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A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

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A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Thu Jan 21, 2010 1:58 am

(( since it's been coming up in jade's posts lately, i thought i could maybe be brave and take the very scary risk of posting a chapter of her history with damon. i created jade when i was fifteen and wrote a series of eight novellas about her exploits (i always used to write them during classes, bad me). the last novella i wrote in undergrad about ten years ago, and that's where this chapter is from. and while i cringe a little about posting something that i wrote so long ago, i'm telling myself it's not that horrible and that all of you will understand. so just remember, ten years ago. tee hee. and the chapter's written from jade's perspective! i'll post it in intervals because it's long =D ))

Now that everyone had gone to the reception and the church was completely empty besides myself, each small movement I made bounced pleasantly off the high arched ceilings and giant stained glass windows whose details I had studied so carefully during the concert. From my seat safe in the last pew I found myself inching my way up to the pulpit, then up the three carpeted stairs to kneel in front of the altar. I hesitantly reached out to touch the deep burgundy velvet cloth covering the white marble, my fingers trembling.

Coming here to see Owen and the rest of the college choir sing about winter and Yuletide joy, my presence in this church seemed regular enough. I was just another supporter of the song birds on the front stairs, another among the crowded pews that came to get a little spirit of the season. But near the end of the concert when my eyes started wandering again, that time while I was taking in every beautiful detail some strange impulse told me that I had to spend some quiet time in these walls to have a think.

As I sat in that absolute quiet I remembered who I was, well really what I was, and what kind of place I was in. The cloth of gently worn velvet that my fingers were petting was the cloth of holy worship, one of the many holy articles in this sanctified place. Me being here was not regular enough. The suddenness of the realization, as obvious as it should have been to me, made me freeze in mid stroke, in mid breath.

When I still working my way up the royal hierarchy of popularity in high school as a regular girl my family was not very religious. They weren’t anti-religious, but they were in that group of Catholics that donned the title, tossed it around to flavor themselves, but shirked the duties that went with the title they so informally used. The way my parents brought me up was the closest thing to their holy obligation--half-heartedly insisting I had to go to CCD simply because it was what I was supposed to do, mildly nudging me towards my Confirmation so that the priest and his staff would leave them alone on the telephone and in letters. But I hadn’t been inside any church, even for a wedding or a funeral, since that Confirmation years ago.

And that had never bothered me, until I sat at the altar in this ancient church of the faith I was supposed to have. I had learned what the CCD teachers and the priests told me I had to learn out of necessity, the way a student learns algebra now so they can pass and never have to worry about the value of x ever again. It didn’t occur to me until now the seriousness that some people took this faith into their hearts, that some of the Catholics that came here came not only because they had to, but because they wanted to worship their God and thank Him for what they believed he had created and done for them all their lives. The fact that I had the nerve to sit in the same church, maybe even the same pew, with some of those people who were truly heartfelt in their faith, it made me feel dirty inside.

So much for the spirit of the season.

As I wrestled with my feelings of guilt the giant instrumental beast behind me thundered without warning - a low minor chord which shook the floorboards under me. Panicked I grasped the cool marble of the altar before me, shamelessly brushing the velvet aside to properly steady my nerves again. The organ held the cord in its belly for a suspended moment and then let it go with a sigh before exploding into a fast moving, ominous piece of music.

I bowed my head. Closing my eyes tightly, I concentrated on the creeping movement of the piece that was rudely interrupting my prayers, rather than letting my mind pierce the mind of the musician who had seen my moment of ecstasy. The fluidity of the notes, how honestly and simply they were played with such skill without a single hesitation or mistake...the grace that was needed to make it so flawlessly from one measure to the next reminded me of a certain posture, a certain voice I hadn’t heard since I left all of them behind in St. Louis.

“What are you doing here, Damon?” I said at regular volume, knowing that his preternatural ears could hear me above the music he played. I didn’t turn around yet, I refused to give him that pleasure of the anger I was going to feel when I saw for certain that he had invaded my world without permission. “What the hell are you doing here, Damon?” I repeated so loudly I actually managed to overpower the bellowing organ’s music. “I said I would kill you if you showed up here!”

“I remember.” It wasn’t even a whisper of a reply, he spoke it only to my mind.

I spun around, my eyes already blazing with the anger of the vision I knew I was going to face. And there he was, the ruiner of all things good, his dark curls fallen over his face as his head swayed in time with the notes he played. The satin of the long black shirt he wore flowed like liquid darkness on his back with his movements and the help of the candles that decorated the church with their soft individual glows. It made him look the part of the resident evil he played, a black mass seeming to float above the organ bench as he taunted the holiest of places with his nefarious music.

It was his music, I gathered that much from the mind of his that was always sealed up better than the most air tight tomb. No deceased genius had composed this piece for him to corrode with his seething distaste of sacred things; these were measures composed on the spot, pulling their melody from the particles in the air, the whims of his mind...

“The sufferings of a little lamb, in D minor. I’m playing your pain, angel.”

“You don’t know my pain, Damon, you don’t know the meaning of the word suffering when it applies to another being.”

-+- tbc! -+-
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Jade Stone

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Re: A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Sat Jan 23, 2010 2:32 am

The notes poured out of the pipes faster, deepening in tone again so low that once again the old planks of the church floor shook in time to his fancy. That was his only response to me, and I refused to move an inch closer to him and stayed safely against the church altar, my backside leaning against the marble. Finally Damon grew tired of the organ and struck his final cord, three notes that screamed in absolute opposition to each other and hung in the air with a painful squawk. I winced, resisting the urge to cover my ears and waited with held breath until Damon released the keys from their punishment.

Only then did he turn to face me, swinging his legs easily over the high bench. His fingers grasped the edges of the perfectly polished wood with the creeping of spider’s legs. His deep black eyes, round as orbs, sized me up and down approvingly as he brought out his flashy grin in my honor.

“Jade, angel,” he said casually. “It’s been too long.”

I narrowed my eyes, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I’m sorry that I can’t agree.”

He shook his head, a smirk curving his lips as he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a chiding tisk. “Come now, Jade, you don’t have to act for me. That’s what you do here, isn’t it? Learn to be a better 'actor'? I know quite well what kind of a show you can put on, there’s no need to bring out your airs here.”

I folded my arms across my chest, kneading my fingernails into my palms as I tried to vent my fury in a way he couldn’t detect. “Why are you here, Damon?” I asked, my voice giving me away with its tiredness.

“You didn’t think Sean came to your rescue alone, did you?” he gasped, hand over his heart. “He and I were traveling buddies, fellow knights galloping to save the damsel in distress.”

“You arrogant jerk,” I spat. I jumped down a stair, leaning towards him with a war like stance. “Saving the damsel in distress, huh? I didn’t see you at my bedside with baited breath. Letting Sean do all the dirty work while you found some pretty girls to seduce and kill?”

His face contorted into a nightmarish sight, the heat sparking red fire in his eyes and his mouth twisting into a infuriated snarl. He looked ready to unleash his worst retort, but instantly the nightmare passed into calm waters, and a placid smile replacing the sneer. Damon stood, striding languidly towards me. As he came closer, never taking his eyes off the glare of mine, he neatly rolled up each satin sleeve with three precise flicks of the wrist. When he stood close enough to reach forward and slap me he fell to his knees in a sudden swoop, the thud as they hit the thin crimson carpet sending dull echoes up the walls. He stared up at me as in one fluid movement, he let his head fell to one side and his arms stretch outwards to his sides, tilting them upwards so I could stare down at his wrists. “I did my share of service, angel,” he said huskily, the twist of his mouth wolfishly triumphant as he watched me, “The wounds of a savior, you drank from me darling.”

On Damon’s neck, the side that he had towards me for my better viewing pleasure, there were three gashes. Fang wide and inches deep, each gash was more fiercely ripped into the skin then the one below it. On each of his wrists it was the same, bestial tears that were swollen pink around the edges, caked with soreness.

Damon bore these wounds with pride, lifting his head to ingest my horror with his eyes and letting his satisfaction show with a beaming grin. “Each one of those pretty girls I seduced and killed, their sweet life in is your veins right now,” he murmured, the hint of a laugh bubbling off of his lips. “How does that make you feel, angel? All of those dulcet teen queens, martyred for you by me, your servant always.”

“You nasty cruel son of a bitch,” I cursed, my lip shaking on each word. As I stared helplessly at each of the tears I made in him I could almost taste the blood he spoke of on my tongue, his powerful serum with the humming heartbeat of humans mingled in still fresh and warm. My warlike stance broke as I wrung my hands, my entire body trembling, shaking violently with the panic I was feeling.

Because he was now showing me faces, his mind sending me flashes of all the girls who died to repair my damaged blood and keep me alive. Before and after pictures, he was telling me, this was her before, her name was Emily...and this is her after, I carried her for two blocks in my arms to lay her down in that flower bed just to I could send you this image of her in death, isn’t it sublime? She died the first night, but this one, she was my favorite I think...Cheryl, she and I went on an entire date before I killed her, I gave her a last meal and she was plump and sweet on my lips as she died, and I decided to lay her down here, in a pond, with the reeds. To bloat her, plump her up again, I always want to remember Cheryl nice and full, don’t you, Jade? She was the last that died to save you, but there were so many in between that you should know of...

My hands were over my ears and I was screaming, trying so hard to lock him and his death portraits out of my mind, but he was too powerful and he persisted.

-+- tbc! -+-
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Re: A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Mon Jan 25, 2010 1:27 am

My fingers clawed at the holy cloth on the alter, scratching the velvet in my hysterics as he kept introducing me to all the saints who kept me breathing, sending me faces, names, favorite bands and last boyfriends, any bit of information that he gathered to build them to living creatures in my head just so he could kill them through me once again. They were all within weeks of the age I had been when Jason pulled me over into this world, and with their fashionable outfits and flawlessly styled hair any one of them could have been me. How easily fate could have handed me my death by a monster like Damon instead of selecting me to be one just like him. One like him but weak enough that sweet girls like the one I used to be a few years ago would have to be sacrificed to keep me going simply because I was my some fluke the iron hearted one, and they were my ticket to another day.

I could hear my voice, screaming and pleading for him to stop, the tear and strain I was putting on my vocal cords, the soreness of my aching throat as I screamed as loudly as I could just so I could hear myself and know that I was still there, and safe. I wanted to hear him say that he lying, that all these visions of his were cleverly crafted nothings that he had thought up in his spare time, but as he was forcing me to hear the chirp of their voices, and their light flirtatious laughter, I knew each of them had been real. Damon had been obsessively thorough with this kills to ensure that I would know each of them had lived and died suffering for me.

“To make sure they were like me.” I picked my head up off the cold marble and the images faded away. My eyes could see the church again, the stained glass stations of the cross, the giant pipe organ whose music had started this all. I lifted myself up slowly, mustering up my dignity to glare at him with every bit of hateful energy I could find within myself. “A twisted, ‘This is Your Life,” scenario? Show me where I could have ended up, dead with the meek and that I should be lucky and ruthless like you to live it up, is that it?” I jumped down the other two stairs, landing neatly next to him, planting my feet right next to the tip of his shoe. I wanted him to have to look up to meet my gaze, crane his neck and try to stare me down from a submissive position.

“Or was it projection, Damon?” I accused, spitting my words down at him. “Kill me by killing them? What the hell did I do to you, Damon, that gave you the sick idea to do this to teach me a lesson?” I kneed him squarely in the stomach, and he weathered the impact, straightening unscathed and unruffled. Not to mention staring at him, with an expression so neutral I'm guessing it was to show me he was unimpressed.“Answer me, you asshole! What did I do to you that was so cruel you needed to paint those pretty pictures for me?”

“I wasn’t trying to get a rise out of you, Jade,” Damon replied calmly. After my screams his quiet voice barely caught my ears at all. Lazily he took the time to brush the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt. “I thought it was rather fitting...poetic actually, that they should die to sustain you. I thought you would think so as well.”

I raised my eyebrows, my lip curling. “You thought I would, too?” I echoed with a snort. “Well, maybe I’m not the same person that you knew a few months ago. In fact, I’m no. And I think it’s sick and wrong that you killed them, when I know for a fact that you did it because they were just like me before I was brought into this…sh-t.”

I spun on my heel, stomping up the stairs and veering behind the marble altar to pace the back wall. Safe below Jesus who I hoped would get his ass in gear and do some shepparding to save one his [sort of] flock if she needed some help. Me alone wasn’t enough to stop Damon if he decided to play nasty, I never was before and I knew that too well. And I had stupidly isolated from all my former allies, loyal friends so loyal they would honor my request for space not thinking to themselves that Damon wouldn’t.

“All this 'sh-t'?” he repeated now, amused. He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head back so he could haughtily gaze upon me through his thick eyelashes. With slow, deliberate steps he ascended the three stairs, leaving only the altar as a barrier between us.

“You must have,” his lip curled in disgust as he spat the rest of the sentence from his lips, “turned a new leaf, then, because I’ve never heard of you not enjoying this life before.” He feigned a mock epiphany, smacking the altar with his hand and hooting. “Ah, ha! That’s right, how could I forget? You’re playing the part of the martyred one now, brought into ‘darkness’ kicking and screaming. Foreplay to keep that mortal of yours loving you while conveniently at the same time keeping him from getting too close, and wanting what he should have because you are--Heaven help you--cursed!” He rolled his eyes with the last word, heaving his chest before dropping the act to look at me with a look that was the epitome of snide. “Waste of time that endeavor with Owen, if I may say so.”

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Jade Stone

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Re: A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Sun Jan 31, 2010 2:11 pm

“Well thank you so much for sharing your superior opinion,” I said sarcastically, halting in my paces to better give him my hateful glare. “What I do in my spare time, if I may say so, is none of your damn business. Oh, and before I forget to mention this detail--you harm Owen or anything in his general vicinity even the slightest bit, I’ll kill you.”

“There you go, muttering idle threats of finality again which you couldn’t possibly follow through on,” Damon drawled. Casually he picked bits of lint of the velvet cloth his hands rested on, and flicked them onto the floor. When he looked up at me next his face was decorated with a wide smile, displaying to me his fangs.

“I have better things to do than torture your mortal lovers, Jade,” he said. “Besides, you don’t need me to put a damper on your affair, that will come naturally in time.”

“Oh, just ask Jason?” I snapped.

“I was with Sean the entire night of Jen’s death,” Damon replied quickly, a sudden suspicion in his eyes.

I watched those eyes carefully as they searched for the thoughts in my own. Before answering I replayed the tone of that last sentence in my mind, searching it for a hint of panic. “So you and Sean have been so quick to insist. He didn’t even see you that night, did he, Damon? He’s probably just covering for you, right, in return for some favor?”

“You’re just full of accusations tonight, aren’t you?” he returned icily, placing his hands flat on the altar again so he could lean closer to me. I felt my back hit the wall and realized I had intuitively stepped as far back from him as I possibly could. “You have no idea what went on that night, Jade, because you had already run away from home to hide at this cute little college in the sticks. And you know what? You’re just appalled because you still feel obligated to uphold the moral judgment that killing is wrong, even though that’s what you’re programmed to do. Not because she was your friend, or because you actually care. Did you shed any tears for her, angel? Hmm?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know, because you weren’t there,” I retorted, my voice shaking even though I was trying to mimic his cold, flat voice.

He raised his eyebrows, nodding his head slightly in approval. “I’ll tell you what I do know, however. She was mortal. She was alone. She was dined on. And she died.” He leapt up on the altar and sat on it, crossing his legs under him and resting his chin on his clenched fingers. The simple words he spoke slowly, deliberately. “And so what? Answer me that, Jade queen of all that is just in the world. So what?”

The wall was my support as I felt my knees go weak. I was opening and closing my mouth stupidly with no sound coming out; I had no idea how to even intelligently retort his casual admittance of the act when it was so obvious that he wouldn’t give a damn about a ethical argument.

Finally I just spat out, “Well, look what it did to Jason, huh? What about that? He was my maker, you know! Isn’t there some old school law that says I should kick the crap out of you?”

Damon laughed. “Oh, yes, that same maker who had the nerve to drag you into all of this ‘sh-t’ you’re suffering from,” he said, smirking. "Do please stand up for him." Then the smirk fell and he wore a mask of absolute seriousness. “I was doing him a favor, Jade. He’ll realize and thank me for it sooner or later.”

“I’d be thinking later, if ever,” I surmised with a snort. “Well, Damon, like I said, if you try that ‘I’m doing you a favor, Jade,’ crap when it comes to me and Owen I’m not going to be too pleased. The way I see things, if anyone hurts him, I’ll find a way to make you pay for it. If I can’t kill you I know I can hurt you.”

“Hurt by anyone?” he exclaimed. “What authority do you have to up the anti by giving yourself the right to punish me for the crimes of the universe?”

“Since when should I have to play fair in your conscience free existence?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. “If there is one thing that I learned from you when you were trying to craft me into your little minion of evil, it’s that what I think is all that matters. The motto of a selfish bitch. So that said now you’ll have to sort of watch out for Owen if you don’t want to cross my bad side, and with both of us looking after him he won’t get hurt.”

The wall of anger in Damon’s expression broke with laughter. He hung his head as he conceded helplessly. “You ARE something else, Jade. Not the best in the logic department, but you try hard and are still charming enough to make me listen.”

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Re: A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Tue Feb 02, 2010 11:08 pm

I went to him, as I stepped forward he jumped neatly off the altar to meet me. I figured it was safe, that if he hadn’t reacted violently while I was shooting my mouth off by now he wasn’t planning on it at all. So we had regained an understanding of each other, and after a rather rocky beginning and middle were finally getting somewhere.

“Look. I just want the chance to do what I need. And I need to do Owen,” I said with a face which showed I knew just how that sounded. “I know despite out little tiffs you do care about my joy and rapture with life, or you would have offed me by now.”

Damon stared at me, the small smile that usually graced his lips curving a bit downwards. “I had my reasons for what I did to Jen, angel. If she wasn’t out of the picture in a permanent way she would have driven Jason crazy. At least now he’ll come out in one piece and deal with himself.”

I didn’t bother to regurgitate our debate. I knew he was telling what he thought was the truth. And that in reality, Damon wouldn’t give a damn about Jen’s effect on anybody unless he was given some reason too, perhaps some prodding by the Great Triumverant in Saint Louis. It wasn’t his style, giving a damn about a situation that didn’t harm or benefit himself in any way.

So I just returned his smile shyly, taking one of his wrists gently in each hand. I turned them upwards so I could see those crudely torn gashes he had displayed so 'humbly' before. As I stared down at them thoughtfully I knew Damon was watching me, his stare telling me that he was fighting not to ask the question that was in his mind. I placed my fingers over each wound, as lightly as I could so their pressure wouldn’t sting the sensitive tissue, and I opened up the channel between us through that touch so my energy would heal him.

“If you carry these scars so proudly and don’t let the wound go, how do you expect to heal?” I asked gently, looking up at him as I released his wrists. They looked as smooth and perfect as ever, not even a blemish.

“How sly you can be, angel,” he replied softly. “Saying one thing and implying another like that.” His grin widened as I reached for his neck, but his hand gave chase and caught mine before I could work my magic. He held on to my hand, bringing it to his waist where the other clasped it as well. “Jade, you really don’t think what you’ve been brought into is shit, do you?” he asked, a pleading in his eyes. But while he was silently pleading for an answer he kept talking, “Because...you just left. No warning. Just a threat not to follow and you were gone. Right after we...you and I, I mean, had an outstanding breakthrough, I thought.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” I said, my tone deceptively light. In my mind I was heaving a giant groan. The memory of that little hot roll in the grass was not something I really wanted to recall at that moment, especially in a church, of all places to reminisce. And I still hadn’t made up my mind about whether or not I had made the right decision by taking myself out of things just because I had been careless enough to screw them up in the first place. I wanted badly to regret what I did with Damon, what it did to Sean.

“No, I don’t think my life is shit,” I answered suddenly, just remembering that he wanted an answer. I smiled weakly, hoping if I gave him a sweet enough smile he would let me slide regardless of the half-ass excuse I was about to hand him. “I just had to leave, Damon. If one of us didn’t run like hell the three of us would be chained in the St. Louie dungeon sanitarium with Jason. Besides, I had been wanting to prove to someone for a long time that I can stand on my own to feet without needing bullies like you to protect me,” I elbowed him playfully, wanting him desperately to smile and laugh with me. He simply cocked his eyebrow and waited patiently, making it clear that he wasn’t satisfied.

My shoulder’s slumped, and I fell on the top carpeted stair with a graceless thud. “And considering that you guys had to come running to give me a jump start after two short months I’d say that experiment failed miserably.”

“I don’t think you failed,” he scoffed, waving the notion away with his hand. “You just didn’t realize where you were walking into. You happened to pick a town with some nasty tricks up its sleeves.” He paused, using the time to make himself comfortable on the carpet next to me. “And of course dating the head magician doesn’t help any, Jade,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

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Re: A Slice of History -+- Jade and Damon

Post by Jade Stone on Tue Feb 02, 2010 11:15 pm

I opened my mouth to object when the bang of the church’s double doors flying open stifled my words. A single torrent of wind blew around the room with a tornado like speed and path, blowing out the flames of the giant pillar candles at it swept by. Damon and I exchanged a glance, his eyebrows raised and me nibbling nervously on my lip. Slowly Damon stood, crouching a little bit forward ready to face whatever caused the disturbance.

“Abracadabra.” Owen stepped into the open doorway, his eyes fixed on Damon, and a sneer on his lips. “You just saw the extent of my supposedly impressive and wicked magic tricks. Not exactly earth-shattering and villainous, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Damon returned cordially, shrugging his shoulders. “That is a pretty impressive trick, however...arguably villainous depending on how you use it...considering you are a mortal who taught yourself how to do that.”

“Damon--” I groaned.

He wouldn’t allow me to finish my protest. Snatching up my hand in his, he bent his head and pressed his lips against my palm. Those lips lingered a moment, the blood in him rushing to his face and warming the kiss. I glanced over at Owen, whose eyes were narrowed slightly, his lips tightly pressed together to keep any sudden ill thoughts from being spoken. To answer the words he wouldn’t speak I shrugged helplessly.

“My chivalric duty seems to be done here, and my wounds so kindly healed by your touch,” Damon said, finally releasing me and straightening to his full height. “So I will leave you, angel, to stand alone again. But if you ever have the urge to call, I’ll be more than happy to come.”

And he was gone, faded into nothing with no further words of wisdom or goodbyes. After a moment of hesitation, his eyes lingering on the spot where Damon had just stood, Owen sauntered up the aisle towards me. Not wasting a second when he reached my side he pulled me into him, hugging his arms tightly around me.

“What?” he said to my dazed expression. “I told you I’d be back if you didn’t show at the reception soon.” And tentatively spoken as an afterthought locked in a forced casual tone, “He was certainly a charmer.”

“He is. Really,” I insisted tiredly. I pushed away my urge to make a mental tally of how many times I’ve made this excuse for Damon in the short time I had known him. Instead I let myself droop, leaning into Owen and nuzzling my forehead into his blazer. Owen was so warm compared to Damon and Sean, whose stone bodies always maintained a cool temperature; when I stood near him I felt like a happy lizard contentedly basking in the sunlight on a smooth rock. “When he wants to be.”

He crafted his features into a perfect imitation of Damon, with the eyebrow slightly cocked with amusement and the lips twisted upwards into his characteristic smirk. “Well, I suppose you know him...more intimately than I do, angel,” he replied ironically, imitating Damon’s bored tone with perfect inflection. “But I have to agree with Sean’s colorfully derogatory opinion of him.”

“Yeah, well you wanted to know about my past,” I said softly, recalling Owen’s urgent voice in the theatre two weeks ago. “Now you know them."

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