With art by Will White
The man hides underwater without a breathing aide of any sort, and simply sits on a jutted, slimy rock, watching sandy bubbles float upwards through the darkness. Within him is a deep sense of isolation and overwhelming melancholy, wherein all of his hopes and dreams are but air in foam, rapidly breaking about with each fraction of a second.
His eyes are wide open, unblinking, and staring directly ahead of him; he is holding goggles and a snorkel, which have the appearance of a black eel. After a fashion he slips on the goggles, and water bubbles form around his eyes.
‘I'm waiting for my time to come,’ he thinks in general terms. ‘I simply sit and wait, as though there are no options left for me – as though this is the very end. But it doesn’t have to be.’
Looking up, he still sees darkness. No one is around him for miles and miles, but he is not sure of this. He does not trust himself.
‘Leave, Gregory. Get out of the water.’
Suddenly he wants to breathe again; he stands and pushes his body upwards towards heaven. The water breaks and he shakes his head in the chill air; droplets of water fling from his wet brown hair as he gasps for breath. The lake is beautiful in the moonlight.
‘I left the documents . . . where? Under the roots of a large tree, but I can’t recall which one exactly. It’s going to be hard to find, especially at night – I’m really quite foolish.’
Crawling out of the water takes most of his strength, and the ground feels like pudding beneath his hands. A soft wind blows through the forest, rustling the leaves and grass. His sense of isolation is not unwarranted. Pushing through the branches, catching spider webs on his face, and tripping over roots, Gregory searches desperately for the documents which mean absolutely everything to him.
‘Where?’ is the phrase he rapidly repeats in his mind. ‘Where?’
Suddenly he stumbles, and falls to his side against a broken tree, which had been struck by lightning long ago. His eyes meet the hollow below giant, gnarled roots, where he finds the manila binder.
‘Thank you.’
He struggles to find his footing, then reaches below the tree and pulls out the folder; all of the documents are intact. Water drips from his hair onto the pages.
‘It’s just paper. I should have a disc or a black box.’
Paper is most easily destroyed. In terms of data storage, Gregory decides upon his own memory, though this may be a mistake – after all, he could not specifically remember where he had hidden the documents, and only discovered them upon accident.
‘First I’ll find light to read by, and then I’ll burn the papers with the folder. Afterwards I’ll seek out a contact, who will send the information through the underground. Finally I’ll disappear until needed once more.’ He nods to himself, satisfied with this exposition.
With great intent he walks through the forest, taking the paths that soon appear before him. The road ahead is deserted and sparsely lit with pale lights; one is enough to read by, but he prefers not to in the open. From here he trudges on silently, reminiscing over the events which led to this situation:
‘I met with a man who offered me a generous sum of freedom, and in return I would bring certain knowledge to the world which had long been hidden. The man offered me no advice on how to retrieve this information, and it took a lot of questioning from his contacts to find out. Why did he choose not to say anything? Is he protecting himself?
‘For all intents and purposes, the man does not even exist until met. He came to me personally in a coffee house, where I watched the doves fly outside; he sat with me as though we had agreed to meet. And from there he divulged. I am egomaniacal and he knows how to take advantage of that fact – this was made abundantly clear. Everything will soon be clear.’
He is standing in the lot of an abandoned gas station. A rusted car is wrapped with vines, clung to the earth like a forgotten toy. If only it still worked. Inside the gas station, Gregory quickly finds that the hydroelectricity has been shut down. Luckily he finds a circuit breaker in the back surrounded by evergreens, and with pine needles pressing sharply against his body, he brings light to the small building. He returns indoors to read the documents while nibbling on forgotten, rock-hard beef jerky. The documents assure him of freedom in their contents; he takes in all of the information blankly, never expressing emotion over the significance he finds there.
Several lighters are on display by the cash register (which is empty, he notes), and while the first two fail to strike, the third sends a spark and then a flame. The documents are on fire, burning atop gambling cards. Smoke billows around him like a massive ghost.
Gregory peers into the fire with stung eyes, losing himself in the flickering tongues of the flame.
‘A lot of people have devoted their lives to attaining this information, and I’m watching it all go up in smoke. Will anyone simply believe my words? Who’s going to trust me?’
The cracking sounds of wood breaking apart stirs him out of his thoughts. He is exceptionally thirsty. He quickly leaves the gas station before his health is at risk, and without turning back, Gregory once again takes to the road. Within twenty miles is a small town that he has never visited before.
‘It’ll be my temporary safe haven, until I discover a contact.’
By the time he makes it to the outskirts of the city, he is completely exhausted of all strength, and sets his sights on an empty motel. All of the doors are locked. The motel is derelict, he realises, and so smashes the back window to room fourteen, where he will spend the night. Not a single furnishing is found in the room. He checks the water taps; they sputter, but soon flow – however weakly – so he takes a shower.
The entire day washes away from him, and he can finally think clearly.
‘From here tomorrow I’ll go into town and use the phone to call one of the man’s associates. I’ll then meet with a contact and divulge the knowledge I have received, and finally I shall be free. I don’t even have a quarter to make the call. First I’ll check the motel manager’s office, then, and if the phone doesn’t work, or there isn’t one at all, then I’ll just walk into any government building and ask to use one of theirs.
‘I wonder if this water is pumped from the lake. Will it take them long to notice that the gas station is on fire? By the time they search for the fire starter, it’ll all be done with, and I shall be free.’
Running his fingers through his hair, he finds it feels like seaweed.
‘I’m almost there.’
For the first time today he feels truly anxious. The sense of isolation and melancholy has temporarily left him. He rubs his side and finds it bruised, but only slightly. With no towels to dry off with, he simply stands naked in the middle of the motel room, watching the pine trees through the broken window.
A puddle of water grows beneath him on the carpet, dampening rapidly beneath his feet. Once it is comfortable to do so, Gregory slips back into his clothes and sleeps on the floor. Someone is sneaking around the motel while he dreams about mountains. This person climbs through the broken back window of room fourteen and finds a man sleeping peacefully; the person sits cross-legged by the man’s side and watches over him without a sound.
When morning breaks, the room is filled with hazy yellow light, and the man wakes from his dreams. He is stunned to find a girl sitting beside him, sleeping with her head lowered. She has warm Finnish features and thin, short blonde hair. Glasses rest on the tip of her nose. She wears a black sweater jacket with a white plastic zipper, and dark blue jeans.
‘I think I’ve seen her before,’ the man thinks to himself. ‘But then again, all people look the same to me.’
He knows that the girl must be a contact. With no hesitation he wakes her by shaking her shoulder.
‘Huh? What?’ the girl asks no one, in a small voice. ‘Oh, it’s you. Gregory?’
He nods.
‘I’m Anna.
‘Now, tell me everything.’
He does so by whispering. Anna takes in the information without moving or batting an eye.
‘Do you believe me?’ he finally asks, and Anna notes an uncharacteristic concern in the question.
‘I think it’s safe to believe anything you say.’
A weight is lifted from his shoulders.
‘Are we going into town now?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so. I’ll call in from here and then lead you.’
Gregory and Anna climb to their feet. They shake hands before exiting through the front door, where leaves scuttle across the walkway and over their shoes. The reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves are incredibly pretty against the grey pavement and gravel.
‘I love crunching the leaves,’ Anna says.
An unseen fire crackles beneath their feet with every step. They arrive at the manager’s office, where Anna makes use of the phone. Gregory watches the road while she speaks quietly into the phone.
‘This place is very welcoming during the day. I feel safe here.’
He realises that he has not talked to anyone since he met with the man and his associates. A certain melancholy tinges him when he turns to watch Anna through the open door.
‘I hate how women are when they feel like they’re doing something important. They become children trying to act like adults.’
Anna hung up the phone and came up beside him.
‘Are you taking things seriously?’ she asks, and Gregory is taken aback by the question.
‘Of course I am,’ he says. ‘I take everything seriously.’
He then thinks:
‘I’ve been acting like an empty vessel. No, I have not been taking things seriously. I’m deeply saddened by myself and everyone around me. I’ve stopped caring about caring, but I suppose I should start now.
‘Is Anna taking all of this seriously, or is she just pretending to because it seems important? I wonder if she understands how free she can be. I suppose she does. She says that she will lead me, but I don’t know where. We’re not heading to the town, wherein salvation may lie. No, somewhere else. I’m feeling isolated again. There are no connections between us whatsoever, and we only speak to each other in the most basic manner.’
‘Anna, where are you taking me?’
She smiles a bit, showing character.
‘Well, you told me everything inside, didn’t you? I mean, that was all true, what you just said. You asked me if I believed it, but I’m wondering if you believe it yourself?’
‘I’ve never actually thought of it in those terms, but I suppose it’s rational.’
‘You can answer the question.’
‘Yes, I suppose I do.’
‘Answer it decisively.’
‘I do.’
‘Okay.’ Anna stretches loudly. ‘Follow me.’
She leads him to a path behind the motel, which returns to the deep forest. Birds chirp from the high branches of redwoods, while insects buzz from within the tall grass. Eventually the pair comes to a clearing where a lone, withered tree stands in the middle. The few scattered leaves on the tree are vibrantly red and heart-shaped; the ground around the tree is covered with fallen leaves, and Anna bends to pick one up.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she thinks, turning the leaf over. ‘Not just pretty, but beautiful.’
‘Is this where you wanted to take me?’ Gregory asks. ‘I’m married, if you’re wondering,’ he adds as an afterthought.
‘You’re too simple and skeletal for me,’ she responds. ‘But yes, this is where I wanted to take you. You whispered about things being clear.’
‘I did.’
‘And this place is clear, isn’t it?’
She pushes up her glasses.
‘Are you really saying that you consider this logic?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s not being serious,’ he thinks. ‘No one is that stupid.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ he says aloud.
Anna furrows her brow.
‘No, I’m not. Don’t call me that. Gregory, if you want things to be clear, and you want to be free, then you have to do what I say.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’re dead. Tell me: what is the most important information you’ve learned from the documents?’
‘That someone is missing.’
‘Can you say his full, true name?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But you know exactly who he is.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I believe in what I’ve learned.’
‘Good. We’ve been given instructions by him – and by him I mean the man – to find the missing person.’
‘How do we find him?’
‘We have to give up a body part before dying.’
‘Die?’
‘Yes, I’ll kill you and then kill myself.’
‘How am I supposed to trust that?’
‘You just have to.’
‘I don’t trust in mystics.’
‘All of this is insane anyway. You’ve accepted the impossibilities of the world around you, yet you still exist comfortably within it.’
‘I’m not comfortable. I’m completely alone.’
‘You’re married.’
‘Everyone is alone.’
‘Listen, you can make things better for yourself and for everybody.’
‘By dying.’
‘Come over by the tree.’
They step towards it, crushing the hearts.
‘I’m going to cut off my ear,’ she says.
From her sweater jacket she produces a silver knife; before committing the act she removes her glasses. She sucks in air and brings the blade to her left ear, and barely draws blood before stopping.
‘This is harder than I thought,’ she confesses, wincing from the pain. ‘Can you . . . Can you cut off my ear for me? I mean, I don’t think I can.’
She hands him the knife, and he cuts off her ear, ignoring her pathetically pained expressions. Once the ear is on the ground, Anna produces a bottle of painkillers and takes two tablets, washing them down with her own saliva. They taste like chalk.
‘You have to cut out your eye,’ she says, choking down the tablets.
She’s holding the side of her head with one hand and producing bandages from her sweater jacket with the other.
‘My eye? Which eye?’
‘Your left one.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Well, I don’t really want to do it, either.’
‘You’re the only one of us who can, since I’d rather die first.’
She hands him the bottle of pain killers and he chokes down a few. After a few moments he feels delirium pressing on.
‘Okay, cut out my eye.’
It is done quickly and messily. Gregory barely feels anything. Something immediately flashes through his brain.
‘I don’t want to die,’ he says, as Anna diagonally wraps bandages across his head, covering the hollow. They pause.
‘I don’t either,’ she says. ‘I don’t want it to be a mistake. Can you imagine an eternity of infinite blackness? I don’t want that to happen. It’s not worth finding him.’
‘I can’t believe this is real.’
‘Maybe it isn’t.’
Anna gently strokes the taped bandage patch over her ear, then covers it with hair.
‘All of this is for nothing,’ Gregory says disdainfully.
‘No,’ Anna says. ‘We’ve done the correct step, and we’ve done it here.’
‘Where does this step take us?’
‘A special place,’ Anna explains. ‘I don’t think anyone has been here before.’
‘I’m very tired,’ Gregory says weakly.
‘It’s all right,’ Anna soothes. ‘Let’s just take the path back and see if it worked.’
‘Should we leave them behind?’ Gregory asks, referring to the eye, ear, and glasses.
‘Might as well,’ Anna says. ‘They’re of no use to us now.’
They are completely under the influence of pain killers. Anna leads Gregory back through the path, the side of her head throbbing horribly; Gregory is having difficulty adapting to the limited vision of one eye. He wonders what his wife will think about it.
‘This all feels like the type of feverish dreams I had as a child,’ he thinks. ‘But I know that this really is the world I exist in.’
‘What am I doing here?’ Anna thinks. ‘How could I allow myself to enter into this situation? It’s a combination of what the man said to me and what Gregory whispered. We chose life over salvation, and now undoubtedly reside in limbo. I am incredibly worried.’
Soon they return to the motel, where a green car rests idly in the parking lot.
‘Is someone here?’ Gregory asks.
‘I doubt it,’ Anna answers. ‘This car was left to help us find him, but that isn’t possible anymore.’
‘Should we take?’
‘No,’ Anna shakes her head. ‘We don’t want them tracking us. Open the trunk.’
He presses down on the trunk and it pops open, revealing a great deal of wrapped items. Sitting atop the pile is a set of car keys; Anna grabs them and tosses them towards a copse of trees.
‘We’ll take what we can from here,’ she says.
Gregory grabs a long, slightly curved wooden sword. It feels exceptionally light in his hands.
‘We need weapons?’
The wooden sword seems rather weak to him.
‘I hope not, but if we do end up needing them, then keep that handy.’
‘It’s made out of wood.’
‘Well, I think it’s for metal detectors. You’ll just have to get used to it.’
‘There’s a lot of things I have to get used to.’
They find a flattened pair of duffle bags at the bottom of the trunk and stuff them with the most essential items; Anna carries the lighter one.
‘Should we head into town?’ Gregory asks, then thinks: ‘I’m relying on this girl like a lost child.’
‘If it’s still there,’ Anna replies. “I mean, I’ve only learned about this place through the man, you know? But if the town is there, then we might as well visit it.’
‘Would people want us killed?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and if he wanted us to kill ourselves, then – since we failed – he may send people to kill us. Doesn’t really seem so bad, if the idea really works, but we want to live, right?’
Gregory nods measuredly.
‘You have the sword, though, and I have my, um, knife, so we can just fight them off.’
‘Like in a movie.’
‘Yeah.’
‘See, I don’t think this is a movie, and I don’t think you should either. I don’t know how to fight with a sword, let alone a wooden one. You treat the knife like you slice tomatoes with it.’
‘I guess we’re a bit doomed, then.’
‘Doomed from the start.’
They walk along the road with no sense of hurry. Gregory notices that the forest is slowly dwindling, and soon fades away completely; replacing it are stunning, golden hills, covered in wheat. A windmill slowly turns in the distance.
Eventually the road gives up as well, and the pair nakedly climbs the hills, pushing through the wheat with deep strides. The sky is robin’s egg blue. The blood around Anna’s ear stump has hardened, and she can hear nothing but the ocean through it.
‘I think the town is gone,’ Anna says, breaking the silence. ‘Should we sit and think for a bit? My legs hurt and the throbbing is unbearable.’
‘All right.’
They sit cross-legged beneath a peach tree.
‘This feels completely pointless,’ Gregory says.
‘What does?’ Anna asks. ‘Thinking?’
‘No, just all of this. We’re walking with no real direction in mind, and we have no motivation to get there. The only reason we’re here is because we chose life, and now we have nothing to do with it.’
‘Isn’t living good enough?’ Anna counters. ‘I mean, shouldn’t you be glad that you can still breathe? It seems like people need challenges in order to appreciate life. No one cares about it until they’re close to death, and suddenly refuse to let go; but if they continue living, then what do they do with their lives?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yeah. It’s kind of sad. But, isn’t life meaningless?’ she asks, then answers her own question: ‘It is, if people choose not to give it meaning.’
‘I’m not really into philosophy,’ Gregory tells her, simply. ‘Maybe when I was younger, but not anymore.’
Anna is visibly embarrassed.
‘I don’t understand why people treat philosophy like poetry, or something fake. It’s a genuine look into the idea of who and where we are.’
‘We’re animals roaming on the only planet with sentient life in the vast infinite of space.’
‘I suppose it’s just me who’s looking for something more,’ she says, dismayed.
They lapse into silence for some time.
‘She’s trying to reach out to me – to connect,’ Gregory realises. ‘It’s really quite pathetic. I know nothing about her, but I can tell that she’s a very lonely person.’
‘Do you think of me sexually?’ she asks, stopping him.
‘Yes, of course I do,’ he replies flatly. ‘Males regard all females in a sexual manner, and vice versa. Most people are just too ashamed to admit it.’
‘I don’t want you to give me sex, though,’ she says, as though she had been practicing the lines in her head. ‘So please stop thinking about it.’
‘I can agree to that verbally, but it is impossible for you or anyone else to have direct control over what goes on in my mind.’
‘I know,’ Anna agrees. ‘It’s just sickening.’
Gregory pauses.
‘You find sex sickening?’
‘No, just sex with you.’
‘She’s acting like a child,’ he decides. ‘I’ve been caught in the backlash of her inner turmoil. Perhaps she’s just afraid of what’s become of us; I’m not exactly sure of it, myself.’
She gazes longingly at the flowing stretches of wheat. Her face is pale from the shock of having her ear cut off, and specks of blood freckle her left cheek. In turn, Gregory wonders how much of a mess he looks like. Anna produces the painkillers again and takes two tablets; she offers them to Gregory, who takes one.
‘I’m very hungry,’ he says.
‘We’re sitting under a peach tree,’ Anna tells him.
‘I’m an idiot,’ he says quietly to himself, then plucks a peach from the tree. He breaks the fuzzy skin with his teeth, and the sweet juices explode into his mouth, spilling over his tongue and dribbling down his chin.
‘This is amazing,’ he thinks, then plucks one for Anna.
‘Aw, thank you,’ she says, then bites into it.
‘He said he has a wife,’ she thinks while savouring the flavour. ‘I wonder if he misses her.’
‘We should carry on soon,’ Gregory suggests.
‘Why?’ Anna asks him. ‘We have no destination in mind. You could say we’re already home.’
‘There’s a windmill,’ he points out. ‘If we search for its caretaker, then we can learn about the town.’
‘I don’t see why we have to.’
‘You don’t want to find civilisation? What about shelter and food?’
‘We can live in the windmill and eat the wheat.’
‘I don’t think we can eat it raw.’
‘Our bags are full of food.’
‘It’s not enough to last a lifetime.’
‘Why think about the future when you can think of right now? The future doesn’t actually exist, only this one moment does.’
Gregory ponders.
‘You’re one of those people who enjoys the journey more than the destination.’
‘Yes, I prefer living to death, and you do too; otherwise we’d be ghosts right now.’
‘Literally ghosts?’
‘I don’t really know. Ghosts sound really tacky.’
‘Come on, let’s find someone – anyone.’
‘Fine,’ she reluctantly agrees, and they head for the windmill.
On the back is a long door, which Gregory knocks on while Anna stands at a safe distance. Nobody answers. He presses his ear to the door and hears either a mice infestation or turning gears.
‘It’s empty,’ he says, then opens the door. ‘No one is inside.’
He turns to Anna, who is clutching her duffle bag protectively.
‘We’ll leave the bags here, since it’ll be too straining to carry them on our quest,’ he tells her. ‘Whenever we need to, we can come back for them, or use the windmill as shelter.’
Anna tightens her grip on the bag, then sets it down gently in the windmill. Above her she sees tiny gears, squeaking diminutively.
‘What are they for?’ she asks herself. ‘I thought windmills harnessed wind power.’
‘I’ve never properly learned about energy conservation,’ Gregory says, as if in means of explanation.
‘It feels safe and comfortable here,’ she says, running her hand along a wooden wall. ‘Like a fort you make out of chairs and blankets as a child.’
‘What kind of child were you?’ Gregory asks spontaneously.
‘A childish one,’ she answers. ‘But I’m an adult now.’
‘Do you consider this to be an adult world?’ he asks secondly.
Anna thinks it over.
‘Inhabitants set a world’s level of maturity. The world itself is slightly imaginative, I suppose, but its inhabitants are naïve.’
‘Does that reflect upon the creator of this world?’ he asks thirdly and finally.
‘I suppose it could. What’s with all the questions?’
‘It’s only natural to inquire about one’s surroundings.’
And in lieu of easy answers, the pair explores their surroundings while keeping on the same path, talking all the way. Gregory keeps the wooden sword in his hand. As they walk, he grows more accepting of Anna; after all, she is undoubtedly the only person in this world who he can trust.
‘I still know nothing about her, though,’ he thinks. ‘But . . . what does that mean? Of course I know her by talking to her. Her background shouldn’t affect what I think about her. I’m poor and ugly, myself. My entire life has been slipping away, and even with my wife, I’ve always felt overwhelming melancholia and loneliness. Anna has thrown everything away in accepting me, and I have for her, without being conscious of it. Perhaps I truly am a fool.’
Three small, hut-like houses come into view, automatically easing the weights off Gregory’s shoulders. Anna, despite her previous comments, is also relieved.
‘People really exist in this world,’ she says to herself.
They venture to the first house and knock on the door; an indecipherable vowel is spoken within, and soon a tiny, wizened old woman answers the door, holding a skinned chicken.
‘Strangers? What are you people doing here?’ she questions them distrustfully.
‘Hello, ma’am,’ Gregory begins, ‘We are new to the area and would like some information.’
‘Information about what?’
‘Well, where are we?’
‘You’re standing in front of my house. Over there’s Jimmy’s house and then that’s Jacob’s; they’re my boys. This is the land we’ve settled in and this is where we’ll stay.’
‘Ah, wonderful, ma’am. It’s a lovely community you have here. I’m afraid that we (I’m Gregory, and this is Anna) don’t have homes to call our own, and we’re a tad worried that we may be without shelter and food for a long while. Would you happen to know of any way to rectify this problem?’
The woman looks him up and down, taking particular interest in the sword.
‘I’m Mama,’ she introduces. ‘The only way you’ll get shelter and food from me is if you’re one of my boys. Now, I see you’ve got yourself a good stick, there. If you want to be my boy then you’ll have to replace another – I can only have two at a time, you see.’
She rubs the stubble on her chin.
‘Yeah, I think you’re a strong one. You’ve got a head wound; it means you’ve been in a scuffle and survived. What happened to the girl?’
‘I cut her ear off.’
‘Ah! I’m liking you already,’ she says excitedly, clasping her hands. ‘Good luck in beating one of my boys.’
Gregory rests the sword against his shoulder.
‘You want us to beat up one of your sons?’
Mama shakes her head: ‘They’re not my sons – they’re my boys.’
Anna parts her lips as if to speak, then just as quickly shuts them.
‘I’ll try to stay out of this as long as possible,’ she thinks.
The old woman looks them over queerly before slamming the door shut in front of them.
‘Do you suppose she’s representative of everyone else around here?’ Gregory asks Anna.
‘If you’re calling her strange, then I don’t find her stranger than anyone else I’ve met in my lifetime.’
He taps the side of her arm with the sword.
‘You may be an awkward philosopher,’ he tells her, ‘But you’re also this world’s only one.’
‘If only there were less,’ she chimes to herself, without any hint of malice.
The introduction of Mama and her boys has left Anna with a bad taste in her mouth.
‘In order to survive, we must take someone else’s livelihood,’ she thinks pensively. ‘We’re so desperate to continue living that this is what we’ve come to.’
‘This is what we’ve come to,’ Gregory says, as though reading her thoughts. ‘We might as well get it over with.’
She nods quietly and follows him to the farthest house.
‘Stay behind me,’ he intones with building masculinity.
She stands several paces away, ready to sprint. Gregory taps the door with his sword, and a tall, gangly man opens it. The man does not say any words and merely looks down like a giant discovering easy prey.
‘My name is Gregory, and I want this house.’
The man nods slowly, then returns inside as though for a moment, but instead shuts the door. They try the other house, and a younger man answers, one with blonde hair and glassy blue eyes.
‘Yes?’ is the general question he puts forth to them.
‘My name is Gregory,’ he explains, ‘And I want this house.’
‘I see you’ve brought a stick,’ the blonde man says, nodding to the wooden sword.
Gregory raises it for effect.
‘Very well.’
The blonde man retreats into the house, and the pair assume that he – like the other – will not return, but he does, holding a large rock. Without a second’s notice, the man brings the rock to Gregory’s head, but the latter sidesteps in time and slashes the former’s hip. The blonde man (who is actually Jimmy, though the pair are not sure) stumbles, and catapults his arm into Gregory’s stomach, who keels over; Gregory then kicks Jimmy’s knee, steps back, and brings the point of his sword to the latter’s throat. Jimmy drops his rock.
‘You win,’ he says shakily, admitting defeat. ‘I’ll just pack my things.’
This takes a much shorter time than Gregory and Anna would think. Before Gregory can turn to Anna for a few words, Jimmy is already outside the house with a large backpack and suitcase.
‘It was nice meeting you,’ he says to them with a consenting smile. ‘Goodbye.’