safely tonight. She wipes the blood from her face and knife, hoping she still has a few minutes to get out of this abominable place before someone emerges from one of these rooms.

She relaxes slightly when she sits down in her car. She hopes that none of the other perverts would call the cops for fear of what might happen to them if they did. She calmly starts her car and backs out of the space, and even though her hands are trembling she keeps the rest of her body under control. That had not at all gone the way she had originally planned, but the job is done. The extra work was far more than worth it, the look of terror on Thomas' face was undeniably pleasing to her soul. She can sleep soundly tonight with that picture in her mind.

When she arrives home to her apartment about thirty minutes later she feels two different sets of eyes preying upon her. She often feels paranoid after a night out but she imagines he's watching. She puts on her jacket, a full length one she always keeps in the car just in case she needs a quick guise, and runs to her apartment's stairs. The last thing she needs now is to be seen covered in blood and returning at four in the morning. She makes it without further consequence, despite her suspicions, to her bedroom.

Lying in her spacious bed, more precisely two twin beds she's pushed together without frames, she stares at the blank ceiling in her dark room. Her uncontrollable joy is fighting with her body's obvious need for sleep. Somehow the memory of the look of absolute horror on Thomas' face pulls her mind and body into a near instant, happy, and well earned sleep. Her fading thoughts pray for a dream that could replicate her glory of tonight, though she knows, unfortunately, that is an impossibility.

CHAPTER EIGHT

First Dates

Zale opens his eyes to the tattered ceiling of his car, falling foam particles itch his retinas. He failed in his mission last night and lost the glowing woman in minutes. He hadn't even stayed awake long enough to see her come back, her car is in it's designated spot now, so she must have come back sometime in the early morning hours. He knows for a fact he's over-thinking her outings. He rolls over and wishes for more sleep. Doctors have always told him twelve hours of sleep a day is unnecessary but he feels like a bag of rocks if he doesn't get it.

He climbs into the driver's seat. He decides to make for the desert, where better to wait out the waning hours before his promised meeting with the coffee shop girl. Before he can get the car moving the thought of aliens seeps back through his thoughts, he's pretty sure they contacted him two weeks ago, maybe the glowing woman is one of them in disguise. He dismisses the thought after wasting an hour sitting and thinking about the nothingness of the idea. The loss of time shocks him and he immediately pulls out and heads down to the nearest highway. He doesn't know where to go, but that doesn't seem to matter today, the lukewarm wind swirling his unkempt hair feels like heaven.

After three or four songs on the radio have played themselves out he pulls his car off to the side of a small back road and steps out without looking. He gets out and stretches to stand tall, looking into the distance. He sees nothing but sand and dust, a peaceful appreciation for creation quiets his thoughts.

__________

Today is the day, the day Clint can put Azelia behind him forever. She rubbed the idea of a date painfully in his face. Maybe her seeing that loser is a good thing, it can crystallize the last few months of emotions into one last attempt to either win her back or ruin her new life. He wants nothing more than to let her go for good, but he doubts he can when the moment comes. He's rolled plans around in his head all day, but the only ones that keep popping up involve violence, and it's too early for that. Embarrassment will have to do for now. He can see the look of disappointment on his father's face of what his life has become. He was once the perfect son, in a time long ago forgotten. He gave it all up for her, forsook his flesh and blood for her. He throws a pistachio shell at a photo of her sitting on the shelf. Nothing brings him much joy anymore, with impatient anger he waits in his giant recliner for the day to pass.

__________

Fun, something Zale hasn't had in quite some time. He prays he can unwind tonight and let the pressures of his easy life slip away. The day passed pleasantly in the desert and he avoided seeing anyone at all. Being back in the city feels welcome after a stint of isolation. The air assaults his face as rolls down his window. The air has chilled itself for the night, the sun no longer holding power over the falling temperature. He makes it a few minutes early and gets out to check his motley reflection in the car window. He ruffles his hair in an ill attempt to change his appearance. His chest is smashed powerfully into the hood of the car before he can decide if he looks acceptable.

"That's my girl, man," the traffic cop from before says gruffly while leaning uncomfortably close to Zale's ear.

"Who?"

"I'm not an idiot, I saw you talking to her yesterday."

"And?"

"I'm gonna make tonight hell for you," he says and slightly loosens his grip on Zale. Zale reverses the hold and slams the man's face up against his car. He smashes the man's face onto the hood once more for good measure then throws him teeth first to the pavement. He leans down over the traffic cop and rests on the back of his heels while crouching and smiles to himself.

"Just leave me alone man," Zale says and stands. All the other man can do is groan and hold his now bleeding nose. His years of martial arts finally proved useful. Zale makes his way for the shop, unfortunately he can't remember her name for the life of him. He walks up the stairs with the utmost speed hoping he doesn't get shot in the back, he tries to remember whether traffic cops carry guns. Either way, getting shot anywhere isn't on his list of things to do tonight. The idea of that man doing something irrational makes him more than a little nervous, despite his recent victory.

His feet manage to keep moving and bring him into the coffee shop. His sense of smell is taken over by the aroma of the brewing beans and the slight stench of people who've long overstayed their welcome. The girl spots him from behind her station at the counter and waves to him, he waves and smiles back. Her hair and makeup look more rushed than the last time he had seen her, but she still looks very pretty. He sits at the table closest to the front and gently lowers his head into his hands. She rushes to his table.

"Hey, I'll be done in a few minutes, you mind waiting?" the girl says to him as she stands over him. He looks up at her and smiles.

"Not at all."

"Azelia! Get back here," a woman yells from the back. Azelia turns to go and looks back at Zale.

"Sorry, it'll only be a minute," she says, and before he can respond she's gone. At least he knows her name now, all he has to do is remember it. He called his old girlfriend the wrong name half the time and they dated for three years.

Zale once again puts his head down and realizes he has no idea of what they're going to do tonight. Maybe they'll just go to a bar like everyone else and listen to bad music playing too loud to hear anything. He feels almost at ease with the idea, but knows he has to think of something better if he ever wants to see her again.

He spots her coming from the back and manages a pretty convincing smile. She comes out sporting her street clothes looking a world better without the dirty apron. She struts right up to him and roots herself so close to him he has a hard time standing up without rubbing up against her entire body.

"Where to?" she asks the last question he wants to hear, but the most obvious one.

"Honestly I don't know... I was kinda' hoping you knew of some place, I'm kinda' new here. I've heard of a few cool bars downtown."

"Anywhere's good, I'm down for a bar."

"How 'bout George's."

"I'm in," she responds.

"After you," Zale says while gesturing for her to go first.

__________

Clint doubles over at seeing them together, fighting the urge to get sick. Every fiber of his being yells at him to kill the man with her. He somehow resists the deadly urge and settles on the sad consolation prize of following the two of them. He knows the man got lucky in their previous physical encounter and he could defeat him if things fall that far into chaos. His feelings for her were finally starting to diminish but seeing her with another man brings out every ounce of jealousy he's ever felt. After a few moments his innards settle and he sets off in their direction. He still has very ill intentions on his mind, but he'll bide his time for now, he can outlast this new man. He drifts about twenty feet back from them and begins to follow the pair.

__________

The conversation was interesting on the walk to the bar. He's definitely an odd bird, with an unusual upbringing and fairly bleak future, but who is she to talk about the future. He looks out of place and uncomfortable now that they're in the bar. Azelia wishes she could think of something interesting to do, but it's been so long since she's been on a first date she can't remember what it's like to not know everything about her counterpart. She doesn't want this to end before it has a chance to bloom, considering he's the only man to catch her eye in months, and she feels responsible for getting them into this awkward spot.

Sweat and alcohol congeal in the very walls of this place, making for a downright nasty smell, and they stick out like two rusted nails among a box of new screws. More than one wandering eye has come to restful judgment on her hair. The yuppie population of any area would flock to such an establishment.

"You wanna get outta' here?" Zale yells, his scream barely hits her ears above the blaring music, she smiles and shakes her head yes. They exit the bar briskly, only when they get to the street do they both stop and look at each other.

"Where to?" she asks, still having to yell over the bar's music that protrudes over the majority of the available sidewalk.

"You want some twenty five cent ice creams? We can get a bunch of em," Zale says. She laughs before responding

"Sounds good... But how much ice cream you think I can eat?"

"Oh, I uh, I didn't mean it like that at all," he stumbles.

"Did your mommy not teach you sarcasm in homeschool?"

"Ouch, a homeschool joke, how funny."

"What can I say?"

"Let's make a little bet. If I eat more ice cream than you, you have to pay. Deal?"

"So you'll reward me for being a fat ass?"

"I guess," he responds and grabs her hand, leading the way to the parlor.

__________

Zale wishes he could remember how to get there, especially now that he's made a bet, but his brain can't seem to force the directions into his feet. The place is about as far from special as you can get, a dump that serves cheap ice cream, but anything's better than the awkwardness of the bar. They've been talking nonstop for almost an hour on the walk, a feat he hasn't managed with a woman in sometime. But his nerves are starting to entrench themselves. They've circled the same few blocks for what feels like the hundredth time. She still seems to be enjoying herself, but he really doesn't want to screw this up now.

"I'm glad you know where the place is, because I have no idea," Azelia says.

"Haha, it should be a left up here and then, I think, we'll be there," he responds his cheeks once again turning slightly red.

"I'm just messing with you, this is better than most first dates I've had," she says, while looking up at the large buildings surrounding them. She has slowly been deleting every inch of space between them and he likes the warmth her body is radiating.

"You must've had some pretty bad dates," he states matter-of-factly.

"That's the truth."

"At least I know I'm not at rock bottom just yet," he says partially laughing. Before she can say anything he points excitedly to a sign ahead. "That's what I've been looking for!" he yelps.

"I'm hungry, good thing we, I mean you, found it," she responds.

"What street is it by the way? Just so I can show my next date how to get here?" she whispers. He normally doesn't like people touching him but he very much likes the way she feels against him.

"It's Franklin and Twelfth," he sputters much louder than he needs to, she backs up a hair but keeps a firm grip on his hand. This is almost better than being close to the glowing woman, he can only dream of what her touch will feel like.

"Almost there," he says as they turn down the street. He tries to wipe the persistent awareness of the glowing woman from his mind, but she sticks like glue and alters his reality to an experience slightly less enjoyable than it should be. He looks to Azelia and she smiles in return, her grin loosens the other woman from his mind some.

__________

Azelia's glad they had gotten lost, his company brings her a joy she almost forgot. But she's possibly happier that they finally arrived at their destination, her feet are starting to hurt. He wasn't lying about just how sparse the shop is, she wonders how they've stayed in business. It's nothing more than a closet wedged in between two gigantic buildings decorated with ten booths and an ancient looking counter, but the ice cream is great. Zale's nose tip is a dark purple, covered by the raspberry ice cream he's trying to work down all too fast, he never lied about liking their ice cream. She also wonders if he was joking about who's paying.

"I thought you said the ice cream is only twenty five cents," she says giving him a questioning look. He smiles back at her while wiping his nose off with a napkin.

"I guess inflation wrecks everything, sorry," he apologizes, taking another bite before continuing. "Are you from up north?"

"Yeah, from Pennsylvania, how'd' ya' know?" she asks while licking the bottom of her vanilla cone.

"Just a guess," he says. The air-conditioning creaks on loudly, the noise snaps both of their heads to attention, the man behind the counter picks his off the counter, he's going to fall asleep where he stands in the next ten minutes regardless of their presence.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" he asks while taking another bite, giving her cold chills.

"Biting ice cream, doesn't it give you brain freeze?"

"Not at all, plus, I wanna finish it so we can let the poor old man go to bed," he says as he takes another large bite out of the cone. Just as she's about to respond Clint's face, a mask of anger and hatred, bursts through the front door, followed reluctantly by the rest of his body. She looks at Zale, his mouth almost explodes in curses, she guesses they've already met. Clint goes up to the man at the counter and orders some sort of blue ice cream, he somehow manages to let his words seep out in a friendly and silky manner, he always was polite. After paying the small fee he sits much closer to them than she can handle.

She and Zale's eyes lock together, only for a moment, before they stand up simultaneously. She laces her fingers with his and hangs as much of her body on his shoulder as she can. He's obviously been following them, there's no way this is coincidence. Zale calms slightly as they exit.

"I'm guessing you've met?" she asks as they once again find themselves wandering the streets. Since he already finished his ice cream she throws the rest of hers away into the nearest trashcan, not wanting to deal with the dripping menace.

"Yeah... Didn't catch his name though," he responds.

"It's Clint, I'm really sorry about him," she says, hoping Clint didn't ruin her chances.

"It's ok, but, it's getting late and I'm pretty tired," he says and she just nods her head.

"Sorry, that sounded bad, I had a lot of fun tonight. When can we do it again?" he asks. Her face lights back up and she resumes hanging on his arm.

"Anytime," she answers.

__________

Jade has taken far more than the necessary precautions to ensure none of the pedophiles from the night before could know who she is, but she realizes her safety means the death of innumerable evil men, so she can't take any chances. She boils the bloody clothes from the night before in a large pot on her new stove. Once the water bleaches the clothes she puts that mission behind her. With that task fading from her thoughts she can focus on another uncertain and annoying aspect of her life, the man who's been living in her apartment complex. If patience were a virtue she possessed she would wait him out and let him dwindle into nothing but she can't follow such a path. She first has to assess just how deep his obsession runs and how far he'll be willing to follow her. She plans on luring him to the desert sometime soon to test him.

__________

A blinding light walks across the parking lot, his eyes are only drawn to her for a moment though. His eyes hang so heavy nothing could keep him from sleep tonight. His curiosity and obsession can't combine into a strong enough coalition to force his tired body into action. The date went longer and better than he ever dreamed of, he can't remember the last time a woman agreed to a second date. Despite the building factors mounting every day for his departure from the glowing woman's presence he still feels an inexplicable need to be close to her; he wishes he didn't but it seems out of his control. Regardless of hardly looking at her that glow makes him feel warm in the dark of night. He can't place it but he feels like he has known her his entire life, that she just wasn't manifested until recently. The front lobe of his brain starts to hurt from trying to place the woman in his memories, sleep seems easier. He slept so little today his head weighs twenty pounds and his eyelids even more, the last thing he wants is more adventure tonight. Even changing his clothes feels like too much work, so he just rolls to his back in the rear of his car.

Like a blender his thoughts swirl and drift to the warm glow he feels when in proximity to the glowing woman. If only his mind weren't so unruly and he could control his thoughts he might be able to get something done. He realizes the woman is destroying yet enhancing every aspect of his life. If only he could confront her. He lets his ideas fade into nothingness and his eyelids close. His dreams play out the story he's supposed to be writing...

The gallows pole looms large in the hero's eyes, a sight he laments, far too many men are meeting their Maker at the end of a rope these days. Obviously he has no problems with killing outlaws, but is there really a need for public humiliation moments before a man meets his end? Regardless of the circumstances in this dirty little town he needs to sell this carriage, and fast. He maneuvers through the mostly empty streets, trying to pry his eyes off the execution. He may have to wait until the hanging happens before he can sell his hated prize considering every possible buyer awaits eagerly for a man's death. The executioner's call forces him to turn to the gruesome scene once more.

"For the murder of a man, the kidnapping of the noble woman Michele Wretsky, and the theft of personal property, the supposed ranger shall be put to death!" the executioner exclaims in a deep booming voice from his vantage point above the sea of townspeople.

The hero turns ghostly white after hearing the charges. Who is Michele putting to death in his stead? Why would she kill an innocent man instead of hunting him? Or does she just feel the need to kill a look-alike to quell her rage? He parks the carriage far enough away from the crowd to stay undiscovered but close enough for a fast getaway. He tries to think of something as he steadily pushes his way through the crowd, keeping his head down the whole way. Despite his fear he can't just let an innocent man die for him. When he finally glances up, now close enough to see the victim clearly after making his way through the majority of the crowd, his resemblance to the hero shocks him to the core. His chest feels tight and his brain doesn't work.

The gallows stands only inches from his face and a viable plan to save the man is far from coming to fruition. The man yells to a small family only a few feet from the platform about his innocence. His wife and children, the hero assumes; they're bawling uncontrollably and trying with all their might to fight through the four men holding them from reaching the man they love.

The priest is finishing up the last rites and the hero still has not developed the slightest inkling of a plan to save him. A vein of self preservation works its way into his scattered thoughts, if he saves the man it will also mean he'll be hunted relentlessly like a rabid dog. An evil idea graces his mind as he looks around the sea of people surrounding him, his life would be so much easier if he were to let this man die in his stead. He could put this evil behind himself forever and continue to do good for the world. Is his life worth more than that of any other man? He doesn't know but can't force the thought from his head.

He tries to stay calm enough to fight the urge to rush the platform and shoot these unjust fools. The thought of saving the innocent man battles his survival instincts and self-preservation. The man yells something incomprehensible but the yell makes the hero look up, right into the man's eyes.

The man stops yelling the second his eyes lock with the hero's but then it is too late for either of them, the man drops through the floor, his neck snaps in an instant. His legs kick from reflexes and his body swings mournfully like a gruesome pendulum. The crowd erupts in exuberant cheers and the large executioner takes an exaggerated bow. The crying of the man's family hits the hero like a hammer but he is stunned only momentarily, this obviously isn't the place to rest his head. He starts for his carriage, hot tears run down his cheeks in shame and disappointment. He cries not over the loss of the man's life, but finding out what he has become is the most frightening thing of all and he knows the shame of this moment will live on forever within him.

But as he mounts his stolen carriage he can't help thinking that at least he will be alive to endure the shame.

Part Two: What Happens In The Middle

CHAPTER NINE

Happiness and Revenge

The air from the train pushes the hero's hair back as he leans his head out of the window. He's been hoping to get a ride on this train for quite some time and this seems the perfect opportunity. Unfortunately he isn't here purely for pleasure. He recently accepted a contract on the three Rouwling boys, a contract much too large for a single man, but he savors the challenge. He tracked the first of the three brothers to this train. He plans on taking out the family publicly and he knows the man won't be able to resist the offer to kill a bounty hunter. He intends on killing the nastiest and oldest of the brothers first. The eldest Rouwling boy's self-assurance is almost comical. The hero hopes that using the man's pride against him will be an easy way to trap him, maybe too easy. He pulls his head back inside the train window and makes his way to the back where he suspects Rouwling is staying. He's marginally surprised they would let a known criminal ride, but then again, on a train this large, there are bound to be one or two questionable passengers.

He enters the next compartment, leaving the cushy seat he bought for himself. The height of the rail car is barely above a man's head; it isn't much wider either, but each car is very long, perfect for a duel. He moves fast with the anticipation of the upcoming confrontation. His heart races and his blood circulates at light speed, he's never sure he'll be victorious and the fear of death mixes with the excitement to create a feeling unmatched by any other.

When he makes it to the third car his mark sticks out immediately. The beat of his heart is so violent he thinks it might fly straight through his chest. He points at the man and yells,

"You! Are you too much of a coward to face me?" He notices just how large a network of scars the man's face bears, the destroyed attire he sports matches his face yet betrays the wealth of his family. The man's entire body perks up at the sound of a challenge. The hero keeps his posture straight and his eyes on his mark.

"You think you can best me?" the outlaw laughs and throws down his cigarette. He tells the crowd to move. People don't leave the car completely but they move to the sides of the small area obediently. The two men stand as far apart from each other as possible with their legs shoulder width apart and their hands near their guns. "Since you laid the challenge I get to choose the weapons right?" Rouwling asks with a grin.

"I guess," the hero says, not liking the man's smile.

"Got a knife on ya?" the outlaw asks, his disgusting smile is stuck on his face. A giant straight bladed knife emerges from somewhere deep in his overcoat.

"Of course," the hero says and pulls his small knife, which also doubles as his dinner knife, out of his cowboy boots. If he survives this man he'll have to get a new one. In such a narrow space he'll have to be quick and vicious. With a yell the outlaw charges. The hero stands his ground until the last possible second as Rouwlings's knife comes slashing toward his unprotected face, he sidesteps the swing and grabs the man's wrist with his left hand then slices it with his own small blade. Reflexes kick in and the man drops his giant knife. The hero doesn't hesitate and with near impossible speed he slams his weapon into the man's scarred throat.

Blood starts to seep through the thick leather of the hero's boots. He revels in the warm liquid, gathering his breath before picking up the now-dead outlaw.

__________

The sleep-filled weeks have given Zale more material for his book than he could have hoped for or expected. Three weeks have gone by in the real world but inside his mind he's become an old soul. He wonders if he woke up for anything other than the bathroom visits and two dates with Azelia. The rash of excitement and dreams hasn't bothered him at all, he actually has a small chance to finish his book with the way things are going. Despite all the sleep he still spends every second exhausted, and the two other dates with Azelia drained him. The attention from another human being has served him well, it's kept his brain from a total breakdown, and let him dream peacefully. He tries to drift back to the life of his hero when a realization brings him back to reality: he promised Azelia a date today. He called her almost in a daze last week, he can't back out and lose his tether to reality. He owes her after all, if it weren't for her he wouldn't have been so productive these last few weeks. He pulls out his phone to call her.

__________

Azelia's been channeling her inner child today, giddy with excitement over the prospect of another date with Zale. Three weeks had flown by since their first one and the two intermittent affairs seemed but happy dreams; her wandering from campsite to campsite and the endless grind of her life made everyday run into the next. She was honestly getting nervous he wouldn't call this week, a paranoia regarding her performance on the last date started to creep up, slithering into existence, but her patience paid off and banished the thoughts. Ever since his call her entire week has been filled with thoughts of love and glory. She feels so dumb to let her imagination run rampant over a new flame, but this is her first interest since Clint, and she can't help herself. Despite her best attempts to keep Zale out of her mind, he keeps pervading her thoughts. Every part of her is already yearning for his touch, nothing about him is similar to Clint, a fact she cherishes.

The vibration in her pocket nearly sends her lunch through her carefully colored lips. She holds onto it with all her might.

"Hello?" she asks with all the sweetness she can muster.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Zale asks, she thinks he may be attempting to sound cool, but she doubts it.

"Nuthin', just waitin' for tonight."

"Cool, I was just calling to make sure we're still on," he says. He breaks the long ensuing moment of silence with, "seven-thirty still work?"

"Of course, I'm free all day, so if you wanna' meet earlier that's fine with me."

"Sorry, I wish, I got a stupid meeting at six."

"No problem, see you at seven thirty then."

"See ya," he echoes. She can't remember a time when five hours passed so slowly.

__________

The desert isn't exciting to say the least, but all they did on their first date was walk around and it was one of the most fun dates Zale had ever had. The usual night scene has never held an ounce of pleasure for him, despite his many efforts to revel in it. The weeks had flown by, well, he slept them away, but now only ten small minutes stand between him and Azelia. The bright lights of the city basically kill the blackness of the night, to his great dismay because there's nothing he loves more than the radiant stars. He can't wait for the clearness of the desert and the clarity it brings him.

Through an unbelievable stroke of luck he arrives early. He realizes with excitement, after surveying the parking lot, he even beat Azelia here. Ten minutes is possibly the earliest he's been to anything in his life. His mind drifts to the implausible good fortune of his current situation. Before he can sink too deeply into the quandary of his recent serendipity, a knock on his passenger door brings him back to attention.

"Get in here," he says, smiling to Azelia.

"Where we goin'?" she asks, jumping gingerly into his car.

"Nowhere special."

"And that is...?" she asks skeptical of his decision.

"The desert... it's my favorite place to go see the stars and relax," he spouts and lurches his wagon forward.

"Hmm, I can get behind that idea," she tells him and grabs his absent right hand, his heart jumps along with his skin. Her hand tries it's best to bind to his. He's suddenly aware, and self-conscious, of his nervous sweating; she doesn't seem to mind. After such a long stint of sleep and isolation the touch of another human being downright scares him, he needs to re-acclimate before he ruins everything.

"Nervous?" she probes, he pulls his hand away and tries to play it off with a cough. She doesn't care and grabs it once again. The rest of the short ride somehow manages to resemble a normal conversation. Despite his distinctly boring conversation she's been giggling the entire way. His favorite spot is already presenting itself, not soon enough though, he needs the fresh air to stop sweating. His nerves pitch from high to low dependent on her closeness to him. Before he can turn into an unmanageable mess they reach the desert and set up shop with a quilted blanket his grandmother made for him a long time ago.

The hours pass easily; conversation with her flows smoothly. She's much too interesting for him, but then again, so is almost everyone, but he'll let the rouse continue for now. All said and done he's still sleeping alone in his car tonight, but she promised him another date. Things are really looking up for Zale, he prays the pendulum swing won't be too vicious.

__________

No matter what thought pops up next in Azelia's distracted brain it proceeds to be a blissful one. The date with Zale had been near perfection, just the type of thing she needed. All the anxiety from Clint has been making her thoughts turn darker and darker, but tonight was a ray of sunshine in her mind, a source of vitamin D for her soul. She rolls over to her side and nothing but the muted orange of her tent accosts her, she knows she should sleep but tries with her fading resolve to keep her eyes open.

The desert was disappointing at first but the seclusion with him proved better than any amount of excitement. He drove so deep into the nothingness even Clint couldn't find them among the endless sand. The blackness of night was punctuated with the beauty of the stars, maybe the universe is finally turning in her favor.

She struggles to think of Zale again as her eyes finally close. Regrettably her thoughts drift back to Clint, why must her happiness be so short lived? Her heart fears what he may be capable of if he truly goes insane. With mixed thoughts abounding she feels the small images of sleep form on the back of her eyelids and invites them wholeheartedly.

__________

Jade has three bodies propped up against the edge of the railroad track. Tonight was a successful freestyle hunt, the three men were together and she dispatched them easier than her morning coffee. They were raping a woman in a rancid, back alley; they weren't her initial targets for the night but their crimes were more than fitting of her talents. The sound of a distant horn brings up her old dream of wanting to ride the train across the country, she's never made the time but vows to soon, at least she's close enough to the tracks to smash herself a penny.

The sight of the heavy looking dead men makes her sigh, just thinking about how big of a hole she's going to have to dig is making her tired, at least she came prepared. She pushes her spade shovel, using her feet for leverage, into the loose desert ground around the train tracks. A passing train would cause her unnecessary trouble tonight. She digs as fast as she can and the ground gives way easier than she imagined it would, saving her back serious strain. The sadness with which these pitiful men had begged for their unworthy lives almost made her laugh.

If only the law could see things as righteously as she does she wouldn't have to ward off the constant fear of capture. After about an hour of digging the hole looks big enough for the three of them, it will be a shallow grave but she's tired and doesn't feel the urge to keep digging, she doesn't care if they surface in a year or two. She rolls the limp bodies into the hole, not an easy task considering they all outweigh her. As she pushes them into the shallow hole her arms and hands become slicked in blood. Finally done with her task, she takes a minute to rest and wipe her sweat and the men's intermingled blood off of her dirty body. Now all she has to do is put the dirt back over them, get home, and try to nab a few hours of sleep.

Lying in her bed, staring at a dark ceiling covered in only a sheet, she can hardly think, she's so tired from the day's events. On top of the exhaustion is the built up fatigue from the past three weeks; she's only been sleeping a couple of hours every night. Her late night escapades have been taking the place of her life. None of that matters to her though, she's never felt so fulfilled and alive. She has always idolized people who do whatever they want and take justice into their own hands, and now she's joined their ranks. How is the law's perception of justice any truer than her own? As her eyes close for the night she thinks about how unfulfilling most people's lives must be. After what seems like an eternity her mind relents to fatigue for the short few hours remaining before she has to be at work. Unfortunately she starts to dream, forcing her into a restless daze.

__________

Clint moves slowly through the grass, his skin is so covered in sweat it drips down into his eyes, turning them pure red; despite the pain he hasn't blinked for eons. The bright sun throws its rays onto his face, another pain he ignores, as he failingly tries to work his mind into thinking something useful. He's been sitting out here since yesterday, he's still been unable to come to terms with his utter loss of Azelia a few months ago. He tries, unsuccessfully, to go on about his life in a sane manner. Yesterday he almost lost himself to madness. In response he went to the only place he truly likes to go, a meadow deep within the local forest, a place not even the homeless people seem to know about; it feels like his personal meditation grounds.

The worst part of this whole debacle is the fact that he can see the idiocy of his actions unfolding, he can see the downfall of his every word and the ridiculous pedestal upon which he's placing a love long gone sour. His rationale struggles against his emotions, he was raised to never give up, a trait that's backfiring into his exposed face. Despite his natural inclinations he had left the entirety of his old life to come here and start a new one with her. For whatever reason he can't seem to reverse the trend and return to his old life of normality and happiness. When they moved here she turned on him so fast he didn't even realize what was happening. He was never anything but loyal, supportive, and nice to her, she repaid his kindness with betrayal. Now his life is wasting into a dull whirlwind of nothingness surrounded by a tornado of failure, and he can't stop the torrent or think of anything he can, or should, do with himself. Seven years of his life are as meaningful as dust pulled through a fan.

His mind wrestles with the future, he can either leave and admit defeat or he can come up with a truly genius plan for revenge and implement it. Maybe he can plant drugs on that other guy and get him arrested, ideally while on a date with Azelia. Maybe getting him thrown in jail would be enough for his revenge. Another thought pops into his head, maybe he could kill him and frame the death on her, something like a weird crime of passion. He doesn't necessarily want to hurt her but if that's what it takes...

His options seem bleak, he realizes it would be easiest just to leave and start another life, but something about retreat doesn't seem right to him. He blinks for the first time in a long time and smiles.

CHAPTER TEN

A Night in the Desert

The hero kneels atop the town's bank. The hot desert air blows across his skin, the dust breaches his eyes, yet he doesn't move. He knows he has to remain perfectly still to catch his target, the youngest of the Rouwling boys. The man has spread rumors far and wide about his eagle eyes; the hero doesn't really believe them but remains absolutely still all the same. He keeps his right eye fixed down the sight of his old rifle, surveying the small town below, where only a few dozen buildings greet his eyes. He knows the man is supposed to pass through here at some point today, but he has no idea when. He props the large rifle up on his knee to help keep the weight off of his arms and sustain his endurance for as long as he can. The bright sun is becoming a problem as it starts to burn his retinas and make them water uncontrollably, sunspots are building at record pace. He almost gives in and blinks from the pain but just then he sees his mark ride into town with a new partner. The outlaws are easy to spot, as they're exceptionally tall men who've been on the road all their lives and never done one ounce of good between the two of them. They're both wearing large brimmed hats, flowing coats, and a patch over their left eyes, not because of a loss of sight but because it helps them shoot better, keeping out all distractions and training their right ones to become all the more dominant.

He debates for a moment whether he should take them both out with the rifle or try and kill one of them and duel the second. He loves nothing better than to kill a man who thinks he's better than him in a duel. The hero considers for a moment what he's doing here; after selling the rich woman's carriage he could almost retire, but something deep within keeps driving him to dispatch the myriad of outlaws residing in the west. He has no choice but to keep going until he's dead among the dust, laying side by side with his victims. Shaking off the ridiculous ideas of retirement and death, he adjusts his sights to his initial target and aims down the iron, taking into account the desert wind and the speed of the outlaw's riding. The kick of the gun hits his shoulder before the sound lets anyone know he's fired. The deadly bullet smashes the first man off his horse. The blood trail flowing from the man lets the hero know he's successful. The second man leaps off his horse and uses its large body for cover, knowing a similar fate will soon befall him.

"Come out here and fight me like a man you coward!" the outlaw yells in desperation. Instead of responding the hero readjusts his sights and takes aim for the outlaw's leg. Once again the bullet strikes true and the outlaw falls to the ground, cursing a storm as blood starts to spurt from his now shattered leg. Both the horses dart from the insanely loud gun. All the townspeople have abandoned the streets and are nowhere to be seen or heard.

The hero climbs methodically down the small bank upon which he took his vantage point, keeping his rifle strapped to his back. He walks slowly but eventually comes to stand directly in front of the writhing outlaw. The hero looks at him with hatred for everything he's done to so many innocent people and feels no sympathy for him. The man reaches for his gun but the hero is too fast, he pulls his pistol first and shoots the man's gun from his rough hands, blowing off his pointer finger in the process. Again the man screams out more curses as blood is flows freely from his multiple gun wounds.

"I'm sorry but time consumes us all," the hero says before dispatching the man by shooting him straight through his un-patched eye. He looks up to the sun and takes a deep breath, happy to be alive and all the more rich. Now just one more man to go and this part of his journey will be settled. Then he might be able to find some peace back in Arizona. Unfortunately, the one thought that always pervades his mind is the truth that he let an innocent man die in his stead, he tries to convince himself that one man's death is worth the amount of good he's doing...

Zale awakes with a start to the sound of tapping. He groggily looks out his window, a glowing finger taps on his car. His heart stops, he almost convinces himself his tired mind must be dreaming, sadly the situation has all the unfortunate tinges of reality. The woman looks at him with expectant eyes, almost like she wants him to get out of the car and talk to her. Instead of obliging her he freaks out and jumps into the driver's seat and starts the car. The glowing woman puts her hands up and shrugs her shoulders.

"Oh no, oh no... oh no," he says to himself in his unmoving car.

"Are you serious?" she questions, her glowing form inches closer to his driver side window. An itching in his foot prays for the sweet release slamming the gas pedal would offer, he momentarily resists the urge but doesn't quell it fully. Sweat builds on every surface of his body, all his random fears coalesce into this single moment of panic, nearly shutting him down completely.

"Are you going to say anything? Or just live in my parking lot forever?" she yells through his rolled up window. He wants to tell her he's going to live here until his untimely end but he works up the courage to respond otherwise, as his window grates downward.

"Sorry... I uh, well you know," is all he can manage.

"What do I know?"

"It's just well, you're so pretty and, and," he stumbles.

"And...?" she urges.

"I was just too nervous to talk to you, but, but your, uh, your presence made me feel secure," he spouts, immediately regretting every word of it.

"That's... odd," she says, a long pause filled with nothing but his car's rattling and whirring commences. He furiously tries to come up with anything to say.

"Sorry, I'll leave," he whispers in defeat, this woman makes him so uncomfortable the comfort she brings can't be worth the pain.

"I didn't say that, meet me back here at eight tonight," she says and leaves without another word. He replays the encounter in his mind a thousand times, every time he sees his same blundering, yet somehow the outcome he desired took form. Did he imagine that answer? Either way he'll be here at eight o'clock to test what actually happened. He didn't even get her name.

Despite the oddity of it all his stomach whines in hunger. First and foremost he needs to get something to eat. Buoyed by his unexpected success he feels the zeal to stop by and get a coffee from Azelia, it may distract his mind for a moment. His time spent with Azelia has proved illuminating, yet he still can't commit to the idea of her, much like he can't commit to basically anything. His cheeks burn red with embarrassment out of the blue, the idea of the glowing woman makes his failures come to light in a way never before revealed to him, and there are plenty of them. He pushes his head out of the window, letting the cool air calm his raging thoughts.

__________

She admires her new camp site for its simplicity and beauty, but its seclusion is its true allure. She knows Clint has probably stopped by her old camp more than once, trying to find any shred of evidence of her new whereabouts. She's taken the most circuitous routes to get here every day, he couldn't have possibly followed her. Even if he were to somehow, by a disastrous miracle, find this campground, the gargantuan trees would help protect her from being fully discovered. The breeze blowing through those massive trees makes her think of home, and when her and Clint were inseparable. She imagines herself falling up and down on the swings by her old house and the feel of his hands pushing her ever higher. At the time she would have done anything to start a new life away from her drug addict parents, but still a forgotten innocence reigned over the whole thing.

Her eyes begin to water as she thinks back to a time when everything seemed so innocent and running through a field of sunflowers was all she needed to feel happy. She feels more threatened now by Clint than she ever did by her parents. Sitting on the hood of her car reminds her of when the two of them first met. She was sitting on her hood outside of school and he came right up next to her and didn't say a word, he just sat there and looked at her. He once told her he was too nervous to speak and all he could do to keep from running away was sit there and look into her eyes.

She gets off the hood of her car and rests on the bench in the middle of the rather large campsite with nothing in it other than her small orange tent in the left corner surrounded by trees. She puts her head in her hands and tries to think back on what's happened in the last few weeks and tries to imagine a better future with Zale, one where no matter what happens she isn't running for her life. It's just some fairy tale that every girl has at some point only to have their dreams crushed by the weight of the world and the black gaping maw commonly known as time.

Sitting with her head like this brings back the dark times when she lived at home and all the reasons why she left. Her parents coming home at four or five in the morning, wired on meth, ready to explode. The fight that always seemed to follow, no matter what was going on, every scenario invariably seemed to have the potential for blood. She feels a twinge of regret for making Clint come here with her; he comes from a good family and was on his way to take over their business and be a successful man in the community. Now he's a traffic cop who hates his life. She knows he's too proud to move back and make amends with everyone, or to jealous of anything she might ever have with another man.

She wants nothing more than to just lie down and relax but she feels too lonely to do anything but lay her head down and cry, just like she did when her parents were fighting, only this time it's her who's the screwed up one. She tries to remind herself that when Clint and her moved here he turned crazy and she couldn't live with him anymore; it will eventually be the best for everyone.

She brings her head back up and wipes the still fresh tears from her face, takes a deep breath, and gets to making lunch.

__________

He sits stiller than a statue, the air careens against his body, the sudden burst of coolness makes all the hairs on his neck stand to attention. Clint hopes Zale is oblivious enough to never notice the small G.P.S. unit he put under his front mat. For some reason the door was open and he didn't even have to break his window but he left a few thumbtacks behind in his seat as a parting gift. He will follow him tonight to do some recon, a vagabond such as him must engage in some unsavory acts and he plans on catching him committing one of them. Maybe he can prove to be such a thorn in Zale's side he'll give up on Azelia and she can suffer an ounce of the pain she's inflicted on him.

In the last few weeks he's been unsuccessful in trying to break the pair up, or accomplishing much of anything. Every day the silence within his apartment makes the gulf within his mind fall deeper into the center of despair, every waking second spent alone brings his hatred for all things to a raging boil. He pushes his mind back into the maw of reality. He has plenty of time left in the day before his recon will start, his remaining time will be best spent at the canyon. Maybe today will be the day he builds up the courage to just jump off and end his suffering.

His body drives him to the canyon from muscle memory without him even realizing it. He closes his eyes and starts walking to the edge of the cliff, he likes to see how close he can get to the precipice without looking. He opens his eyes after many blind steps, only ten inches of real estate rest between him and the edge, he looks down yearning for the canyon below him. It isn't very grand but it's still one of his favorite places to come when he is supposed to be pulling ticket duty. He thinks again about just going home and mending things with his parents, but he doubts they would take him back unless he came begging and he won't beg to anyone. Maybe it would be best to leave Azelia to her life and let this new guy bring her ruin, maybe his family would understand. His parents forbade him to go with Azelia, "the drug addicts' daughter"- they foresaw the coming catastrophe. Time has proven them correct, and admitting that fact brings him within inches of self destruction. He is now nothing but a shell of the man he was, he gave up his entire being to satisfy her desires.

He spreads his arms and tilts his head back looking to the sky, some clouds are finally rolling in and the birds are circling above him. He wonders if they can sense his imminent downfall or if there's just some dead animal in the valley catching their interest. He can't help but think that they're just waiting for him to jump. There's a chance he's even more desperate than the man who jumped off this same spot last fall.

Instead of jumping he just puts his arms back to his sides and drops his head. He turns around to get back to work, feeling defeated. There are so many things mounting on his shoulders that he has handled incorrectly. If only regrets could be lucrative.

__________

Jade feels the pedal beneath her foot press to the ground, she doesn't remember telling her body to do that. She feels more nervous than she has in a while. She's actually questioning her own judgment, for the first time in her entire journey. Jade looks at her speedometer and realizes she is already going twenty five over the speed limit and that number is still climbing, maybe she should slow down and try to make her mind do the same as well. If she has to make one sacrifice to save her work, it would be more than worth it.

She turns the music down on the radio and takes a few short inhales to keep her from slamming the gas pedal again. She's starting to wonder if she is no better than the people she hunts every day. Can she sacrifice an unnecessary pawn to keep saving many from the ravishes of the evil men she hunts? Would she be diminished or emboldened by the slaying of a sheep?

She pulls into her complex and feels the weight of so many decisions coming down on her. She parks her car gracefully and sits contemplating unknown variables, prying to find an answer to a problem without fully understanding the question, hoping the clear answer will come to her and make everything straightforward and righteous again. She's normally so set on her path, and positive she's doing the right thing that a second guess would never be needed. Everything was going so well, until this idiot decided to take up residence in her vicinity, forcing their presence upon one another.

She slams her head on the wheel, the resulting honk makes her jump up, gripping her chest.

"Damn!" she screams slamming the wheel to create another honk, a woman walking to her car across the lot stares at her.

"Sorry," she apologizes. She wants to go up to her room and sleep but she's too nervous and undecided to move a centimeter. The question really boils down to one thing, can she kill an innocent man? Her thoughts race through all the faces of the men she has killed in the past few months and wonders if she was right and if they were truly the evil men she thought they were. If she knew this man was truly bad then she could find it in her heart to put him in the ground somewhere, despite the consequences she may suffer. She just isn't sure enough that he is, still, if he proves to be a problem she will take care of him. The idea of becoming like all the evil men she's killed makes the back of her throat salivate and almost forces her to vomit.

Maybe if she avoids the man tonight he will leave her alone for good, but that outcome is near impossible. Why should she feel bad about this? She has done more good in the past few months than most people do in their entire lives, if she has to make one sacrifice to keep her good deeds going, then so be it. She doesn't want to become the evil she so vehemently abhors. She leans back in her seat and figures she'll just have to wait for tonight and let it all play out before she decides.

She finally gets out of her car and heads for her apartment. She jolts up the stairs trying to avoid her old Vietnamese neighbor, Ms. Ngyun. She is always hounding her and calling her Mister, she's not so sure that the woman really understands English. She is always asking her to do some stupid task and today she flat out doesn't feel like doing it, if only she could work up the audacity to kill the old lady and shut her mouth for good. She dashes up the first flight of stairs in just a few bounds.

"Mister, Mister!" Ms. Nguyn yells, just like clockwork, every damn day.

"Sorry, I really have to go," Jade responds. She starts to head away from the old decrepit woman standing in her doorway but stops and turns and says, "It's Miss, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It's important though Mister," Ms. Nguyn responds. Jade lets out an exasperated huff and turns around as she continues her way up to the third floor.

__________

Seven thirty has come all too fast for Zale, his confused brain has yet to accept the fact that he's seeing the glowing woman in half an hour. He has been dreading eight o'clock all day, just the idea of an encounter with her has caused irreparable anxiety to course through him, even though he's wanted to experience her closeness for what feels like years. Sweat sticks thick to his skin, humidity has settled with a vengeance on the still night. His mouth stings with mouthwash and his armpits tingle with fresh and unused deodorant. He almost feels bad for Azelia, because if things start working with the glowing woman, whose name he still doesn't know, he will have no choice but to break things off with her, despite their enjoyable encounters. Just the idea of dumping her brings instant remorse that tickles his tongue, while the idea of the glowing woman elates his soul. His conscious is only balanced by his boundless waiting joy for the night.

He's getting way too ahead of himself, he doesn't even know anything about the glowing woman. There's an inkling of a chance she's an evil witch not worth the precious hours he's wasting on her. He spits out the mouthwash he's been gargling by the side of his car, he's in the park right next to the lake, the lengthening stubble on his face proves a shave is in order. One of the downfalls of living in your car is getting fresh isn't always the easiest of tasks. He shaves quickly while his face is still damp. He looks out across the large lake, a strange feeling overtakes him the instant the glowing woman loses her position in his mind, like there is something inherently wrong with what is about to happen. A light across the lake pushes her back to the forefront of his thoughts again, and his worries drift into obscurity.

He stands up and rinses his mouth one last time for good measure. He shakes all his limbs out and gets back into his car. He sits down and screams, a thumbtack juts from his rear end. He imagines blood flowing from the wound. He stands up and brushes it off him. Luckily it didn't penetrate deep enough to make him bleed, the scare was worse than the pain. Why in the world are there thumbtacks in his car? A vibration pulses against his leg and frightens him again, this shock is just his cell phone ringing. He looks at the number and realizes it's Azelia, he's not sure if he wants to answer it. He does after short debate.

"Hello?" he says into the receiver.

"Hey," she yelps, too loud, he turns down the volume on his cell to save his eardrums more pain.

"Hey what's up?"

"Not much, just wonderin' if you wanted to do something tonight. I could use some cheering up."

"Wish I could, I'm meeting a friend who's only in town for tonight," he lies.

"Oh... o.k." she says, sounding obviously defeated.

"What happened today? I stopped by your work and you weren't there."

"Nothing really, the day just got to me."

"I'm free tomorrow," he says without thinking about it, and in some ways regrets it.

"Cool, when do you wanna meet up?"

"Depends, when are you working?" he asks, leaving himself some room to back out if necessary.

"The night shift unfortunately."

"Can I pick you up when you get off?" he asks, his natural inclination to please everyone takes over his better judgment, because if the glowing woman needs him he'll be there.

"Yeah that works, I'll see you then."

"I'll catch ya later," he says, feeling stupid almost immediately for his lame attempt at coolness, a quality he doesn't possess in the slightest.

"Bye," she says and the other end goes dead, he holds the phone to his ear for just a few more seconds before snapping back. He shoves the phone into his pocket and starts his car, he has to focus on tonight.

Zale pulls into the woman's apartment complex, she is already waiting there by her car for him. She waves him to park into the spot next to her, he obliges and steps out of his car slowly after his brakes screech the vehicle to a full stop. The night does nothing to halt her blazing glow, he resists the urge to don his sunglasses.

"Hey... I, well you know. Um, what's the plan?" he stumbles.

"Get in the car and I'll tell you," she says, gesturing to the passenger side door.

"I, I don't think I got your name before."

"You don't think so?"

"No," he says, his skin tickles with fresh sweat running off his forehead. He gets in her car, still waiting and oddly patient for a response.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" she states and enters the driver's side.

"I've been told. So... Your name? I'm Zale, by the way," he states without much delay.

"Jade, happy?" she says with a smirk.

"Of course, where we going, if you don't mind my asking?" he asks as they pull out of the parking lot.

"Somewhere I want to go. Do you normally talk this much?"

"Only when I'm nervous."

"Do I make you nervous?"

"Obviously," he responds. A long stretch of unremarkable road falls beneath them and the second hand ticks hundreds of times before she speaks again. The long pause nearly forces him into cardiac arrest.

"Have you ever been in a fight?" she asks, the question takes him off guard but talking will help him to settle his nerves.

"I did some wrestling and martial arts back in high-school," he responds and stares straight ahead.

"I mean, any real fights?" she inquires, turning a sharp right onto a deserted highway.

"Yeah, who hasn't?" he answers, this feels more like one of his ridiculous dreams than real life, flooding serotonin rushes his mind into a momentary euphoria.

__________

Clint feels a blaring rush tonight, he doesn't get this feeling often enough, maybe he should take up skydiving. The chase comes with such a strong adrenaline injection it almost gives him a hard on, he imagines the feeling akin to a hunter stalking its prey. Clint hopes, no, he knows he can find something good by following Zale. Already Zale is acting weird and switching cars, he assumes something juicy must be coming soon. He pushes the loose gas pedal to the floor in an attempt to keep up with the new car, he doesn't have a way to track it so he has to stay within sight.

Maybe he should just call Azelia now and tell her that her new boy is a psychopath, that he's acting sketchy. He knows though that she wouldn't believe a thing he says without proof, undeniable proof. His trusty camera sits uncapped and ready to fire in the seat next to him.

___________

"Is someone following you?" Jade asks Zale, the first words spoken by either of them in a while.

"I don't think so," he says, shocked out of his thoughts by her words. She slams her foot on the gas pedal and makes a very illegal left turn, nearly clipping two other cars in the process. "Whoa, do people follow you regularly?" he asks with more than a bit of nervousness in his voice.

"No, mainly just you," she says.

"So funny. "

"Is it though?"

"You never did say where we're going you know," he states, trying to divert her attention away from his oddness.

"I didn't? Sorry, I thought the desert would be a nice place to talk about things," she says without an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

"Sounds good to me," he responds. His paranoia slips into the mortal realm, is she taking him there to bury him alive, never to be found? He tries to banish that thought as fast as he can. With every passing second he starts to believe more and more this is one of his dreams. She veers to the right and almost clips some more drivers, they all honk at her. He needs to say something to not fall into full insanity. "You know I've been dreaming about the desert lately," he says weakly.

"Exciting, are the dreams dusty?" she laughs.

"You know I'm a writer?" he says forging on, oblivious.

"Even more exciting," she retorts, he can tell something big looms on her mind, like an important decision waiting to be answered. They are just getting out of the city and into the surrounding desert, the vastness of it brings up his own lack of significance. Despite his normal love for the desert he wishes she wouldn't venture too far out into the nothingness. His mind races, for some reason his ill working brain keeps sending him warning signals of danger, his body feels like she might try and kill him, even though the idea is much too absurd to be true.

He rolls down his window and looks out at the stars, with every second they drive away from the city the stars multiply and the sky expands, unleashed from its chains of light pollution. The wind pushing his hair calms him down and he realizes how stupid it was to think she might dispose of him. Although her brashness and odd sense of humor don't seem to fit an angel, she's most likely nervous and not herself, after all she is confronting a kind-of stalker. Also Jade's constant checking for following cars is quite perturbing. He pulls his head back into the car and realizes he has a consolation prize waiting. If things don't go well with Jade he can fall back on Azelia. That thought immediately makes him feel like an asshole, but he can't help it.

"How long have you lived here?" he questions. She shrugs her shoulders.

"Not long, let's see...." she says, finally warming to his banter.

"You can't remember?" he laughs.

"I guess about four or five months. You?" she asks, shooting him a sidelong glance.

"Weird, that's when I moved out here. I came out here to get past writer's block. Why'd you move?"

"It just felt right, that's all."

"Hmm, makes sense, where you from?" he asks.

__________

She eyes him with suspicion, he has hardly looked at her, what does he know? She's trying to stay calm until she makes her final decision but his last question makes her flinch and lose most of her cool. Ever since she began her little night forays her memory of almost everything else has gone blank, her only memories are from her new life. She isn't even sure she had a childhood, she's most likely thrown up walls to protect herself from the supposed evils early in her life, maybe she was a born vigilante, meant to bring evil men to heel. She laughs at the novelty of the idea. She looks back at him until he looks at her. She's mad he would ask such a dumb question.

"Why not ask what I do? Or, what I do for fun? What a dumb question," she says grumbling to herself.

"Sorry, what do you do?" Zale asks her.

"I'm an account manager," she says smiling to herself, he's easily controlled at least.

"What do you do for fun?" he asks, she laughs.

"Those are better questions. Not much though, I'm pretty boring," she lies, she wishes she could tell him what she does for fun, she always feels the urge to tell someone, she yearns to let anyone in on the secret. But right now if she told him she knows she would have to kill him on the spot. Every time she thinks about killing him it feels something like suicide. If she does murder him she would kill everything she stands for, everything she has fought for, but if she doesn't kill him then what will she do with him? If he keeps rooting around he'll eventually find it all out, realize everything. But then again, maybe not, he seems quite simple.

"Have you written any famous books?" she asks, happy to break herself out of her thoughts. She figures whatever choice she makes in the moment will be the right one.

"Me? I wish, you probably haven't heard about any of my stuff," he says looking at her momentarily again, almost like it hurts him to see her.

"How do you make a living then?" she asks again, still trying to keep her mind clear.

"I don't make a very good one but it's what I want to do, and really not that hard. Sometimes the ideas don't come and that's the worst part of it all, so the pressure can get to you sometimes. But since I moved here things are going pretty well. And I'm not even sure I like my books," he says at length, then remembers how conversations work and asks, "Do you like account managing?"

"Sometimes, well, it doesn't really matter I guess," she says.

"Isn't it good to like what you do?"

"It pays the bills."

In the ensuing silence the only noise is the rattle of the air conditioner and the rumble of the badly finished road, at this point she really wishes her radio worked. The interior of her car is almost fully lit by the moon and the black leather seats reflect it back brightly. She knows her spot is only a few miles ahead and decides to keep talking to keep her mind off what she might have to do soon.

"If you don't think your work is good and don't make much money why not do something else?" she asks.

"I'm too much of a slacker to actually work a regular job," he laughs.

"What's your next book about?" she asks, liking his voice, at least more than the haunting sound of the rattling air conditioner.

"It started out as a semi historical samurai book but now it's more of a western."

"That's an odd change."

"True, but I've been dreaming about the desert so much, I couldn't think about Japan. Maybe tonight will be good research, or something like that."

"Sounds interesting enough," she says and once again decides to fill the silence. "Almost there, don't worry."

"Cool, where is it?" he asks.

"Nowhere special," she says and again has nothing but the air conditioning to ease her troubled thoughts. She pulls off the road at mile marker forty, she figures this is far enough away from the city. The dust billows around the car in a great fog making it almost impossible to see anything. Jade slows the vehicle almost to a halt. The amount of odd ditches here could really mess her car up and she doesn't want to take the chance. She plays with her hair while absently steering with her right hand. She looks over and his head bounces more than a bobble head doll.

"It's a little bumpy," Zale says while desperately holding onto the handrails.

"Yeah, but it's worth it to get away from the city," she says, half lying, she honestly knows she isn't meant for the city but the truth is, it's the only place for her, can't do much hunting in the desert. She sees a small hill ahead and aims for it, the other side of it will be perfect.

"I'm the same way, I love the desert and isolation but being around people sometimes feels right."

"Here we are," she says and brings the car to a stop at the bottom of the small hill.

"Good... but uh... what's out here?" he asks, he is sweating more than he should be, the night air has finally found its chill in the absence of the sun.

"Just a good spot to get away from everyone," she says. She gets out of the car and walks around to the back of her vehicle and pulls out a blanket she always keeps back there just in case she might need to wrap up a body. She slings it over her arm and underneath it she hides her pistol after pulling it out of her belt. He gets out of his side and comes around to stand in front of her. The gun is pointing right at his midsection, she cocks the trigger and tenses. She feels sick, she urges her finger to squeeze. He would be so easy to get rid of, he has nothing, knows no one.

"You wanna lay and look at the stars?" he asks with a slight smile.

"Yeah," she answers laboriously. The gun still aims at his chest but she can't do the deed, she suddenly breaks into a sweat, he notices the change and tenses. "You'll turn into them," her mind keeps repeating, could she handle that? The cold steel of her revolver makes her hands sweat all the more. Her finger slips on the sticky trigger, it tries to make the familiar action, it aches to be rid of this distraction.

"You all right?" he asks raising his eyebrows. She doesn't respond for a few more seconds and slowly lowers the blanket and the gun with it. She lets the hammer back and sighs.

"I won't hurt you or anything like that, I only followed you because, well..." he says, unable to give a good reason. The thought of him hurting her makes her laugh, she holsters the gun for later use and goes about laying down the blanket. She lies down on the blanket, he hasn't moved an inch yet. She pats the spot next to her, if she isn't going to kill him she might as well as have some fun. Her soul will remain intact for today, along with her pride, and who knows, maybe this will make her stronger, maybe she can continue to use him and pull his strength.

"Get over here," she says playfully. He accommodates her beckoning and lies down right next to her. Despite his draw to her he feels a kinship more like a sister than a lover to her.

"Whoa you see those over there?" he says pointing to the west.

"I think, what is it?" she asks

"Not sure, I always wanted to know and was hoping you could tell me," he says, smiling. They both lay there in silence for a few more minutes, looking at the stars and pointing them out to each other.

"I have to ask you something," Zale says but hesitates to finish.

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to pry but, do you work a part-time job at night? Cause' I've never seen someone who goes out late quite as much as you," he says his cheeks turning red in the process.

"I know you tried to follow me the other night," she responds and doesn't say anything else to answer the question, the hammer of the revolver pings her hip painfully at his prying. How can he not find out eventually?

"Sorry, I won't do that anymore," he pouts.

"I'm a night person," she says. If only he knew how close he came to being part of her late night escapades. They laid there for most of the night just stargazing, she feels good about her decision and realizes just how harmless he really is by the end of the night. She knows almost all the same stars as him, but that's where their similarities stop. That's a good thing though, she knows now she can use him, make use of his easily controlled persona. She laid on the charm thick enough tonight to get him to do anything she could want.

She needs some help for a big hunt coming up, and if he doesn't work out she would have no qualms about ending him then. And deep down she is forced to admit her broadening loneliness is becoming a problem. She drops him off at his car, parked right next to hers. She rolls down the window.

"You can sleep here tonight, if you want," she says.

"With you?" Zale asks.

"Don't push it, you're lucky I'm letting you stay in this complex," she says, but can't help smiling. She may have actually had some fun tonight.

"I had to ask, see ya' later," he says with a one sided smile. He gets into his car and puts up the curtains. As she walks up her first flight of stairs she turns and sees him peeking out of the curtains at her. She waves and he closes them fast, pretending he wasn't looking.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dingy Places

The hero rides ever deeper into the desert. The cool night air blows his long coat around, his horse's feet barely keep moving forward. He has been driving his horse harder than he should, it will die soon at this pace. He has been driving himself just as hard, who knows how long his life will last. He can't help but feel the weight of his eyelids as he continues to his destination with all the speed of a dying snail. He chases the third Rouwling boy, known for his near inhuman endurance and the power to push on after most men have died of exhaustion. The same can be said for the man's horse, it's one of the fastest runners of all time and sports endurance that defies logic.

Luckily for the hero, he knows the man's one true weakness: gambling. Most notably cards, or anything that the outlaw deems takes more skill than luck. Most would say he cheats at every game, but no man would challenge his honor, because all that have ended up with bullets in their chests. The town where the hero expects to find him can't be much farther, at least that's what the hero keeps telling himself. He keeps imagining it just barely in the distance and refuses to stop. He keeps tricking himself into seeing the lights coming off the small frontier town.

He tries to lie to himself once again, but he's not sure he can believe himself this time. He lifts his water canteen and squeezes it with all his remaining might, but he can't coax a single drop to fall into his overly parched mouth. He slumps with the weight of a thousand worlds onto his horse, the horse comes that much closer to hitting the ground.

"Almost there," he whispers into the horse's ear, reassuring it, the words sound so untruthful to his own wanting ears. He sees the town ahead, but he knows once again his mind is playing a cruel trick on him. He thinks how impossibly strong the outlaw's fortitude must be. Before this grueling hunt the hero thought no man could even come close to his power of will, he realizes his hubris will drag him to hell. He remembers a quote his father used to love,

"The fastest way to the top is often the fastest way to hell."

That statement has finally come true, this man has the largest bounty of all the Rouwling brothers. His determination to secure it will surely kill him. Somehow the town he saw in the distance is materializing itself all around him. It's nothing special, just a gold rush town down on its luck. The buildings that looked so fake and small are now clouding his vision and looking so real. The roofs of all the buildings are slumping more than himself, the wood shingles are nearly rotten in every single spot. His adrenaline pumps back through his veins, reviving him. He directs his horse to the nearest trough filled with water.

An old man sits on his porch, outside a small house adjacent to the drinking trough, rocking in a well-made chair, eying the hero suspiciously. The hero understands the look, he's gulping the dirty water along with his horse. Dirty water must be better than none. After drinking until his stomach hurts the hero looks up at the old man.

"Where's the card games around here old timer?" he asks in a gruff voice.

"Over there, but you better watch out. I heard the men playing there tonight are vicious," the old man says in a barely audible voice.

"Good," is all the hero says as he walks away. He ties his horse up and walks to the decrepit building the old man indicated. He checks his pistol to make sure it's ready, hoping he is as well. He pushes open the doors with both hands, looking in at the chaos running rampant inside. Ragged looking men are drinking and yelling in nearly every inch of the place. Loose women sit on the laps of the few men who look to have more than just dust in their pockets. A poker table in the corner catches his eye, he can see the Rouwling boy sitting with a massive amount of money piled in front of him.

He walks straight for the table, intent on catching the man in a cheat, the perfect excuse to shoot him. Without that excuse he's nervous of how quickly the other patrons of the bar will turn on him. They don't appear to care too much about the man being an outlaw, wanted for killing women and children. He sits down straight across the table from the outlaw, everyone at the table turns to him.

"Deal me in," the hero says with all the false confidence in the world. The dealer throws the cards his way.

"Dollar ante. Five card draw," the dealer says. The hero obliges, the buy in worries him.

"Seems like all the luck's been going your way tonight," he says to the outlaw.

"Not just tonight friend, always," he responds with a killing look.

"I don't doubt it," the hero says. He looks down at his cards, nothing good; he plans on discarding three of them but has to fold to the small bet of the beady eyed man on his right. The outlaw raises him instantly for almost all of the beady eyed man's chips. Everyone else around the table folds and the beady eyed man stares down the massive Rouwling. The beady eyed man folds with a sigh.

Much of the night holds nothing but the same, he tries to catch the outlaw in a few spots, but the hero thinks he might be on to him. He has folded nearly every hand when the hero raises, this might turn into a larger problem than he anticipated. The thought crosses his mind that the man may just truly be a good player. The hero finally looks down at a good hand, two pair: jacks and nines. The play comes around to him with only a small raise, he doubles the bet and as play reaches the outlaw he just calls. Only one other man stays in the hand, the beady eyed man. The hero discards his lone unpaired card and is dealt the card back from the dealer and looks at another jack, a full house. This might be his chance to catch him. He raises the amount of the pot, which is about half of the bounty on this outlaw.

The beady eyed man folds again with a sigh before even looking at his new cards, a perfect spot for the Rouwling boy to try something. The air in the room thickens as everyone at the table goes silent. The outlaw pushes all his money to the middle, and starts to laugh.

"One way or the other, this man's gonna' try and kill me. Ain't it so?" he inquires pointing at the hero.

"Why would I? I'm only here to take your money," the hero says with a straight face. He knows he's been careless in tracking the man for so many days, how could he not have seen him.

"Don't play me for stupid, boy. Just kill me now if you plan to!" the outlaw yells as he pulls a gun from his waist. Before he can even get the gun to bear, the hero hurls a card into his right eye, blood spurts from the open wound. The man shoots wildly, holding his bleeding eye with his free hand. He tries in vain to scan the room with his good left eye. He spots the hero diving behind a nearby table through the blood and shoots. He hits one of the whores sitting on a man's lap instead; the man holds her limp body in disbelief.

The hero jumps out of cover from another table and unloads three shells into the outlaw's chest. The outlaw plummets backwards, his gun blazing a trail of bullets into the ceiling as he falls. The hero walks over to the body, past the stunned patrons of the saloon. He kicks the gun away from the outlaw's hand and stares at the card still sticking out of his eye, he's sure glad he learned that trick as a kid. He takes the man's gun as proof of his death. The man with the dead woman on his lap is yelling something he can't quite make out, he figures it's some kind of threat. The hero ignores the words, he's totally focused on whether Rouwling would have beat him in the last hand. He goes to the table and flips his hand, four deuces. The man would have had him; he laughs to himself and finds himself face to face with the yelling man.

"This funny to you?" he yells into the hero's face, his brash voice smells fitting for such a giant of a man, garnished with an even bigger mustache. The hero pushes him aside and aims to leave the bar. The man pushes him hard in the back, nearly making him face-plant. The hero spins around, the man stands poised in a fighting stance. The hero feels much too tired and agitated to deal with this. He uses the outlaw's gun in his hand to shoot the giant of a man in the belly, he sinks to his knees faster than an anchor. On his knees, the giant rests closer to the height of a normal man, and all the more manageable. The hero surveys the room again to see if there are any more challengers. No one seems too keen on facing him.

He blasts the doors open, trying to leave just as dramatically as he entered.

__________

For once Azelia's back doesn't burn with painful fear, a fear derived from eyes always luring at her from the dark, finally, after weeks of worry, she is certain Clint doesn't know where she is. She lazily passes the night away, this feeling of safety and comfort is more priceless than ten pounds of gold. The breeze blows freely through her light tent and the beautiful view of the clear sky patched with blazing stars lie visible through the open portion of her tent. The sky always feels like an escape, she's always wished to live free among the clouds, just the freedom of the idea makes her wish she could change lives with a passing bird.

The whistling noise rustling through the tops of the trees distantly reminds her of the massive spell of dreams that started when she met Zale. She is starting to like the adventure abounding in her dreams. She closes her eyes and lets the cool wind slowly caress her to sleep.

__________

He arises to the sound of cars, just another reason Clint hates his apartment. Every surface holds endless memories of Azelia, the carpet clasps her fragrance and the sofa retains the pattern of her lingering figure to a maddening minutia. He pushes past the angst to lull himself back into the sweet dream realm where he has no pain or heartache. Despite his want for sleep, the rumbling tractor trailers outside pull him unwilling into a full, if weak, reality. He forcefully opens his eyes to see the egg white ceilings and the barren walls of his small bedroom, he ripped the pictures down after she left. The only furniture gracing the place is a bed, a sagging dresser, and a bedside table.

The sun peeks through his partially closed blinds, resting comfortably on his bare chest. He rises and leaves the relative comfort of his dirty bed. The single redeeming factor of his residence is the air conditioning, it battles the heat relentlessly and keeps his space a cool seventy two degrees all year. He wears nothing other than his favorite and overused silk underwear as he brushes his red eyes, the sleep sticks heavy to his half open lids. He opens his blinds, letting the day make its way into the room, bringing with it the sights of the city.

He tries to make up lives for the pedestrians passing his open window in an ill attempt to get his mind off everything for a few minutes. That's a tall order considering he was up all night trying to find where Zale went and had failed miserably. He knows he's up to something of ill repute, when he switched cars Clint really thought he had him, but he couldn't keep up without a tracker. He may have imagined it but he could have sworn he got into woman's clothing when he switched cars, but that could just be his mind running away with itself. After a quick examination of his situation he realizes that he should just give up all this stupidity and go home, go back to what he knows. A tear rolls down his unshaven cheek and makes a monumental splash on the ground. His shift of mind is so swift it frightens him.

Like a beaten fighter he accepts his fate and tries his best to swallow his pride. Defeat has been staring him in the face for what feels like ages and nothing he could do here now would be of any consequence.

He walks back to his dresser and picks up the phone. What could one call hurt, the worst they could do is yell at him and that would be that, sealed forever, but he must know if he has a chance. He dials their number from memory and hopes for salvation. Every ring brings a breath of relief; maybe they changed the number, an easy out almost slips into truth. He starts to take the phone away from his ear after a few rings, they must not be home. As he puts the phone down a man's voice comes singing from the other line; he freezes.

__________

Zale walks to the stairs he has grown so accustomed to seeing and mounts them with ease. He needs to get some writing done today, and why not do it in the presence of Azelia? He's starting to forget what the allure of isolation is. He enters the coffee shop almost like a king returning home, in his mind everything he does is a grand gesture, all his slight movements noticed by every living soul in the place.

He gets to the counter and rests his arm on it. The girl behind the register doesn't even notice him, his pride is unaffected. He clears his throat and stands.

"Can I get you something?" the girl says in an impossibly unenthusiastic voice.

"Just a large coffee and, uh, is Azelia here?"

"Yeah"

"Could you get her for me?"

"Sure," she says and turns to leave. He sits at a close table and pulls out his small black laptop. He wants to look important for some reason today, and writing here makes him feel it. He spots Azelia coming out of the back and waves, she waves back and smiles. Her smock is dirty and her hands pruned, hopefully he's more entertaining to her than dish washing.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he responds, he stands up and tries to hug her. She puts her arms around his neck but keeps the rest of her a distance.

"Sorry, I don't wanna get you all dirty."

"I don't mind," he says and pulls her closer. She shoots him a small smile surrounded by red cheeks. They sit down across from each other after the long embrace. "Dish washing, must be fun."

"Oh, loads. I just wish I could do it more often," she says as they both smile. The girl from behind the counter brings him the coffee.

"You should get back there, John is super pissed," the counter girl says.

"He's leaving soon. You gonna be around for a while? I'll take my break soon," she says already walking away.

"Yep, I'll be here," he says and sips his coffee. He opens his laptop but just stares at the screen not moving his fingers; the white light of the screen is mesmerizing. He is falling into a weird trance thinking about nothing, the world around him starts to shrink into a very small tunnel. He jumps; the vibration from his phone scares him back into reality. He opens his phone and examines the text message. It's from Jade.

"Come out with me tonight I have something special," it reads. He's excited by the prospect but doesn't want to blow off Azelia. But, of course he does, a lie will slip easily from his lips about a fake meeting with his agent, that he can't risk being tired and needs to get to sleep early. And, he can take her to lunch, why does he need to see her later? He quickly convinces himself he's not a bad guy at all.

__________

She isn't sure in any way that she's making the right decision. But after last night Jade feels comfortable enough with her ability to control him. If he proves of a higher constitution than she thought, she can use him, and if worse comes to worst she can kill him like she originally planned. Besides she is taking on more ambitious tasks and an extra hand couldn't hurt. She reads his response with more than an ounce of excitement, tonight is the night.

__________

She glares at the clock on the wall, much like one would stare down a demon sent to devour a soul. If her boss wasn't here she could have been hanging out with Zale already. She's forced into waiting for her scheduled break and for some reason the hands on the clock hanging on the atrocious wall are not moving, even the second hand seems to be broken.

"Hey! Just because you're waiting for your break doesn't mean you just get to sit around and look at the clock, get back to cleaning!" her boss yells at her, she grudgingly gets back to cleaning the dishes. She only has about five minutes left but they are going to turn her clammy and nasty when she finally gets to talk to Zale. If only she were as strong and uncaring as she is in her dreams, she tries to banish the thought immediately but it creeps back up to the surface as the burning water hits her face and makes her yelp.

"Piece of..." she trails off as she sees her boss coming back around again to check on her. She shakes her head and tries to make it look like she is cleaning furiously in the nasty sink located at the back of the shop. She wonders if Zale is still out there, would any man wait for her?

"You're done, for now," her boss calls to her, she feels a sense of relief for the first time all day. She throws off her apron and looks at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"I look like hell," she says in disgust, puts her hair into a ponytail, applies some quick lipstick from her pocket, and splashes some water on her face. She's halfway pleased with her efforts and goes out front. He waves when he looks up from his computer and spots her; she smiles and moves over to him.

"Hey," he says cheerfully, smiling like he just got some great news.

"You seem happy."

"Things are going good today," he says and shuts his computer.

"Got something on that screen you don't want me to see?"

"Only lots of porn, nothing big," he says laughing, she joins in with him.

"Good I was nervous it was something bad, like little cats playing with each other, or something maybe even worse," she teases.

"That would be terrible. You wanna' get somethin' to eat?"

"Sure, where you wanna go?"

"There's a cool diner pretty close," he says, already packing his things up before waiting for her to answer.

"Sounds good," she says and waves to the girl behind the counter.

"I'll be back soon," she yells to her. The girl responds by waving and doesn't look up from her magazine.

__________

The smell of aged wood is the first thing to hit Zale's body, even before they walk in his stomach growls in anticipation from the strange smell. Azelia's soft hand presses against his, deep like a hot iron, the normal grace of her touch is turned sour by the fact that he's going to have no choice but to lie to her in scant moments. He pushes open the large yellow double doors and feels instantly transported through time, to the Midwest in the early eighties. The long banquet tables, duct tape furniture, dingy chairs, and aging waitresses with smoked filled lungs bring him to a time before his birth. Despite its shabby appearance this place makes the best pizza in town, and the prices haven't changed since the eighties.

"Whoa," Azelia exclaims. She moves her eyes all over the interior. "I'll trust you on this one..." she says with a slightly forced smile.

"Just the two of you?" a pretty woman asks, probably the youngest person working here and she's at least thirty five.

"Yep," Zale replies. They follow the hostess to a small corner table meant for four; it's the smallest table in the whole place. "Trust me, it looks... a little off, but it's amazing."

"I'll believe you this time, what are you up to later?" she asks, he gets a nervous look for a second.

"Not much just getting to bed early, I have a meeting with my publisher tomorrow," he lies, and hates the fact that his lies are see through. He's sure she can tell, see into his soul and find the truth, instead of reading his soul she keeps her eyes fixed on the old school menu.

"Oh, that sucks, I don't get off till late," she says nonchalantly. He breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

"Yeah, any idea of what you're gettin'?" he asks, trying to change the subject. She just shrugs her shoulders. "Try the, uh, the burgers or pizza are super good."

"Get me whatever's good, I trust you," she says with a wink. Great, now she trusts him. His phone vibrates again and he opens it quickly, so fast she takes notice.

"Something important?"

"No, just the publisher making sure I'm coming tomorrow," he says, truthfully the message was from Jade and read:

"Be here soon, big night tonight."

He closes his phone quickly and smiles at Azelia.

__________

The sick feeling of anxiety is finally leaving him and the terrible feeling of regret now fills that empty space. Clint knows he shouldn't follow Zale tonight, dishonor hits home at the thought of his actions. But the idea of some weird psycho hanging out with his love is absurd and pushes his need past such insecurities. He realizes he is being idiotic but the necessity to save Azelia takes precedence.

He huddles down in his car and waits, the hours have gone slowly but surely by, he knows at some point Zale has to arrive. The call with his dad went well and now he has something to look forward to, besides the multitude of snacks he brought along for himself. He can go back home to open arms, all his anxiety about returning was unfounded. Clint's spirits rose immensely at hearing his father's lovingly forgiving voice, he didn't get a chance to talk to his mom, but he's feeling patient. He can't leave the city just yet, he has to leave with some pride, he hates to lose and this unfinished business is driving him insane.

A car pulls into the apartment complex, and not just any car, the large blue station wagon. He perks up in his seat and pushes a pile of junk food wrappers off the dashboard. This time he is going to follow a little further back and not lose him, he can't. Before he goes back home he has to try and save Azelia. He gets his camera ready. He is going to have proof this time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

His First Mission

Jade has been waiting in her barely lit room, gazing out of her window, looking for that car for hours. She hustles down the stairs, she needs to reach him before he gets out of his car. She hasn't been this excited in a long time for a "mission", and tonight's may prove to be quite the doozy, five men, all rich, who take whatever they want from anyone. She reaches Zale just before he gets out of the car, his face betrays only large sums of excitement. He should be ecstatic to not only be spared by her but also chosen by her; he has no idea what's in store for him.

"Hey," he says while getting out of his large wagon.

"Hey, let's go," she says and pulls him to her car.

"Whoa, you're ready to go, what are we doing tonight?" he asks. She just smiles at him and starts the car, before he's even situated in the passenger seat. She's going to tell him, just not yet. If she's driving he can't go anywhere when she reveals to him what she does nearly every night, unless he wants to risk his life jumping out of a moving car to get away from her, and if he protests too much she has her weapon ready. As she pulls her car aggressively out of the parking lot she does a quick check to see if they are being followed, she thinks they aren't. She takes the leap and throws him the folder with the men's crimes in it.

"Read it, and tell me what you think," she commands. He opens it and carefully reads over the first man's file, his face snarls in disgust. He looks up with a bewildered look.

"Go on," she says. He obeys and looks back down at the next man's file and once again his face curls in disgust bordering on hatred, which is good. "So?"

"They seem really sick, why are you showing me this?" Zale asks.

"Wouldn't you feel better if you knew you could help all the people these men have harmed?" she asks, her manic smile throws him off a bit.

"Uh... yeah, who wouldn't?" he responds looking back over the files.

"Well... that's what we're going to do."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see, just follow my lead tonight and do what I say. Got that?" she asks, suddenly stern.

"Yeah... I, why?

"If you don't, you might die."

"What?"

"You will listen to me, got it?" she asks, exerting her full force over him.

"I got it," he says, sinking into his seat.

"Hopefully you can pull your weight tonight," she says, his seat envelopes him even more.

__________

Zale can't remember being this nervous in a ages, perhaps ever. He keeps trying to push the budding thought that they are going to kill these men out of his head. But the more he thinks on it the less crazy the idea becomes, he huddles low in his seat. Jade is so happy and excited it almost seems impossible for them to be going to kill five men. More and more this starts to feel like one of his dreams, and what if it is, how could he tell the difference? He looks back over the files, if nothing more than to occupy him as they drive ever more furiously to their destination. Her mind somehow buffers his thoughts, dulling his worry and forcing him into her bidding. He feels utterly powerless against her. Her sudden change from a seemingly normal person to serial killer should be forcing him into evasive action but he is glued to the chair, he can't move a finger in defiance.

"Are we going to kill these men?" he asks sheepishly, after working up the courage to ask the budding question.

"What if we are?" she responds, never taking her eyes from the road she is currently tearing up with her aggressive driving.

"I have violent dreams, but... but I, I don't know if I could in real life, so you should probably just take me back," he whispers, refusing to look at her.

"There's only two options now, you or them, either you can help me and do the world some good or you can back out and I'll be forced to kill you," she snaps, her eyes still glued to the road.

"I guess them," he says and huddles further into his chair. As a defense mechanism he starts to play this out in his head as one of his dreams, imagining himself as the hero. Killing these men would do society good and he's just like the cowboy of his story, killing all the outlaws. Unfortunately, he doesn't think he can bring himself to say no to her in any way, shape, or form. He can do this, he has been dreaming of the situations, why can't he go through with it in real life? She reaches over and touches his leg, he jumps at first, but he's bolstered by her touch even though her hand feels like a drift of wind against his leg. He can't quite put his finger on the sensation, a touch of grass would be more substantial. Grace pervades her every move.

"It'll be alright, something in you is different than most people, don't you want to do good for everyone else?" she asks like a mother urging her child. The road falls beneath them without intrusion or obstacle.

"Yes, of course I do," he says, the strength in his own voice surprises him, and also Jade. With her hand still on his leg he feels so a part of her that he feels her every move, he must go along with her, everything she says, he feels he can't help but comply. Oddly enough, he realizes his attraction to her is anything but sexual. It's a different kind of bond, one he's never felt before, and it's filling the emptiness he normally feels all around him.

"Almost there, you ready," she says and squeezes his leg, again her touch makes him obey completely, his mind turns to mush at her calling.

"Let's do it," he says with mysterious conviction, the car comes to a soft stop in front of an immaculate Victorian style house.

"We're here, just follow my lead," she says and swings open her car door. The second her hand comes off his leg he immediately loses a large degree of his conviction. A giant of a man stands stoically at the enormous front door, he wonders how they are even going to get in, let alone finish the job. Zale stands slowly from his seat, he hasn't even gotten out of the car and she's already halfway up the expansive lawn. She turns to say something to him before she realizes he hasn't moved an inch. She walks back to him hurriedly, and yanks his arm as an impatient mother would.

"What did you not understand about following my lead?" she questions him.

"What are we going to do? I mean how are we going to do this? You haven't told me anything," he stumbles.

"Just come with me and you'll see," she says. He starts to follow her reluctantly. He feels reassured being close to her, he can't comprehend the effect she has on him, first her intrusion into his dreams and now reality, but what is reality but a state of mind, is this more real than his imagined world? Every step brings him closer to doom. His legs quiver uncontrollably, his entire body is instantly covered in sweat. He wishes for the comfort of his car, to lie his head in peace, but he knows there's only one way out of this, and that's to forge onward to certain death.

"I think you have the wrong house," the immense doorman says, his bald head contrasts starkly with his black suit, bulging muscles break nearly every seam. Zale and Jade stand only inches from the beautiful door of the house and the giant guarding it.

"Yeah, we probably do," she says but doesn't move a muscle. Zale feels every muscle in his body tell him to run, but being this close to Jade makes it impossible to flee. She starts glowing brighter than ever before, he averts his wanting gaze, he can't bear to look at her.

"Why are you still here then Sir?" the doorman says, unclasping his hands and flexing his fingers. Why did he direct the comment to him? He must think that he's the ring leader, but how wrong he is. After ages of posturing Jade finally turns to leave, the man relaxes slightly. Just as Zale believes they are going to leave without any action she spins suddenly and stabs the large man in the throat with a knife she pulls from her belt. The man gurgles blood, a sobbing warning tries to escape his useless throat with his last breath. It's a useless and wasted way to spend his last moments on this planet, the blood rushes so fast from the gaping hole in his neck that any type of noise other than his high pitched whine would be impossible.

"Not that hard is it?" she says, stuffing the knife back into her belt with a smile on her face, he hadn't even been able to see the knife before the killing blow.

"Are you sure these men deserve this?" he asks as she walks over the man's dying body and opens the door.

"Are you okay with raping and trafficking women?" she says with a glare, making him follow.

"No," he whispers, and jumps as he walks over the dead man. He imagines the man's soul coming up to grab his ankle on his way to hell. The lights from inside mix with the woman's glow, attacking his eyes; he wishes he had his sunglasses. The large chandelier hanging in the giant atrium is but one of the many distinguishing features of the room, every nook and cranny is designed and festooned with Victorian beauty and large portraits hang everywhere, a giant spiral staircase looms directly ahead of them. He just stands there taking in the room, awed by the grandeur of it all; she doesn't notice any of it.

"Come on," she urges. A scream comes from above in the massive abyss of the upper levels, she dashes to the stairs, he follows, if she gets too far from him he knows his nerve will fail. She takes the stairs two at a time then three at a time; she is practically jumping up them. The sound of a woman crying is becoming ever more evident the further they go up the staircase. The next floor is more of the same Victorian style, but unlike the haughty entrance there is a truly dark feel about this area. A long hallway with a multitude of doors on either side greets them. The loudest shrieks sound like they are coming from the closest room to their right.

"We must be quiet, they won't be in the same room, but we must take care of all of them tonight. Ready?" she asks as she pulls out a gun.

"I hope so," he says, still drawn on by some unnatural power she has over him. He can't analyze the connection yet, his brain is barely keeping his feet moving. She attempts to open the doorknob but it's locked. She pulls a credit card out of her pocket, wedges it between the hinges, and slowly uses it to pop the door open. Fear is the first thing either of them can sense coming from inside the room. A young naked woman is tied to a bed with a large, fat old man towering over her laughing with an expensive drink in his hand; he's almost fully clothed. The scene is so horrid Zale can't remotely take in the rest of the room, his eyes are fixed on the sick pair; Jade puts the gun away and grabs her bloody knife.

The woman spots them and Jade gives her a sign to be quiet with her pointer finger. The girl doesn't make a sound but keeps her eyes locked on them. Jade makes an incredible leap all the way across the room to the man and slams the already dripping knife into the man's ear, he drops before she can even pull the knife from the man's face. The girl begins to scream but Jade covers her mouth and cuts the ropes holding her. The comfortable king-size bed's white sheets are covered in a mixture of alcohol, blood, and other bodily fluids.

"Get out of here as fast as you can and be quiet about it," Jade says. She hands the girl some clothes that are lying in a pile in the corner, the girl hastily puts the clothes on and starts running out of the room.

"Let's keep moving," Jade says. Zale nods and looks around the room. It's beautiful, with a large dresser and so many paintings hanging crookedly from the walls, each are probably worth more than a year's salary to him. All the beauty in the room betrays its true use. For once tonight he feels the urge to help.

"What are we going to do with the bodies? What if someone finds them?" he asks as he follows her out into the hallway.

"Well, either they're all in separate rooms doing this and will be way too occupied to realize what's going until it's too late, or, even better, they'll all be in one room drinking, and smoking making it much easier for us, and again, they'll be too busy to find the bodies," she rattles off quickly.

"No, I mean what if someone else finds the bodies?" he asks. She turns and gives him a sly smile then stops at the next door and puts her ear to it, she shakes her head and starts down the hallway before turning to another door. She pushes this door open much more slowly than the last. They enter the room cautiously, the darkness of the room hides its supposed allure, leaving the only visible distinction a prostrate figure in the middle of the floor. That figure is an unlucky woman lying in a giant pool of her own blood. Zale thinks he recognizes the girl, bile hits the back of his throat at the sight, he chokes it down before it mixes with her blood. She looks similar to Azelia's friend from the coffee shop at this distance and level of darkness. Before he can inspect the body further Jade pulls him away.

"There's nothing we can do for her now but get revenge," Jade chimes in his ear as she rips him from the scene. He reluctantly follows her lead and walks out the room back into the great hall, his stomach can't settle and bubbles dangerously, he does his best to ignore the discomfort. Noise emits from the far end of the hall, all other chambers sound devoid of life.

Stinging pain detonates in the back of his head, he falls to his knees, gripping his head and wheels around to the source of his injury. A large man in a black suit virtually identical to the door guard stands over him swinging his large fist again in Zale's direction. This time Zale ducks and rolls towards Jade. She hands him the knife with an outstretched hand. He takes it, a wildfire burns in his eyes, now he really feels like someone from his books. The man rushes towards him again and draws a night stick from his belt for this second assault. A large cry of rage erupts from the man's throat. Zale jumps quickly from his knees and lunges forward with the knife. He stabs the man square in the stomach and rips his insides skyward.

The man staggers backwards and holds the knife in his stomach, dropping his night stick. Zale is dumbfounded, he stares into the dying man's eyes, he tries to hold the man's last second alive in his mind, but the picture fades instantly. The previous fire from Zale's eyes has burnt out, leaving only regret. The man topples forward, landing on the knife and audibly drives it further into himself. Jade rolls him over and grabs the knife coated with yet another man's blood; Zale wonders just how many people she's killed.

"We have to move fast now, and leave no evidence," she says. She pulls Zale off his knees and forces him further down the hallway, away from his fresh kill, he can't process what he has done. Tears burn his reddened face, he half falls half faints to the ground. He can't hold back the vomit this time, it comes pouring forth, onto the million dollar carpet.

"Get it together," she urges, a slap from her pushes some semblance of usefulness back into him and he rises on shaky legs. A clatter comes from the last large ornate double door in the hallway followed by a cry; it is quite clearly the yell of a man, but possesses all the same fear the young girl was crying with earlier. She pulls the gun from the back of her belt, drags him to the door and kicks it open. She throws Zale's useless form to the ground in front of her. Four elderly rich men sitting in oversized chairs drinking and smoking cigars move their eyes to them in an instant. She starts shooting before most of the men have even seen her, the last man on the left tries to pull his gun from its holster, he isn't nearly fast enough, and a bullet pushes itself through his brain in an instant.

All the men lay slumped in their chairs, drinks and cigars scatter the ground. A butler huddles in the corner; he is even older than the men in the chairs. Even in his near hysterical state Zale finds it funny that an older man is waiting on younger men, all this seems too much like a movie to be real. He pushes the idea that this is a movie to to forefront, that idea is helping him not totally break down, again. Jade walks over to the cowering butler.

"I'm sorry but you did nothing to stop it, you are just as guilty," she says and puts the gun to his head.

"Please I have kids and I won't..." he starts to say but is cut off by the projectile now leaving his head.

"We need to get out of here!" she yells to Zale. Instead of waiting for him to get up she walks to him and pulls him along with her, after a few steps he begins to walk on his own and follows her obediently. They leave the building without incident. Once they get to her car Zale starts to open his door.

"We're not done yet, we need to destroy the evidence," she says while pulling a gas can out of her trunk. Zale doesn't say anything but follows her again like a dog heeling to its owner. She pours the entire can of gasoline in the large beautiful atrium. Zale wishes they didn't have to burn the most magnificent house he has ever seen, but not going to jail holds precedent. After she drenches much of the floor and walls with gasoline she lights a match off of her black shoes.

"Now, it's time to leave," she says with a smile, the gasoline ignites into a torrent in seconds.

"This is what you get," she says almost giggling with glee yelling at the now burning building. Zale shakes his head and runs out the front door. Jade follows with him, they both get in the car and she starts to speed away.

"Are you going to try and turn me in?" she asks giving him a deadly glare. He sighs.

"Even if I wanted to... I was a part of it and I don't wanna spend my life in jail. Plus, I don't know it's like... like you have some strange power over me," he stumbles again like he does so much in her presence.

"Good," she says, they don't say anything for the rest of the ride. She drops him at his car and smiles to him for the first time tonight in a not so deadly way. "Thanks for helping, and you can stay here tonight."

"With you?" he asks, hoping she could repair what she just broke in him.

"Not yet," she says and adds. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," he says as he leaves her car and thinks back on the night, still trying to decipher the reality of the situation. After no real contemplation he lands somewhere in between truth and fiction, and accepts that perception as his reality. His mind can't force itself into believing the foray was completely real, but it was. He lies down in his car and tries to close his eyes, but his mind is racing much too fast to keep them closed for any length of time.

__________

Clint smiles to himself in satisfaction, he left right when Zale got there, but this should be more than enough. The electric glow from the digital camera's playback screen bounces over his venomous smile. He knew there was something weird about him, and now he has proof. It's hard to make out his face, but it should be enough. He might wait a couple of weeks though to let things cool slightly between him and Azelia before giving her this amazing news. It also couldn't hurt to give his work some notice of his leave.

Clint has more than enough proof for Azelia after tonight, and even if she doesn't accept his truths he's resigned himself to leaving, one way or the other. He rumbles into his apartment, tired yet satisfied. His heart still yearns to see her again, but one last meeting is all they'll get. He turns on the TV out of habit. Clint knows there is no way he is going to be able to sleep tonight, not with two triumphs in one week. He flips through the channels and when he gets to the news he sees a giant flaming house, a very nice familiar looking Victorian house. He sits up with a start and realizes that's the house where Zale went. He sits back in hopefulness that all his problems will be resolved without any other effort on his part. The news quickly switches to a story about some new type of prison opening. He tunes out the unimportant news amid all the excitement. He decides to give the police a few weeks to bust Zale before he goes to Azelia, it would be so much more embarrassing that way. For the first time in months he sleeps peacefully and deeply.

__________

Jade knows she must show Zale some tenderness after tonight, if she doesn't she may lose him forever. Maybe tomorrow she'll take him to the desert again, and begin re-manipulating him into obedience.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Another Outing

Despite the crushing fear and insanity of his last outing with Jade, Zale is roped by her allure into another whirlwind excursion of life and death. Three weeks doesn't feel like nearly enough time for a true recovery from the traumatic experience. Still, he can't ignore her beckoning.

He awoke this morning with a knock on his window by Jade's glowing fist. She gave him basically no details, not even a specific time to meet her. After a quick drive for food this morning, he's been impatiently biding his time in her parking lot, trying to fend off sleep; he uses the thought of her closeness to keep himself awake. The building anticipation is growing so fast in the pit of his stomach, the idea of his body exploding seems more plausible than Jade finally coming to free him from this car shaped prison. Azelia flashes across his thoughts, their relationship has flourished into just that, a real relationship, the first one he's had with another human in years. He feels a twinge of regret, but he feels nothing romantically for Jade, just a sense of duty, one he must fulfill. Azelia has been amazingly kind to him, he assumes it won't last long once she gets to know him. He rejects any further thought of her.

The heat is bearing down on his already hurting brain, making his thoughts become almost too clear. This amount of clarity always makes him nervous. It can never be good for someone with this many poor choices and obvious inadequacies to think for this long about his life. More importantly, every time the idea of Jade comes floating into his baking head the confusion about her existence is so profound he has no choice but to squelch the inflamed thought. Should one really question the idea of an angel floating into their lives? Whether that angel be one of love or vengeance. Also, the ideas of her make the anticipation rise ever faster and push the idea to the forefront that he will soon be killing again. Fear breaks out on his brow at the prospect, he's never been so confused in his life.

A pounding on the window throws his focused body and his feet vault into the air above his sinking upper half. He breathes a sigh of relief to see Jade's smiling face after righting himself.

"You ready?" she asks through his now cracked door.

"Of course, sorry for jumping. You really scared me," he says standing to full height for what seems to be the first time in eternity.

"No problem, let's get going, this is time sensitive," she says, beckoning him to her car.

__________

She was unsure how he would react to their first night of hunting, his attitude today is one of servitude, and nothing could be more pleasing to Jade. Her control over him is as absolute as someone of her status could wish for in a pupil. She waited three weeks just to be sure he wouldn't flee or completely break down, she was worried about the breakdown more than flight, she did some research and his mental stability is anything but certain. Today's mission is nothing big, just a quick outing to deal with a known child molester. The mission is neither time sensitive nor overly exciting, and she honestly doesn't need another person to complete the mission. This is simply a test to see how well he can listen, and so far he has done amazing. She honestly thought it an impossibility for a grown man to wait for hours in his car in the baking sun, doing nothing but waiting to hear the slightest word spill from her lips. He fared well enough last time, physically speaking. She must now see how his mind has held together.

His constitution seems improbably strong, everything seems to faze him greatly for an instant and then, somehow, his state reverts to that of a statue. His paranoias seem to constantly play on him, but somehow he keeps an almost dumbfounded approach to every scenario, and looks with vigor to the next idea. He even responded to her calls immediately after the initial killings, afraid but ready. He has yet to even question her about today's mark. He sits, almost unthinking, gazing straight ahead fidgeting with his hands, obviously wishing to speak with her. She doesn't mind if his brain can't come up with any questions, the quiet car ride is fine with her.

__________

"So... where we going?" Zale finally asks.

"Just a little further, we only have to take care of one man today. He's a rapist and child killer," she says, her smile scares him, but who would he be if he let a man take the lives of children? He quickly realizes, much to his chagrin, that he believes nearly anything she thinks, let alone anything she says. He imagines this is what hypnosis must feel like.

"So? Do you want a monster like this left alive? Walking the streets harming innocent children?" she asks, and no matter what he would normally think his mind was made up long ago.

"No, you know I don't want that. What's the plan?" he pleads as she brings the car to a rolling stop in a small neighborhood.

"Oh, now you're good enough to know the plan?" she smirks. "I've just decided, see that yellow trailer over there?" she waits to continue until his eyes follow her outstretched hand. He contorts his face in understanding. "There's a gun in the glove compartment."

He reluctantly opens the compartment, his hands shake violently. When the glove box falls open he nearly faints at seeing the giant gun. He fumbles so badly it falls to the ground, he holds his breath in the short fall fully expecting the gun to go off directly into his crotch. He's meant to live another day as the gun falls harmlessly.

"Be careful idiot, can't I trust you?" she says exasperated.

"I hope you could after the last time."

"We'll see, anyways, take that gun, go in that trailer and kill him. He'll be the only one there," she says. He eyes her with true fear. Her power over him seems to wane momentarily, but her hand on his leg bolsters him instantly. The short battle of wills is won by the dominant half. He takes a deep breath and exits the car.

His legs tremble with every step. The slowness with which the yellow trailer approaches him is much too fast. His feet force him against his will to move forward. Why would she make him do this? Why not, she's insane. Either way, even if he wanted to, he can't turn away now. He looks over his shoulder, Jade is egging him on, looking a little too akin to an overly eager soccer mom pushing her nervous child into his first practice.

Before he even realizes it his body is inside in the small cluttered lawn of the trailer. A beat up old white sedan sits derelict in the driveway. Zale hopes he has another car and is out for the day, but he knows Jade wouldn't be here if her target wasn't. To his surprise, and dismay, the front door is unlocked and swings open at his smallest of commands. The smell of decay and cockroach feces greets his nostrils. The visuals aren't much better, clothes are strewn about the trash filled living room, only one small sofa graces the room in terms of furniture. A deep throaty snore is booming from across the kitchen, originating from the bedroom.

Zale tiptoes across the disgusting kitchen, most likely a useless precaution, considering just how loud the snoring is. He examines the gun, the safety is off and a silencer sits pretty on the end of the muzzle. Maybe this will be easy as pulling a trigger. He squeaks open the door to the bedroom, nearly shitting his pants with every noise the door makes, he is reassured with every loud snore roaring his way.

He can hardly take in the room, he only sees his mark, his heart is beating so hard he imagines his ears must be bleeding. The sleeping man is nothing of note, just a thin white balding man. The gun lifts itself at the man's face, his snoring continues unabated. The gun goes off in Zale's hands before he even realizes it. Blood starts to flow as the snoring ceases. Just like that, with no fanfare, no fighting, Zale has killed someone, not in supposed self-defense, just in cold blood, because an angel of vengeance told him to do it. His snot and tears add to the fluids residing in the trailer. Nothing happens, after minutes of waiting, no police roll in, no demon shrugs him to hell. In one moment of judgment the man's life is ended, his hopes and dreams suspended for eternity. Zale hopes someone will be there to fight for his life in the mortal moment. He pries his eyes off the man's corpse, forcing himself to walk outside.

"Great work!" he barely catches Jade complimenting, he just wants to go home. Something small inside him has died and is replaced with a cold feeling of nothing. His senses feel heightened to unknown levels, and his heart feels both mended and broken by Jade.

__________

A small rumbling in her head from lack of sleep tries its best to get her back in bed, but the rumbling in her stomach wins and she rises from her sleeping bag to find a snack. Luckily Azelia keeps a large amount of snack food in her tent, just in case she gets hungry in the deep throes of night. She sits upright with her legs still in the sleeping bag and shoves the nearest bag of potato chips into her mouth with rabid desire. Over the near deafening sound of her own chewing she hears a car pull out of her spot, it zooms off with little fanfare. She pauses, ready to fight, thinking someone's stealing from her, but then she realizes there is nothing to steal and relaxes.

She pokes her head out of her tent into the morning air with chips falling half eaten from her mouth, in astonishment she realizes the car leaving is Clint's. She rushes out after the roaring vehicle wondering how long he was sitting there, thinking about it makes her skin crawl. He had taken so long to find her she, for once, felt safe from him. She looks around to see if anything is missing, nothing is, but a letter rests on her picnic bench. She goes to grab it but just moving her arm towards the letter feels harder than sprinting ten thousand miles, if she were ever to reach it she most likely would die from contact. Despite her ridiculous fantasies she reaches the letter, and even though it only takes a second more to raise it to her face she again feels the distance is near insurmountable. All she can think about is having to move again, she had finally gotten comfortable here, it's been weeks since she last had to move. With the letter now firmly in her grasp she feels too nervous to read it, but something falls out of it before she can finally make up her mind.

Pictures of a man getting into a car, more pictures of the same man talking with a giant security in front of a Victorian house, and finally a set of pictures with that same house on fire outlined with a news broadcast accost her despite her unwillingness. She starts to put the pictures down but something about them catches her eye, the man looks familiar, but she can't quite place him in that setting. From that distance he almost looks like Zale; she dismisses the idea instantly, she feels guilty for even letting the thought manifest. If anything Clint photo-shopped them to look like him. She remembers something on the news about all the people in that house being murdered. The news anchor also said the fire was started to destroy the evidence. This is the exact type of deceit she would expect from Clint, but he's never stooped this low. Her concern about his faltering stability rise once again to unimagined levels of paranoia. She pushes the pictures away and refuses to look at them, she won't let her new life be destroyed by him. She unfolds the letter, her interest piqued now by hatred if nothing else. His handwriting has always been so bad it takes her a minute just to realize Clint wrote the letter in English and not some other alien language. She coughs and starts reading, sickened that he still can't get the idea that she has no love left whatsoever for him. The letter reads:

"Notice the weird guy at the scene of the fire murder? That's your friend Zale there. If you don't believe me, and more likely, if you never want to see me again, agree to meet me one last time, tomorrow night at nine. I'll be at Sarah's, meet me there if you want to get rid of me and get some answers. And who knows? Maybe the cops will have this whole mystery solved by then. At least that way you'll have to believe me about something. Either way, I hope to see you there.

Love,

Clint."

She doesn't really believe that the arsonist and murderer is Zale, but he does look awfully familiar. She crumples the letter and can't stand to look at the pictures. She'll see Zale later and let him explain. Clint probably just took pictures of some weird guy and tried to make her think it's him. He probably just found the pictures from the investigation online and altered them. She'll have to meet Clint tomorrow if there is any chance of getting rid of him.

She looks up into the sky and something about the amalgamation of colors in it makes her think of a far off memory, no, not a memory, a dream. She remembers two feelings from it: freedom and death. She is troubled by the fact she is becoming unable to discriminate her memories from her paranoid dreams. She looks at her phone, thinking about calling Zale; it would be nice to see him after this debacle, but the tiny clock on her phone informs her it's only five thirty in the morning, no wonder she feels so unrested.

As she heads back into her quaint tent the prospect of purifying Clint from her life for good causes undue amounts of excitement. She is starting to lose her mind with the stress of keeping him off her trail, even the slightest chances for his departure make her smile as she closes her eyes and lays her head on the pillow, sleep quickly overtakes her. She rests fitfully in a world of nightmares for the remaining morning.

Eventually she awakes with a start, she feels at her face to make sure no blood is running out of her nose. After the inspection eases her mind she closes her eyes again. She reconsiders going to the meeting with Clint, a little more rest revealed the true absurdity of gratifying any of his wishes. A far better and obvious idea strikes her; she should just buy some sort of protection, that way she will have nothing to fear. Besides, over the last few months she has become so paranoid that she thinks she could actually use a gun for more than target practice. She looks at her phone, hoping it's late enough to call Zale. She really wants to talk with him after all of this, maybe he can help her rid these terrible thoughts from her mind. Luckily for her it's eleven, she puts his number in and dials.

__________

An annoying noise pushes offensively into Zale's ears forcing his eyes open, they feel heavier than the entirety of Mars put into one tiny spoonful. He rolls over to feel for the culprit of the noise, his damned cell-phone. He looks at the number summoning him through weary eyes; he notices it's Azelia and decides to pick up, the date on the phone stuns him monetarily and he realizes he's been sleeping for two days since his last mission with Jade.

"Hello?" he asks groggily

"Hey, what's up?" she asks. He rubs his eyes, wanting to scream at her for waking him. He looks at his car clock and realizes it's almost eleven, maybe he shouldn't be so disturbed by a call.

"Hello?" she says again.

"Oh, sorry, what's goin' on?" he inquires, still trying to awaken himself from the monstrous slumber.

"Clint came by last night, and requested one final meeting," she says nervously. "What do you think I should do?"

"Final meeting?"

"Yeah, he said he would leave me alone for good if I go," she says, unable to bring herself to question him about the pictures.

"That's... weird, did he sound... dangerous?"

"I don't know, he just left a note at my campsite."

"Hmm," is all he responds, not wishing to deal with this, but he knows it's kind of his duty.

"So?"

"I don't know, you think it'll get him off you for good?"

"He said it would... but, you know I can't trust him."

"It might be worth a try, he can obviously get to you one way or the other, maybe it'll work."

"Yeah," she answers despondently.

"You need me to come along?" Zale asks, feeling more helpful with each passing second he spends awake.

"Nah, I think can handle him better alone. Would I be crazy to bring some kind of protection with me?" she wonders, squeaking out the last bit.

"It couldn't hurt, there a lot of crazy people out there," he responds almost laughing to himself, he could be counted among them after being with Jade on her insane missions. After a long pause he adds, "Are you feeling alright? Do you need me to come over there? Before you see him?"

He figures she is considering it but after a minute he asks, "Azelia?"

"Yeah I'm here. No, I have to get to work anyway, but can you promise to meet up with me after I see him tomorrow?" she pleads.

"Of course, give me a call whenever," he answers; he could use a break from Jade anyway, he hasn't got anything done between dealing with these two women. The collective stress of them both is starting to drive him insane.

"All right I'll call you later, now you can go back to sleep you lazy bum," she says, finally sounding like her playful self, they both start to laugh.

"See ya. Hey... if you're that worried about it, I'll take you to get a gun tomorrow morning. I think it'll make you feel a lot better about everything," he says before ending the call. Hopefully having a gun will calm her down some. He tries to let the whole ordeal flow right through him. Lying in the back of his car he debates if he should go back to sleep or stay up and try and finish this dumb book. Either way he's never going to get much done juggling both women. He assumes Clint would never be bold enough to attack her, but then again look at what Jade has forced him to do. He makes a mental note to call Azelia later and check up on her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Old Witches

Emboldened by her ever increasing nerves she agreed to meet Zale at a gun shop. He talked about it so nonchalantly yesterday, maybe it isn't a big deal for her to own a weapon. Something deep inside her feels dirty about the concept though. The shop is huge, it pervades nearly 180 degrees of her view. The massive parking lot is so packed she can barely find an open space in the gravel lot. Shockingly Zale pulls up on time, laboring to maneuver his boat of a car in such a crowded lot. He summarily jumps out of his car and jogs to her. He opens her door, she steps out gingerly.

"Hey! You ready to shoot some stuff?" he exclaims, grinning wide. Before she has a chance to respond he turns for the shop.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she retorts, trying to catch up with him as he jots to the door. He pulls open the iron frame and bolts inside, pausing to hold the door open for her. The visions inside the shop assail her so violently she nearly gasps. Seemingly thousands of guns and millions of rounds of ammunition stare back at her. Zale turns impatiently toward her, waving her onward. She steadies herself and focuses.

It feels like hours go by, but before the hand on the clock has moved past half an hour she stands with a myriad of weapons laid out before her.

Zale and the gung-ho salesman get along almost too well. Before she knew what was happening she had more than ten different hand guns chosen for her to shoot, with the two men arguing about what would fit her best.

"Have you ever shot anything before?" Zale asks.

"Not yet," she nervously laughs.

"It's way more fun than you'd think," he says. She stares down the range, the brick walls look beat up from stray gunfire. The range is built into the back of the shop, nothing special, just some office dividers and destroyed targets. Zale walks down the range and sets up some old milk jugs filled with water.

"They're all loaded, just pick up one and fire away," Zale expels almost out of breath after the sprint back from the other end of the range.

"Will it hurt?" she wonders.

"Nah, just make sure to hold your arms tight," he says. Reluctantly she picks up the smallest of the arrayed armaments. She points the gun down range, turns her head, and squeezes the trigger. Deafening sound rings in her ears. When she looks down range water flows from one of the many jugs. She smiles to Zale and he gives her a crushing high-five. The smile seems to have taken up a permanent residence on her face over the rest of the clip. She manages to land at least three more bullets into the targets. A source of self empowerment grows inside her slowly. She kisses Zale among the excitement. How has she gone this long without shooting something?

__________

The idea of seeing his son again makes his usual pain feel like a massage. Ever since Clint left he hadn't been the same and it's entirely that stupid girl's fault. John has been slowly deteriorating into nothing more than an extension of his recliner. His large frame has turned into a prison which keeps his ever slowing mind stuck to the earth. Ever since his son had left him and his wife died, he's had nothing to live for and no reason to care.

Then, out of the constant static that is his life, Clint's voice rang through and banished the nothingness. A ray of sunlight into the dark eclipse of his life, a chance to see his son finally makes him stand. Maybe after all this evil his life might restore itself to some of its former glory. He graces the outside of his house, finally braving his fears for the first time in years. The wind feels so good on his face as he surveys his now decrepit property, just a few acres of grass scattered with a couple scraggly trees. The small breeze is making the long grass call to him, and he decides to fix the place up so Clint will remember it from the days of his childhood.

__________

Clint closes the door to his hated apartment, hopefully for the last time. His car is already packed and he only has one thing left to do. He thinks he looks very dashing in his black slacks and gray dress shirt; he even chose to put some gel in his hair. He knows this will make her jealous to lose him forever. He locks the door and leaves the key under the mat, like he had agreed with his landlord, just in case he needs to come back for the night. He has decided two things for certain though: first, if she doesn't break up with Zale he's calling the cops on him no matter what; and second, he is long past ready to never see Azelia again after tonight.

He crosses the busy street to his fully packed car. He could not be more ready to be rid of this place and go back home to his dad. Everything is finally coming together. His life feels back on track for the first time in years.

__________

Every last fiber in her body is telling her she should just stay home and see if Clint would actually go home without ever seeing her, but Azelia knows that's not really an option. She walks ever so slowly from her car, checking her purse more than once on the way and nearly gets run over for her carelessness. The car honking doesn't dissuade her, she smiles, knowing beyond a doubt she's ready for any way this night could go.

The stairs to the pizza shop are littered with bums and people who never seem to have anything to do but loiter. For a moment she wonders if that's what Zale truly is, but she shakes her head at the idea. She brushes by one extremely unsightly bum holding a sign that reads "I bet you a dollar you read this sign." She laughs to herself and, if the circumstances were different, she would have given him a dollar.

She can already see Clint waiting at the large door. Her resolve melts away and she starts to turn, but he spots her. "Azelia!" he yells. "Over here!"

"I'm coming. I'm not deaf by the way," she manages to say. He holds open the door for her, just like nothing's ever changed. She nods as she passes him, he pretends to not hear or see her contempt.

"Just two?" the cute red headed hostess asks. The restaurant is nothing special or noteworthy, just an old beat-up pizza place. The walls are covered in tacky red and white wallpaper and all the booths are a bland dark color but it's nearly full.

"Yep," Clint says. She signals for them to follow her. The restaurant is a good place for this meeting she thinks, a lot of people and no hidden spaces or corners for him to do anything drastic. A calm resolute manner has replaced his normally aggravating demeanor, she can't remember the last time he was this calm. It must be because he thinks he can get her to change her mind about Zale with some pictures he falsified. She is so involved in her own thoughts she runs into a passing waitress.

"Sorry," she blurts out, the waitress didn't have anything in her hands so she just huffs and keeps on walking. The hostess points to a large booth with lighting fit more for a seance than a meal, but maybe the less she can see of Clint the better.

"Thanks," she says as the redheaded hostess lays their menus on the table; they sit across from one another and sink into the soft leather booths like quicksand.

"Nice choice, very classy," she jeers at Clint.

"Can't we have a nice meal like we used to?" he pleads, "I'm leavin' soon anyways," he adds and tries in vain to get into a semi comfortable position.

"I just wanna get this over with," she retorts. They both shut up and bury their heads into the menus as the nosy older couple in the booth next to them starts to pay them a little too much attention. She looks up, not caring what those other people think of her.

"Just tell me why you wanted to meet me so bad?" she asks, it takes all of her will not to yell at him.

"I wanted to clear things up a bit and say goodbye before I went back home," he says with an honest look on his face. She slams the menu down on the table and stands up, but before she can walk away Clint grabs her arm.

"There's one more thing I have to talk to you about," he says, she stares at him. She doesn't think she could hate anyone more than him. Probably, out of fear more than anything, she sits back down slowly.

"What?" she says exasperated. Everyone is staring at them, which is good, he wouldn't hurt her with all these people around, but she's ready one way or the other.

"Did you get the pictures I left for you?"

"What about em?"

"I just want you to know the truth about your new little boyfriend," he says with a smirk.

"Or should I say arsonist and future inmate? I wonder if he's still roaming the streets or if he's caught already?" he gets out just before he cracks up laughing.

"Screw you!" she yells at him. She bolts up this time and starts running so there's no way he can keep her around anymore.

__________

He gets up to run after her, he doesn't want it to end this way, she makes him feel insane. By the time he gets outside she's almost to her car.

"Wait!" he yells after her, "I was only kidding, it can't end like this!" he says while trying to cross the street without getting killed. She is struggling with the keys in her purse, some things never change.

Just as he gets to her, she opens the car's squeaky door; he stops her from pulling it shut by putting his entire body in the way. He sees her grabbing for something inside that giant purse of hers. She's struggling to get a hold on it.

"Why can't you just let me say goodbye?" he says and steps away.

"I know you want more than that. I know you think I ruined your life!" she yells and finally closes the door. She falters in her conviction momentarily and obliges him by not speeding away.

"I really am leaving, I only wanted us to end with a memory that isn't yelling. We have so much history together," he pleads. This time she doesn't wait for him to get out of the way and drives off, nearly knocking him down to the hot pavement.

He was going to let her go with no hard feelings, but now he craves the just redemption he deserves for all the pain she caused him. If only she could be cordial for once.

__________

She should have killed him, a thought that echoes painfully through Azelia's head. All her torment and fear could have ended with a simple pull of the trigger, his worthless life must be extinguished for hers to flourish. She speeds through the lively downtown, every happy bystander wandering the well lit streets force her feelings of pain and regret closer to a violent outbreak. It would have been so simple to end her relentless persecution, the gun lies on the seat next to her, shiny and accessible. She needs to find a new place to lay her head in the morning; he seemed reasonable but there is no telling what a scorned man can do.

She swerves past an old lady trying unconvincingly to cross the street, her wearisome walker squeaks roughly on its worn tennis balls. "Move out of the way you old hag!" Azelia yells at her. Her normal inclination for politeness is gone. If her manager thinks she's coming into work, he clearly has no idea of how the world functions.

The deep breath she takes at the next red light calms her down enough to at least call Zale. She picks up her phone and dials his number. She can't remember ever being so comfortable with someone after knowing them for only a few months. Just the thought of him calms her enough to finally start paying attention to the road, a fact her fellow drivers appreciate.

"Hello," his tired voice pierces the receiver.

"Hey," she responds, her voice is shaky and scared, but her driving has sobered up slightly.

"How'd it go?" he asks, she doesn't respond but lets out a muffled cry. "That bad huh?" he continues.

"Yeah... definitely wasn't good," she answers. A long pause follows, she wishes he would say something, any words of comfort would ease her doubt. For a writer he never seems very good with words, then again, she's never read any of his work so she can't really judge.

"That sucks... If it makes you feel any better I still like you," he chuckles, she can't help but smile.

"Thanks."

"Want to do something?"

"Nah, I just need to get some sleep. You free tomorrow?" she asks. Being so tantalizing close to her campsite and sleep erases all other wants from her mind.

"When am I never free?" he inquires with a laugh, she echoes his sounds.

"I'll call you tomorrow, but not too early, you bum."

"Thanks, talk to you then. You sure you don't need anything tonight?" he asks.

"No, I'm fine," she reassures him and closes her phone. She pulls into her campsite, fatigue pulls at every particle of her being. The adrenaline dump from tonight will ensure a sound sleep, not to mention the shining gun that will whisper sweet nothings of security to her until then.

__________

Jade looks lustfully out of her small apartment window for the thousandth time, she knows Zale's car is there but her excitement emanating from their past escapades keeps her seeking the reassurance of his presence. Knowing she has full control over another has risen her confidence to previously unknown peaks, her enemies have never fallen faster. They have managed to provide each other with a level of comfort that would be impossible for them to achieve alone. She debates whether to go and wake him for tonight's small happy task, but after much consideration she decides the business is a smidgen to personal to involve him. Besides, she doesn't need another person to finish the job. She leaves the window to its lonesome perch and goes back to her leather chair, the only furniture decorating the sparse second bedroom. This night's mission is not strictly against someone of pure evil, just an old hag not worthy of life, her downstairs neighbor.

She pulls back her long hair and revels in the moments about to transpire, it won't take long, but it will be sweet. The thrill of the hunt sends chills from her neck down to her toes, her senses all perk to attention. The plan is simple, all she has to do is pick the lock without being noticed and once inside suffocate the old lady with her own pillow. Old people die regularly enough in their sleep to never raise suspicion. Jade's justified this to herself a million times, despite her supposed, and most likely false, innocence the old lady can't be left alive after slighting Jade so many times. She picks up her knife, just in case, and puts it in her ankle holster. She takes a deep breath and walks speedily to the door.

__________

Zale lies down in the back off his car and studies the ceiling he knows all too well. He imagines the list of people who have endured living in their car for this length of time is extremely short. He's so close to finishing the book, but he hasn't been able to dream since the night with Jade. His money is running drier than a desert stream in August, and that fact forces his mind into the delusional state of dreaming, for the sake of his continued existence on earth. As he lies on his back he feels the needed and slow release of D.M.T alter his brain to his great joy...

The hero tiptoes into to the old man's bedroom on worn smelling socks, he took off his coveted snakeskin boots at the door to maintain all possible silence, but with the way the old bastard is snoring he probably could have ridden a train into his room. This is the man he has been hunting for weeks and weeks, nearly dying more than once on the journey, the mentor of the evil Rouwling boys. The hero creeps towards the man without haste.

The sloth of movements gives his mind time to wonder how he ended up here; killing an old man in his sleep doesn't seem like a just end to it all, but an end to it all is what he craves. After the endless death and blood he's spilled it would only be fitting for his life to fall into obscurity, where he will no longer influence the lives of others. He's had far more than enough of being judge, jury, and executioner. His dirty and worn duster drags along smoothly as he inches closer across the wooden floor to his goal. He reminds himself of the overriding reason this man must be forfeit, he has a price on his head big enough to carry the hero comfortably throughout the rest of his life. It also doesn't hurt that this man has conducted hundreds of killing in his time. Who is the hero kidding? He could have retired long ago, he's had enough money to live comfortably for years now. Something deep inside him lusts for blood. He wishes he was as tired of all the killing as he's been trying to convince himself. Still, with this kill, he could spend the rest of his days drowned in a whiskey bottle on a piece of hefty desert land.

He finally reaches the end of the old man's bed after what seems like an eternity of snail's pace movement. Now for the most daunting part of his journey, climbing into bed with the devil incarnate. He knows the easiest way to finish the bastard would be to suffocate him with his own pillow, which is also the cruelest way, so that's the plan. The stench of whiskey pouring from the man's pores is almost paralyzing as he sweats out his demons in the night, so he can truly let them loose during the day.

The closeness of him makes the hero worry, the man's aura feels like Satan's. He knows he must be quick, not to alert the man's guards- how he made it past them in the first place is a mystery in its own right. The pillow looks so inviting to the hero's fists. The force with which he puts it over the ugly man's face awakens him instantly. He fights with his feeble body, but his strength is nothing compared to the hero, he easily holds it over the man's face as the life slowly fades from him. Spittle slips from the hero's lips as he grits his teeth with anger. Slowly but surely the fight from the feeble, ugly, old man starts to relax until nothing is left but the sound of the hero gritting his teeth.

"Serves you right," he says as he drops the pillow and slaps the man on the face, hard, just for good measure. Now he just has to think of a way to prove it was him who did the deed so can collect bounty. He pulls out his knife and leans over the man...

Zale awakes with a start. One thought pervades: what a terrible way to end a book. He will definitely have to change that. He rolls over hoping to go back to sleep and dream something better.

The vibration of his phone breaks him out of his thoughts. He looks at the name on the phone, Azelia again. "Hello?" he says.

"Hey, sorry to call you again," she says.

"It's O.K. what's up?" he asks trying to still rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Would you mind coming over tonight?"

"No, of course not," he responds and tries even harder to wake himself. He takes the phone away from his face to look at the time, not too late, it's only eleven.

"Thanks... I'll see you soon," she says and hangs up quickly.

__________

Bounding over a bump that should be taken at least thirty miles an hour slower hurls Clint's stomach into his throat, but even that only momentarily distracts him. He has one thing and one thing only on his mind, Azelia. His plan might work, it just might. He carries the key to unlock his dreams of redemption in the glove box. He's kept it there as long as he's had this car.

How could she treat him this way after everything he's done for her? He only wanted one last peaceful meeting with her. And like most things she's ruined that as well. A crazed smile graces his lips as he speeds faster. The light from the passing headlights illuminate his face, showing now not only a crazed smile but a tear to go along with it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Salvation

Shivering, she slaps her arm, despite the heat she can't get her damn body to stop shaking. She tries to take a deep breath to calm herself but it feels like an elephant is sitting on her chest. At least she's in familiar surroundings, her beloved tent, the only thing that hasn't betrayed her in the past few years. The night is so still she can hear every sliver of the snake who loves to invade her site at nightfall. She turns on her battery powered fan to make some noise to calm her racing mind. If Clint wanted to kill her he could have easily done it then and there; she is safe, he really did just want to see her one last time, she tries to convince herself. Her racing thoughts won't let that probable truth turn into reality, somehow she's convinced herself that Clint is going to kill her tonight. She knows that's what he's wanted for ages.

They experienced so much together, maybe she should have given him a goodbye. If she did she may have avoided her own death. He promised her that he's leaving and everything's over, but can she really be rid of him forever? She tries to lay her head down but she knows sleep is a distant wish. Maybe she should call Zale again, he might be able to calm her down; she resists the urge, he'll be here soon enough.

She hopes he doesn't think that she's just using him to get over Clint. Maybe she is but, in a way they have more than her and Clint ever did. As she reaches for the old ugly phone in her pocket she feels her shining salvation, she is almost ashamed at wanting to use it. Maybe she's going crazy and people are just too polite to tell her, or too afraid, that seems more likely.

She holds the phone in her left hand and dials Zale's number by heart, no longer able to resist hearing his voice. She wishes he were here with her already. The loud ringing of the phone pushed to her right ear is adding to her now steadily increasing headache. Something rumbles above the noise of the ringing and fan, the unmistakable roar of a car pulling into the adjacent lot brings sweat to her cold brow.

"Hello?" Zale's voice comes over the phone breaking her out of her trance. She lets out a small yelp of surprise. "You ok?"

"Yeah, you just scared me... kinda forgot I was callin' you," she says then realizes how mean it sounds.

"Oh thanks, it's not like I'm on my way to see you or anything."

"I didn't mean it like that, you loser. Someone pulled up next door and I was tryna' figure out who it is," she responds, a smile growing on her nervous stricken face.

"Aren't we nosy tonight?"

"You know me too well," she says still fidgeting and trying to hear what is going on next door, without getting out of her tent.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asks, sounding truly concerned.

"A little bit, could always be worse," she says offhandedly, she's no longer paying attention to the call. With each pounding footstep the newcomer seems to be slogging ever closer to her orange sanctuary. Her goose bumps and shivering return in full force, she pulls the sheer sheets up around her.

"I have to go," she manages to squeak out before closing her phone. She's certain now each step brings the harbinger of her death one step closer.

__________

His right hand grips his salvation with the power of ten men, Clint can't be stopped now. He will have his last goodbye and teach her how much she means to him. He will be the one to have the last laugh and leave victorious. He walks as if in a dream, his feet feel heavy and his eyesight dim, it doesn't matter, he has to do this. Only a few feet in front of him sits her nasty little orange tent.

He can't understand how she made him feel the best and the worst he ever has at the same time. The ground seems to be barely moving beneath his lumbering feet. The air brushes his face even slower, making the still night feel all the more dangerous. The only noise emanating from her tent is that stupid fan he bought for her years ago, he can't believe she still has it.

There, in front of him, sits the door, all he has to do is pull it aside and he can finish this once and for all. He takes a shallow breath, trying not to arouse her, a useless precaution with all the other noise he's made.

Before he pulls back the flap a few inches, his breath is smashed from his lungs with an ear-shattering bang and a piece of hot metal. Suddenly everything moves at the speed of light. He falls to his knees clutching his now destroyed chest. His left hand moves quickly to feel what's happening. Blood pours over his fingers to rest on the ground beneath him in a red pool. Confusion spreads on his face as Azelia walks out of the tent to stand over him. He falls face first onto the ground. Oddly enough, the only thing he's worried about is facing the sky at the moment of his death, nothing else matters to him now. He can feel all life flowing from his demolished midsection, he feels no need to worry with anything but the sky. With all his might he forces his heavy body to its back.

Instead of seeing the sky he is forced to look into her eyes, the eyes of his delusion. He doesn't even have the strength to avert his gaze, or maybe he really doesn't want to in his final moments. A smile spreads on his grim face amid the pain, at least he can die looking upon the object of his obsession. He wonders how many people get so lucky as to use their last dying seconds to look upon their salvation.

__________

Tears are streaming from Azelia's face at a rate unknown to her. She isn't sure if she's dreaming or if the smoking gun in her hand is real. She's most troubled by the smile on his face, maybe he's still alive, she can save him and undo this whole awful thing. She bends down to feel his pulse, a strand of hope breaks into her heart. Just as fast as she lets herself feel the scent of hope, the truth kills her spirit and fills her with dread at his cold wrist. She resumes her crying and curls her blood soaked knees up to her face, as she can do nothing else. The warmth of his blood on her legs betrays the coldness of his body.

After what feels like a decade she lets thoughts of self-preservation slip into her sorrow wracked brain. She slowly uncurls herself and tries to stymie her crying enough to make sense of what she is going to do. First thing she does is text Zale not to come over, he can't see this. Secondly she figures she has to bury his body somewhere. She grabs his legs intent on dragging him far, far away from where she sleeps. But then something falls from his right hand. She bends over to inspect it closer in the dark. She nearly faints when she sees it, a small nondescript dried up flower, but she knows its origin. He had given it to her on their first date, he said it represented his heart and that he was giving it to her for all of time.

__________

Zale's mind races against his mounting nervousness and fear for Azelia, was someone holding a gun to her head and forcing her to push him away? Her text forced him into an instant and sweaty panic. Had she decided to never see him again? Has he bored her into never wanting anything to do with him? Despite his faltering hopes he wishes more than anything that she is all right. He tries to steer his mind back into normality with easy rationales. She probably just needs to sleep after such a trying day. He eventually turns his boat of a car around and the adrenaline from his panicked thoughts almost knocks him out instantly. He's so tired he doesn't feel the need to obey the no U-turn signs at the next red light, breaking the law in small ways seems trivial when compared to the bloodbaths with Jade. The lighting speed with which his life has been flowing has altered his already skewed reality even further into an obscure, out of touch truth.

After his nights with Jade and time with Azelia the imagined world of his book holds almost no place in his heart. He'll of course keep dreaming and writing it down, it's just feeling more trivial with every passing day. Even thinking about his own survival is becoming all the more meaningless when compared to the constant fear and excitement. He prays the day will never arise when he has to choose between Azelia and Jade, his greatest wish would be for the situation to work itself out, or the current situation could play out ad infinitum. Juggling them both has nearly killed him but he wants the pain to go on forever.

He can't quite focus enough on the thought to truly make the answer to his two woman problem materialize, the cloud of sleep slowly starts to overtake his eyes and the encircling blackness blocks everything except the thought of the west. He slaps himself in the face, jolting himself back awake for the last five minutes of the drive back to Jade's apartment complex.

He couldn't have arrived soon enough because the second he turns the car off he is already there. The sound of hoofs drown his remaining thoughts...

A funeral procession of one rolls on through the dry desert wind. The hero drives a team of four black horses. Only a thin piece of cloth brought up around his mouth has kept him from drowning in the sandstorm blowing continually stronger around his carriage.

The hero is confused, he can't remember getting to this point of his journey. Why in the world would he be driving a large black funeral carriage? He has seen enough carriages to know this one's sole purpose, the black covering around the entire thing only lends to the frightening jet black color of the horses under his control. Who his cargo is and what series of events could have led them to this unfortunate but inescapable end? He wants to stop and inspect the inside, but in this growing storm he's too nervous to stop or slow down, even for a moment. Through the whirlwind of dirt he spies a town in the distance; surely they must be willing to offer him some respite and hospitality. Could his cargo be something foul enough for the people to turn him away?

Some distant memory is gently but incessantly pulling at the back of his mind, warning him, trying to show him something. The town consumes ever more of the empty desert horizon. Despite not being able to fully pull the thought from the dark recesses of his mind he can grasp enough of the pesky memory to realize stopping in the town would be his death, making him and his cargo one and the same.

Nothing in the town screams out enough to make` him stop. He barely slows down the carriage enough to avoid killing any of the poor people still walking around the streets on this stormy day; he pushes through with all the force of a hurricane. The buildings are so dilapidated that the power of the four horses romping through almost knocks them over one by one. The few townspeople he can see shoot him looks that reinforce his idea of not stopping. He has to bury this body somewhere, just not here. He doesn't like the idea, but what other choice does he really have?

The sun lazily works its way through the stormy sky; each inch it scoots further west means one second sooner he can be rid of his nasty baggage, he wouldn't dare make the drop during the day. The hero turned off the main path many a mile ago. The ragged breath of his horses means wherever they stop will have to be as good as any, he still can't shake the feeling that he's done something wrong and if someone were to see him burying the body that would be it for him. Pulling on the reins as hard as he can, the pressure from his urging barely registers in the mad horses' brains; they slowly, ever so slowly, come to a halt.

As he dismounts, his legs nearly crumple with the cramps they have developed from sitting for so many hours, the sun is almost down and the storm that threatened for so long is now just a distant memory. He drags his left leg behind him as if it were broken on his way to the back of the carriage. He needs to take care of the horses first, he pulls two large buckets off of the carriage and carries them down to the creek only about thirty feet away. He hopes the creek might also make the impossibly hard ground a little softer for his short handled shovel. The water's cold current feels good on his rough and dry hands.

The sun's last rays are gracing the earth for the final time this day, they will only return after a long cold night. He finally decides to get to work. With the horses watered and fed he has no other excuse to occupy his time. He picks up his spade shovel and gets to work. He doesn't want to stay long but knows it would be worse to dig too shallow of a grave and have an angry spirit haunt him for the rest of his life just to save him thirty minutes of hard labor. Luckily for him the ground isn't impenetrable and he makes decent headway. A thought still nags at his mind and he realizes he has yet to see his dead passenger. A mix of curiosity and fatigue eventually make up his mind.

He trudges towards the towering carriage, letting the shovel drop from his hands along the way, his hair blowing in the wind only makes him feel all the more ready to leave. He tenuously opens the back of the carriage and climbs inside to look. The simple casket makes him think about his own death and how he will probably be buried in something even more modest than this piece of trash. With a heavy heart he opens the lid. The sight inside actually pleases him, an old lady's face greets him, not the face of a young poor man whose death has come much too soon. He lets out a breath of relief, it seems less evil, maybe this woman died of age and he is merely taking her to where her earthly vessel belongs.

Just as he's about to close the casket he sees a gash on the decrepit woman's neck, he turns her neck to get a better look at it, and suddenly everything comes rushing back to him.

__________

Things hadn't gone as easily as she thought they would, the old hag had more fight in her than Jade ever expected. When she had entered the old woman's apartment, she had somehow heard her and was waiting with a knife of her own. She even managed to cut Jade slightly but she had taken care of the nasty woman nonetheless. The killing was even more satisfying than she had hoped.

Now though, she has the regrettable job of burying the stupid witch. Luckily for her Zale is asleep on her way out and she doesn't have to explain anything to him, it could have only made things more complicated at this juncture. She has been growing increasingly excited at taking on an apprentice who is as capable and accessible as him, also one over whom she has full control. She has one more big test lined up for him, and she yearns to know if he is truly worthy.

She forces herself back to digging in the desert, the only sound other than her slow slamming of the shovel is a small creek in the background, and the sound soothes her pounding head. She can't see anything in the pitch black of the cloudy night. The feel of the shovel handle against her rough hands is somehow reassuring. Zale definitely isn't ready for this part of it yet, she is going to have to ease him into it. She guesses after an hour of digging that the hole is deep enough; and goes to grab the old hag's body. She assumes this old lady has done more than enough evil in her life to be worth killing.

The lady is wrapped in her favorite carpet, the one she was constantly yelling at Jade to clean for her, a fitting burial shroud. She drags the carpet to the edge of the hole and gives it a good solid kick. The body and carpet roll as one, hitting with a muffled thud on the cold dirt six feet below. The thought of the woman decomposing there gives Jade no small amount of sick joy.

After covering the body in mounds of dirt, she hops into her car and tries to slowly back away from the burial area, she doubts anyone would be close enough to hear her but there is no reason to risk getting caught. After a few minutes of near silence she hits the road and nearly rips her tires off getting up to speed, the roads in this area are extremely desolate with no speed limits, she can think of nothing better for her pounding head than a fast drive through the arid desert.

As she speeds faster she lets her thoughts drift to her next target, this is going to be a big one and she will definitely need Zale's help. She can't get ahead of herself, he must prove himself one last time. She needs to find a suitable target for him, it may take some time but it will be worth while. If he can make a kill totally on his own he's ready and fully under her control. It seems she has been trailing her biggest mark ever since she can remember. The thought of finally bringing the criminal to justice brings a wide smile to her face.

__________

The bloody circumstances of last night have almost destroyed Azelia already, she's not sure how long she can live like this. In the twelve hours since his death shame and guilt are the only feelings she can sense amid the constant tears and bile. Sleep is further away than ever and she has no choice but to lie in her tent surrounded by self-loathing thoughts. The dirt still caked into her fingernails is an unbearable sight, she hides them beneath her blanket. She has slowly pushed away the thought of turning herself in, though she should Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

She can't fully grasp this new state of mind. Her old self has crept away, to be replaced by a simple shell of herself. Maybe her survival instincts will eventually force life back into her bones. After more countless hours of snot-filled crying she forces herself to see where she buried him, the previous night is a blur and she almost doesn't remember where he is. She walks gingerly, not wanting to disturb the corpse on its way into the afterlife, to where she assumes she put him. She holds her hands over her face, not really wanting to see his grave.

The site that graces her embattled heart is a tranquil one, nothing but a small discolored hump in the ground and no one around to see but her. The small oasis in which she buried him is the perfect place for him to never be found.

The walk back along the rocky road feels impossibly long. The shade feels good on her boiling head when it comes. So much open space lets the sun bear down on her confused heart. She wishes none of this ever happened, if for once Clint listened to her he would be alive. But now that it has happened she wonders if she'll ever find out a way to not let it drive her crazy. Maybe she should call Zale to ease her racing mind. She dials his number.

"Hello?"

Part Three: How It Ends

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

John

Despite spending nearly every day of the past month in her apartment complex, Zale has seen Jade only sparingly. Except of course, when she makes him kill people, which she keeps saying will happen again soon. The best case scenario is to be close to her but not actually interact with her, the image in his mind's eye of her is changing into what she actually is. Seeing her dampens his image of her, and himself. She has lost some of her glow and her hold over him doesn't feel as powerful, with every passing day he feels stronger. Despite all the flowing negatives he feels more alive than ever. It's like she released something deep inside him that was bottled up for years. Does it matter if she isn't as angelic as when they first met? His current mania is worth more than simple comforts or social constructs. His blissful scenario does have it's unfortunate consequences; her murderous missions and lack of sanity have played strongly on him. Despite everything she has put him through, he is still inexplicably drawn to her, and wishes to please her. If killing a few disgusting criminals is the small price to pay to keep his near perfect scenario running then so be it. It would be hard for a vagabond such as himself to pay a toll less than blood for his own happiness. Resigning himself, for the moment, with a deep breath he accepts his fate. He resolutely heads for Jade's apartment.

The ascent up the short flight of stairs could be a thousand miles or three feet, he is so preoccupied with the "mission" awaiting him. He can't let a trivial thing such as walking cross his mind now. He has already paid the toll of his innocence, he dreads what she will attempt to take from him today. He is so close to resisting her, if only he could break her spell. Her magnetic pull is just too strong. His scenario has played out the only way it could, he has been happy for months and once again must pay his dues. Her will is far stronger than his, he should consider himself lucky she doesn't hold him to uglier treatments.

The door pounds into his sight before he is ready, still his feet carry him against his wishes until he is only inches from it. She saves him the trouble of knocking and pushes him away, back into the hallway.

"I've been waiting, you're late, like usual," she says and hurries him down the stairs. She's never satisfied with him, she's never proud of his accomplishments.

"Sorry I was preparing myself for today," he excuses absently.

"Good, maybe you're finally taking this seriously."

"I'm trying," he lies with all the gusto he can muster, he knows this is nothing but penance for his good fortunes.

"You have a knack for it as well, maybe one day you could surpass me," she laughs.

"Thanks," he mutters. Despite the inane circumstances the compliment almost makes him beam. He prays to whoever is listening that he is just along for the ride today.

__________

Jade pats the back of his car as he drives away. She is in full control, his obedience in the last few weeks has cemented her ideals, he is nothing more than a pawn to be used. She is beyond a hundred percent convinced he will follow her to the ends of the earth if necessary. If he succeeds today he will never be able to resist her, not unless she overlooked some major detail. She couldn't imagine such a mistake being possible, not now, not ever.

The mission is as fully on his shoulders as it could ever be. Regardless, she must hurry to catch up to him, she doesn't want her apprentice dying, or worse, running before she's good and ready.

__________

Her details were far too sparse for Zale's liking. All she gave him was an address and a name. He cruises slowly in his wagon towards the target, not wanting to reach the destination. She promises Zale these men are evil but what concrete proof does he actually have? Her beige car looms large in his rear view mirror, she must want him to know she's tailing him. He can't decide the reason why, does she actually care for his well-being, or is she just letting him know failure is not an option? Is killing all she wants? He wishes that at least the smallest percentage of her covets his safety. Either way the circumstance remains, he must pay due penance for his double life. Today that payment comes in the form of a stranger's life, it's one he tries to believe deserves it.

He's always had the enviable ability to shut off his brain and let things run their course, and not for the first time, he is thankful for the aptitude. He absently rifles through the manila folder she gave him at the next red light, trying to find out where the man should be now. The last thing on earth he wants to do is drag this nasty ordeal out any longer than necessary. To his relief she has included the man's home address, and even more glorious, the folder says the man should be home this time of day. He logs the information away and tries to turn himself on autopilot. No wonder she's never home, she must be tailing lunatics all hours of the day. He caresses the giant hand cannon he has become all too familiar with over the past few years. Before all this killing business he really enjoyed target shooting, things have changed a little. The weapon brings him no joy now. At least it's large enough to put the man out of his misery in an instant.

The beige sheen of Jade's car is still too painfully present for his liking. She must really be hankering for him to get the job done. How he wishes he was relaxing with Azelia instead of in the middle of this disgusting mess. He makes a promise to himself to survive this and see her again. But for now he must comply.

Before his brain can erupt into beautiful daydreaming, the house detailed in the manila envelope snaps into view. His sinking heart forces him to come to terms with his immediate future.

The man's house is nothing of worth, a small rancher lying on a small lot sporting a nasty yellow tint, the siding of the house has been obviously molded for years. Half of the shutters have long ago decided to search for greener pastures among the weeds. The sight of the numbers plastered to the little house makes his already frantic heartbeat move all the faster. Jade is parked almost directly behind him, no longer even attempting to hold up her ruse of staying away.

Zale fingers the gun with a combination of hate, fear, and power coursing through his body. He can't decide which is strongest, until he looks back at Jade, fear takes center stage. Finally, after idling for near twenty minutes, he turns off the car and takes his first steps towards the man's house. Half of him prays for the man's absence, the other, more sensible side, wishes him to be home.

The impossibly long walk is over in only a few bounds. The gun is burning a hole in his hand. He can't decide how to get in, maybe smashing down the door is the best course.

He tries the door, it swings open. Erie silence rests in a cold fog over the entirety of the semi-dark living room, nothing but a lone TV riding a cardboard box. Somehow it feels dirty, despite no real filth anywhere. Zale's every breath breaks the deadly silence, his heart nearly pounds through his chest.

He scans the small living area to no avail. His feet are working their way to the back hallway, now hoping to find his mark. He imagines Jade salivating and licking her chops over the fear and anticipation building in his body.

He smells his choice of doors, a stench rivaling a garbage island billows from the first door on his left. Nature may have taken care of his business for him. The creaking and groaning of the door forces him to hold his breath, the carbon dioxide compels him to refill his lungs. The gun pushes its way into the room before him, he meekly attempts to cover his mouth and nose with his t-shirt.

The sight is bloody in every sense of the word. Nature did not take care of this man, Jade did. He could not imagine more blood coming from one person, the man's fingers have all been cut off, and upon further inspection his tongue as well. The sight is so shocking he contemplates walking outside and killing her now. No, she would probably best him and destroy him where he stood. Either way, he must be free of her, and soon.

__________

She shouldn't have helped him, but she just couldn't resist choosing a target she had already killed. He needs to know how she takes care of her targets when she has some time. Hopefully this sign of goodwill wins him over permanently. The look on Zale's face is more disgusted than relieved. Either way, he did everything she wished, her life is morphing into a paradise faster than she would of thought imaginable.

__________

"Today's the day," John says. He can barely contain his excitement as he sits in the undersized barber's chair. Even though he has let his body waste away, the least he can do is get cleaned up and presentable for Clint.

"Oh," is all the unenthusiastic barber can muster. Not even noticing, John continues to fidget like a disobedient child in the old and uncomfortable chair.

"Hold still please," the barber tells him; his lack of energy matches the rest of the room, it's as bland as a place could be, not even one shred of decoration warps the white walls.

"Oh sorry, I'm just so excited, he's been gone so long, and now, he's finally coming back to me," John says, this time all the barber does is nod. The old barber should have quit long ago, all his features look to be in a race to see which one can hit the ground first. John could care less about the man's lack of enthusiasm. He's unsure if he has ever been this happy before, maybe on the day Clint was born. Having lost so much in the past few years has made this one gain seem near impossible. The barber unbuttons the smock around John's large body and consequently flings hair all over the room. A young apprentice comes to sweep it up immediately. John is nervous that Clint hasn't called in a few weeks, but he knows he's building the tension for their meeting. He wouldn't have lied to him about coming back.

"Twelve dollars," the barber says before John has had a chance to inspect the man's handiwork. Regardless, he pulls the money from his pocket before standing. "Thanks and good luck with your son," the barber says.

"No, thank you and I know everything will be perfect," John replies. He looks much better than the decrepit fat old man of a few weeks ago. A ray of light has been shining on him since he heard the great news. The weeks have flown by and he barely noticed the lack of Clint's calls, but he knows for a fact he will be here today. He walks outside of the small corner building, and tips his head to everyone he sees outside. He takes a deep breath and heads home to get things ready.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Revenge and Pizza

Zale sits in a booth held together by nothing more than a few pieces of tape, the strong packing tape though, not the cheap kind you could buy from the dollar store. He figures that has to be a good sign. It shouldn't be too hard for Azelia to find him in the small restaurant, she's even later than him. He smoked in the parking lot until his senses started to dull, he's hoping Azelia can finish the job.

He's becoming less and less worried about his initial reasons for coming here, he knows his book is going to be subpar anyways. The two women have taken over every aspect of his life. Ever since his nights with Jade, normal things seem dull to him, his overly carbonated soda doesn't even faze him. The only other thing that still seems exciting is Azelia. He doesn't believe in destiny, but maybe he should. His obsession is beginning to change subjects. A dirty redneck couple making out catches his attention from the corner of his eye, he hates such displays of affection. He wonders how Jade would act if she were here? Would she act out on her true feelings and eliminate the unsavory pair? Or do they have to be truly sick criminals for her to exact justice? He's starting to believe she has a wide criteria for killing.

Despite his inner anger at the couple, he'll just sit here like a statue and let them do whatever they want.

"Hey," Azelia says waving at him, breaking him from his disturbing thoughts. He pauses for a second before waving back.

"What am I going to do with you?" Zale asks.

"What do you mean?" she responds while sitting down, giving the taped booth the same look Zale gave it when he first saw it.

"Ten minutes late, I thought you were standing me up. You know I'm a stickler for punctuality."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're the one who gets mad if you get called before eleven a.m."

"That reminds me, have you been sleeping any better? You look tired," he says offering her his drink. She takes a long sip through the small straw, staring him down the whole time.

"Do I look that bad? Why do you keep asking?" she asks more harshly than she meant.

"Sorry, sorry, I thought you said you hadn't been sleeping well," he says and holds his hands up in defense.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just the stuff with Clint has me on edge still," she says and takes another long drink of the sugary concoction, mentioning his name brings a tremble to her hands.

"I thought he left?" he asks. The shiny menus hurt his eyes, the overbearing lighting doesn't help.

"Yeah, yeah..." she says, and stares into the distance. He waves his hand in front of her face.

"You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah," she whispers. Her face pales noticeably, he's nervous she's going to get sick all over the table.

"You need some water?" he asks.

"Yeah, sorry I keep bringing him up."

"I've told you a million times, it really doesn't bother me."

"Thanks," she says and guzzles the rest of his drink, the color has yet to return to her face.

"No problem, you want pizza or...?" he asks.

"Um, yeah? I'll be back."

"Take your time and... and I don't care what happened with Clint, that's all in the past now. He's gone and that's all that matters," he says. She shoots him a quick smile and jumps up from the table then rushes to the bathroom. He's dying to ask her what happened with Clint, did he hurt her? Is that why she's so on edge? She's normally so relaxed. But given her situation with Clint it makes sense she can't accept his absence as truth quite yet.

The noise of the kissing couple next to them breaks through the short beautiful silence of his thoughts. A haunting realization dawns on him: Jade is rubbing her hatred off on him, a few months ago he would have shrugged off the couple, now he can focus on nothing else.

If he never saw Jade again could he ever come clean about his outings with her to Azelia? No, what is he thinking? He must be crazy to let such a thought cross his mind. Before he can get further into idiocy the waitress jaunts to the table.

"That girl you're with, she was here like few weeks ago with some other guy. They got into a huge fight, it was kinda embarrassing. The guy was a lot better looking than you too," she says as the smell of her cherry perfume insults his nose almost more than her words hurt his ego.

"Yeah he was a crazy stalker, I guess your pizza was so good she just had to come back," Zale says wanting to push her away but nervous if he does she will spit in his food.

"She left before she even ordered," she says. Her big eyes betray her pettiness.

"Well, what can you do? Could I get a large cheese pizza and a lemonade? Oh and a water," he says, the waitress doesn't think it's funny and walks away grumbling.

"I was just tryin' to warn ya," the waitress says on her exit. Why would she bring him to the same place she went with Clint? He doesn't care. He spots Azelia coming back.

"I'm glad you stalked me," he says with a smile before she sits. Her skin has regained its color. Something major must have went down with Clint to still be affecting her this badly.

"How dare you?" she feigns offense and returns his smile emptily. Something in her eyes has changed, they've lost a tinge of their glow.

"Where's the waitress?" she asks.

"You just missed her. You hungry?"

"Thirsty, it seems someone drank his soda," she jokes, he can almost see through her facade of calm, he decides not to press her though.

"You got me there," he says and slaps her hand lightly.

"This is what I needed, I need to relax," she says and reaches for his hand. They sit in silence gawking at the couple next to them.

"I'm glad we're not like that," she says, Zale nods his approval.

__________

He opens the door for her like he loves to do. Azelia jumps into her car, not giving Zale any time to look inside of it. She doesn't want him to see her weapon resting openly on her floor. She couldn't bring herself to dispose of it or take it with her, so it's sat unguarded and in plain sight since the incident. The guilt at seeing it almost makes her pass out, she fights the urge. How long can she keep the secret from Zale? Forever hopefully. She doesn't want to lose him and doesn't even want to think about the other possibilities. She did a good job of burying Clint so maybe no one will ever have to know. Just thinking of his body almost forces her to get sick again.

"You workin today?" Zale asks, unaware of her mood changes.

"Uh... no, actually I have tomorrow off too," she says after a moment's pause.

"Wanna go for a bike ride?"

"Where can we get bikes?" she asks stepping her left foot out of her car.

"I know a guy," he says, seeming to have forgiven all her strange behavior. The days have flown by so fast she isn't even sure how long it's been since Clint's death. She wonders if the memories of that night will ever fade. Before she can respond she hears his phone vibrate in his pocket again. After the first ring during lunch he had changed it to vibrate but she could hear it go off at least three more times during the meal. Only a person as crazy as Clint could call that many times in a short period, and Zale supposedly doesn't know anyone out here.

"I'm moving to another campsite today, but maybe later we can go bowling," she spouts. She has never met someone with such a strange love for the game as Zale.

"Now you're talking! You need help moving?" he asks.

"Nah I'm good. I'll call you later," she says and closes her door. Zale waves and starts to walk away while picking up his still vibrating phone. "Hello" is all she can hear through her door. She lied about moving sites, she did that weeks ago, she's going to find out what he's doing. The thought strikes her as odd, she has never been the type of person to do such a thing but she has a strange feeling about Zale's mystery caller.

__________

"Where have you been?!" Jade's voice pierces through the receiver, nearly blowing his ear drum. He involuntarily moves the phone away from his face. "I've been trying to reach you all day! What have you been doing that's so important?" she yells.

"Just eating lunch, didn't hear my phone ring," he responds knowing it would be a grave mistake to tell her about Azelia. "What's so important?" he asks.

"I have to know I can trust you, that's the most important thing," she says. He shakes his head as he walks across the crowded street underneath the towering buildings gleaming in the blazing afternoon sun. How can she not trust him after what they've been through?

"You know you can," he says, still not wanting to disappoint her. After a short pause he adds, "I thought I proved that last time."

"You did, but I have to know I can always count on you," she says, this time with a small dose sugar of added. Just the thought of her wanting him blurs Azelia from his mind.

"Don't worry, you know you can always trust me," he says, finally making his way through the endless pedestrians to his beat up but lovely car. Her use of the word always makes him nervous, he hates commitment.

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear. Get over here as fast as you can, I have something big," she says and hangs up before he can respond. He slips into his car and just sits there in the heat without turning the the keys in the ignition. The feel of the heat sometimes forces his thoughts into something useful. The hot seat feels like he's sitting in his own personal oven set to broil. His mind is so crowded with confused and opposing thoughts of Jade he can't see straight. It seems any time he gets away from her he can see her for what she really is, a crazy insane woman who kills people.

He gives in to the heat and turns the keys, blasting the air conditioning. The best part about this old car is the air conditioning, it never seems to let him down and it never takes more than a few seconds to cool the whole cavernous thing. He wants to get to Jade soon, he can't do anything about the control she has over him just yet. As he tries to pull out of his small parking spot he realizes at that very moment just how much he hates the city, always congested, more buildings than trees, and home to the rudest people on earth. If he manages to leave this place alive he wants to move to somewhere truly desolate, maybe near Death Valley would be good. Finally, after about five minutes of waiting and plenty of horn honks, he pulls out and starts toward his destination.

__________

John twirls his fingers for the ten thousandth time in the past two hours. Clint was supposed to be here yesterday. John knows he's driving but it shouldn't take nearly this long. He was playing it cool in the beginning, not wanting to seem overbearing, so he didn't call at all; but in the past twelve hours he's called Clint about a thousand times, all to no avail. He knows something awful must have happened, Clint wouldn't do this to him on purpose. His massive girth rests in his giant recliner. He has cleaned the house a hundred times, and also paid a cleaning crew for good measure. His exuberance alone has given the house a feel of glory. He had been resigned to just sit here until his life slowly abandoned him, but ever since he had heard from Clint his life feels worth living.

He wonders again, only briefly, if the whole thing is some sick prank. He dismisses the idea in a second, he knows what his son's voice sounds like, and there is no way Clint would do that to him. He stands up and paces the same area of carpet he has paced hundreds of times in the past day, he can't stop moving or fidgeting. He picks up his cell phone and debates on whether to call again or not. Would the thousandth and one time make a difference?

He tentatively flips open his phone and redials Clint, he has called so many times today he doesn't think he could ever forget that precious number. He waits with bated breath, he's so nervous his eyes feel like they're about to explode from his head and land with a thump against the far wall. A drop of blood comes from his abused right ear as he digs the phone in even harder than he has the other thousand times.

"Hello?" comes a feminine voice from his son's phone.

"Clint?" he asks barely moving the phone from his ear.

"No... I'm Clementine. I found this phone on my walk yesterday under some dirt," the woman responds.

"Was anyone else around?"

"No just me and my dog. I saw it and figured I'd charge it up and see whose it is," she says, John falls back into his big chair.

"You did the right thing. It's my son's, he's supposed to be coming home today," he says, even mentioning Clint to a stranger gets him excited about his return.

"Oh, I'm sure he's all right. Do you want to come meet me and get it?" she asks.

"I don't think that'll work, I live in Pennsylvania. Could you do me a huge favor turn it into the police?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Thank you ma'am. Can you do me one more giant favor?"

"Sure."

"Where'd you find it?" he inquires.

"At the Red Range camping site," she says and hangs up the call. John sits dumbfounded, the possibility of Clint being in trouble drives him into insanity and rage; he better figure this out quick. He stands back up and returns to his pacing, a fire burns in his eyes that hasn't been there since his boxing days. If something did happen to Clint he can't imagine the revenge he's going to exact on the perpetrator. He kneels down, clasps his hands and swears an oath of revenge to God. Whoever did it is going to pay, and pay not only with his life but his dignity and sanity as well.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Crumbling Plans

The gates open slowly as Zale punches in the code Jade so generously gave him to her apartment building. He feels her magnetic pull forcing him to help her with this next mission, but if it's anything like last time, Zale isn't sure he can handle it. He wants to believe it's his sacred duty to rid this world of evil men, like she keeps telling him. Unfortunately he knows how far that is from the truth.

He parks his car in its usual spot, people assumes it's his now because he's always there. He takes a deep breath before picking up the phone, texting her before coming up, another one of her strange rules. He waits for her to respond, turning off that great air conditioning, sitting in the heat to think clearly, if only for a moment. The vibration in his pocket comes too soon and signals the end of his peace.

Standing in front of her door he notices the smell of something familiar, his deodorant coming from inside the house. It only serves to remind him that he forgot to put it on this morning. He goes to knock but just before his fist reaches the door Jade jerks it open.

"That took you long enough. If you want me to trust you, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that," Jade says with a sneer and holds her hand out, indicating for him to come. Zale doesn't respond but walks by her with his head hung low.

This is the first time he's seen her apartment and it's a near religious experience for him. The unremarkable walls take on a hint of light coming from her barely glowing figure, while the ugly kitchen to the right is transformed by her presence into a true modern beauty. She herds him past her tiny living room and into a small bedroom, transformed into what looks like a modern day war room. There are pictures of people everywhere, mostly big business looking types, many of them with giant red x's through them, while others have folders and random papers pinned to them, almost fully enveloping their faces. Hundreds of surveillance photos cover the old desk sitting just below the mass of pictures on the wall. Other than a tall lamp sitting neatly in the corner there is nothing else in the room. He never fully realized the level of her obsession. How has he misjudged her so badly and why can't he release himself from her control? She's so assured in his obedience, what is he missing? If he doesn't get away from her soon his death is surely waiting around the corner.

"Look at this folder," she says, throwing it at him. He manages to catch it without letting more than a few pages fall. He flips through it absently, all he can focus on is the level of obsession she puts into killing people. He pretends to be reading the endless notes on the man and keeps his eyes unseeing yet glued to the folder. Picture after picture of disgusting acts assault his vision.

"This one is truly sick, I mean... You can see from the file. And that's only the small stuff I could catch him doing," she expels and grabs the file from him. She looks around the room in admiration of her work, Zale just stands there dumbfounded. She continues, "Can you believe he's gotten away with it for this long?

"I..." he stumbles and tries to at least take a breath before he adds a very simple, "No." She nods her head in approval.

"Let's get started then," she says as she pulls another manila folder from a small drawer under the overcrowded desk. She flips violently through the pages until she finds one that satisfies her.

"Here's a catalog of his daily routines and habits," she says and hands him a long list of times and corresponding events. "Study this. I may need to call upon you anytime to get this done. And you'll need to know where to go without me telling you."

"I'll try my best," he says pulling the paper close to his face and begins studying, the glow from Jade is starting to fade into nothingness, he can look at her now with only the smallest hint of a squint. All he really wants to do is go bowling, but he somehow doubts that's going to happen tonight.

__________

The deep grinding sound coming from her engine can't be good. Well, that's what Azelia deserves for trying to spy on Zale. She is willing to do anything to keep her mind off her current reality. Her mission proved fruitless in both aspects, she's still mired in guilt and after Zale went up the stairs she couldn't even see who opened the door for him. He's probably just visiting a friend, something innocent, not the evil she had thought earlier today. She's projecting her thoughts of wickedness on him, trying to pawn her guilt on someone.

She speeds off unsatisfied. Her thoughts drift to Clint's end for the millionth time. Every time her mind has a second to rest it forces her to look on his dying face. She tries to shake the image, but in the absence of other action she's powerless against the visions. Despite the horrendous event the idea of Clint never bothering her again plays in her head. She wonders if she had let him live if she could have been truly rid of him? The small silver lining isn't enough to move the boulder of shame crushing her.

Without even grasping what's going on her car is steering itself towards her old campsite, maybe she'll go, just one more time, to make sure everything is clean. A giant magnet has been trying to pull her there all day and this time she gives in to it. It only takes her ten minutes to arrive, the scene that attacks her pretty eyes isn't quite so beautiful. Cop cars are everywhere as well as forensic trucks, ambulances, and even a camera crew or two. Despite the entrance being blocked off dozens of pedestrians rubber neck the frightening scene. She's trying her best to look uninterested as an overweight and mustached officer waves her to turn her car around before she reaches the wooden barriers, she smiles at him and nods. Her nerves and embarrassment build as she has to make three turns to get out of the tight lane.

A thousand thoughts all slam together at the same time inside her assaulted mind. What should she do? Could they really tie the murder to her? Would it be better to stay in town or to leave? Would leaving look too suspicious? First things first, she must force herself to stay calm. She doubts they could tie it to her, she always booked the sites under a false name, a measure to try and keep Clint guessing. Now his insanity might help her in his death. The only other person who could possibly know is Zale and she doesn't think he would rat her out, but it could be a possibility she may have to address.

She tries her hardest to drive like a normal person, but that's proving more difficult than she can comprehend. The road seems to be moving out from under her car, making her swerve like mad. She pulls over at the nearest abandoned gas station and tries to collect herself. Zale would never tell, she keeps saying to herself, and even if he could she wouldn't try to stop him.

__________

John finally received the call he's been dreading all day, his mind had run away with the most dire possibilities and they have turned into truth. The apologetic woman on the phone had told him about Clint, how they found him buried in a shallow grave in the middle of a campsite. The tears had not stopped coming for John since the call. She said he had a gunshot going through his heart, but at least he would have died fast, not felt too much pain, she said. He'd shot people in the chest in the war, he saw the pain on their faces as the life slowly drifted from their eyes.

His chair has once again become his prison, but this time the fire still burns. No longer will he waste away, not after what has happened to his son. He can't let him die in vain. He vows, vows to himself and any deity who will listen, that he will take his just revenge. The nice lady on the phone said they will find the killer, and not to worry himself with such things at a time like this. The last thing on earth he is going to do is let the police screw this up, not something this important.

He was a decorated army ranger and a champion boxer, he's fallen into disrepair but his skills remain. He debates whether or not he needs to get in shape before taking this vengeful trip. More importantly, he hasn't shot a gun in ages, he needs to see if he has some of his old shooting skills. Out of habit, he always kept his handgun in his recliner, he pulls out the six shooter and takes aim at his TV. A loud ringing in his ears lets him know the shot went off successfully. When the smoke clears a baseball sized hole sits where his TV screen once stood. This is going to be fun, he thinks. Screw getting in shape, he's going to avenge Clint tomorrow.

__________

"Is that easy enough for you?" Jade asks. She can't have him blundering. Even though it's a simple part of the plan he needs to be able to do it perfectly.

"I can handle it, when are we doing this?" Zale asks her.

"Finally, some enthusiasm. Don't worry, we'll get the job done soon enough," Jade responds and stuffs the photos of her target and their plans for him back into its overused manila envelope.

"That's everything for now, I'll call you soon," she says and starts to shoo him out of her planning room.

"Wait! That's it?" he says just before she gets him to the door.

"Yes, I'll call you soon," she says and slams the door in his face. She's always hated people and interacting with a living person for so long is near torture for her. That little girlfriend of his is also becoming a problem. She caught him trying to text her more than once. That will make a fun task for her tonight. He tried to hide his responses, despite the futility of it. He doesn't understand she sees everything. She pushes away his idiocy for the moment and starts getting giddy for tonight, there are few things on earth she likes more than tailing someone. She'll have to keep an eye on him for a little while. She regrets trying to take a partner on, still every time she thinks of disposing him something deep down forces her to stop. She'll have to make sure he doesn't blow her cover, anything would be better than getting caught due to some bumbling snitch.

She puts her hair up and figures she better hurry to keep up with him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

News and Blood

The noise of pins getting obliterated in the background is as much comfort to Zale as a glass of whiskey. His seat squeaks every time he adjusts himself in the slightest, the newness of the bar and the seats make the bartender seem even older. She has more wrinkles than a gym sock and smells so heavily of cigarettes the air almost seems to take on a smoky appearance around her. Unfortunately they didn't think it worth it to change the TV in the newly remodeled bar, and the woman talking on the nightly news is so small on the screen she looks to be an ant trying to form human words.

"Want another one?" Zale inquires nudging Azelia.

"Sure, sorry I got tired. My wrist couldn't take another game," she says, rubbing her fingers for emphasis.

"It's okay, I know I get carried away," he says with a chuckle and calls to the bartender. "Can we have a couple more?"

"What you havin' hun?" she responds, her voice laden thick with a Baltimore accent. Before he can respond she leans close to see what type of beer they're drinking, her closeness makes his eyes water from the smoke coming off of her, as a bonus, he gets a nicotine buzz just from being next to her. He reels back to clear his eyes, but when he reopens them the picture on the TV amazes him.

"Could you turn that up?" he asks the bartender. Without a word she turns it up and again Zale nudges Azelia, pointing to the small ant woman blabbering away on the tube.

"Police don't currently have any suspects, but they are calling this a murder and anyone staying at the Red Range campsite is currently a suspect. In other news..." The news anchor says but Zale tunes her out, he's still focused on the picture. It's Clint. He turns with his mouth open in shock to Azelia. She's so white in the face Zale thinks he can see the bowler behind her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks. She stands up and pushes by him, running almost in a sprint towards the bathroom. The bartender sets the drinks on the table.

"You know that guy hun?" she asks in a voice much more masculine than it should be.

"He was um... her cousin; I didn't know him that well," he says and takes a drink of his beer; he almost spits it out do to its warmth, seeing Clint on the screen made him forget about the broken fridge.

"Sorry hun, fridge ain't workin right now, not sure why they redid this place and left the same crappy fridge. Shame about your girl's cousin," she says and goes to turn down the TV. As he sits in silence the light bulb goes off in his head: she did it. It doesn't make all that much sense to him. She doesn't seem the type, definitely not like Jade, maybe it was in self-defense. That has to be it. He instantly regrets making her buy a gun. She must assume he knows she did it, but if she didn't tell the police than why should she tell him?

One thing he knows for certain, he can't let Jade find out about this. If silence doesn't work with Azelia he plans on convincing her he knows it was in self-defense, whether it was or not. Now it all makes sense, why two women at once would want him, they're both crazy. The last thing he wants to do now is help Jade with her next assignment, he can only deal with one killer and wants to pick Azelia. He just hopes he can break ties with Jade when she calls on him, even though her power over him is waning he's not sure he can make the breakthrough permanent.

At this point he really wishes he hadn't come here, he should have just stayed home. How did he get himself so mixed up in all this? Either way he is now, and he has no choice but to face the consequences. Maybe, if he's lucky, Azelia will run further into the desert with him and find the seclusion he's always wanted. Azelia must be the reason fate moved him here. Being able to pull off his escape from his very real problems depends on two things: can he get away from Jade and can he convince Azelia he doesn't care she killed Clint.

__________

After about five tries of splashing water on her face Azelia manages to revive some color, she is soaked from all the water needed. Azelia evaluates herself in the grimy mirror; she looks at least somewhat presentable. She laughs at herself hardily. She's still worried about looking good for Zale, even when she's probably the lead suspect in a murder case. She can only imagine that Zale has put two and two together. If only she had tried to go to the police with that excuse, instead of burying Clint, she might have a chance at survival, now she has no choice. She has to live the rest of her life on the run.

A pretty woman brimming with a child bursts through the door and nods at her as she goes to the nearest stall. Azelia tries to compose herself, maybe she has a few days to convince Zale to run with her. If he disagrees... she doesn't even want to think about that possible eventuality, she can't handle another debacle. The small bathroom doesn't provide much privacy, so she's left with no choice but to confront Zale out in the open. At least her situation can't get much worse than it is now. She pulls out nearly all the paper towels left in the receptacle to dry off her face and mass of hair. She examines herself again in the mirror. The look in her own eyes is so frightened and demoralized; maybe a little makeup wouldn't hurt to break the news. The resolve she found when she met Zale a few months ago has crumbled into dust. She didn't know it was possible to experience such a roller coaster of emotions, the ups and downs of the past few weeks feel like they are quickly picking her apart, reducing her to an unemotional shell. After putting on what small amount of makeup she carries she holds her head high and walks back to the bar.

Zale's sitting in the obviously uncomfortable chair with his arms at odd angles to counteract the discomfort. The nasty bartender is serving someone down by the other end of the bar, it seems like the perfect time for them to get out of here without too many questions. She smiles at Zale, picks up her beer, and chugs it in one drink before he has time to say anything. She barely tastes just how warm it is, and that's fortunate for her.

"Let's get out of here," she says with zero authority or confidence, his smile restores some of her lost hope. He looks down at his beer and decides better than wasting time drinking it. He lays a twenty on the counter, much more than the wrinkled bartender deserves. She hustles towards them.

"Sorry to hear about your cousin hun," the bartender says as she collects the money. "Need change?" she asks Zale.

"No, you're good," he says with a smile and stands up from his chair. He stretches for far longer than necessary, thrusting his hips out with his hands on his back.

"My cousin?" Azelia asks the bartender.

"Shame he died, specially in a murder like that. My cousin was murdered out in Missouri last March," she says while shaking her head.

"Real shame," she adds looking apologetically at Azelia.

"Yeah, we were just talking about how sad it is," Zale says lifting his eyebrows at her, seeing the clear confusion on her face.

"Oh, yeah... real shame. Thanks, uh, for saying something," she says, Zale grabs her by the arm and walks them out of the claustrophobic bowling alley before she can stumble further. She can almost feel the jaundiced eyes of the old bartender stare at her the whole time they're leaving.

The night air feels good on her damp features, sadly the sounds of the city aren't much more soothing than the bowling alley. They stand in front of her beat up car in silence after the short walk. She can tell by his pained expression that he wants to say something, she doesn't let him and starts first. The cold metal of her pistol is sickening.

"I've gotta tell you something..." she starts, he cuts her off quickly.

"You've got nothing to explain. I understand things happen in self-defense. Not saying you did... but, if you did, I don't care," he says and fidgets under her gaze for a second before continuing. "I've got plenty of demons, probably worse than yours. Let's just drop our pasts and move on."

He pauses for a response, she offers none but stares at him bamboozled. She holds back tears of relief, for the first time in weeks an ounce of happiness sneaks into her. He stands silently for a few minutes before filling the gap of noise.

"That being said, it probably wouldn't hurt if you laid low for a while. I... well, I had an idea. And, well, this may be too much to ask, so don't feel bad if you wanna say no. So I... um. Well, I was wondering, if maybe, you'd want to run away with me, you know let things calm down for a while. Now, before you say anything, let me explain. I just think you could use some help right now and... I mean, I'd love to help. And if you want to go somewhere else I'll understand, but for your safety, the more secluded the better," he says and tries to start in with another explanation but before he can voice the first word of it Azelia pulls herself close against him and kisses him. Tears stream down her face in relief. They kiss for what seems an eternity. She wants to stay in this moment of heaven forever, she feels so secure in his arms she almost forgets about her situation. The parking lot and the city disappear into nothingness.

"Get a room!" a college kid with more popped collars than a whole frat house combined yells. Zale flicks him off but doesn't let her go. The kid yells something incomprehensible back but leaves them alone. She never wants the embrace to end. It does and she's left facing the world with at least one less problem.

"Let's meet tomorrow morning after I get my check. Couldn't hurt to have some cash," she says, he nods in agreement.

__________

Jade pulls an apple out of her bag and idly chews through its crisp skin. Summer is finally coming to an end and the cool night breeze rewards her for making it through the hottest one on record. Her plans need to be accelerated, she promptly decided after watching them at the bowling alley. The way that girl was hanging on him may falter his obedience.

Only one thing can be done, his little girlfriend must be taken care of right away. She might prove to be a real problem if she isn't disposed of soon. The recklessness with which she carries that little gun around has Jade a little nervous. The most sane option would be to chase her down tonight and nip the problem in the bud for good. But then she has a better idea. If she can convince Zale to kill her it will be all the sweeter, it's a way to prove his true loyalty. She's sometimes surprised by her own disturbing ideas. She feels in full control of him, but a final test couldn't hurt.

She tosses the core of the apple aside and lets the slight breeze blow over her for some time before deciding it's time to go get some rest. Goose bumps populate her skin when she thinks about what is coming. Getting Zale to kill that little hussy will be the highlight of her murderous adventures.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Insanity

Zale's thin fingers glide greasily through his curly hair in an ill attempt to calm his nerves. He knows spending the night at Jade's complex would force him into an awkward power struggle where he would have no choice but to succumb to her wishes. Leaving town tomorrow without seeing her would be nothing short of a miracle. He wants to live comfortably for a change, this lifestyle is starting to weigh on him. His car floats into a gas station on the way home. He feels lucky beyond belief to find the restroom unlocked and outside. The mineral rich water scrapes harshly against his knuckles and forehead, he uses the pain to think. He pauses for a moment, staring himself down in the mirror, his eyes have aged terribly since moving here. Nearly every second of tonight took him by surprise. Azelia's ideals lined up near perfectly with his and to his surprise Jade hadn't contacted him at all. He was inches from telling her about Jade tonight, he can't believe he was almost that stupid.

Thinking about her slams an idea into his head, Jade would never expect him to stay at the site where Azelia killed Clint. He's more than sure there will be a few spots open, and more importantly, he can snoop around and see if the cops found out anything yet. The thousandth moment of doubt creeps into his thoughts, is Azelia serious about running away with him? Or has he served his purpose and now she's just trying to get rid of him? One way or the other, he'll know tomorrow. Another thought pops up, it's a terrifying one, nagging incessantly, will Jade hunt him down to the ends of the earth? He weighs the merit of telling her the truth about leaving, it doesn't take him long to realize the dreadfulness of the idea. Running as fast as possible from the evil, without looking back, seems the best option. He leaves the restroom with a clean body but a tainted mind. He peels out on his way to the campsite.

He arrives shortly. No attendant sits in the green booth instead a sign reads: "Pay in the morning if you arrive after eight p.m." He rumbles slowly through the winding roads leading to the tent sites. His choice of campsites is a wide open lot far from the road. He parks his car and climbs into the back of his cavernous vehicle. The farthest thing from his mind is sleep, but he knows he needs the energy if he's going to take flight tomorrow.

As he lays in his makeshift bed in the back of his wagon he lets his thoughts drift back to Azelia. As usual they disobey and sadly return to Jade. No matter how hard he tries he can't find the willpower to say no to her insane requests. He prays when the moment comes he can make the right choice, when it really matters. After hours of staring at the ceiling his eyes finally obey him and close, letting the darkness overtake his brain...

The hero picks himself off the floor of the dusty building, the weak wood creaks and groans against his power. The ancient wood smells of oak. He tries to dust himself off, it's a pointless venture in such a place, even the air is covered in years of unabated dust. The sun blasts its setting rays through the decrepit windows of the small one-story house. He can't remember why he was lying on such a dirty floor, the only thing he does know is that he needs to get out of here as soon as possible. He puts his ten gallon hat back on and turns for the door. An apparition materializes from the shadows and stops him dead in his tracks. The creature is some dark shadowy form of himself. He stands stunned, staring into his own reflective eyes, the clothes and hat are a perfect match.

"Who the hell are you?" he asks.

"Don't I look familiar?" the mirror image asks.

"This can't be real," the hero says.

"Why not? Why's it so hard to believe we're one in the same? Friend," the mirror image responds, taking a menacing step forward.

"You're not real, this is just a dream."

"What makes you more real than me?"

"I must be losing my mind..." the hero stumbles.

"I think you lost your mind long ago ranger. I'm just a manifestation of your madness," the image says with a smoke filled laugh. Without warning the mirror image's hand spans for its revolver. The hero's reactions kick in so fast he doesn't even register the shot he fires. The image falls to the ground, his fingertips on his gun, no blood comes from the wound, only thick smoke. The image laughs hardily from its compromising position, the laugh brings up all the more smoke.

"If only... if you could've realized what's going on, you might've had a chance," the mirror image expels through hacking coughs. He smiles as our hero kneels down next to him.

"If I was the worst of your problems, you'd have had too easy a life," he adds before pulling the hero close, his breath smells so strongly of smoke it hurts his eyes. After a short coughing fit passes it continues. "Just remember... if I go, so do you."

"You ain't' real, what difference does it make what happens to you?" the hero says.

"How you know you ain't just a figment of my imagination, not the other way round?" the image warns and laughs a deep throaty laugh. The hero tries to reel away but it pulls him even closer. Without warning another shot rings out followed by blood, and plenty of it. The hero's blood spills into his dense duster coat. The image disappears and he's left alone in the room, holding a hot gun to his own stomach. He tries to slow the blood with his hands but quickly realizes it's a vain attempt. The pain forces him into an instant numbness. The lowering sun brings a smile to his cracked lips, at least his end will be in the sight of something beautiful. His blood makes a small warm pool underneath him, keeping him comfortable against the growing cold. He doesn't feel like thinking about what the image said to him. He just wants to die in peace, and what a way to go, surviving everything but himself.

__________

The airport security had kicked him out hours ago. They cited some idiotic rule, saying he can't put a loaded and registered gun in his checked baggage. John ignored the minor setback and started driving, at least twenty hours have fallen since he started. He knows that little witch did this to his son, she just couldn't stand him coming back home and leaving her in ruin. She stole him away once, and now, she's taken him away for good. He can almost taste the revenge on his pockmarked tongue. He took his 1978 Corvette out of storage for this trip; if he's going to kill someone, he better do it in style. The only luggage littering the pristine interior is one small duffel bag. Getting kicked off the plane was a blessing in disguise, four more pistols and a multitude of homemade torture devices populate the bag.

He isn't sure just how much she made Clint suffer, so to be safe, he brought along a few tools. He's more than certain he can use them all well enough to make her end a miserable one. The night is unseasonably cool but the wind feels great on his face and it reminds him of when he, Clint, and his late wife would go on road trips. They used to go anywhere and everywhere on a whim's notice. He misses those days more than he can express, they were about as wonderful and simple as possible in this complicated world of hate. He swerves past a car in the left lane only going fifteen miles above the speed limit. The speed raises his spirits, he knows it's bringing him closer to his one and only goal...kill the bitch.

___________

A loud bang awakens Zale from sleep. He checks his stomach for a gaping gun wound, it all seems intact. A fist beats on his window, rhythmically destroying his sanity; he hopes the fragile window doesn't break against the battery. He covered up his windows last night out of habit. As quietly as possible he pulls aside the sheet closest to him. His heart sinks faster than a rock in still water; Jade's face is staring in at him. He hoped it was anyone else, even the cops coming to question him, anyone but her. Her appearance drops his chances of leaving to basically zero. Her presence can mean only one thing. He starts to sweat profusely, after only a couple of seconds of perspiration he's drenched. He wonders if he can just drive away and leave her here. He knows that won't really change anything, if she can find him here she could find him anywhere. He resigns himself to his fate and slowly gets out of his car. Maybe, just maybe he can convince her to let him leave, he truly doubts that outcome.

"You and your little girlfriend looked awfully comfortable last night," she says before he's out of the car. He freezes, unsure how to respond. "You looked so close, you convinced me to give you another task," she adds.

"Thanks... I guess," he says and notices just how diminished her angelic glow has become. Her ugliness is all too apparent without that beautiful glow. Why did he get Azelia wrapped up in this mess? Merely having Jade aware of your presence is a death sentence.

"How long have you been following me?" he asks more forcefully than he's ever asked her anything.

"Ooh, someone's getting feisty. If I'd known you would've been this grumpy I woulda' just killed you instead of waking you up," she says flashing him her gun.

"You're right... I'm sorry," he utters, his worst fear is manifesting itself.

"Aren't you going to ask what I want you to do?"

"Of course, what great task have you come up with for me?" he asks. His hands fidget involuntarily and his eyes cast themselves to the ground when confronted with her harsh gaze.

"I want you to kill your new girlfriend. What's her name again?" she asks with a widening smile. Zale's head snaps up and he blinks his eyes at her, his jaw reaching for the floor.

__________

The look of disbelief on his face gives no small amount of joy to Jade. She has him one way or the other now. Can he really say no? If he does, she can kill him on the spot. His feet and mouth are frozen; his hands continue their incessant fidgeting. The slight breeze leftover from the night helps break the awkward silence as the large trees whistle gently. Again she smiles and reaches her hand out to him.

"Come with me, we're each other's destinies now. Finally we can be one vessel, stronger than ever before. We've been struggling for power for far too long. There's no point in fighting it anymore," she says, grabbing his hand. He still hasn't moved but doesn't resist either. She continues, "Take the gun and finish things for good. It can all be over, just let me take control. It'll be so easy for you. We'll be together in harmony forever."

"Maybe you're right, I think I finally understand," he says and walks with her to her car. Her smile is now bigger than seems humanly possible, all her teeth gleam white and the corners of her lips touch the corners of her eyes. She pulls the keys from the small yet fashionable purse she carries and opens her car. Her car is so much newer than his it looks to be something from the far future instead of this year's model. She sits him down in the passenger seat and pats his head like you would to a small child.

"I'm even going to give you the weapon to use, I wouldn't want your gun to be tainted with such bad memories. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Redemption and paradise await that one small pull," she says and opens her glove box. The large pistol inside looks more like an assault rifle than a side arm.

"You want me to use that?" he squeaks.

"Of course, what's wrong with it?" she asks, using her other hand to hold tight to her pistol.

"Nothing, nothing at all. It's perfect," he says taking it from her just like a baby takes a bottle. Her manic smile returns at his acceptance. Without warning the cannon goes off, exploding through her stomach, she's blown back through the open door by the power of the weapon. The purse holding her gun goes flying off in the opposite direction. Blood pools so fast underneath her she can only guess at the size of the exit wound, maybe the size of a basketball?

The only thought populating her failing brain is revenge, she must get her gun. How could this have happened? As she painfully crawls through the dirt Zale kicks her purse away, taking no risks.

"How could you do this? You're only a figment of my imagination. I control you, I own you," she says, each word brings up more metallic tasting blood into her mouth. The taste of metal is so overwhelming she would be throwing up if she had a stomach left to do it with. Zale stares her down, his eyes betray the fact that he's finally realizing the truth.

"I invented you. You're nothing without me. I needed another side to survive... How could you turn on me?" she asks before deciding to not to talk anymore. She plans to let the reaper take her peacefully, he doesn't let that happen.

__________

He grabs her by her shirt and yanks her face close to his. "You invented me? You're nothing but a figment of my mind, I'm the one who's in control!" he yells at her. Instead of blood spilling out of her giant wound smoke billows in its place. She laughs at him and hacks up even more smoke.

"You think...You're in control? We would've died long ago. It was me, it was all me," she struggles.

"All you did was kill people. I would've never done those awful things," he cries, slapping himself in the face. He waits a few seconds for the world to shift and his reality to change but nothing happens. He's still just sitting there holding a dying woman.

"If you're the one in control, then you killed them, not me," she laughs.

"No... no," he whimpers

"We killed dozens upon dozens."

"Shut up!"

"Yes Sir!" she mocks.

"Please... please, just tell me the truth," he demands through gritted teeth.

"You can believe whatever you want. Obviously, you're more real than me. I'm dying and yet here you stand, my killer in shining armor," she says and laughs again hacking up more smoke. The noise of people yelling in the distance is slowly growing closer. He can't think of anything else to say, he must make his own truth from the situation. Long before his mind is made up to get moving she's cold and dead in his hands. The cold snaps him into reality and he pushes her onto the ground and hurries to his car. He remembers her purse with the gun and grabs it before jumping into his car. He slams the accelerator harder than his car can take and the wheels spin out, sending gravel flying in every direction.

His mind is a blur of thoughts as the beautiful scenery of the campsite flies by him. He only slows down slightly when he passes the row of police cars sitting near the entrance. Luckily his site was far enough away from the blockade that they most likely didn't hear the gunshot. Once he's out on the main road he jams the gas pedal once again and tries to make sense of the morning. He had done what was necessary. He killed Jade so he could escape this awful place. How could he not see her for what she was earlier? Why was he so blind? Was she a part of him or some odd alien sent to destroy his true self? He shakes his head and tries not to think about the possibilities. Either way, he's done frightening things and has no choice but to run. He picks up his phone to call Azelia. He did what he had to and that is all that matters.

__________

The vibrating phone against Azelia's leg makes her jump. She's been on edge all morning, every time she turns a corner she imagines a police barricade waiting for her. She tentatively peeks at the calling number; it could always be a nosy detective. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees it's just Zale.

"Hey, what's up?" she asks, while jaunting from work to her car as fast as she can without breaking into a full run.

"Ready to go, what about you?" he spurts.

"Yeah, just got my check. Did you take care of what you needed?" she asks as she reaches her car.

"Sort of, I'll tell you about it later. But I really think we should leave as soon as we can."

"Cool, where you wanna' meet?"

"Let's go to the pizza shop. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he says and hangs up the phone. She's only a few minutes from there and her stomach forces her to use the spare time to grab a fast food breakfast.

She orders a massive breakfast and nearly polishes it off in the early morning heat by the time she arrives at the designated parking lot. Paranoia wouldn't begin to describe her fears this morning, and she swears the car sitting in the lot opposite her has been following her for the past hour. The car is rare yet unbelievably familiar to her, Clint's dad had one just like it. Everything about it screams danger, despite the worry she tries to convince herself it's merely coincidence. She eyes her car clock, hoping Zale will arrive on time and goes back to finishing her meal. She keeps a wandering eye on the car the whole time.

She rubs her stomach, more than content, and checks the clock again after the meal is fully demolished; he's late. The trash occupying her passenger side plagues her thoughts and she bends down to clean it. Millions of tiny pieces of glass rain down on her bent head. A giant meaty hand blasts through the weak window and reaches down, yanking her entire body up by the hair.

"I know what you did to Clint!" a gruff voice yells into her face, an abundance of hot spit splatters against her red cheeks.

"What're you talking about!" she yells, trying to thrash away from the hand. The man's grip is far too powerful for her to escape.

"Look me in the eye and say that! You killed him!" he yells at her. She turns her eyes up to her assailant and nearly faints.

"John?" she utters in disbelief. "How... how did you find me?" she says momentarily stopping her struggle.

"You think it was hard? You still worked at the same shitty place as when you first came here and you're driving the same car. Not to mention your ratty hair cut hasn't changed," he seethes and drags her out of the car, raking her over the jagged remains of her window. Blood instantly becomes an integral part of the disturbing scene. She tries with all her remaining strength to resist him, he's so much stronger than her she puts up less of a fight than a sack of grain. He's laughs with a childish glee every inch he manages to drag her closer to his car.

__________

John's revenge is so close he can nearly grasp its ghastly tendrils of hope. He drags Azelia's kicking form across the rough pavement, trying his damnedest to make every inch they travel hurt.

"Just you wait girly, just you wait," he says before singing in a doo-wop style, "Just you wait, I'm gonna rip, I'm gonna tear, I'm go..." his song is cut short. His giant frame is slammed to the ground so hard a couple of his rotting teeth make a run for it down the street and he loses his grip on her. She spins away from him and runs. The amount of blood spilling into his mouth doesn't seem to be at all coming from Azelia like it should. He tries to prop himself up with his left arm but only succeeds in smashing his bruised face back onto the street.

He looks quizzically at his useless arm and realizes half of his shoulder seems to have run away with his missing teeth. He tries to grab the object of his vengeance through the pool of his own blood but she's too far away. She is running, running to another man. Through the slow reddening of his eyes he sees the puny man grab her up in his arms. How could she do this to Clint? Go from such a truly great man to such a disgusting worm. Then it all makes sense, she didn't have the guts to kill, she must have gotten this little lackey to do it for her. He vows to not only to kill her, but him as well now. He tries to save the image of the two in his mind but something keeps pulling him away from his thoughts. The sounds of the busy world slowly fade away and he lets his thoughts drift to Clint as the blackness slowly overcomes him.

_________

"Do I need to take you to the hospital?" Zale asks the bleeding Azelia, resting in the seat next to him. Luckily she's wearing jeans and two t-shirts so the glass was stopped from lacerating her completely. He feels inconsiderate for thinking it but he wishes he would have put down a towel for her; he hates to see his precious car being stained.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, besides I'm not hurt too bad."

"You sure?"

"Looks worse than it feels. I might wanna clean myself up in a little, you mind?"

"Of course not. You want me to stop here?" he questions, rubbing her leg while trying to avoid hurting her or cutting himself on the glass stuck in her pants.

"It can wait. Did you kill him?" she asks. She leans her pounding head back and closes her eyes.

"I hope so. Who was that?"

"Clint's dad," she answers and slowly nods into sleep. Zale shrugs, nothing seems to faze him any longer. He drives with joy in his heart out of the city that has caused him and Azelia so much trouble. He looks at her sleeping form, he knows she is his salvation. The silent ride gives him plenty time to think back on the past six months, the more he thinks about what's transpired the more he realizes he is crazy. The thought only makes him smile.

Epilogue

The dust blowing across Zale's porch, brought by the warm desert wind, only brings thoughts of peace and tranquility. He rocks with Azelia nestled against him in the swinging chair hung on their small yet immaculate front porch. The house they've been staying in the last year is a true heaven, nothing but them and the desert. The old Victorian house would be considered small by most, but it's more than big enough for the two of them.

Zale rubs her pregnant stomach with glee. He never thought in a million years that he would be a father, but now that the idea has presented itself, he couldn't be happier.

"Want another lemonade?" she asks.

"Sure," he answers smiling up at her. Azelia nods and disappears inside. He looks around and has only one thought:

"Paradise."

__________

The groaning floor reminds her for the thousandth time that her newfound life is a swinging pendulum from utter joy to destitution and paranoia. Lemonade splashes over the barely full glass as she sets it down painfully on the counter. She tries to quell her shaking hand to no avail, the baby kicking in her stomach forces her into a form of docile submission. She takes a deep breath and refills Zale's glass with the blistering cold liquid from the refrigerator. The sickly blue of the walls is but an extension of her own depression. She uses her wobbly arms to stabilize herself. The heat is going to make her pass out any minute. She thrusts her head into the freezer. She wonders how long she can keep this act up, she uses the idea of the baby to give her the necessary resolve. She pulls a small pouch from her bra and opens it carefully.

"You get lost in there?" Zale calls from the porch. She fumbles the pouch. Her heart almost explodes through her mouth. She recompenses herself quickly and the small amounts of arsenic slip easily from the little pouch into its drink.

"Coming honey!" she calls back. Trying her best to speedily clean up the spilled lemonade and poison.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I hate when you call me that!" he yells.

"Sorry... I'm so sorry. Zale you know I only call you that because I love you," she stumbles but manages to hand him the glass with arsenic.

"That's even worse! You know my name... say it."

"Please, please... just don't hurt the baby," she whimpers.

"It's simple, just say it," Zale says

"Jade..." she whispers. He throws the drink into the sink and reaches for a knife.

"You want a lemon in yours?" he questions. His knife expertly cuts the fruit into four equal slices. She lies in a heap on the ground, unable to control herself any longer. Her sobbing forces him to turn to her. "Oh my God! What happened? Are you all right?"

"I... uh..." she stutters and tries to grasp his new personality and her shifting reality.

"Your delusions are getting worse by the day, let me go get your pills..."

