Refreshers:

( Jackson - Chapter One )

( Jackson - Chapter Two )

( Jackson - Chapter Three )

( Jackson - Chapter Four )

( Jackson - Chapter Five )

Onward and upwards.

Lets get to know Jackson a little better with this one, shall we?



I've got to put her from my mind.

I have work to do.

He looks like the Last Great American Cowboy.

His boots have spurs on them, and his immense hat is coated with dust.

He’s sitting at the bus stop like it doesn’t matter if all the world passes him by. His gray eyes are shaded and thoughtful.

The girl hurt him. Broke his heart.

He got on the bus in Amarillo and came out West to be with her.

It had taken longer than he thought to gather his things, and the money needed for the move. Longer to tie up his loose ends.

By the time he got here, she was no longer waiting.

He had tracked her to her yoga class and found her in an intimate, private session with her instructor.

It was too much to see her hands on him like that. Too much, after years of letters filled with promises. Late night phone calls filled with whispers.

He was kissing her like there was honey in her mouth and he wanted every last bit.

Part of him wants to get her back. Really show her what’s what.

The other part wants to turn his back and walk away.

Leave her pettiness behind and ride off into his proverbial sunset.

The question? Which side do I fit into?



The girl is walking home from her class. She’s wearing little, a tiny tank-top and loose yoga pants, tennis shoes.

She carries her rolled up mat on her back like a hobo’s pouch.

She takes a short cut down a badly lit street on the dark side of Chinatown.

He is there, waiting for her.

Something whispered in his mind to come, something told him she’d be this way.

I’m watching from a fire escape.

A shudder in the air, a whispered word from my mouth, and a small time demon appears.

He’s disgusting, all dripping skin and gnashing teeth. He glares at the two of them, squared off facing each other at ten paces.

Cowboy is not afraid of this creature summoned up from the depths.

The girl is.

She emits a high pitched squeal and turns to run.

The grotesque creature is right behind her.

The cowboy is about to see his vengeance realized….

The report is deafening. A flash of light, scent of gunpowder on the bay breeze.

He’s holding a smoking pistol, staring at the girl with pale, wide eyes.

The fiend is on the ground, writhing. He approaches it.

The air shimmers, and it is gone.

The girl is shaking violently, her teeth smacking together.

She runs to him, sobbing on his chest, waiting for his arms to encircle her.

They do not. He backs away from her, and turns to walk away.

She whimpers and realizes he’s never coming back.


Two things about this business.

One: it is soul smearing work. If I had morals when I started, the lines have blurred dramatically.

Two: the house always wins. No one tricks the trickster.

For every action, there is a reason. Maybe several reasons.

I may be cruel, but I have my purpose. It is to incite lessons to humanity. Lessons are almost always cruel.

I have been benevolent in my time.

It was, after all, I who stole the flaming sword and gave fire to the humans.

But it was also I, who incited the religious fervor of madmen and unleashed the inquisition.

Do I feel remorse for the things I have done?

Of course. But not on the same level as mortals feel it.

For I see the whole picture, over centuries.

You see this sort of work does not answer to good or evil.

It is what it is.



Next time:

There's ALWAYS a girl.