A hand on the right side of the crowded auction room shot up. Another could be seen in the front. Only two more to go. 

She watched the swirling ballet of the auctioneer's eyes as they focused on the man in the front just as he articulated a higher price. When no reaction came from the second buyer, the auctioneer's gazed aimed back at her. By an almost elusive nod, she accepted the new price.

Only one more to go.

Her heart was beating frantically and her mouth was filled with a bitter taste. She turned toward her neighbour and leaned to his ear as she murmured a "Conosci quest' uomo?" (Do you know this man?), without leaving the man from her sight even for a split second.

"No, non è sulla lista..." (No, he's not on the list)

A nervous sweat broke under her armpits. She was close. 

So very close. 

She had sacrificed so much. Maybe a little too much in fact for a set of figurines. But soon after seeing them displayed under a heavy glass cast in the auction ante-room two weeks ago, the feeling she couldn't live without them in her possession had kept her from sleeping and even eating. No one would destroy her efforts to get them. Only one more person stood in her way- and then the precious artefacts would be hers at last.

The next price made her wince: her top price had just been smashed - and the man in front was still bidding. It would be tougher than the she had imagined after the thorough audit of the potential buyers she had previously run. Who was he? And what were his motives? Many times she had tried to get even a glimpse of his face since the battle started and it unnerved her she couldn't see the movement the man was throwing to the auctioneer. No raised catalogue, no nodding, no finger waving. The silent agreement that passed between the two men darkened her mood even more. A few glances over at the regular customers who all shook their heads, showed her that she was not alone in her curiosity to identify the mystery man.

Time suspended its course as the auctioneer mentioned the next price. She stopped breathing. It was an outrageous price and she lacked the money to buy the figurines that lay on a black velvet covered table, displayed for everyone to see. Her palms itched as she imagined them resting in her hand. They would fit so perfectly, she knew.

So close and yet...

The auctioneer articulated the next price and everybody in the heated Roman auction room hold their breaths. In the eyes of the auctioneer, the woman saw when he got the man's agreement. He had raised the stakes.

Again. 

She couldn't be defeated. Everything had been done for her to win the auction. She and her associate had even sounded out potential customers, for God sakes! As she was about to raise her hand, her neighbour grabbed it firmly and kept it on her lap.

The auctioneer counted to three and his hammer struck the wooden pedestal loudly. The crowed burst into frantic applauds, overtly cheering the mystery man and the sheer entertainment he had brought in this quiet and rainy September afternoon.

It was over. The figures would belong to someone else.

The biting defeat reddened her cheeks but she knew better than to show her humiliation in the middle of professionals and regular customers who would be delighted by her outburst and soon spread the news of her undignified behaviour.

The man beside her finally let go of her hand and rose without a word. He exited the room a few moments before the noisy crowd started to head toward the doors. He had left her alone, not caring what this loss meant to her. He had what he wanted: an association with her in exchange of several thousand Euros spent to bribe the potential customers interested in the figurines to forget they ever existed.

All this for nothing....

She hated her associate for letting this happen. Vittorio had let her down when she needed his support the most and she briefly wondered if he had done it intentionally.

But she hated the man who had stolen the figurines from under her even more. 

A few people spontaneously surrounded the victorious buyer and cheerfully congratulated him for his acquisition. The excitement was palpable: knowing this auction world like she did, it was clear all they wanted was to learn who this man was. She watched him closely as he listened and briefly answered a few questions. He was now facing her and she was able to put a face on the hate that was burning inside of her, making her guts boil and her heart pour with flames of anger.

Strangely enough, there was no satisfactory smile plastered on his tanned face. Nothing in his demeanour showed of his contentment of having won the auction. This was totally surreal for her as only passion was driving her at the moment and more generally in her life. The Tiber waters would run a long time before the man's short dark hair, clear eyes, broad shoulders and wide torso would leave her memory. Alone in anonymous hotel rooms, she would recall how he looked like an oak that nothing could shake nor break when she felt like a reed bending under the blowing wind.

In this moment, she only wanted to stick a knife into his heart to see if he could feel something. Anything that could match what she was feeling inside.

Beside the man was standing an old acquaintance: Marco Agostino, an antique dealer on Via Apia, who was trying to hand his card to the man. Now that could help getting in action the little plan that her feverish brain was already forming.

Abruptly standing up, she started walking but instead of heading toward the exit her steps brought her to the velvet table. She was fascinated by the two small figurines in easy reach of her hands ...They were carefully laid on their velvet cushion and seemed lit by a glow of their own, a strange luminosity coming from a hidden place. Drinking the sight of them one last time, she stayed for a few seconds beside the table. She couldn't resolve herself to leave. They had been hers once, she was sure about it. How could it be otherwise? She knew every curve, every angle and every expression of each of the figurine.

"Mi scusi Signora, devo adesso accedere alle figurine per imballarle." (Excuse me, Madam, I must now get to the figurines to wrap them.)

An auction house assistant was standing on the other side of the cast, his arm extended, showing her the way toward the doors. When her eyes left contact with the figurines she instantly felt the cold insinuating in her bones. A few steps behind was standing the man, his arms folded behind his back in a stance of unspoken authority. He had abandoned his courtship to stand beside the cast and watch over his possession. The mystery man...the new owner of the figurines.

Bowing slightly to greet her, he did not wait for her greeting and soon turned his attention toward the utility man who was packing his acquisitions with great care.

"Ecco, Signore Cooper. E tutto apposto, sono vostre. Non ve ne pentirete. Ecco i certificati che provono la loro autenticità. Arivederci, è stato un piacere trattare con voi." (Here it is, Mr. Cooper. Everything is in order, they are yours. You will not regret it. Here are the certificates proving their authenticity. Good-bye, it has been a pleasure to make business with you.)

In most cases the check verification procedure took an hour or two, how was it possible that everything was in order so soon? And then it hit her: the man had paid cash! It was unbelievable that anyone would walk in the streets with so much cash on him, especially in Rome where trained bands relieved people from their loads every day of the year.

It was more than she could bear. The next instant she was walking down the aisles, fuming. It would be over when she would say so. There were other ways to get what she wanted. And there was no doubt in her mind that she would do whatever it took to get them.

It hadn't been difficult to find the man's name. It was already circulating by the time she was leaving the building where the auction had taken place. By the beginning of the evening, any person interested in ancient Roman artefacts had heard of him: Maximus Cooper.

Vittorio had run a quick check on him on her pressing request. One of Vittorio's informers had found about his arrival at the Fiumicino airport from a London flight two days ago, together with the name of the hotel where Mr. Cooper was staying...

The bell rang when the elevator reached the fifth floor of the Hotel Atlante Star, close to the Vatican. A groom stepped aside to let her go out and leaned to watch the sway of her hips as she walked down the corridor. When she stopped in front of the door, she threw a smile to the groom who hurriedly got back into the elevator and left the floor.

A quick check of her cleavage, a tongue passed on her freshly brushed teeth, two hands knowingly ruffling her hair and she sharply knocked three times on Mr. Cooper's door. The speed with which it opened just after her last knock startled her. He had to be right behind the door to be able to open it so quickly...

"What do you want?" Sporting a fashionable shirt, jeans and no shoes, Mr. Maximus Cooper seemed none to happy to receive a visit so late in the evening. Too bad she hadn't caught him when he was about to go to bed. The passing notion of whether he would be sleeping clothed or naked crossed her mind. That could have helped her in the plan...

"Sophie LeSaint. We met at the auction this afternoon, you remember? May I come in?" Her tone was soft and enveloping, unlike his. Her plan was composed of three crucial steps, the first one being invited to enter his room.

"I don't have much time..." he said.

"This will only take a few minutes, Mr Cooper." 

It didn't take much thinking for him to make up his mind; a second later he stepped aside, leaving the way free for her to enter. This was not a room: it was a suite. The chamber she entered was a lounge consisting in a large leather sofa and two armchairs, design lamps that only Italians could manufacture scattered in strategic places and soft carpets. The furniture was classy, definitely pricy.

Alone with him, Sophie took for the first time the full measure of the task she had decided to carry on. Mr. Cooper was smoothly moving around her, removing a bag here, a book there and setting them aside. He had the grace of a feline and a presence that was undeniably filling the lounge. His potential reaction had to be taken into account. She was playing at high stakes here...depending on the opportunities Sophie was even ready to consider stealing the figurines from him in a moment of distraction and disappear.

On her right was the bedroom with a king-sized and in its extension, a clear tiled bathroom. The bed was made but the covers seemed ruffled at one place, clearly indicating he had laid on them. An open suitcase was on the floor, half filled with clothes. Could he be leaving soon?  

Sophie sat in the sofa after he invited her to do so, taking extra care not to cross her leg but arranging them parallel slantwise. Smoothing down her short dress, she leaned as to adjust the strap of her high heel sandals. That would give him without a doubt a good look at her cleavage and set Mr. Cooper's attention on her legs and feet with perfectly deep red polished nails. Sitting up, Sophie put on her most innocent smile when she got the confirmation she had been looking for that his eyes had followed over her body. He was just a man. They were all so predictable.

Mr. Cooper sat comfortably in the armchair in front of her, his legs crossed; both his arms set on the armrests on each side of him in an open stance. They were only separated by a dark wooden coffee table with a glass of what was certainly a strong drink. Maybe whisky or cognac... His eyes on her were unreadable though.

"Congratulation on your purchase, Mr. Cooper. These are exceptional artefacts..." She started in the intention of keeping her affable tone as long as possible.

"...You surely didn't come all this way just to congratulate me." He cut her sharply.

No sweet talk, then. 

"Actually, no, Mr. Cooper. As you might have figured out, my associate and I were very much interested in the figurines you bought this afternoon." 

He nodded and leaned, putting his forearms on his knees, closing some of the distance between them. Sophie read it as a sign of interest from him, a welcome openness for her. How wrong she was to even think she stood a chance.

"My associate and I would like to make you an offer for the figurines. An offer above your wildest expectations..."

It had cost the remains of her self-esteem and independence. Vittorio had asked for more for a stronger association for cash and now she had a debt that a hundred years won't suffice to reimburse. Where such an amount of money came from wasn't Sophie's interest. Surely white-as-snow Vittorio was dealing in troubled waters? Why should she care? If the shit hit the fan she wouldn't be bothered as she had no part in his illegal activities. And it would be a good riddance.

What bothered her more was the night Vittorio had put in the deal to hand the money. The rat! Sophie promised herself this would be the last time she would be found herself in such an inferiority position. She would never beg anybody, ever.

Not true.

Sophie would beg on both knees, lick Mr. Cooper's feet and crawl in front of him if he asked.  A part of her felt almost scared for what the actions she was ready to make in order to get the figurines in her possession.

"They are not for sale." He said, his face set.

Did he really think this kind of sentence would stop her?

"Everything is for sale, Mr. Cooper. It's only a matter of two people agreeing on a price," she cooed.

If it was the kind of game he wanted to play, Sophie would comply. To stay in this business full of old farts who liked to dominate her. What they underestimated was her ability to manipulate them into thinking they had power when she was getting from them more what she was giving. Everything was to be bought and everyone had a price. But some people liked to play hard to get because they didn't want to be tagged as "easy target" in front of a woman. They had a reputation, or so they thought.

Standing up, she rounded the coffee table and approached the man from aside, letting her hips sway just enough to draw his attention on her body but not enough to pass for a trollop. From her purse, she took a piece of paper which she neatly unfolded and leaned until Mr. Cooper could read the numbers. The unusual calm he showed impressed her greatly. He didn't even flinch at the obscene amount that was displayed in front of his eyes. Not a twitch. No sign betraying about the check worth half a million euros. Mr. Cooper didn't even turn his face toward hers to get the visual confirmation he wasn't dreaming.

"Quite a colossal sum, n'est-ce pas ?" She poured in his ear centimetres from her mouth enticing him to react. Deliberately moistening her lips, she went on and whispered to encourage him "Take it, it's yours...."

He didn't move for an eternity. Sophie waited, still leaning looking at his ear, the strong line of his jaw and the mole on his cheek while he pondered her proposal. She wondered if how he would react if she decided to touch his skin. This had nothing to do with the game anymore. It wasn't about making him bend to her will. It was about an exchange, about verifying the impression that her fingers would meet an unexpected softness and a skin texture that would call for caresses.

All those élans were unusual to her. She had long since forgotten the true company of a man. If she was there tonight, it wasn't for him. At the memory of the figurines, her palms itched. 

"You want them so much. Tell me why..." He whispered, his face slowly turning toward her. He was so close. Her eyes went down to his mouth and she repressed the impulse of touching the soft lips which parted as he spoke.

"It's not me, I told you, my associate and I..." She started.

"You are lying. You are the one who wants them. Tell me the truth. Tell me why!" He slowly rose from the armchair and never loosing the eye contact, made a step forward. Sophie felt panic hitting her guts. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

"Are you going to accept the offer or not?" Vain words of defiance she didn't feel anymore. She stood her ground and wiggled the check to make him cut his look that was trying to dig in her soul.

Another step forward. This time Sophie backed down. "Let make myself clear, Mme. LeSaint: they are not for sale. Nor will they ever be..."

Another step forward. It was pure intimidation and Sophie felt for the first time this evening that she was loosing ground physically and figuratively. The whole situation was turning sour and he was pushing her toward the door. Something had to be done...

"Can I see them? Let me hold them once. Just once, I'm asking you. Please!" Sophie did her best not to humiliate herself any further. Without any success apparently. Mr. Cooper wasn't moved by her plea as he went on walking her back to the door.

"Ask me anything. I'll do it. Anything! Just say the word! I just want to hold them for a few minutes!" It was such a desperate attempt it was nothing but pitiful.

Both her arms flew to Mr. Cooper's neck and locked themselves behind it. The contact with his burly chest made her pulse race, her nipples harden and a gush of wetness invaded her sex. The check fell on the ground, a disregarded fortune and a useless tool. Bending his upper-body in her direction, he grasped the handle behind her back and opened the door partway.

"Contrary to what you may think, Mme. LeSaint, money can't buy anything. If it did, you should be the first person to buy yourself some decency..."

It wouldn't have struck her more strongly if he had slapped her. Her arms fell instantly aside and it took her a few seconds to digest the overt insult he had just uttered. During that time, Mr. Cooper gently but firmly pushed her outside the room and slammed the door.

Sophie's father had raised her with the maxims: "Who dares not, gets nothing", "Do what you need to get what you want" and "The end justifies the means."

At this moment, Sophie discovered the truth that brought bile into her mouth: she had become the kind of woman who sold herself in order to follow these precepts...

MAXIMUS

...The bar was crowded on New Year's Eve but I sat alone at my usual distance. I was not always thus at festival times. In my younger days, I was quite the social animal, known for my wit - and my success with women. I'm not sure when I began to change, to retire inwards into my own head. The transformation began long before the events for which I am known. High rank sets a man apart from the rest. He must maintain a presence even amongst his contemporaries and peers.

And then there was my marriage. I had never been a man for adultery. It did not make sense to me to take a wife and then continue to play the field. There are rites of passage in life, a season for everything. My time for concupiscence had passed as I settled down to the delights and the obligations of marriage and fatherhood, not to mention the inevitable loneliness. I could hardly blame most men for taking women into their beds whilst on campaign. It was always a temptation, especially when one is most in need of comfort and the solace of warm soft flesh for a body aching from battle and the harsh regime of a military life.

But in the end, deprivation becomes a way of life that is hard to shake off. I have always found that denial gives a man an inner strength to face the hardship that inevitable lies in his way. I denied myself friends and companionship, women and easy living and find that, even now in this alien place, I retreat into that familiar world as if it acts as a bulwark against my situation here. Sometimes I feel afraid. Now, how can the great hero admit to that?

I am not made of steel, however. There are nights when I sit with others, share a few drinks, play a game of cards, listen to the chatter - and there are other nights when I look for that other solace, the body of a woman. Yet I never make that mistake here amongst my friends. Even now the idea that I might reveal any weakness is abhorrent to me. How bizarre that I regard sleeping with a woman as a weakness. It used to be my strength. What does that say about my state of mind these days?

Wade guessed. He latched onto the topic early on in those days we spent together as he circled and scrabbled around in the dirt, looking for my Achilles' heel. It did not take him long to realise that it would always be a woman. Didn't my film tell him that straight away? Apparently he has a woman tucked away somewhere already. I was not surprised. I have seen his film, too. Women are the soft underbelly of all of us, it would seem.

One night as we sat on the porch sharing a beer, he asked me what I did when I wanted a woman. I stared across at him without answering. He laughed. "Let me think...I'll bet you have some little lady hidden away down here for when the itch just gets too bad. You don't dirty your nest up there at the Big Sur, that's for sure. You wouldn't want one of those girls getting under your skin, now would you? They might just figure out you're not a living god after all, just a man, like the rest of us. Who puts his pants on the same way as we do. And takes them off...."

I might not have dignified his mockery with an answer but we both knew he was right. That was exactly how I managed. There was indeed such a lady. Her name was Kristina. She lived on a small holding near my land with her two young sons. Her husband had been killed in an accident a few years back, leaving her struggling to work her fields and raise her children alone. Her lifestyle seemed unusual to me, to say the least. In this day and age, to live on the land was not the way most people chose. Food was store bought and mass produced. She was originally a city girl. I was curious as to why she stayed on in such straitened circumstances.

That was, in fact, how we met. I passed her on the road one day as she was trying to change a tyre on her vehicle. The truck was old and the wheel nuts were rusty. She was unable to turn the jack. I stopped, gave her assistance and she thanked me. We struck up a conversation. I told her about my vineyard. She asked if I needed any workers. She was short of cash and could manage a few hours. I offered her a part time position in the small shop we have on the grounds.

Kristina began to work for me. She is an attractive woman, if a little careworn and dusty. I noticed, however, that she began to spruce herself up as the weeks went on. I am not so far from it all not to recognise when a woman is showing interest. We fell into a relationship. I helped her round her property, she cooked dinner for me. Her boys showed me how to play baseball. I offered them riding lessons.

I shared her bed.

It had been a long time. So very long that I wondered if I still knew how to please a woman. Apparently I did. I also rediscovered how very much I enjoyed a female body. It is a strange thing about indulgence. The more one has, the more one needs. My visits became frequent.

Our relationship soon became comfortable and easy, like donning a well worn garment. We talked and laughed, loved and played, but it was always lacking something. I was not in love with this woman, although I liked her very much. She was strong and determined, independent and proud. Kristina had been married to a man she had adored. He had been older than she was. He had given her two fine sons. She was not looking for another husband. She suited me, and I her. It seemed an ideal arrangement. Yet life rarely sets out its stall so conveniently as that. Something would always be missing for me. I am a man who needs more from a woman than just her body. I want her soul and mind as well - and in return would offer mine. But it was impossible.  Would I ever find love again? Somehow I doubted it so much that I had stopped even trying.

I told her little of my true self, on the pretext that I was not at liberty to do so. I had to protect the others. It was probably an excuse. For her part, she did not seek to explain her past to me either, unlike most women who seem to need to pour out their lives until there is nothing left but too much information. Nevertheless, it is difficult for a man and woman to share a bed and erotic pleasure without some confidences finding their way into the light of day.

"Where are you from, Max?" Kristina asked one night as we lay naked together after making love. I did not immediately answer. She went on. "I am not sure if I wish to know. Something tells me I wouldn't be able to handle the truth."

I gave her reply some thought. "What makes you think I have a story to tell? I'm just a man who owns a vineyard. A farmer. Does there need to be more?"

She chuckled softly, huskily, in that throaty way of women when they are still deep in sexual pleasure, before they put back their public face and hide their true natures from the world. "You are more than a farmer. Much, much more." Her comment was definitive. She did not require an answer.

But I was impelled to go further than was probably wise. "What do you think I am then?"

"Different. You are different from other men. My husband was different. Tim was at odds with the modern world. I guess people would call him a New Ager or something, although he hated labels like that. He didn't belong to any particular group. He just wanted out of the rat race. He wanted to live on the land, care for the environment, opt out of the empty and shallow society that surrounded us. In some ways, you remind me of him..."

"What ways?" I was curious. This explained why she grew her own food and made her own clothes, educated her children herself and kept away from the main stream. It was not an easy life, even for two. Alone it was an uphill struggle.

She paused before answering. "You don't seem to go for organised religion. You read a lot. You're not acquisitive. You don't care about what car you drive, or phone you use. You don't obsess image or exercise or appearance - but you are well groomed, fit and clean. You seem to have a different philosophy, something age old. Or maybe something not of this world..."

Her comment made me stiffen. What did she mean exactly? "Not of this world?" I repeated.

"I'm scared to put it into words. Are you an alien? Tim always believed that there was life out there - and that it would sooner or later try to contact..."

"What do you mean by alien?" I had heard the expression but it had a few possible meanings; it was important that I fully understood to which one she referred.

At that, she sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal her naked breasts. Her hands reached for my face. "If you don't know what an alien is, then it suggests that is exactly what you are. I mean, have you come from another planet? Out there, in the universe?"

She pointed to the open window. I broke into a smile, relaxing when I understood to what she was referring. There were many people in California who seemed to be obsessed with that particular notion. "Do I not even look human to you?"

Kristina grinned, stroking my face and hair, pulling back the sheet to bare me, too. "Superhuman, more like. You are a very handsome man. You have a very beautiful body. But it is marked as if it has been savagely treated in ways that you just don't see in America. Gun shot wounds, yeah, but..." She fingered pitted scars on my chest and back. "These are pretty fearsome. Like you were hacked with a blade. What happened to you?"

I could not tell her all, but she deserved some measure of truth. As much as she could handle, at least. "I am not an alien. I come from this world, as do you. I have lived a turbulent life, lost my family and friends, been driven from my home and seen my career reduced to tatters, my name dragged through the mire. I was once a soldier, you see, in another land. My life has been brutal and bloody. I come from a culture very different from yours... If I told you more, your brain would burst..."

She stopped me with a finger to my lips "...Somehow I knew it. I don't want to know anymore anyway. Max, maybe it's better we don't know too much about each other? I don't want complications - and I suspect you could make life very complicated indeed..."

That conversation had taken place months ago and since then we had not returned to the subject of my origin. I visited her when I could and we shared fulfilling times together. Life rolled along in its seemingly arbitrary way. I was not happy, but nor was I unhappy. It was more than I had known for most of my adult life. But I was still unsatisfied. Something was moving in me, some beast that would not be stilled.

So, it was New Year's Eve again, and I was at the bar, drifting in my head as the shots of alcohol began to take their toll. I was feeling amorous, aware that soon I would take my leave and go to visit Kristina, to spend what was left of the night in her arms. Another year loomed ahead. What would it bring? Where was I going? Was it enough for me simply to live my allotted span of time and never strive again to make something meaningful of my time here on earth?

There was a restlessness within me that had been growing for months. It had all begun when I went to Europe in search of the figurines. After they had emerged on the international market at auction, I had been determined to recover them at all costs. They belonged to me. It was all I would ever have of my wife and son. The acquisition of them had become my primary focus. In a sense, they had replaced my earlier need for revenge. For years I had been searching catalogues and Museum archives on the off chance that somehow they had survived. It seemed important to prove to myself that in this world I was not a celluloid image but a real man of flesh and blood who had lived and fought and suffered - as well as loved.

Until the day I learned of their discovery, from information supplied by one of my European sources. From that moment on, I was determined to buy them back at all costs.  Ultimately I achieved my aim. But there was a price to pay for my memories that I had not envisaged beforehand.

Two things transpired after I had brought them home. The first was obvious.  I no longer had anything to plan for. The figures of my wife and son had been returned to my new ancestral lands and now rested at peace on the lararium once more. I lit candles and incense in their honour, praying to them daily. What now for Maximus? What cause would keep him alive this time?

The second cost was even more disconcerting. She haunts my dreams, that woman who bid against me at the auction, the woman who wanted my figurines almost as obsessively as I did. I have even begun to imagine that she is here, stalking me after all this time! I believe I observed her fleetingly not long ago, in this very place. Is that even possible? 

Ann came over to where I was sitting, just then, snapping me out of my reverie. She was slightly the worse for wear, as were most people on this night famed for over-indulgence. I recognised the bright gleam of undisguised lust in her eye, mostly because I could see the same in my own eyes through the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. I had been subconsciously thinking of sexual congress all night. Each woman who had passed my vision had received my scrutiny, although she would not probably have realised it. I was as close as I have ever been to making a move towards one of my female acquaintances here, sure of success on such an occasion. Uma had been on my mind, too, as she draped herself over the eminently unsuitable Roberts. She did not need another such feckless lover. She did not need me either, that was for sure. For what was I able to offer other than a mere night of heat?

I knew I had to leave as soon as Ann approached. My resolve was weakening. It would be so easy to pursue what she was about to offer. She had always caught my fancy. But if I did approach her, I would be making a very serious mistake. Wade had been right. I did not dare lower my shield before anyone here in case they discovered that I was no longer the man they once thought me to be. I was not the hero rising. I was the fool dashed down once more for his hubris, cast out into this strange world, lost and adrift. Perhaps Kristina had been right. I was an alien from another planet. The past.

Making a hasty retreat, I found myself once more en route to Kristina's simple homestead where the light still burned in the window. She was waiting for me. She had known I would need her comfort tonight. For a few hours, the emptiness inside would find love enough to still the beast for a while.