Betty held the door open for Matthew as he passed through it. He felt strange having spilled so many of his thoughts out to Angie, but it felt good to confide some of his feelings to someone who could talk back. Ira was always there, but Ira had no counseling skills really. He was just a good friend who knew him well. He scanned the room for his mother, who was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she had gone to the bathroom or out to the car for a moment, so he decided to sit and wait for her for a little while. As he started towards the interconnected chairs that dotted the waiting room, he heard something that made him freeze in his tracks.
“Come on, Sari, she’s waiting for us!” a man’s voice said exasperatedly. He was a tall man with dark hair and he was pulling on a small child’s hand, trying to get her through the door.
“No!” she screamed, fighting the man with all her might. “I don’t wanna go see Miss Angie again! She’s creepy!” She wrenched her hand free of the man’s and ran back to her seat.
“Goddamn it, Sari!” the man yelled, chasing after her.
Matthew’s heart stopped.
“Goddamn it, Sarah, just let me rest!”
He stared at the man as he lifted the girl bodily from the chair. His face was contorted in anger at her lack of cooperation. Matthew knew that look, that face, that hair, that voice. The little girl kicked at him until he finally let her down, but the rage in his eyes was the same as the night he yelled at Matthew’s mother. He walked towards the door with the same fury as he had the night he had abandoned them and never come back.
Jonathan Thorne, Matthew’s deadbeat dad, was standing before him.
Matthew felt Ira’s signature warmth bubbling in his stomach. He didn’t even try to fight it, didn’t really want to. Ira would be relentless, wouldn’t stop and consider anything before beating Jon to a pulp. And Matthew was okay with that, because he knew when the time came to throw the final blow he would freeze. The tingling spread through Matthew’s limbs until he could no longer feel his own fingers. His arms flexed and his shoulders stretched until they both cracked loudly. This bastard was going down.
Ira moved forward a few steps. He was in Matthew’s body, he knew that. He had always known that, but he only took over when he knew Matthew needed a nudge in the direction he wanted to take. He cracked Matthew’s neck so it was loose, then walked forward until he was standing directly behind Jon. He suppressed his urge to smirk. Finally he would get revenge on this man that had so plagued Matthew’s innermost thoughts for so long. He tapped Jon on the shoulder—he and Matthew were the same height.
“Hey, man, remember me?” he asked. He would talk as if he was Matthew—he wanted him to know who was beating him when it happened. He raised an eyebrow cockily, teasing the man. He was going to enjoy this; he was going to enjoy this for Matthew.
Jon looked him up and down and snapped, “No, should I?”
“I would think so,” Ira said. He paused for effect. “…Dad.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed for a minute as he examined Matthew’s face more closely, then they widened in some emotion that almost resembled fear. “Matthew…?” he whispered in disbelief. He glanced over Matthew’s shoulder at Sari then back in his son’s face. “Matt, son, I—”
“Don’t call me ‘Matt’ or ‘son’ you worthless piece of shit,” Ira spat. “Do you know what you did to my family? To my mother? Or do you even care?”
Jon was looking around wildly, searching for a way out. “Matthew, please let’s go somewhere, let’s talk,” he pleaded. He sounded like a wounded animal with the mentality of a lawyer. “I’ll buy you lunch, I’ll take you somewhere fun. You like baseball? I got tickets to the game—”
“I hate baseball, you brainless fraud,” Ira said loudly. “Maybe if you hadn’t abandoned me at eight you might know that! And don’t try to buy me off like one of your precious clients!”
The man couldn’t speak. Sari walked toward them and tugged at the jeans hanging off Matthew’s hips.
“My daddy is your daddy too?” she asked, her voice sweet and gentle, with no sense of malice at all.
Ira looked at her through Matthew’s eyes and noticed that she was rather darker-skinned than her father, and her hair and eyes were nearly black while his were hazel. Ira looked back at Jon, who looked about ready to collapse.
“Who’s this, your lovechild?” he asked, his voice dripping with spite. “What did you do, get stuck with her when your little Hawaiian whore decided she didn’t want to be a mommy anymore?”
Jon’s eyes went wide with anger again, his fear evaporating in an instant. “Don’t talk about my daughter that way!” he shouted, jabbing his finger into Ira’s chest.
Ira’s face contorted instantly. He shoved Jon against the wall and held him there by the throat.
“Don’t you dare defend her,” he threatened, slowly applying pressure to his neck. “Don’t you dare tell me to be nice to my little sister—” The words dripped slowly from his mouth like leftover vomit. “—when you never gave a rat’s ass about me!”
“That’s not true!” Jon sputtered. “I always cared about you, Matt, always, I just couldn’t always be there—”
“Shut the hell up,” Ira commanded, and Jon was silent, only desperate gasps for breath escaping him. Ira stared him straight in the eye, unaffected by the man’s terrified gaze and pleas for help.
He felt a light pounding on his thigh and heard, “Leave my daddy alone! Go away, go away!” from Sari. Ira impatiently jerked his leg so Sari was pushed away, and when she started back at him, he kicked her full out, without even looking at her, so she fell to the floor crying.
“Sari!” Jon shouted in concern, only resulting in Ira holding him more tightly.
“You sorry lowlife scumbag,” Ira rumbled, the words echoing from the darkest depths of Matthew’s hatred for the man. “You made my life hell when you left. Then again, maybe I should thank you, Jon, maybe I have you to thank for screwing me up so bad! You destroyed me so completely that you’ve caused your own death!” He threw the pitiful man to the floor and stomped on his stomach. Jon let out a cry of pain like a wounded animal. Ira roared with evil laughter.
Sari ran to him, but Ira grabbed her by her jacket sleeve and threw her easily across the room into a short wooden desk, which shattered as her back was slammed against it. She didn’t get up again to help her father.
Ira’s attention quickly returned to Jon, who was trying to squirm away, fingers clutching desperately at the carpet fibers. Ira snatched the man by the back of his shirt and pulled him to his knees. Jon’s head snapped back from the force of Ira’s jerk, leaving his neck exposed to be suddenly encircled by a powerful forearm. Ira applied a fierce amount of pressure while throwing murderous glares at the doctors and nurses surrounding them, telling them through his eyes to stay away. Jon’s face was turning red, his neck straining to pull away so hard that the veins were bursting through his skin. Ira released him and, in the blink of an eye, stood and grabbed Jon under the arms.
“Time to say good-night, Daddy,” Ira whispered maliciously into the man’s ear. “If you’d only stayed away.” His breath was hot from exertion and rage. “You would still be alive if you’d only left us alone.” He locked Jon’s arms behind him as he gathered all Matthew’s weight and strength for the final blow. He could feel Jon’s body shaking from fear and exhaustion, and he savored it. He prayed some fraction of Matthew’s consciousness could feel this, could relish in this bastard’s last few moments of life before the rush of extinguishing it altogether.
“I never wanted to leave you!” Jon shouted, saliva dripping from his mouth like a rabid dog as he tried to utter his final atonement. “I only tried to leave your mom, not you! I loved you, Matt, I lo—”
“Don’t say it!” Ira shouted, drawing again from Matthew’s hatred to give his words more power. “Don’t make your last words a lie!”
He threw the back of Jon’s head a few solid blows and watched the blood flow freely from the wound while Jon cried in agony. He stared at the man’s face and saw it was scrunched in cowardice, tears streaming down his face from fear of death. Ira took a deep breath, gathered his icy composure, and continued.
“But you had to come back. You couldn’t even keep your word about forgetting all about us.” He drew a last shuddering breath and screamed, “You just had to come back!” He thrust Jon across the room and through a thick, clear window. The glass exploded on impact and Jon’s body fell, tangled in the sea of broken blinds and shards.
Ira stood straight, heaving from the effort. He stared at the mess he had made as his face curled into a wide, triumphant grin. Matthew would no longer be tormented by the thought of this man and his wretched existence. He cracked his neck and whispered, “This one’s for you, Matt. This one’s for you...”
“Hey, man, remember me?” he asked. He would talk as if he was Matthew—he wanted him to know who was beating him when it happened. He raised an eyebrow cockily, teasing the man. He was going to enjoy this; he was going to enjoy this for Matthew.
Jon looked him up and down and snapped, “No, should I?”
“I would think so,” Ira said. He paused for effect. “…Dad.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed for a minute as he examined Matthew’s face more closely, then they widened in some emotion that almost resembled fear. “Matthew…?” he whispered in disbelief. He glanced over Matthew’s shoulder at Sari then back in his son’s face. “Matt, son, I—”
“Don’t call me ‘Matt’ or ‘son’ you worthless piece of shit,” Ira spat. “Do you know what you did to my family? To my mother? Or do you even care?”
Jon was looking around wildly, searching for a way out. “Matthew, please let’s go somewhere, let’s talk,” he pleaded. He sounded like a wounded animal with the mentality of a lawyer. “I’ll buy you lunch, I’ll take you somewhere fun. You like baseball? I got tickets to the game—”
“I hate baseball, you brainless fraud,” Ira said loudly. “Maybe if you hadn’t abandoned me at eight you might know that! And don’t try to buy me off like one of your precious clients!”
The man couldn’t speak. Sari walked toward them and tugged at the jeans hanging off Matthew’s hips.
“My daddy is your daddy too?” she asked, her voice sweet and gentle, with no sense of malice at all.
Ira looked at her through Matthew’s eyes and noticed that she was rather darker-skinned than her father, and her hair and eyes were nearly black while his were hazel. Ira looked back at Jon, who looked about ready to collapse.
“Who’s this, your lovechild?” he asked, his voice dripping with spite. “What did you do, get stuck with her when your little Hawaiian whore decided she didn’t want to be a mommy anymore?”
Jon’s eyes went wide with anger again, his fear evaporating in an instant. “Don’t talk about my daughter that way!” he shouted, jabbing his finger into Ira’s chest.
Ira’s face contorted instantly. He shoved Jon against the wall and held him there by the throat.
“Don’t you dare defend her,” he threatened, slowly applying pressure to his neck. “Don’t you dare tell me to be nice to my little sister—” The words dripped slowly from his mouth like leftover vomit. “—when you never gave a rat’s ass about me!”
“That’s not true!” Jon sputtered. “I always cared about you, Matt, always, I just couldn’t always be there—”
“Shut the hell up,” Ira commanded, and Jon was silent, only desperate gasps for breath escaping him. Ira stared him straight in the eye, unaffected by the man’s terrified gaze and pleas for help.
He felt a light pounding on his thigh and heard, “Leave my daddy alone! Go away, go away!” from Sari. Ira impatiently jerked his leg so Sari was pushed away, and when she started back at him, he kicked her full out, without even looking at her, so she fell to the floor crying.
“Sari!” Jon shouted in concern, only resulting in Ira holding him more tightly.
“You sorry lowlife scumbag,” Ira rumbled, the words echoing from the darkest depths of Matthew’s hatred for the man. “You made my life hell when you left. Then again, maybe I should thank you, Jon, maybe I have you to thank for screwing me up so bad! You destroyed me so completely that you’ve caused your own death!” He threw the pitiful man to the floor and stomped on his stomach. Jon let out a cry of pain like a wounded animal. Ira roared with evil laughter.
Sari ran to him, but Ira grabbed her by her jacket sleeve and threw her easily across the room into a short wooden desk, which shattered as her back was slammed against it. She didn’t get up again to help her father.
Ira’s attention quickly returned to Jon, who was trying to squirm away, fingers clutching desperately at the carpet fibers. Ira snatched the man by the back of his shirt and pulled him to his knees. Jon’s head snapped back from the force of Ira’s jerk, leaving his neck exposed to be suddenly encircled by a powerful forearm. Ira applied a fierce amount of pressure while throwing murderous glares at the doctors and nurses surrounding them, telling them through his eyes to stay away. Jon’s face was turning red, his neck straining to pull away so hard that the veins were bursting through his skin. Ira released him and, in the blink of an eye, stood and grabbed Jon under the arms.
“Time to say good-night, Daddy,” Ira whispered maliciously into the man’s ear. “If you’d only stayed away.” His breath was hot from exertion and rage. “You would still be alive if you’d only left us alone.” He locked Jon’s arms behind him as he gathered all Matthew’s weight and strength for the final blow. He could feel Jon’s body shaking from fear and exhaustion, and he savored it. He prayed some fraction of Matthew’s consciousness could feel this, could relish in this bastard’s last few moments of life before the rush of extinguishing it altogether.
“I never wanted to leave you!” Jon shouted, saliva dripping from his mouth like a rabid dog as he tried to utter his final atonement. “I only tried to leave your mom, not you! I loved you, Matt, I lo—”
“Don’t say it!” Ira shouted, drawing again from Matthew’s hatred to give his words more power. “Don’t make your last words a lie!”
He threw the back of Jon’s head a few solid blows and watched the blood flow freely from the wound while Jon cried in agony. He stared at the man’s face and saw it was scrunched in cowardice, tears streaming down his face from fear of death. Ira took a deep breath, gathered his icy composure, and continued.
“But you had to come back. You couldn’t even keep your word about forgetting all about us.” He drew a last shuddering breath and screamed, “You just had to come back!” He thrust Jon across the room and through a thick, clear window. The glass exploded on impact and Jon’s body fell, tangled in the sea of broken blinds and shards.
Ira stood straight, heaving from the effort. He stared at the mess he had made as his face curled into a wide, triumphant grin. Matthew would no longer be tormented by the thought of this man and his wretched existence. He cracked his neck and whispered, “This one’s for you, Matt. This one’s for you...”
Matthew blinked. His fingers and toes were full of pins and needles, his arms and shoulders sore from overuse, his lungs were straining so he could breathe, and his head ached. Slowly but surely his eyes focused, but for a moment he could not comprehend the sight they met.
The waiting room of the counseling office, which now suddenly contained a broken desk, shattered window, and bloody corpse lay before him. He turned his head to the right to scan the rest of the room and saw Sarah, who was standing very straight near the automatic sliding doors. Her arms were drawn close to her body, her hands balled into fists over her mouth below her wide eyes. She was staring directly at Matthew, but she seemed not to know him. He blinked a few times and tried to send her a reassuring smile, but she only shuddered and took a few steps back. Matthew’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His reaction time seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace.
Betty was standing not far from the corpse, her pink uniform heavily spattered with blood. The green door was open and a crowd of counselors stood just behind it, all staring at either the corpse or at Matthew. If Angie was among the onlookers, Matthew could not see her. A thin-fingered hand touched his shoulder from behind and, almost lazily, Matthew turned to face its owner. He was staring into Angie’s thin face. She was trying to retain her stoicism, to keep that emotionless composure she’d shown during the session, but Matthew could practically see the mask chipping away to reveal the terror in her eyes. Angie licked her thin lips and, in a voice almost as cracked as her façade, she spoke.
“Matthew?” she said.
Matthew smiled. “Yes, Angie?” he answered.
The fear that had been so prominent in her eyes relaxed a little, only to be replaced by utter bafflement. “What have you done?” she whispered, her airy voice breaking.
Matthew’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “What do you mean what have I—”
Everything made sense in one fell swoop. Ira had taken him over so Matthew could remember nothing. Ira must have caused all the damage, must have killed that man—that man who had been Jonathan!
Matthew’s heart leaped and his body followed suit, his legs pumping hard so he could run across the room to the corpse in the window. He reached its side and stood over it, staring down at the bloody face. No doubt, it was Jonathan Thorne. Matthew wanted to rejoice, but his face could not smile. He was panicking. Ira had killed him in the middle of a public room! What had he been thinking? Surely he knew what the repercussions could be!
Matthew turned to face the crowd, seeking Angie’s face from the throng. He stared into her fearful eyes and said, “He’s dead?” The sound of his voice seemed alien to him.
Angie did not break their gaze for a moment. She hardly seemed to blink. After a moment of feeling Matthew’s question weigh the air down, she breathed, “Yes, Matthew. He’s dead.”
Matthew’s stomach dropped. Happy as he was that the man was gone for good, he knew he was going to be arrested. He knew that he could not get away with this. He also knew that people would think he was crazy. They could never understand.
Angie’s voice rang out over his musings. “But you knew that, didn’t you Matthew? You already knew he was dead because you killed him.”
Matthew stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. He did not want to lie to her, but he could not reveal his secret either. He stood mute.
Angie took a few tentative steps toward him, the clicking of her heels muffled by the carpet. She licked her lips again, and they shone with the light of the florescent bulbs. Her clear hazel eyes were fixed on Matthew, who was completely still. She grew more confident in her steps and walked properly until she was standing in front of him. She was quiet. Matthew caught the game—she was waiting for him to make a move.
“I killed him?” he said, his face curling into a smirk. “How can you be so sure?”
“I watched you, Matthew,” Angie said quietly. “I saw you throw him through that window.”
“Maybe he deserved it?”
“No one deserves to die.” Her voice was still low, but the words were firm.
“He did. He deserved everything he ever got, except my mom. No one is good enough to deserve her.” Matthew’s eyes flicked from Angie to Sarah, who hadn’t moved since backing away. He gave her a small smile; she reciprocated a tear.
“I expect she deserved to die too, then?” Angie said coldly, stretching her arm and pointing at a broken side desk.
“Who…?” Matthew followed her finger until his eyes landed upon what she had mentioned.
Lying on the floor amongst broken pieces of wood and glass was the little girl Jon had come in with, Sari.
She was lying on her stomach, her long, dark hair flung over her head to conceal her face. Her little pink dress was crumpled around her, pulled so high that lime green shorts were visible beneath it. Her skin no longer looked so dark; a strange pallor had settled in it so she looked like a doll.
Matthew knelt beside her, eyes brimming with tears and throat sore from the lump in it, to touch her lightly on the arm. When she did not respond, he held her arm and shook it lightly. Still nothing. His lower lip trembled as he ran his hand carefully down her arm to hold her hand. It was completely limp.
His head fell into his hands and the tears spilled over freely. He felt his face burning as the blood rushed to it. His shoulders shook almost violently with his sobs; nonetheless, Angie knelt beside him and placed her hands on them. Matthew looked up and ran his fingers down Sari’s back. He could feel an area of her spine that was not aligned properly—it had probably broken after hitting the desk. Leaving his hand on that spot, he looked up into Angie’s nondescript face.
“I didn’t mean it…” he blubbered. “I only wanted him…not her… I didn’t know, I…”
His breathing was jagged and he had to stop to cry. Angie pulled him into her arms and he melted into her, clutching her business garb in his fists as his tears ran into the material. He felt arms encircling him from behind and knew it was his mother. He sat, sobbing, between the two women for an eternity, lost in his own mind and guilt.
Somewhere in the distant realm of reality, Matthew heard a police siren wail. The shrieking pulled ever closer to the building until he could hear them outside. They continued to sound even when he felt strong arms wrench his hunched, weeping figure off the floor to handcuff him. He had neither the energy nor the compulsion to pull his head up. He could not
bear the thought of someone seeing his face. He was a monster, a wretched piece of filth on the surface of an innocent world. He did not deserve their pity or their fear. As the policeman lowered him into the backseat of the squad car, Matthew loosed a long, desperate moan.
Everything would have been fine if it had only been him… he thought. Ira was only supposed to kill Jon! Matthew let out an especially loud cry of despair. Damn you, Jon! If only you had stayed away!
The waiting room of the counseling office, which now suddenly contained a broken desk, shattered window, and bloody corpse lay before him. He turned his head to the right to scan the rest of the room and saw Sarah, who was standing very straight near the automatic sliding doors. Her arms were drawn close to her body, her hands balled into fists over her mouth below her wide eyes. She was staring directly at Matthew, but she seemed not to know him. He blinked a few times and tried to send her a reassuring smile, but she only shuddered and took a few steps back. Matthew’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His reaction time seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace.
Betty was standing not far from the corpse, her pink uniform heavily spattered with blood. The green door was open and a crowd of counselors stood just behind it, all staring at either the corpse or at Matthew. If Angie was among the onlookers, Matthew could not see her. A thin-fingered hand touched his shoulder from behind and, almost lazily, Matthew turned to face its owner. He was staring into Angie’s thin face. She was trying to retain her stoicism, to keep that emotionless composure she’d shown during the session, but Matthew could practically see the mask chipping away to reveal the terror in her eyes. Angie licked her thin lips and, in a voice almost as cracked as her façade, she spoke.
“Matthew?” she said.
Matthew smiled. “Yes, Angie?” he answered.
The fear that had been so prominent in her eyes relaxed a little, only to be replaced by utter bafflement. “What have you done?” she whispered, her airy voice breaking.
Matthew’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “What do you mean what have I—”
Everything made sense in one fell swoop. Ira had taken him over so Matthew could remember nothing. Ira must have caused all the damage, must have killed that man—that man who had been Jonathan!
Matthew’s heart leaped and his body followed suit, his legs pumping hard so he could run across the room to the corpse in the window. He reached its side and stood over it, staring down at the bloody face. No doubt, it was Jonathan Thorne. Matthew wanted to rejoice, but his face could not smile. He was panicking. Ira had killed him in the middle of a public room! What had he been thinking? Surely he knew what the repercussions could be!
Matthew turned to face the crowd, seeking Angie’s face from the throng. He stared into her fearful eyes and said, “He’s dead?” The sound of his voice seemed alien to him.
Angie did not break their gaze for a moment. She hardly seemed to blink. After a moment of feeling Matthew’s question weigh the air down, she breathed, “Yes, Matthew. He’s dead.”
Matthew’s stomach dropped. Happy as he was that the man was gone for good, he knew he was going to be arrested. He knew that he could not get away with this. He also knew that people would think he was crazy. They could never understand.
Angie’s voice rang out over his musings. “But you knew that, didn’t you Matthew? You already knew he was dead because you killed him.”
Matthew stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. He did not want to lie to her, but he could not reveal his secret either. He stood mute.
Angie took a few tentative steps toward him, the clicking of her heels muffled by the carpet. She licked her lips again, and they shone with the light of the florescent bulbs. Her clear hazel eyes were fixed on Matthew, who was completely still. She grew more confident in her steps and walked properly until she was standing in front of him. She was quiet. Matthew caught the game—she was waiting for him to make a move.
“I killed him?” he said, his face curling into a smirk. “How can you be so sure?”
“I watched you, Matthew,” Angie said quietly. “I saw you throw him through that window.”
“Maybe he deserved it?”
“No one deserves to die.” Her voice was still low, but the words were firm.
“He did. He deserved everything he ever got, except my mom. No one is good enough to deserve her.” Matthew’s eyes flicked from Angie to Sarah, who hadn’t moved since backing away. He gave her a small smile; she reciprocated a tear.
“I expect she deserved to die too, then?” Angie said coldly, stretching her arm and pointing at a broken side desk.
“Who…?” Matthew followed her finger until his eyes landed upon what she had mentioned.
Lying on the floor amongst broken pieces of wood and glass was the little girl Jon had come in with, Sari.
She was lying on her stomach, her long, dark hair flung over her head to conceal her face. Her little pink dress was crumpled around her, pulled so high that lime green shorts were visible beneath it. Her skin no longer looked so dark; a strange pallor had settled in it so she looked like a doll.
Matthew knelt beside her, eyes brimming with tears and throat sore from the lump in it, to touch her lightly on the arm. When she did not respond, he held her arm and shook it lightly. Still nothing. His lower lip trembled as he ran his hand carefully down her arm to hold her hand. It was completely limp.
His head fell into his hands and the tears spilled over freely. He felt his face burning as the blood rushed to it. His shoulders shook almost violently with his sobs; nonetheless, Angie knelt beside him and placed her hands on them. Matthew looked up and ran his fingers down Sari’s back. He could feel an area of her spine that was not aligned properly—it had probably broken after hitting the desk. Leaving his hand on that spot, he looked up into Angie’s nondescript face.
“I didn’t mean it…” he blubbered. “I only wanted him…not her… I didn’t know, I…”
His breathing was jagged and he had to stop to cry. Angie pulled him into her arms and he melted into her, clutching her business garb in his fists as his tears ran into the material. He felt arms encircling him from behind and knew it was his mother. He sat, sobbing, between the two women for an eternity, lost in his own mind and guilt.
Somewhere in the distant realm of reality, Matthew heard a police siren wail. The shrieking pulled ever closer to the building until he could hear them outside. They continued to sound even when he felt strong arms wrench his hunched, weeping figure off the floor to handcuff him. He had neither the energy nor the compulsion to pull his head up. He could not
bear the thought of someone seeing his face. He was a monster, a wretched piece of filth on the surface of an innocent world. He did not deserve their pity or their fear. As the policeman lowered him into the backseat of the squad car, Matthew loosed a long, desperate moan.
Everything would have been fine if it had only been him… he thought. Ira was only supposed to kill Jon! Matthew let out an especially loud cry of despair. Damn you, Jon! If only you had stayed away!