Courtney Kirchoff

A worm of fear wriggled in Jaden__ stomach, and the ethereal assuredness he channeled moments before evaporated as the worm burrowed deeper. When he next spoke, his own voice of trapped hysteria broke through, the worm having reached journey__ end.

Though it was mid-July, the morning was brisk, the sky a gray cotton of clouds, and Puget Sound a steely, cold blue. Most of Seattle grumbled, worn with winterish weather, impatient for the elusive summer sun. With umbrellas tucked away in the trunks of cars, sunglasses lost and separated from their original purchasers, the Pacific Northwest was a bastion of misty air and pale, complaining residents.

You make me believe in happiness... if I had my way, if anything were up to me, I__ never be without you. You are my purpose.

The two studied one another for what seemed hours, neither saying a word. Jaden__ first inclination was to yell and demand his freedom, but something held him back. Here was a new man, and a new set of mind games. He waited for the old man to speak first and introduce himself, as Dalton had upon their first formal meeting. The stranger remained silent.

I've been to the other side...You're dead there, too.

There were so many viciously sarcastic ways to respond, Jaden__ brain was temporarily paralyzed due to witty comeback overload.

His rules were thus: One, resist when beneficial to the cause. Two, dignity before humiliation. Three, don__ show true emotions.

Modern American culture dictated the importance of touching the hand of someone you__e just met, however counterintuitive it seemed. Why would he want to touch someone he didn__ know?