Silly things you do for love in Christmas (II)

As soon as Hellgirl had cast her spell on the shop assistant, he fell into a state of lethargy and torpor; almost in a deep sleep. She pretended to smack him in the face, but he didn't even blink.

- Good. This one is out for the count. I dated old Breuninger three centuries ago, and he was stingy and bloody tight when he opened this shop, back in 1740. No wonder he amassed this astronomic fortune over the years. Let me introduce you to Crichton, his most promising and talented pupil. –she said, pointing at the shop assistant, who stood still, his eyes rolling back into his head-.

Hellgirl started telling me off, as she had threatened to do some minutes before.

- Listen Leni, I told you a zillion times not to give your heart away like that. If I hadn't stopped you, you would have bought him the million G fountain pen and would have surely gone to jail for insolvency fraud. That sounds terrific, doesn’t it? Well… don’t overdo it! What if he gives you just a pair of socks for Christmas? -asked Hellgirl-

- He won’t do that. -I answered, very annoyed-.
- He might do that, silly. I’ve known him for more than two hundred years and he has done much worse things. You’re missing the point here, giving him everything of yourself. You’ll get hurt. I can smell it.
- And what do you care??? –I shouted, angrily-

She shook her head in disapproval.

- Some time ago I warned you not to fall in love with Ed. He's an old crock with his old funny little ways. You're too young and innocent to understand his changing moods. One day he'll tell you you're the apple of his eyes and the next day he'll rip your little heart off without even blinking. His soul is dead and numb, but yours is full of life and fire. He has a terrible past but yours is clean as a breeze.
- So what? He’s good, decent and steady. He’s clever, tender, thoughtful, has a good sense of humour and he loves me. That’s enough for me.
- It’s pretty obvious that in spite of my calls on your good sense, you’ve fallen in love with him like a fat loves cake. Don’t come back to me next month with your achy breaky heart. -she said, pointing at me with her threatening finger-

She took a short pause and continued with the sermon.

- We don't have the same taste in men, that's pretty obvious. But it's ok, Leni. Do you want to give Ed the magic fountain pen that will make his dreams come true? There you go then. It’s as easy as stealing candy from a baby. –she said, laughing loudly, showing me the fountain pen and withdrawing it immediately-. But first… for your own good: I suggest you impose one condition on him.
- What condition? -I asked very intrigued-
- Ask him to publish your books.
- I don't want to impose any condition on him. That's not fair play!
- No buts, hon. Wanna be a famous writer? Then, don't be silly: you're shagging the editor. Make the most of it and ask him to read and publish your books. Just like Misty McGuire did twenty years ago. He fucked her and she became a best seller. It was just that easy.


Misty McGuire was a sensitive point. Ed’s old lover, who still seemed to feel something for him, had become the most valuable asset of Kynkybooks, his now burnt publishing company. Hellgirl spotted the concern in my face.

- Use both your womanly wiles and your intelligence to get what you want, Leni. My august and sublime mother, Hellwoman The Great, used to say: "Keep a man satisfied, and that will be the end of your romance; keep his heart struggling and he will follow you like a lost child". That's an unquestionable truth.
- That's emotional blackmail. –I protested-
- That's the acid test, Leni. You better wise up, or you'll be a born loser in life. If you fall into his clutches, your little heart will start aching like hell and you'll feel trapped. And this will be all that's left from your honest pure love.
- Oh stop it.
- Ok, but don't say I didn't tell you.

I took the green jade fountain pen, hid it in my pocket and dashed out of the Breuninger House slamming the door and leaving behind me Hellgirl and Crichton, the catatonic shop assistant.

As I walked downstreet towards my car, I couldn’t help thinking of Hellgirl’s words. I had nothing to lose by asking Ed to publish my books. Actually, Hellgirl was right: I had a golden opportunity of becoming a published writer and there is no such thing as a second chance. So sure enough, two minutes later I was calling him.

- Hi Ed.
- Hi sweety.
- Have you already decided what you're gonna do in Christmas?
- Yes. I’m flying to Paris. I have booked the Ritz Imperial Suite. Would you like to join me?
- That would be lovely, but what would you say if I invited you to lunch on Christmas Day at my place? Just you and I.
- What about your family? Your mom and granny will hate me.
- No worries. I’ll speak to them.
- Oh no, I don't think I'd like that.
- I'll make a delicious meal.
- I don't know, Leni... I told you I don't celebrate Christmas.
- It won't be a Christmas celebration.
- We'll see.
- Please.

There was a dead silence. I heard him sigh deep.

- You won't stop insisting until I say yes, right? -he asked-
- Right.
- Ok, then. What's the point of discussing it?
- I don't want to force you.
- Oh go on then, if you twist my arm.
- No, no obligations.
- You're being quite pushy, love. But for once in a lifetime, I'll give in.
- Excellent. Come home at 1PM then.
- I'l be right there.

I smiled, happy as a lark.

The days passed excruciatingly slowly. I had a fight with my mom and granny, just as Ed anticipated. They didn't like to hear I wouldn't be having lunch with them on Christmas Day. But it passed.

On Christmas Eve I bought the best rack of lamb in the butcher's shop and roasted it.
I got my flat perfectly tidied up.
I arranged a beautiful flower centerpiece and laid a wonderful table, where I brought the food piping hot.
I wore my best dress.
I clenched my fingers around the green stolen fountain pen.
I sat on a chair and patiently waited for him to arrive.

At 1PM sharp the belldoor rang. Before I opened it, I looked at the mistletoe hanging over the front door and whispered quietly:

"Merry Christmas to you, my love. Whether you like it or not".



"Christmas Day" (Dido)

Silly things you do for love in Christmas (I)

Have you ever had to buy a gift for someone who is filthy rich, has a little bit of everything, leads a spartan life and prevents himself from indulging in every single whim that crosses his mind? I’ve been through this and believe me, it's hard work.

Except for the impressive mansion he inherited from his ancestors, his black old Bentley and a brand new iPhone, Ed could live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and be happy as a clam.

I racked my brains all day trying to think of a Christmas present for him. But the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that nothing would be good enough. And there I was: lost in Christmas shopping.

In Sandwich the offer is not always as good as it looks. You can only visit three shops and department stores where the Sandwichian natives buy almost everything: Southern Pole Cooperative –the favourite place of the working class-, Villa Fashion –a must for all Sandwichian wannabes-, and Breuninger –where the crème de la crème buy the most exclusive consumer goods in the island-.

For the sake of Christmas spirit, I decided I could very well skip over the two first visits. So I headed to Breuninger, that exclusive shop where I intended to find something unique; something a distinguished guy like him would be fascinated with. I was ready to blow my budget at his Christmas gift even if I had to have tomato soup every day for lunch during the next months.

I crossed the beautiful gates of the Breuninger House, bound and determined to find the most wonderful Christmas gift in the whole wide world. The center of the shop was covered by a beautiful multicolour crystal dome. A large Christmas tree decorated with red ribbons and lights brightened the place.

As I walked in, an attentive shop assistant greeted me.

- Can I help you, madam? -he said, overdoing his smile-.
- Yes, please. I'm looking for a Christmas present, but I haven't decided yet what to buy. -I answered-.
- May I ask if the gift adressee is a man or a woman?
- Yes, you may. It's a man.
- How old is he? ... if you allow me the question.

The question was actually hard to answer. Ed was 295 years old, but his appearance was that of a 45 year old guy.

-He's forty-five.
-Oh what a nice age. Right in the prime of life. May I ask what his profession is? -he asked smiling-

Grr... Mr. Shop Person was asking too much. Was Ed a writer? An editor? A physician? Or the three things at the same time? Whatever he was, I chosed the first option, probably influenced by my inclination to write.

-He’s a writer –I answered finally-.
-Oh, what an interesting profession. So we have a 45-year old intellectual man who writes for a living.
- Hm... yeah, more or less. –I said, reluctant to disclose more information about Ed-.
- Then I think you may like to have a look at our select showroom.

He leaded the way towards a maroon velvet curtain. He pulled it back and turned the lights on.

- Take your time and have a look. I'll be around just in case you needed something -he said-

The small room was filled with delicate treasures that shone and sparkled under the magic light of a Dutch lamp: emerald and blue sapphire tiepins; titanium cuff links; gold pocket sextants; carbon fiber Zeppetzauer letter openers; bottles of Château Lafitte-Rotschild 1978; Cuban Cohiba Behike cigars; soft leather Valextra briefcases… and a long list of expensive items that I simply could not pay.

In all honesty, I couldn't even afford to eat a cookie in that shop. I had never been in this situation before in my whole life and it was very frustrating. I desperately needed a good excuse to get rid of the shop assistant and continue my search for Ed's Christmas present somewhere else... or steal it from the shop.

- Is there anything that you'd like to see?
- Well... all this is very nice, but... I need to give it some thought.

He stared at me and I stared back at him. I bet he thought I was a potential shopping addict who just needed a little push to spend her annual income buying some of the objects in that exclusive showcase. He got closer to me, grabbed hold of my wrist, looked at both sides, as if there would be somebody looking and whispered:

- Would you like to see something really special? Something exceptional that he will never forget?

Man, of course I wanted! How could I possibly resist such a tempting offer? I nodded.

- Please, follow me to the back shop. I'm going to show you something reserved exclusively to a selected few.

I was intriggued and couldn't help accepting. He guided me through a corridor that led to a small room. There was a glass display in the middle, lit up by a strong light. Inside it, there was a small black cushion. An incredibly beautiful fountain pen made of dark green jade was resting on it.

- I know what you're asking yourself. -he said-
- Oh, really?

He lifted the glass, carefully took the pen between his thumb and index finger and started drawing random figures in the air. A rainbow emerged from the nib and a coloured steam started floating in the air, as if by magic.

- This is very nice, but for what's so special about it? -I asked-.

He took a magnifying glass with his left hand and signaled me to come closer.

- You're watching a genuine and unique Occhiobello fountain pen. It was hand made by Master Occhiobello the Old, and beautifully assembled in his atelier of Florence in 1789. The parts are perfect.

He was right. I touched it with my fingers and it was so soft. The shape was ulievably harmonic.

- In 1809, this fountain pen was bought by Aleksandr Korsakoff, the famous writer and he wrote his best novels with it. Inspiration is fully guaranteed -he winked- The peculiarity of this pen is that the owner can paint his dreams and fantasies with it. The best he draws them, the closer to reality. If the picture is failthful to the real appearance... then these dreams and fantasies come true.
- That's excellent. And how much does it cost?
- Oh a very reasonable price, considering it's a very valuable tool for a writer: Only one million G.

I nearly fell on the floor when I heard that. It was extremely expensive. And yet I wanted that fountain pen so badly. It was perfect for Ed. I scratched my chin and shook my brain expecting an idea or answer would be formed. But that could not be possible. I simply could not afford to buy the fountain pen.

Suddenly, the world stopped and a big ball of fire appeared on the showcase. Hellgirl waved hello from the inside. Mr. Shop Person looked surprised at her.

- Merry Christmas, you fucking bastard! This is to show you what happens when you swindle the decent people of Sandwich! -she shouted at him-

She snapped her fingers in his face and whispered:

- Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, look into my eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don't look around the eyes, look into my eyes. One, two three, you're under! (1)

Then she turned her angry eyes to me and shouted:

- Take the magic fountain pen now that he is hypnotized and come closer, Leni. I want to have a few words with you.




"Valentine heart" (Tanita Tikaram)

(1) Kenny Craig's popular line, in the BBC TV comedy "Little Britain"

Midday dark

I decided to leave Ed and Jimmy solve their serious problems. I couldn’t stand their deceitful methods and extreme solutions, so I washed my hands of them. I could only expect they would be able to make peace and reach a reasonable agreement without getting killed.

My way back to civilisation was harder than the speedy trip I had been forced to take to the house in the frozen fields with Jimmy Moon. His limousine travelled faster than the speed of light, but I had to go back to Sandwich by my own means.

During my return journey I crossed inhospitable lunar landscapes, iced waterfalls and deep caves. I felt very lonely on my own in that hostile territory. It was cold, dark, wet and gloomy. My adventure finished abruptly when I was suddenly swallowed by a dark whirlpool that dragged me back to my everyday normal life in Sandwich: I appeared in my bedroom, nightie on, holding a glass of water in my right hand... and ready to go to bed.

That same night during my sleep I had a terrifying vision of Jimmy Moon breaking into scene, enfolding me completely in his black cape and dark hug.

- You're a light that shines in the darkness, Leni. Like moths attracted to flame, those whose lives are lost will find hope in your passion. Don't forget. -he said, solemnly-.

Dark people never speak clearly. They use mysterious circumlocutions and roundabouts in their speech, so it's quite hard to get them sometimes. I just hoped not to find the supernatural gang queuing up at my door next morning. I had definitely had my share of weirdos.

- What about your dispute with Ed? -I asked-
- That's finally sorted out. Your man is free to go his own way. I'll go mine and we'll never meet again. -he answered-
- I'm glad you managed to reach an agreement. How come it was so easy?
- Just ask him. -he chuckled, as his rainbow eyes glowed in the dark-.

And all I can remember vaguely afterwards is seeing his impressive silhouette vanish into the night.

During the following days I tried to slowly go back to normal mode and forget about my ordeal.

Christmas was coming. The streets of Grytviken were filled with beautiful decorations, ornaments, lights and garlands. I remember enjoying Christmas big time when I was little. It basically meant holidays at school, presents and delicious food. What else could a kid want?

In Sandwich, Christmas is not just a celebration, but also the time of midday dark: a strange phenomenon integrated in celestial mechanics, that happens only in these Islands.

Midday dark may last several weeks and basically consists in total lack of difference between night and day. The sun disappears and the whole island is dragged down into the darkness. It’s terribly cold too. The poetic side of it –if there’s any- is that the black sky appears splashed with beautifully blurred reddish clouds that move adopting mysterious shapes, shining like a huge bonfire. Some scientists compare it to the northern lights but there is one singularity that distinguishes midday dark from other astronomical phenomenons: it seriously affects behaviour.

Foreigners are immune, but most natives have a hard time when it happens, and they suffer from different disorders going from painful migraines to temporary madness, causing a number of consequences in their lives. It’s a yearly national emergency that people try to bear as a lesser evil. There is no medical treatment to fight against it. They just try to put up with it and remain in standby mode until it passes. So in Sandwich it’s quite normal to ask people about their midday dark condition -just as if you were asking them about their cold-, right after wishing them a nice Christmas and a happy new year.

There is a whole mythology surrounding Sandwichian midday dark: Malicious tongues say that all kinds of dark beings wander around the woods looking for those unaware of their nearness. The unfortunate victims who are caught offguard, risk to be dragged into the forest and ruthlessly abandoned to their own devices. Once there, they will be lost for days or weeks and then found, unable to remember where they had been and what they had done. Like they had been amnesic walkabouting in their dreams.

I always thought that these stories were nothing but silly Sandwichian legends until that fatal day when I went back to Dumbass Industries, after my kidnap.

It was a genuine midday dark morning. I thought Big Cheese would ask me where I had been hiding during the six long days that I had been abducted, but this didn’t happen. Actually, that was a bit fishy. Normally, when I'm absent he doesn't stop phoning and e-mailing me until his brain realises that I'm on holidays and he should forget about me until I'm back. So I couldn’t believe he didn't miss me. I was shocked.

Then I knew that poor Big Cheese was suffering from serious sleepwalking episodes and was unable to notice half of the things going on around him. Another funny consequence of midday dark.

That afternoon I decided to go shopping for food. I had to refill the fridge. And I got this phone call from Ed.

- Hi sweety.
- Hi Ed.
- How’s your midday dark going?
- For the moment I'm fine, thanks –I answered- .
- I hope it won't change into mad day dark.
- I won't comment on this. By the way, that's a bad joke and I dislike it.

I bet he thought I was throwing a genuine seasonal Sandwichian fit, but I was just upset for the things he said to me when I thought I had killed Jimmy Moon. There was a long silence

- I didn't mean to be unkind. Are you cranky? –he asked-
- No, I’m not. But as far as I'm concerned, you've committed several acts worthy of ass-kickery very recently.

There was a longer silence.

- Leni.
- Yes.
- Let's make peace, ok? Tell me something: are you having any days off in Christmas?
- Yes, one week.
- Would you like to go somewhere with me?
- You mean going out together?

- Hm.. not only that; I was thinking about travelling to a nice place. Wouldn't you like to walk with me hand in hand in the Champs Élysées in Paris; climb to the Campanile in Siena; or maybe visit the forbidden city in Beijing... ?
- That would be lovely, Ed. But I need to be here. I always have lunch with my family on Christmas day. It's a tradition that we like to keep alive. What do you do these days?
- I do nothing. I hate Christmas. -he said very shortly-
- Why do you hate Christmas? -I asked, curious-.

He sighed, hesitating whether it was a good idea or not to tell me why.

- I stopped celebrating it when my second wife and son died.

My heart sank. I was paralized with sorrow. I racked my brain looking for some words of comfort but I didn't know exactly what to say.

- Ed. You must learn to live again.
- I'm already dead, honey.
- Please, don't say that. It was very sad, but life goes on for you too.

Suddenly, I had this great idea:

- Hey, I dare you to spend Christmas day together.
- I don't need your sympathy Leni. I'm usually on my own these days. I enjoy sometimes beng this way and I'm not in the mood for Christmas. My mind is still remembering last summer.
- Last summer finished three months ago. And it's not sympathy what I'm offering, but company.
- I don't know.
- Just think about it and let me know what you decide.
- Ok.

I felt happy. When the conversation finished, I walked into a big store and thought I would buy him a nice present, whether he wanted it or not. Not because it was Christmas but just because I needed to buy him something nice.

He had been numb with grief and dead inside for too long. I wanted to make him feel the small pleasures of life again: the smell of spring rains; the sweet taste of a kiss; the sound of a whisper; the beautiful sight of the sunrise; the touch of a loving hand.

Because in the back of my mind, I knew there was still hope for him.

"It can't rain all the time" (Jane Siberry, from the soundtrack of the film "The crow")

Forgiveness and forgetfulness

After having removed my clothes, I wrapped myself in the blanket and crouched in a fetal position for a while. Then, I washed my face, washed my hair and the rest of my body, feeling loathing and rage. But the water could not wash away my emotions. I felt rotten.

Ed was standing in the middle of the room, still clenching the dagger with both hands, staring at me, speechless.

- Why on earth have you done that? -he whined bitterly-
- What do you mean? I killed him! –I protested-
- No, you haven’t! This will put him out for the count just for a few time and then he will come back to life beside himself with fury, claiming for revenge.
- But I’ve slit his throat! Look at him, he’s dead! –I complained energetically-.
- No, he's not dead, Leni. That’s not the right way to kill him.

Jimmy was still on the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig. His thick black blood was flowing like a river from the wound in his neck. In all honesty, it was hard to imagine that in a few hours he would be alive and kicking.

It was already hard enough for me to realize that I had failed to murder him. How could I possibly know that there was a special procedure to kill that guy? That sounded quite flippant to me. Like staking a vampire’s heart, beheading him and filling his mouth with garlic; shooting at werewolves with silver bullets, or locking up Superman in Lex Luthor’s kryptonite cage. That was just fiction. Or so I thought.

When it comes to questions of belief, I must say I’m quite skeptical. As an obstinate unbeliever, my attitude towards rituals has always been hilarious. Seriously, I never felt the need to perform a set of imposed actions with a supposed symbolic value. That sounds to me almost like superstition; something hard to process by the small, but existing rationalistic part of my brain.

These thoughts brought back a fond memory: when I was 20 I had a Burdish boyfriend whose father was a freemason. You know freemasonry: the secret and esoteric fraternal organisation that arose from obscure origins in the late 16th century, organized into Grand Lodges. Masons conduct their meetings using a ritualised format, believe in a Supreme Being and their members belong to a tight hierarchy. They use signs, grips and passwords to gain admission to meetings and identify legitimate visitors.

My boyfriend used to joke about this particular thing: the grips. So if I ever asked him on a masonic meeting day how his dad was, he would always answer “Uh oh, it’s brotherhood day today”, placing the fingers in the form of a cat's paw, performing one of the most famous masonic handshakes, called "Lion's Paw”.

So, just as the freemasons needed their rituals to socialize and fraternize, Jimmy Moon also required specific etiquette to be killed.

Ed looked terribly disappointed about the results of my unexpected move to slit Jimmy’s throat. He strongly rejected my help. He lost it and ran around the room screaming, tearing out his hair and grinding his teeth, almost in tears.

- Don’t tell me I need to give three sommersaults in the air and then clap my hands twice looking north before I shoot at him a 24 carat gold bullet exactly one inch and a half above the eyebrows and then sing the hymn of the seventh galaxy to make sure he is dead and not just dazed. Come on! –I said, with great skepticism-.
- Leni, I’m not kidding. There is only one way to kill Jimmy Moon: We have to fight till death. Nobody else can kill him but me.
- Can’t you ask Hellgirl for help? -yes, silly question, but I had to ask-.

Ed stared at me, smiled sadly and said:

- Do you think Hellgirl is the solution to all our problems? I’m already paying a high price to her for past my arrogance and ambition. I could call Hellgirl; James Bond; the SWAT Squadron; Harry Potter; the Incredible Hulk or the X-men. It would make no difference at all: I have to face this by myself.
- Call somebody from the underworld, then.
- The laws of the underworld must be observed and its inhabitants must not be bothered unnecessarily. As I said before, I have to kill Jimmy; the sooner the better. Now get dressed, honey. I need to wait here until he wakes up and continue the fight. This may happen at any moment.

I put my peasant girl’s clothes on again. Jimmy Moon was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, apparently dead.

Ed sighed deep. We waited quietly in the house for two hours until we saw Jimmy roll over onto his back and open his eyes. He was still stunned. He slowly touched his wound with his fingertips and had a thorough look at them, all soaked in his sticky black blood. Then he stared at me accusingly and I trembled, expecting his wrathful revenge immediately. He quickly stood up, miraculously recovered after I had almost cut his throat from ear to ear. His black cloak waved continuously, fluidly, with every move he made.

He jumped beside me and held my right arm in a strong grip. I screamed in terror. Ed pulled firmly my left arm and shouted:

- Don't you dare touch her. Let her go and take me.
- That would be way too easy. You must accept your fate. If I kill you, you’re dead. If I keep her with me, it will be worse than death. You don’t deserve any less.-said Jimmy-
- Shut up and fight. –threatened Ed, pulling out his dagger from his thigh sheath-.
- Say goodbye to your gal before you die –said Jimmy, literally throwing me into Ed’s arms-.

Ed held me tenderly and whispered into my ear:

- You’re so lively and full of life, Leni. I love you more than you’ll ever know. But I’m destroying your life. And I’ve just dragged you into this dark world of death and sorrows, where three hundred year old men can’t help stopping the most unsolvable disputes but in a fight till death. I hope you will forgive me for that.
- There’s nothing to forgive, Ed. And you haven’t destroyed my life. Now fight and then come back to me. I love you too. Never forget that.

We kissed long. It tasted of a last kiss, soft as the touch of a feather on the lips. We kissed deep and tender for a few seconds of eternity. I couldn’t stand that painful sting of sadness and cried quietly. He kissed my forehead and told me to stay as far as I could from them.

- It’s fighting time, bloke. –said Jimmy to Ed, with his dagger raised, staring him in the eyes-

Dagger fighting is swift and vicious. The gypsy tradition calls for the two fighters to be tied together at the wrist during a knife fight until they end up cutting off the arm that is tied to theirs. But Ed and Jimmy were fighting a duel to the death.

The sound of metallic clanging impacts of blades clashing and their fast breathing filled the room. I closely followed every single movement they made with anxious eyes. Both acted and reacted fast, knowing the first good strike would kill or disable the other. Both could inflict a killing wound. But mutual killing was not the desired result of the fight,

Options for defence were limited. Everything happened in fractions of seconds. Ed tried to confuse Jimmy feinting cleverly three or four times real fast. Jimmy stepped back quickly; he slipped; stumbled; his dagger dropped down to the floor and he fell onto his back.

Ed sat on Jimmy’s chest, raising his dagger to stab it into his heart. For a split second, Jimmy’s eyes stared into my eyes and I spotted the most horrible fear: Fear of cruelty. Fear of pain. Fear of death.

Ed pulled a face at him. His expression was cruel and merciless. If we could only forget a past that cannot be changed. But the wrong sticks in our memory like a needle.

Jimmy continued to gaze into my eyes with his piercing look and I was overcome by his panic. I stepped in and stopped the fight seizing Ed’s arm.

- Please, don’t kill him. -I said with a low voice-.

Ed stared at me with puzzlement.

- What? Are you crazy or something? –he asked-
- No. Let him live, Ed. Forgiveness will be your part of the deal. You will let go off the need for revenge and your negative thoughts of bitterness and resentment –I answered- . And forgetfulness will be your part, Jimmy. What you did was a disgusting abuse of power. Enough is enough. It should sound fair to you.

Jimmy sighed deeply, relieved but confused. I had just taken a major load off his mind; nevertheless, he didn't feel completely safe. Ed lowered his arms and put the dagger back into the sheath. He looked at me with puzzlement.

- Who do you think you are, honey? Devil’s advocate? I'm a big boy now and I can solve my problems without your help! –said Ed, very angry-
- Killing other people? Is this the way you solve your problems?
- He started! –shouted Ed, pointing at Jimmy-.
- No. You started it accepting the deal! Be positive and stop acting like a kid!

And this was all the thanks I got.

I got out of the house slamming the door and walked back to civilization, leaving them behind.

"Angel (lust)" Joe Jackson.