It started when he was fourteen years old. He had just recently moved into the small town of Laplace, Louisiana. His parents had been kind enough back in Georgia to ask him if he wanted to move to New Orleans. Since he was never in the same school for more than two years at a time due to his father always finding new and better jobs, he had answered with an emphatic “no.” The next morning, a yellow Ryder truck was parked outside of his house already being loaded.

Since his move to Laplace, not New Orleans, Matthew hadn’t made many friends. He was a shy person. Instead, he would walk through the woods next to his parents’ house and right across the four-lane was Wal-Mart. He’d walk in and start looking around the place. He loved to look at the board games even though his parents never played them with him. His other reason for going was to look at girls. He had just reached puberty, and his hormones were kicking in.

One day Matthew was over in the men’s department standing by a display of belts. He was looking towards them, but actually his eyes were focused across the aisle at a cute brunette about his age. He watched her for a little while, then started making his way to the board games.

As he turned corners through the aisles looking at items that caught his attention along the way, he noticed that the same two people kept showing up on the aisles with him. This went on for half an hour. He realized he was being followed. He decided to try and lose them but every time he turned the corner, there they were, acting like shoppers.

He had enough, so he headed to the front of the store and right out the front door. He still had that odd feeling of being watched, so he turned around. Standing behind him were the man and woman who had been following him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

The man said, “We don’t want anything from you. We were just told to watch you and make sure you didn’t steal anything.”

Matthew couldn’t believe what he just heard. Never in his life had Matthew even thought about stealing. He had been mostly a happy child and although his parents caused him some grief, they did manage to raise him to know right from wrong.

“Why? I’ve been coming here for a long time and no one has ever followed me before.”

The woman said, “Because you were standing by the belt rack for a long time and fidgeting.”

Girls are always the problem. Aren’t they?

Matthew smiled at that thought as his eyes counted the cops outside. Over twenty so far.

New technology has made my job easier and harder at the same time. I love my keypad breaker, but I hate backup alarm systems.

After the incident at Wal-Mart, Matthew felt betrayed. He liked the store. It was his haven from boredom. But now it was stalking him because he stood by some belts too long while looking at a girl.

I wonder how many things were stolen from their store while they were busy watching me. If they want to accuse me of something, I guess it’s time to give them a reason.

Matthew decided that Wal-Mart and any other big chain needed a good thief to keep them on their toes. He went home and started working on his first plan. He needed a new sound card for his computer at home and decided the Laplace Wal-Mart would be the generous donor of that card.

Matthew saved a large bag and a receipt from the last time he and his mother had gone shopping for clothes. He had asked her to buy him a pair of pocketed pants. They were khaki colored, but had pockets near the knees like military fatigues. They were baggy which made the pockets look empty even when they weren’t. He rolled up the bag and put it in one of his special pockets. He then put the saved receipt in his front right pocket and made his way to Wal-Mart.

When he got there, he headed straight into the electronics department. He looked around until he found the perfect sound card for his computer. Matthew then watched the employees and determined when they wouldn’t be watching the aisles that led from the area. In Wal-Mart, you couldn’t leave the electronics department with an item from it unless the employees didn’t see you. When their attention was diverted to other customers, Matthew walked out of the department with the big box under his arms. Computer parts were always in big boxes even when the item was small. It was a theft deterrent.

He walked normally over to the furniture department where the black-bubble cameras wouldn’t be watching. He knew this because of all the time he spent in the store. He looked both ways down the aisle, and when all was clear, he removed the bag from his pocket, opened it, and quickly slid the big box inside. He then rolled the top of the bag like the cashiers always did. He pulled the receipt out of his front right pocket and folded it in half across the middle of the roll. Holding it just right, the receipt looked stapled to the large plastic bag.

He knew quite a few workers at the store, especially in the automotive department. He had often taken his purchases to them because their exit door was closer to his house than the others. Matthew walked up to the counter in the automotive department.

“Hi, Brian,” he said.

“Oh. Hi, Matthew. Browsing again today?”

“Nope,” Matthew lifted the bag higher so Brian could see it over the counter. “I finally saved enough for that new sound card I told you about.”

“Very cool,” Brian said.

“Can you hit the switch for me? I gotta get home for dinner.”

“Sure.”

An audible click was heard as the door was unlocked for Matthew. He calmly walked outside and made his way home with a three hundred dollar sound card.

I still can’t believe my first theft was a felony. I didn’t start with petty crimes like the others. Matthew counted seventeen more cops outside of the bank. That made twenty-eight. Matthew smiled at how popular he’d suddenly become.

My first mistake. I may need to retire . Matthew shook his head at the thought. Nah. I’m too young to retire.

Matthew was sixteen. He had five pairs of the pocketed pants in his arsenal. Each one was a different color. He treated them like a mood ring. The black ones were reserved for those times when he heard big business had cheated someone he knew.

The large pockets had transported hundreds of computer and video games, videotapes, calculators, and other items from the stores to his home. He gave away most of the items to his friends or sometimes to people he didn’t know. If he would have kept them, his parents would have known something was going on. The grocery store he worked at didn’t pay him that well.

It was getting tougher to open the packages unseen. Computer games always came in boxes too big for the discs inside. He came up with an idea. He would buy security boxes. They were the ones that would normally be used for filing and locking up important papers. They had cardboard sleeves that served as their only packaging. He’d slide the sleeves off the boxes, open them, and then place two computer games inside. The games never added much weight to the security boxes, so the cashiers never wondered if they had anything inside of them.

He would purchase the security box after he replaced the cardboard sleeve. The box cost fifteen dollars. The games cost a hundred. Eighty-five dollars was a good price cut. Much better than the yellow happy face did during Wal-Mart television commercials.

It was always about picking the right cashier. You either had to pick one who’d smile when you smiled or one who was dumb as a brick. That last thought brought his attention back to the cops. He took off his pocketed vest and his black long-sleeved shirt. He pulled his favorite t-shirt out of his backpack and put it on. The front of it had “people are stupid” written in binary code. It was a geek shirt, but he liked the dirty-little-secret feel of it.

Sometimes Matthew didn’t need a tool like his pockets or his sleight-of-hand techniques. He was twenty-one by the time he realized attitude played a major role in theft. He had been using it for years, just never realized it.

Matthew became more daring after his realization. One day he walked into the store wearing regular pants, grabbed a shopping cart, and headed for the televisions after he had the lady at the door put one of those little yellow stickers on a toy he had purchased an hour before. They put those on items to prove you own them so the customer service people will refund your money or exchange the item. That sticker was insurance. He had never stolen something so big before. He wanted to prove to himself that he could, but he still didn’t want to get caught.

One of his friends had a television that showed only green colors. Matthew felt he deserved a replacement. He also felt Wal-Mart could provide that replacement. He looked around until he found the perfect television.

“I think this one has the clearest picture,” he said.

“I agree,” said the employee who helped him put the large box in his cart. It sat slanted since the box was too big for the cart.

“Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Matthew walked towards the front of the store. He placed the little yellow sticker on the television box where it was visible from the front. The toy was sitting on a shelf in the sporting goods department. It was a small price to pay.

When he made it to the front of the store, he walked towards the door he had not entered from. He smiled at the lady at the door. She smiled back and nodded. She never even looked at the sticker. He continued to his car, opened the back door, and shoved the television in. He had a delivery to make.

If you walk out with something like you own it, then people believe you do. One of the cops was pulling out a bullhorn from his patrol car.

Matthew was twenty-five when Wal-Mart finally got smart. They installed detectors at their doors. Little metallic stickers were put inside of merchandise. If those stickers were not run over a device next to the scanners, then a little alarm would sound when you walked through the detectors.

Matthew thought about the situation. He knew he couldn’t steal televisions anymore, but he still wanted some of the newer computer games. He had money. Ebay had come in handy for selling the items he had stolen over the years. But he loved the thrill of stealing. He figured the challenge was to get the items he wanted to be passed over the device that would stop the alarm from going off. He had been used to making small sacrifices. This would require another.

He looked at low cost items and finally found exactly what he was looking for. There was a magazine that was described as “computer game” when scanned at the price check machines. He made a note of the bar code at the bottom of the magazine and then went home.

Matthew searched the internet for a program that could create bar codes. He then made a bar code image that matched the magazine. He printed out a few hundred of these on address stickers and then cut them to size. He placed a few in his pocket and headed back to the store.

There was a new computer game at the store he really wanted to try. He picked it up, and as he walked around the store, he secretly put one of his stickers over the bar code on the box of the computer game. He watched the cashiers for a moment until he found one he knew would most likely be computer illiterate. She scanned the box, passed it over the security device, and placed it in a bag.

“Your total is five dollars and sixty-three cents.”

He handed her the money, smiled, and walked out of the store. No alarms went off.

No matter the situation, when the store is open, it’s always about the people who are employed there. I wouldn’t have gotten away with all those thefts if it wasn’t for picking the right people to dupe. But people are too easy. Matthew Corsair smiled at that thought as he watched the cops move around into better positions. A few had disappeared behind the bank. He figured it wouldn’t be too long before they tried the back door.

At the age of twenty-six, Matthew got bored with tricking people. He got bored with department stores. He had made a lot of money off of them, but the thrill was gone. Every job was too easy. The more people relied on technology to do their security for them, the easier it became to trick them into letting it do the work for them.

Banks had more money than department stores. Actually, banks had the department stores’ money. The challenge of a bank when it was closed appealed to him. He wouldn’t have his greatest tool to rely on: people. Machines were tougher. Machines couldn’t be tricked. Sure he had done the bar code scam, but it wasn’t the machine he had beaten. It was the cashier. Cashiers were people.

Matthew prepared for his first bank job. He surveyed the local bank until he knew where every security camera was. He watched the police patrol the area at night. After three months, he came up with a plan, but he needed supplies. Stores were easy.

A week later, Matthew had all the tools he thought were necessary. He had even custom built a keypad breaker. It was a device that would help him figure out codes for the keypads throughout the building. When the keypad had its face removed, the device could be attached and would simulate typing in codes until it found the right ones. The simulation was the important part. He was most proud of that aspect of his device. If the keypad got a wrong code, bad things could happen, but his device tapped into the testing features of the keypads, so the keypad never truly “knew” the codes were being tried, but they’d still send a response.

The first few jobs he did went smoothly. All of his tools did their job. He always had to watch the bank for a few months before attempting to steal from it, but the payoff was worth it.

Except for the first one, he never hit a bank where he lived. He would travel for miles, stay at a hotel, and do his planning from there. The bank managers were getting furious. He knew this because he never left the area until two days after the job was done. He wanted a newspaper as a souvenir.

A noise sounded from one of his tools. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it.

Yep. They set off the motion sensors I put near the back door. They are doing their job. If only I had done mine.

This job had gone wrong. He tried to do it with less surveillance than the other times. He wanted to see if he could do it without preparation. Even the machines had started to bore him. He had wanted more of a challenge. He had gone into the bank expecting it to be like every other bank he had robbed.

I got too cocky. If I had paid attention to what I was doing instead of gloating about the job in my head, I wouldn’t have failed this time. I won’t make that mistake again. I guess I’m a guy who needs to prepare. I’ll settle for that. It’s better than being caught.

Matthew Corsair carefully packed up the rest of his gear into a worn black leather backpack. The last item, his trusty keypad breaker, went into its protective case. He slid it into the backpack slowly.

I’ll need to reconfigure you, my friend. Seems keypads have gotten smarter these days.

The keypad at this bank had a backup system installed. The alarm had gone off when his keypad breaker was only half finished with its search for the correct codes. The cops had been slow to respond. He had made it out of the bank before they started showing up. But not before leaving a cardboard silhouette of Steven Seagal standing in the middle of the bank. He had appropriated it from a video store years ago. He always brought insurance.

He turned back towards the cops down the street who were now shouting at the bank. He gave a quick salute and a smile.

I wonder when they’ll figure out they’re shouting at paper. Cops are people. People are easy.

Matthew walked around the corner, put his gear in the trunk of his BMW, and then drove to his hotel which was a block from the local Wal-Mart.

“Are you sure? We’re planning on having a lot of fun, Miles. We’re going to the zoo and then heading downtown to go window shopping,” said Julie Graylin.

“Yeah. Like I want to shop with a bunch of women,” he said with a grin.

Julie playfully slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself and promise me you won’t go looking through old photos again.”

“You know I can’t promise that, Julie. Sometimes they make me feel better.”

“But she’s gone, Miles. And every time you look at those photos, I can see the pain in your face,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“I know she’s gone. But I will do my best not to look. Ok?”

“Ok.” Julie lightly kissed Miles on the cheek and walked out the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Coffee in the afternoon at Gerald’s again?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

Miles closed the door behind Julie as she waved and walked away. He stood in the entry to his three-bedroom house as a tiny tear trickled down his cheek. He remained there for a few minutes, lost deep in thought. After a while, he wiped the tear from his face, and headed to his bedroom, the one that used to be their bedroom. He sat on the blue-flowered bed and reached under it searching for a familiar touch. The album slid easily out from under the bed and he placed it on his lap. Miles Crandle gently touched the white leather cover of the album. His fingers traced over the words “Our Wedding Day” that were embossed in a golden hue.

“Everything is going to be fine, Samantha,” said Miles as he caressed Samantha’s hand.

Samantha Crandle, his wife, was covered in a white hospital sheet. Her crystal eyes were closed. He hadn’t seen them in two days. The doctors had told him it wasn’t unusual for patients to sleep for a few days after having extensive surgery. Samantha’s scarred and battered face showed no emotion as he spoke to her. Miles stood up from his chair and carefully brushed his fingertips against her cheek hoping for some sign of consciousness. She didn’t move.

Miles thought about the day she came to the hospital. She had been driving her cute little Ford two-door hatchback. She had loved that car and its powder blue exterior. It wasn’t fancy, but it fit her personality. Samantha was an easy woman to please. Miles had been lucky to find her among all of the black-hearted women in Atlanta. She had accepted him as he was. But now she was broken because that Chevy truck didn’t know the difference between a red light and a green light. Miles was standing across the street waiting for her to come pick him up when the truck plowed straight through the intersection and hit Samantha’s car with so much force, it had spun many times before crashing through the window of the drug store on the opposite corner.

Miles had run with Superman speed to try and help his wife. Cars stopped to look at the wreck while he tried to pry the door open. It hadn’t budged. The cop cars and ambulances arrived quickly and suddenly Miles was sitting in the back of an ambulance looking through the haze of confusion at his bloodied wife.

The blood had been washed away since then, but there were many bruises and cuts on her face and even more hiding under the sheet. One of her ribs had shattered and pierced her lungs. Her left leg had broken. Her hip had dislocated. Her skull had fractured. The list could have gone on. Miles turned away from his wife with tears streaming down his face.

“If only I had driven my own car. Or maybe if I hadn’t gotten off of work early. The difference five seconds would have made,” he whispered to himself wanting to scream instead, but not while he was here. Whether she could hear him or not, he didn’t want to take the chance.

Over the next few days, Miles diligently slept in the hospital chair, and when not asleep, he was holding his wife’s hand or talking to her about all of the things they had done in their lives. Some mornings he woke with a hospital sheet covering him. The nurses around here were nice to him. Everyone was nice to him except God. God was not so nice at the moment. An alarm sounded from one of the machines in the room, and Miles was suddenly rushed out of his wife’s room. He fought to get back in to his Samantha, but the orderlies kept him back. They’d have bruises in the morning, but they kept him back. He watched as his wife’s bed was wheeled quickly from her room and away from him. He reached out his hand, but the orderlies still had a good hold on his arms. He tried to scream for them to let him go so he could be with his wife, but the words got stuck on the lump in his throat. Instead, he slumped in the arms of the orderlies, and cried. The next time he saw his wife was in a coffin being lowered into the ground.

Miles opened the cover of the album and quietly flipped the pages. On each page he was reminded of the beauty of his wife. Her long straight red flocks flowed down to her waist. He studied the pictures of their wedding on the beach. The sun shined in such a way that her hair, being coerced by a gentle ocean breeze, flowed behind her like a calm fire. Her sparkling green eyes were filled with love and joy. He could still remember how nervous she had been about their wedding. She had fluttered across the house while on the phone calling one person about flowers and later calling her sister in California to make sure she had gotten her plane tickets. Miles looked over and realized he was clutching that same blue cordless phone in his hand. He yearned to touch all of the things she had touched so he could feel her once again.

Miles finished flipping through the album and placed it back under the bed. After wiping away more tears, he finally gathered the strength he needed to get off the bed and go eat lunch. He walked downstairs with his hands on the banister she had held onto so tightly when she was carrying a box of shoes she was giving to Goodwill. They were still in perfect condition, and some were never even worn. Samantha had felt that others could make good use of them.

He walked down the hall and kept his eyes straight knowing that he may never reach the kitchen if he was to look to his right or left. Pictures hung on those walls; pictures of Samantha smiling. The kitchen didn’t help much either. Samantha loved to cook. Miles loved to help her cook. They had spent many nights in the kitchen trying out new recipes. Even when the food wasn’t good, the company was truly what mattered. The hours spent covered in flour and corn meal were more precious to him than any metal ever could be. Every item in the kitchen had been hand picked by Samantha. She had a thing for country-blue flowers. If she couldn’t find a spatula with the right patterns, she would find one in the right color and paint the flowers on it. The cabinets were covered in blue flowers. During many nights, those flowers would have had a story to tell as kisses in the kitchen ended up in love on the floor.

Miles fixed himself a peanut butter sandwich. They were very simple, but they were also Samantha’s favorite snack. She never put jelly on them either. She loved the way the peanut butter and bread would stick against the roof of her mouth. She’d use her tongue to pull it off and then giggle in embarrassment when she caught Miles watching her. Miles reached into the cabinet next to the blue refrigerator Samantha had painted and pulled down a glass with blue flowers printed on it. The refrigerator had gotten many paint jobs because at first Samantha had tried to use latex. It was a cute mistake. They laughed about it many times afterward. He poured some milk into his glass and sat down at the kitchen table. The table top was sandy brown just like the spindled chairs, but the cushions had her signature blue flowers.

Miles picked up the newspaper Julie had brought in for him and looked through the headlines. Another murder had occurred not too far from central Atlanta. Right below that one, a car wreck that backed up traffic for miles. He quickly flipped to the comics but found no relief there. Miles stood up and left his uneaten sandwich and full glass of milk on the table.

“I’ll clean that up later,” he said to himself.

He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. This room was darker than the others. Dark cherry paneling covered the walls. The couch and chairs were covered in brown leather. Miles had chosen the design scheme for this room. He liked cold weather, and this room, with its heavy curtains and dark colors was always the coldest room in the house. He reached over and grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. Slowly, he flipped through the channels.

“Nothing on.”

He set the remote back on the coffee table and suddenly heard his wife’s voice. He looked up to see a home video showing on the television. He had accidentally pressed the play button on the video player remote when he set down the other one. He went to turn it off, but stopped for a moment and watched the video.

“Do you want to have kids?”

“Yes,” he said.

“How many?”

“As many as you want.”

“I will have a hundred kids if you ask me too,” Samantha said with a serious smile on her face.

“Well, not that many. How about five?”

“Done.” Samantha’s face shined in the dark room. “Don’t you think we need to get started then?” Her wink made his heart melt.

Miles turned off the video. He couldn’t watch it anymore. He went back into the hallway and opened a drawer on the table reserved for keys, wallets, and purses. There was a brown envelope. He picked it up and slowly open the flap. Miles reached inside and pulled out the black and white ultrasound photos.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said with a big smile on her face.

“Oh Miles! A girl. I can start picking out the stuff for her room now.”

Miles smiled and hugged his wife.

“What are we going to name her, Miles?”

“How about Jasmine, after my great aunt?”

“No. Your aunt’s too mean,” said Samantha. “I don’t want our daughter growing up to be mean.” She laughed.

“Ok, then you pick it.” Miles smiled back at her.

“Hmmmm. How about Sapphire?”

“Like the stone?”

“Yes. Like the stone, silly!”

Miles smiled. “Perfect.”

Miles went down to his knees and covered his face with the photos and his hands. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of Samantha and his daughter running through the park, swinging on swings, and picking blue flowers for the vase in the kitchen. Sapphire looked just like her mother. Her hands were smaller, her cheeks had the cute little baby fat in them, and her eyes sparkled with a darker green, but otherwise she looked the same as her mother in all of the memories he truly never had. She hadn’t been born yet. She had died with her mother.

“You let our daughter and granddaughter die!” Mrs. Walker was in tears after the burial.

Miles lifted his crying eyes to her. “I’m sorry. I know. I should have done something. I should have seen the truck. I should have left work later. I… I…” Miles broke down. Mrs. Walker ran out of the room crying.

Mr. Walker came over and put his hand on Miles Crandle’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. My wife is just upset. She doesn’t mean what she’s saying. Samantha was our only child. She misses her.”

“I do too. I miss her smiles. I miss the way she chewed on a lock of her hair when she was nervous about something.”

Mr. Walker took a deep breath to keep himself from crying. “I know you do son. Let Maggie calm down. You’re still part of this family, and I expect you to come visit us every once in a while.” Mr. Walker helped Miles stand and left to console his wife.

Miles carefully replaced the photos back into the envelope and placed the envelope back into the drawer and closed it. He headed for the garage. He opened the door leading from the kitchen into the garage and looked around. He focused his eyes on the unfinished white crib in the corner. He walked over to it and grabbed his tools from the workbench. Over the next hour, he put all of the finishing touches on the crib. He rolled it out of the garage and carefully pulled it up the stairs and to the nursery. He rolled it into the corner Samantha had prepared for it. He looked around the pink room. Teddy bears were painted on the walls. They had used stencils to do it, but it came out looking nice. Miles remembered the smile on Samantha’s face and the laughter in her eyes when some pink paint had gotten on his nose.

His next stop was back in the bedroom. He quickly made the bed and flattened out the bedspread just the way Samantha liked it. He then hurried to the kitchen, ate the sandwich, drank the milk, and did his dishes. He grabbed the drying towel from the handle of the stove and put the dishes away. He carefully placed the towel back on the handle so the blue flowers would face out.

Miles went to the hall closet and grabbed the vacuum and cleaned all of the floors. He pulled the vacuum upstairs and finished there also. He grabbed a dust rag and made sure everything was clean. The little figurines of fairies and unicorns with blue flowers in their hair and manes were wiped gently. He had bought her quite a few over the years, so it took a while. He went back into the garage and got in his car. It was an older Corvette. He still needed to trade it in for a minivan. He wasn’t going to let his wife get rid of her favorite car.

He drove to the car lot, did the necessary paperwork, and drove off the lot with a brand new minivan. It was powder blue and fully loaded with all the bells and whistles. He had read about it in Consumer Reports. Of all minivans, it was the safest one available. He drove it to the nearest hobby shop and purchased some paper, a quill, some paints, and a few others items. He then drove to the local pawn shop and came out with a small bag.

On his way to the toy store, Miles stopped off at the park and sat in a swing. He didn’t move. He looked around the place and smiled as he watched his daughter and wife play on the slides. Once he got to the toy store, he bought the biggest stuffed bear he could find. It barely fit in the car seat he also purchased. He drove home and often looked into his rearview mirror at the bear smiling back at him.

“So how was your day at school?”

The bear didn’t answer.

“Really? You learned how to spell your name? I am so proud of you Sapphire. I love you so much.”

He turned to the empty seat next to him.

“I love you too, Samantha. I am so happy I found you. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. You’re the perfect woman for me.”

He turned back to watch the road.

“Don’t want to get into any accidents. That wouldn’t be good.”

He turned into the driveway of his house. He grabbed his bags and carefully held the bear by one of its arms as he walked it to the front door.

“Just stand there while daddy gets his keys.”

He set the bear on the couch and turned on some cartoons.

“Just sit there and watch some television. Daddy has some work to do.” Miles looked to his right. “Samantha, why don’t you read one of your novels? I’ll take care of everything from here.”

He looked outside and noticed it was getting late. The sun had gone down.

“Actually, I think its bed time for a certain young lady.” He walked the bear up the stairs and put it on his bed. “You can sleep here for now if you want. You do? Ok. Love you!” He went down to the kitchen and put the bags he’d been carrying onto the table. He opened them and pulled out the supplies he had purchased. He also pulled out a paperback-sized wooden box and a plastic box filled with bullets from the pawn shop bag. He got up and threw all the empty bags into the garbage and sat back down. He carefully opened the wooden box to reveal an old revolver resting in velvet. Miles pulled out the gun and placed it on the table. He opened the paints and grabbed a brush and began painting on the handle of the gun. He finished the blue flowers and set the gun aside to dry.

He opened the packages for the ink, paper, and quill and began to write. He wrote for two hours before he finally signed his name and put down the quill. His hands were hurting, but he felt it was worth it. He touched the paint on the gun and found that it had dried. He slowly loaded the gun with bullets and then put it back in its box. He cleaned up his mess and folded the papers. He picked up the sealing wax he bought and lit the end of it. Crimson drops fell on the opening of the fold on the papers. He blew out the wick on the wax and pressed his wedding ring to the wax. It burnt his finger, but he kept pressing. When he lifted his hand away from the paper, there was a wide horizontal line going across the wax where his ring had been. A few pieces of finger hair stuck in the wax.

Miles grabbed some ice for his finger from the freezer and sat down in the living room. Cartoons were still playing on the television, so he turned it off. He looked over at the chair Samantha always read her novels in and smiled.

“Are you going to be long?”

“Good. I’ll see you in bed in an hour or so then?”

“Ok. Love you.”

Miles walked back up the stairs and into his bedroom.

“Seems we have the room to ourselves for an hour, so I think I’ll lay down with you in a bit. Mommy will put you in bed when she comes up. Are you thirsty?”

The bear still didn’t answer.

“Ok. I’ll get you something.”

He went back downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of milk for Sapphire. He looked at the box on the table and picked it up. He walked back upstairs and placed the glass of milk on the table next to the bear.

“There you go. Daddy’s going to get some sleep now, ok?”

He sat on the bed, opened the box, pulled out the gun, and put the box on the table next to him. He fell back against the pillow, turned on his side, and with a smile on his face, put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

“Hello?!”

Julie opened the front door all the way wondering why it hadn’t been locked. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It smelled cleaner than it had since Samantha died. She looked around and noticed the dust was all gone. The floors had also been vacuumed.

“Poor guy. He probably went nuts here alone and cleaned the place. I better go find him,” she said to herself.

She checked the garage first since the only time he didn’t answer the door was when he was working on some project in there. She noticed the minivan and got really confused. She quickly started looking through the first floor. Everything was clean, however, there were some folded papers on the kitchen table.

“Sealing wax? Has he gone back to the dark ages?”

She didn’t want to open the papers since they were sealed and she didn’t know what they were for, so she put them in her jacket pocket. She ran upstairs and noticed the smell was different. She opened the door to his bedroom and screamed.

“It was a clean shot into his brain, Ms. Graylin,” said the coroner. “He died instantly.”

“I should never have left him alone in the state he was in.” Julie put her face in her hands and cried even more tears.

“Some people just make choices. You couldn’t have known what choice he would make.”

“But I should have. He was my best friend.”

Julie left the building and got into her car. She remembered the papers and pulled them out of her pocket. She broke the seal on them and opened them slowly. She had never seen such beautiful handwriting. Miles was not one to have good handwriting. This was his, but improved.

Dear Julie,

Miles

Julie flipped to the next page. It was a will. It left all of his money, house, car, and other belongings to Julie Graylin. Julie smiled. She put the car in gear and drove back to her house. She pulled into her garage next to a Chevy truck with a big dent in the front grill. She walked into her kitchen and placed the papers next to the phone. She picked up a bottle next to the phone and put it away in the cabinet.

“Guess I won’t be putting anymore of this in his coffee,” she said to herself.

She picked up her phone and called her lawyer so they could get started on the estate.

But mostly I crave the simple love you give me in all moments throughout our prior and future lives within a universe that would be only dark if your eyes, lips, life, mind, smile, and world did not exist in it for all of eternity with me by your side wishing for you the most happiness that could ever be accomplished in this gloriously shining life that is much more glorious because you do love me and I know you do and I love you and always will because you are the light in my eyes, the craving of my soul, and the true meaning of my existence and I will forever be thankful to your mother for one thing: your birth.

(Created for my wife’s birthday on July 25th, 2008)

Is white due over the red or the blue?
Yes, it is due an explosion of light.
Enlightenment is not ever a fright
unless the red and the blue say it is true.

White is all of the colors working together.
The mother blue and strong red must step down
from soap boxes and untie the tether
and be part of white, part of the ether
that poisons and cures the pink, green, and brown.
White is not the cow, it is the leather.

“Yes, Scotty?”

“Will you tell us a story?”

“Of course, of course,” said Christian Luclin. “But I don’t know if I can remember any right now,” he said as he rubbed his bearded chin.

A sigh could be heard across the gathering of children. Christian Luclin was the best storyteller on the block. Children would gather around him at about this time every day looking for a fantastical story of wizards, witches, dragons, and more. The parents thought the old man to be eccentric. He had moved into this apartment complex only ten years before, and most of his friends were children. The blue sparkle in his eyes was reassuring to them, however. So they let their children listen to the stories. It kept them occupied while the parents prepared dinner. He was supposedly a rich man, which made them wonder why he chose this place to live. It was one of the more rundown apartment buildings in the city.

Christian Luclin started to laugh and the children smiled, knowing he was only teasing them.

“Christian Luclin, not having a story to tell? Bah,” he said as he looked around the room to make sure all of the children were paying attention. Other than Bobby, who was secretly picking his nose, the children were all staring at him, waiting patiently.

“It began long ago, as most of my stories do, when Saphrym, a boy who was soon to become a man, was fighting the trees and the squirrels with his wooden sword…”

Saphrym had always been inquisitive and playful, much to the chagrin of his adopted parents. And yes, his parents were adopted by him. Not the other way around. He had crawled his way to them when he was only a toddler. He had knocked on the door, and when it opened, had called the woman standing there, Mama. Lord and Lady Forestwind had taken him in as their own son. According to kingdom law, he could not take the family name, as his bloodline was unknown, but it did not seem to bother him, even as he came closer to his years of manhood.

Saphrym was a smart child. As he grew up, he learned the ways of the court quickly and impressed all of the visitors with his reading skills. Since he loved to entertain, his parents would allow him to read poetry scribed by local bards after dessert was served. He would stand upon an empty apple crate and recite the poem from a scroll. His inflections were always perfect, and the purpose of the poem would be evident by the end of his performance, for those in attendance always cried, laughed, or gasped at just the right moments throughout. Saphrym’s parents were proud of him.

When he wasn’t learning, Saphrym was out in the woods near his home, playing. He loved to pretend the trees were ogres who had come to steal his food, and he would drive them back with a wooden sword the local carpenter had made for him as a toy. The squirrels would be goblins as they skittered away in fear from the mighty cleaving of his weapon. In his mind’s eye, Saphrym was destined to be a warrior clad in silver armor fighting for just causes throughout the land.

Most of the other children had come to call him Saph. It was easier to say and had a playful quality about it. They would often play with him in those woods. The girls would be chained up princesses waiting for rescue, while the boys would be heroes like him, or even evil sorcerers ready to pounce on their prey.

The imagination of the children was a joy to their parents. Sometimes they’d watch from a distance and remember the times when they were younger and played with wooden swords.

“Although wooden swords are still dangerous, and in the times we live in, it’s better to play with foam swords. Right?”

“Yessir,” said the children in response.

The day finally came when Saphrym would become a man by law. His sixteenth birthday, as could only be guessed by his parents, would soon be upon him. He was anxious to finally own a real sword and put on the armor that was promised to him by his father. The land was at peace, which he enjoyed, but the thought of real metal hanging by his side was enticing.

He finished his studies early that night and went to sleep with dreams of his sword driving back a trio of ogres from a frightened family traveling down the road. He smiled in his sleep.

The next morning he awoke to the smell of buttered bread and immediately stood up, got dressed, and headed to the table for breakfast. The keep’s cooks had outdone themselves. There was fresh bread, jellies, jams, roasted pig, and many other dishes waiting for the family at the table.

“We wanted you to get a good start at adulthood, Saphrym,” said the servants as they smiled at his wide eyes looking over the spread.

He smiled back, sat down, and began eating while waiting for his parents to appear. They arrived soon enough and couldn’t help but smile when they saw the jelly smearing his cheeks. He realized what they were looking at and wiped his face quickly. His face was now red, but not from the jelly.

“Good morning, Saphrym,” said Lord Forestwind.

“Good morning, father and mother,” he replied.

Lady Forestwind smiled and nodded to her son.

The morning couldn’t go quickly enough for Saphrym. He was to become a man at noon. He finished his breakfast, excused himself, and went to his room to wait for the ceremony.

“When do we get to the wizards, dragons, and such, Mr. Luclin?” asked Bobby.

“You remind me of Saphrym. Wanting action when there was peace. We’re almost there, though.” All of the children smiled and crowded in a little closer.

After a while, Saphrym began to wonder if his parents remembered the ceremony, and decided he’d go find them. As he walked through the halls of the keep, he noticed an eerie silence. His room was far from the main rooms of the keep, so he started walking much faster. He was half expecting his parents to surprise him when he reached the dining room. He was surprised when he made it. His parents were dead.

“Dead! How were they killed?”

“Let him finish and you’ll find out, dummy.”

“Hey! No one here is a dummy!”

“Sorry, Mr. Luclin.”

“You need to tell Tommy you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Bobby said. He turned back towards Christian Luclin. “Well?”

Saphrym’s parents were lying on the floor with very large swords piercing their hearts. It looked like there hadn’t been much of a struggle. The eyes on their faces were wide. It’s as if they had been surprised to find themselves dead.

Saphrym looked around through the tears that were beginning to pool. Servants were scattered on the floor with arrows pin-cushioned through their bodies. He saw the armor he was promised proudly displayed on a nearby table. Next to the armor was a sword with an engraving on its blade. It read “May peace be yours.” Saphrym did not have peace in his heart at this moment. He had anger and fear. He realized the killers may still be around so quickly grabbed the armor and the sword and ran into the kitchen.

Dead bodies were everywhere. Everyone he had cared about had been killed. He put on the armor and hung the sword at his hip. The weight of it felt awkward, but he wouldn’t let that bother him. He wanted to find the killers. He wanted them dead.

He ran around the keep searching for survivors, but found none. He finally made it outside and ran towards the town, towards his friends. He could see tracks leading up to the keep, and then back. They were horse tracks. There were also a few tracks that looked like human feet, but much larger. Saphrym realized they must be ogre tracks. He had never actually seen an ogre, but he had heard enough about them.

Saphrym wished he had never wanted battle when he was younger. He felt as if his thirst for adventure had somehow caused all of this to happen. He finally reached the little town near the keep and found the same scene there. Everyone was dead.

“What’s he gonna do? He has no parents, no friends, and doesn’t even really know how to use a sword yet. What’s he gonna do?”

“You’ll have to listen to find out.”

Saphrym began walking north. He felt like it was as good a direction as any to walk, and was the easier one to follow by day and night. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to leave his home. He couldn’t stand the carnage he saw there. His vengeance and fear were the only things keeping him moving. He chopped through bushes using his sword. It became a pattern in his mind. Chop chop swish. Chop chop swish. After a few hours of travel, he became tired and found a soft plot of ground near a lake to lie down upon. He fell asleep quickly, for his body needed the rest. He woke from nightmares of the scenes of death many times throughout the night. When morning came, he got up and started walking north once more.

He was getting very thirsty and hungry, having not thought about food and water when he left home. He came upon a clearing in the woods. An old man sat in the clearing.

“Come here, boy.”

Saphrym was still full of fear and tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t move.

“I said, come here.”

His legs slowly moved towards the man of their own power. He couldn’t stop them from moving, no matter how hard he tried.

“You are the adopted son of Lord and Lady Forestwind, correct?”

He nodded, not knowing what else to do as his legs moved him closer and closer to the man.

“Let me have a look at you.”

His legs moved him the final steps and then twirled him in position.

“You look strong of mind, but hungry. You’ll do.”

Saphrym was confused and scared. Who was this man? What did he mean?

“I am no warrior. I cannot train you in the art of the sword,” said the old man.

With a wave of the man’s hand, Saphrym’s armor and sword instantly disappeared. His clothing was all that was left.

“You will work for me for a few years. You will gather roots and berries. You will cook and clean. In exchange, I will train you.”

Saphrym was beginning to wonder who this old man thought he was that he could order Saphrym around.

“I’m just an old man. But I have a few tricks that you may want to learn.”

“Are you reading my thoughts?”

“No. I’m reading your body language. Your fear and disdain are plain as the nose on your face. The sight of your loved ones dead is etched in the tear tracks on your cheeks. The crest on the armor you wore told me of your origin. I cannot read thoughts. I can only examine my surroundings.”

Saphrym was curious. As the events of their meeting became evident, he realized he was looking at a wizard. The magic of wizards had only been rumors at his home. Now, here, before him, sat a purveyor of such magics.

“Yes. I am a wizard. We do exist, although our numbers are slowly dwindling. There are but a few of us left. Not enough believers in the craft are left to keep it alive. Most of us haven’t had apprentices in over two hundred years, myself included.”

“Two hundred years? How old was this man, Mr. Luclin?”

Christian Luclin winked as he continued.

“I see the look upon your face, boy. I am well over seven hundred years old. My master was over four thousand years when he finally passed away. Wizards live long lives. The magic that flows through us keeps us alive for long periods of time. Even the term “wizard” means wise old man. And we are. We’ve been alive long enough to see wars come and go and even to see entire civilizations destroyed.”

Saphrym couldn’t believe it. Most men died by the time they were fifty. This man said it was possible to live thousands of years.

“You will come to understand everything. But first, I need you to pick some of those yellow berries on that bush over there.” The old man pointed at a bush a few feet away.

“What magic do those berries hold?” Saphrym asked.

“None, boy. They make a good soup.” The old man finally smiled, and Saphrym couldn’t help but join him.

As Saphrym walked over and started picking the berries, his feelings of fear and vengeance began to disappear. He couldn’t let that happen. After the man trained him, he planned on getting his revenge. His face tensed up with the thought.

“You will not know revenge, boy. Training of a wizard takes many years. The people who killed your parents won’t even be alive when I am done training you, so you can remove any of those thoughts now.”

“So you can read my thoughts?”

“No. I just understand the situation. Anytime something causes a mass death, we wizards can sense it. I watched the battle. Your family was dead before I was able to attune to the location. No one really stood a chance. I know you want revenge. That look on your face now shows me that. But being a wizard is a much larger picture than a revenge plot. You will swing entire wars in the favor of different kingdoms. You will see the coming of new advances in military techniques. You will watch as the oceans erode the shorelines.” He paused and looked even closer at Saphrym. “You, boy, will even know the end of wizards, for when you finally die, so will the last of our kind. Unless you can spark the interest of an apprentice who does not believe in magic.”

“Is that why there’s no wizards now, Mr. Luclin? Because we don’t believe in magic anymore?”

“It’s possible, Bobby. Very possible.”

For the first hundred years, Saphrym did nothing but menial chores around the wizard’s tower. He swept the floors, cooked the yellow-berry soup, and watched over the fireplace late at night when the old man needed light to read. He felt as if he’d grow bored with such tasks, but he never did. He was able to take his time with any task, because he had many years ahead of him, and it altered his sense of time from what it was so many years before. He still looked like the boy he once was, but was finally growing a whisker of a beard.

“I’m sorry. I’ve completely forgotten introductions over all of this time. My name is Altemicus and yours is Saphrym. Correct?”

“Yes. It’s funny how it never occurred to me to ask your name.”

“Names are unimportant. Names are labels. Labels aren’t needed for someone you know well. And in our seclusion, you never truly needed a name to call me by, as there was no other to address.”

“True enough.”

“So we only need names for people to tell the difference between who’s talking to who?”

“That’s the way Altemicus believes, Bobby.” Christian smiled at the boy’s interest in this particular part of the story.

Saphrym trained for two hundred years under Altemicus.

“You have learned everything I can teach you. Do you still seek revenge?”

“Not really. I wish such a thing had never happened to my parents, but they would have already been dead by now anyway.”

“Wait? We’re not gonna get to hear about him killing the bad guys? You just skipped two hundred years!”

“That’s not the point, Nate. His story is saying we all will die and that in the long term, revenge would not change that. It would just be more death.”

Christian smiled at Bobby.

“Very true. They would be dead already.”

“So what am I to do with my new powers?”

“That’s up to you. I would recommend traveling the world and getting to know as much about it as possible. Should be easy to do with your powers. But I ask a favor of you, one that is passed down from wizard to wizard.”

“What is that?”

“Use your magic only to make small changes where necessary. Don’t disrupt the minds and thoughts of other human beings, but make sure children are well-educated. Let them make their own decisions, but provide help when it’s needed. And, finally, find an apprentice.”

“But you said I would be the last of the wizards.”

“No. I said there were not enough believers, and that you would need to find that spark of interest among the nonbelievers to finally find one who you can pass the gift to. If you search diligently, you will find one.”

“I will do what you ask.” Altemicus placed a medallion around Saphrym’s neck, signifying a bond that could not be broken.

Over the next few thousand years, Saphrym became one of the wisest wizards ever known. He mourned the death of his teacher. He watched wars come and go. He also found that there truly were no believers left in the world. He did make sure to educate children as he went through life. He would also make changes where necessary to make sure mankind did not destroy itself. And he would constantly look for an apprentice.

“That’s it for the day. Your parents are probably ready to feed you.”

“Does Saphrym still exist?”

“No one knows.”

“Well, that was boring.”

“No, it wasn’t. Not as much action as I like, but interesting.”

Christian smiled at the children as they left his apartment. After a few moments, he sensed a disturbance and fondled a medallion around his neck. Bobby came running into his apartment crying.

“Mr. Luclin. My parents are dead. They were shot while we were listening to your story. Please, help me!” Bobby’s face dripped with anger and fear.

“Come here, boy.”

Bobby found that he couldn’t control his legs.

The progeny, cheeks wet, quit to another room.
One remains, trembling and daring to defy,
Fingernails dig into the flesh of numb hands.
His mind’s voice screams to the heavens:

My child will never know her grandmother!
She won’t be held by her anymore,
Kissed by her anymore,
Spoiled by her anymore.
She’ll never be able to sit in her lap,
Say ‘I love you’,
And feel the love returned ten-fold!
You!
You denied them both!
And you denied me!

A sob escapes from his lips as legs buckle.
His eyes close in mourning.
Arms drape across shaking knees.
A beaten soul slouches in defeat.

A light flows over the soft grave.
His wet eyes search out the origin.
From within the now pale husk
The tips of feathers reach upwards.

Pearly wings spread from the carcass,
Followed by radiant robes of white.
The heavens draw the angel to them.
Her smile roots its love in the heart of a son.

He suddenly becomes aware of a spectator.
His eyes turn toward the clueless crowd.
Wrapped in the comfort of a mother’s arms,
His tiny cherub watches with smiling eyes.

Breath fogged over the barrier,
My mind was remembering, hours before,
Before the clock turned 7:01.

Tears came welling over the rim,
My smile was breaking, my eyes still searching,
Searching for that little one.

Lips smiled wider, a pride in my eyes.
That time was forgotten, hours before,
Before the clock turned 7:01.

Hands settled on my precious gift,
For they’d found her. My eyes stopped searching,
Searching for that little one.

Arms held tight, tighter than ever,
Protecting the bundle from hours before,
Before the clock turned 7:01.

Ears hear laughter, of a little child,
My beautiful child, so my eyes go searching,
Searching for that little one.

Before the clock turned 7:01,
Searching for that little one,
My eyes find Nicole
Playing in the sun,
Mind and soul,
My little one.

Clouds surround her feet as she thinks of the days,
When the world is better because he’s near.
Each glance at another shows only his face.
Only his smile. Only his eyes. Only him.

She moves a little swifter. Her meeting is soon.
She sees the future kiss, standing from afar.
Her lips brush his. Her eyes touch his.
Their souls intertwine in the mist between them.

She glances in a window to view the gift.
That single flower glows brightly,
After having been touched by him.
She envies the rose, but she knows not long.

Beyond the shadow of the rose in the window,
She sees him.
Wrong place.
Another woman.
A passionate kiss.
She squeezes.
The prick.
It hurts.

I got out of the taxi and headed into the large building in front of me. It was raining and all I had was today’s newspaper to cover my head. I unfolded it quickly and caught a glimpse of the person I was about to meet. He always had a funny look on his face. I put the newspaper over my head and stepped around the puddles on the sidewalk leading up to the building.

Once inside, I was greeted warmly by a woman in a black business suit. She looked to be in her forties. Her skin was showing the wrinkles but her beauty still existed.

“He’ll be ready to see you in a moment.”

“Thanks,” I said as I followed her.

She walked me through the maze of a building until we reached the door to a room I had never been in and had always wanted to see. When she opened the door it was like the gates of Heaven opening as the light peeked out of the edges of the doorway. My eyes, of course, were playing tricks on me. It was probably my reverence of the place that made me see such a bright light. It faded quickly and I looked closer at the supple leather and old wood furniture behind the door.

“Go on in and have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”

I could only manage a nod. I was baffled that I had come this far to meet this person and be in this room. I went to a long leather couch in the middle of the room and sat down. I placed my briefcase on the table in front of me. A couple of books dropped off the table, so I rushed to pick them up, scared I had made a huge mistake. I was quite proud of what I saw. They were books that most men in his position should read.

One was titled “Why We Want to Kill You.” It was written by an ex-terrorist by the name of Walid Shoebat. It tells of the true nature of the Islamic fundamentalists. It is a great book to understand the mind of terrorists being as the author was of the rare breed of a reformed terrorist himself. Very honest and open.

Another was “Understanding Iraq” written by William Polk. This was a complete history of Iraq with detailed information on not only the geography of the land and shifts in borders, but also history of famous leaders such as Genghis Khan.

The door suddenly opened, and in walked the Texan to the oval shaped room I sat in. I jumped up like I used to when I was in the military, before I became a journalist. My hand almost saluted until I remembered I was a civilian.

“Mr. President,” I said.

“Nice to meet you son,” he said as he held out his political handshake. It was a good firm handshake. “Have a seat and we’ll get down to having that interview I promised you.”

“Thank you Mr. President,” I said as we both sat down on opposite sides of the table with the books and my briefcase. “Before we get started, I’d like to ask how you liked these books.” I held up the two books I had been studying earlier.

“Sorry son, I haven’t read those,” he said in his Texan drawl. “I just don’t have the time. Off the record, between you, me, and the can of sardines, those are for looks.”

Driving through Friarville took about two minutes. It was one of those places you see in scary movies, with one street filled with houses and a larger building at the end of the street, on a hill. Not a single light was on in any of the houses, and I was certain that if I drove up to the big house, a man carrying an axe would chop me in two. In my line of work, you always had to expect the worst, but this place actually scared me. I had to get some sleep though, so I drove up the hill, to the only building with lights shining through the rain.

The larger building was the house and business of the local undertaker. According to the shining placard hanging next to his house, his name was Joseph Friar.

This is just my luck. The undertaker of this backwoods town is the richest and the one it’s named after. I bet his family even had that exit sign put out on the highway.

I took the keys out of the ignition, turned off the lights, and prayed for God to help me live through the night as I climbed out of the car and raced to the front porch of Mr. Friar’s domain. The door knocker was a miniature coffin.

I decided to knock with my fist, not wanting much to do with death on a night like this.

Standing in front of me was one of the whitest and skinniest men I have ever seen in my life. White hair, toothpick arms — even one of his eyes was white.

The skinny man asked, “Are you friend or family of Mr. Burton?”

He may not have looked like a whole man, but his voice rang true. He had a deep bass to his voice that seemed impossible considering the package it was wrapped in.

“Neither, sir. My name is Stephen Daniels. I’ve just been driving all night and was wondering if I could find out from you where the nearest hotel is?”

“I’m sorry, friend, but the next hotel is nearly an hour’s drive in either direction from here. We don’t have many amenities in our little town,” he said with a slight, but terrifying, grin. “However, I have spare rooms in my home here, as long as you’re not squeamish. I only say that because most people don’t care to sleep here, especially when a customer is in the gathering room.”

I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want to sleep near a dead man in a walking corpse’s house, but I also didn’t think I could stay awake for another thirty minutes, much less drive for an hour.

“That’s a very kind offer, and I think I’ll take you up on it. Thank you very much,” I replied.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. Most of my visitors are dead people, so this is a nice change.” His closed smile sent a shiver through my bones. “It’s a shame for Mr. Burton though. Not a single person has come to visit him.”

I didn’t understand why they didn’t visit but looking at the inside of the house had me completely convinced I knew the reason no one would ever come back. Joseph Friar had animal heads hanging from the walls, cobwebs hanging on candle chandeliers, and the stench of death hanging in the air. My eyes even scanned for axe wielders in the shadows.

“Does he have family?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise at the shadow of a stuffed squirrel.

“Yes. He does. They just haven’t shown up yet.” He was leading me towards the staircase as we spoke. I was able to get a closer look at the stuffed squirrel. I received quite a shock. I’m glad Joe wasn’t looking in my direction. That wasn’t a squirrel. It looked like a small statue of an overweight man whose stomach had been ripped open. I’d seen a similar sight before, but never in statue form.

“Well, it’s not extremely late. When were they supposed to be here?” I asked while trying to get the taste of bile out of my mouth.

“Three days ago.” My attention left the grotesque image in my head and turned more towards Mr. Friar. He had already stopped walking and I was about to bump into him when he turned around and looked at me with that one good eye.

“Really?” Fear shot through my veins. Had Mr. Burton’s family actually shown up? Maybe they’re in the basement standing just as still as that thing I saw near the staircase.

“Yessir. It seems they just couldn’t tear away from their busy lives over in the city.” I was able to see a slight wetness on his cheek. “It just doesn’t seem right that a man not have a proper burial with family. That’s why he’s still in the gathering room. I prayed his family would wise up.” He pulled out a dingy handkerchief from his left breast pocket and dabbed the wetness away.

I began to feel terribly silly. While thoughts of mass murder had been going through my head, Mr. Friar was only thinking of the feelings of a departed human being. I still didn’t like the “thing” near the staircase, but I was starting to feel just a little more comfortable here.

Upstairs looked much different from downstairs. Cobwebs were nowhere to be seen. As I looked down the hall, even the doorknobs shined. The contrast was breathtaking. I felt like I was in a museum. Joseph continued leading me to a door further down on the right.

The differences between the levels were staggering. Joe must have had some reason for decorating the first floor in the way he had.

“This is where you can stay the night. This is where Prince Stephen stayed when his father was in our care.” The room smelled of fresh flowers. I couldn’t believe this was the same house I started in.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you very much for your kindness.” I was no longer just being nice. I was in awe that I was allowed to even touch the door, much less enter this room and sleep on the four-poster bed.

“It’s my pleasure. I will leave you to get your rest.” Joseph bowed out of the room and disappeared behind the door.

Before falling asleep I noticed a calendar hanging on the wall. The month hadn’t been changed yet, so it still showed October, which was only a week ago.

The next morning, I awoke to the smell of fried bacon, sausage, and a gentle note of maple syrup.

“Good morning, Mr. Daniels.” Joseph had on a different suit today, but this time he also had on an apron.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Friar, but you may call me Stephen.”

“Stephen it is. And to you, I am Joe.” His smile didn’t seem so alarming in the bright light of the sun pouring from the kitchen window.

“Did the family ever show?” I was truly curious. I had thought about poor Mr. Burton until I fell asleep. I also remember smiling when I woke up, because I had a little dream that involved that “thing” from last night and Mr. Burton’s family. It had been a satisfying image.

“No.” It was easy to see that Joe was heartbroken over this entire mess. “I’m going to have to do the service today, and he’s going to be alone.”

“I’ll stay for the service. Someone needs to be there.”

Joe brightened up a little. “Really? That would be so kind of you. Mr. Burton would be delighted for you to do so.” His smile was more heartwarming with each passing moment.

After the service, I went back to my room and gathered my belongings. When I came down the stairs, Mr. Friar was waiting at the end of the staircase.

“Thank you for the kindness you showed Mr. Burton by attending his service.”

“It was an honor for me to do so,” I said and truly felt.

“If you’re ever this way again, please stop by and we’ll have a drink and some conversation,” he smiled at me.

“I’ll do that,” I said.

Joseph Friar then watched and waved as I got back into my car and headed out of town, passing laughing children playing in their yards.

I continued driving down the highway thinking about Friarville when a noise from the back of the car caught my attention. I glanced back just as the steering wheel forced itself to the right. I had lost control. I could see the trees on my right turn and face me.

The car suddenly stopped and I began choking on dust from the air bag that had just slammed in my face.

Mother… Son of a…

I punched the airbag to get it out of my face. It didn’t work. That white dust just traveled all over the inside of the car, turned, and aimed straight up my nostrils. It took a few seconds to start breathing correctly again. Finally, I decided to get out of the car. The seatbelt and the car door still seemed to work, but my legs didn’t. I fell out of the car and stared at my legs.

I started pulling myself towards the road when I got the feeling back in my legs. I tried to stand up and found my legs worked perfectly again. I didn’t feel any pain, so I started walking back in the direction of Friarville. I figured Joseph wouldn’t mind taking me in again. I could also borrow his phone to get a tow truck to come get my car. I planned out all the details trying to make sure I still made it to the location of my next job. The envelope containing the profile of my next target was still folded up in my back pocket.

The moon had already shown itself almost full. It had provided me light for the last hour.

I knocked on the door.

Hmmm. No sound. Let me try that again.

I tried to knock on the door again, and I still couldn’t believe it. My hand went straight through.

“What’s going on?”

“You’re dead,” said Joseph Friar as he opened the door. “But I need to get back to work. Feel free to come in and make yourself at home. I’d offer you that drink I promised, but in your current condition…” He laughed a little.

The shock of the situation slowly dissipated. My mind finally cleared and I realized why my legs started working. That was when I died. I started walking into the house when I noticed Joseph had closed the door. But it was too late. My forward momentum took me tumbling through the door.

I stood up and looked around. The house still looked the same as it had before. I saw Joseph as he rounded a corner towards the gathering room near the stairs. I started to follow him when I realized the statue was missing. The fat man with his stomach ripped out was not there. I hurriedly followed after Joseph.

“Welcome again, Stephen,” he said, not even turning towards me as I walked in. However, I could see a slight glow coming from his one white eye.

“Uhhh, yeah, about that… You said I’m dead.”

“Yes sir. You died right after that car crash. Thomas was watching you and he came back and reported it to me.”

I jumped when I saw the statue standing on a stool next to Joseph. It was smiling at me.

“I’m not even going to get into the subject of that thing being able to move around. That’s scary enough. But you had to know I was going to die or you had to be the cause of it to send it after me,” I said. My face was turning red from anger as the concept of my death sunk in more.

“I didn’t cause it. Thomas didn’t cause it. You died because it was your time. I just arranged for a detour of how you died,” he said while applying makeup to the body in the casket.

“So you had some part in it. Deto–” I saw the body. It was me. “Hey! That’s my body!”

“Calm down, Stephen. Thomas brought your body here so it could be taken care of.”

“Taken care of? You mean disposed of, right? You probably killed Mr. Burton too,” I said.

“Everyone who visits me is going to die. Considering my real name is Azrael and I’m the angel of death, it should all make sense,” he said. He then turned from his work and looked straight at me with his one white eye and a grin.

“Angel of… What? You’re just cra…” I was going to say “crazy” but then I realized I was a ghost and he was talking to me. There had to be some explanation. I tried to pinch myself thinking this was just a dream, but my fingers went straight through.

“You were going to die anyway, but you’ve been given a second chance. You see, I need someone to help me. You fit the bill quite nicely. That’s why I haven’t sent you back to heaven as I did for Mr. Burton. You have made a living killing people.” He paused for a second as he turned back to my corpse and chose a shade of lipstick. “Now don’t get me wrong. It’s a sin to kill someone. But it’s also a sin to lie. There are people in this world who have lied a thousand times more than you have killed, and you’re an honest and caring man. So you’re still bound for heaven.”

I decided to play along as I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, being dead and all.

“So how would I be able to help you?”

“It’s very simple really. There are men on this earth who have not died when they were supposed to. They’ve cheated me by way of Satan, black magic, or some other means. I need you to kill them. In return, you get to live as long as you care to on earth as a mortal. When you’re ready to leave, all you have to do is ask. Until then, you can’t die. Again that is.” He smirked.

“To make a long story short, I took the job, Mr. Blair. That’s why you’re tied up and it’s also why I’m pointing a gun at your head.”