Eric sat at the brown fold-up card table that sat next to the window, an island in a sea of newspaper and pizza boxes. As he munched on his tofu and stared at a box of Shabon soap flakes, Eric mused over what Rouge had said while they snuggled on the sofa last night, half asleep.

"Eric?"

"Yes Rouge?"

"Do you have a sword?"

"Not now Rogue…I'm too sleepy…do you never tire out? Most likely don't…but I do…"

"Nooo…I mean a sword-sword."

"Why?"

"I dunno…"

"Well, no…"

Why had she asked him about the sword? Did she know…the reason? Or was she just being her talkative self, confused by sleep?

"Eric! Come on. Don't shit around, we have a fucking job to do here!"

"No! You promised I could go to Pedro's! It's his birthday…"

"And I don't fucking care! You get your ass over here and get on the goddamn bike."

"Why do I have to come?"

"Because I'm finally selling that no good sword no one would buy. And besides, you'd get into my liquor if I'm not around."

"I hate your damn liquor!"

"Get on the bike kid, now!"

Eric shut his eyes. He had to do that a lot. No matter how busy he kept himself there was always time to remember. He had to go. Pedro had some cocaine for him. He had to sell it off quicky, the cops might have gotten a little suspicious. Not enough to be a bad thing, but enough to worry Eric. If he thought enough about Rouge maybe the memories would fade.

As Eric mounted his motorcycle the memories returned and Rouge's beautiful face faded from his mind. "I have the sword. Right here. Now give me the cash, old man!"

"Let me hold it."

"No."

"Can I look at it? How do I know it's the real thing?"

Eric's father, a man with ruddy face flushed with liquor and bright red hair drew the sword from the scabbard lazily. "Happy now?"

"It…it is! It is the Sword of Damocles!" the customer quickly drew a wad of cash from his pocket. "Here, five thousand dollars. Now give me the sword!"

Eric's father handed over the sword and bent to pick up the scabbard. With a deft stroke the customer brought the sword cleanly down on the merchant's neck and cut straight through the bone and meat, sending waves of blood spurting up and pooling on the floor.

"NO!" cried Eric, thrusting his hand out towards his father as he collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. Seeing his father's head on the floor made him realized there was no salvation for the man. His arm still extended he spun around and grabbed a dagger with rubies on the hilt. The old man stood unmoving, his lips curled into a snarl, a mocking grin. His eyes laughed at the young boy before him though he made no sound. Eric stood ready for attack, the knife held tightly in his trembling hands. After a few seconds he sprung at the old man and gouged him with the knife. Though the wound was deep and the fine fabric of the man's suit was torn badly the blood only came for a moment. The wound re-sealed itself. Eric gasped and fell backwards, fainted from terror.

Eric was ridding down the street. He had been so wrapped up in the images of his father's death that he hadn't been watching the road, he'd blacked out. As he de-spaced he realized a guardrail was looming up ahead of him. Five seconds later there was a horrible crunching of metal and then Eric was amidst a heap of hot, twisted metal that was in turn burning and mangling him.

"Ohmagod. What the hell happened? Oh god oh god… no…motorcycle? Oh god…" Rouge pressed her back to the wall and clutched the round knobby end of the phone with both hands, which were shaking badly. "I'll be right over."