"Took you long enough," James said with an expressionless look on his face for a moment before bursting into a grin again. "Did you get lost on the way back?" 

Owen smiled, though more to himself in relief. For a moment, he was almost convinced James had found out what he did - that luck had once again played the cards against him. "You don't want to know, James."

"Do I?" James waved it off with a gesture of his hand as Owen sat back down. "We waited for a while, but since you were taking so long in the bathroom, we went on without you. It's a shame, really. The chef wanted to tell you about some of his meals."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Me in particular? I'm flattered." Though I rather doubt that. Glancing at the endless platters of meals stretching down to the other end of the table, Owen scooped some of the nearest food into his plate and then tasted it. "This isn't that bad. I'm surprised, James."

Owen barely stifled a laugh as he saw James' look of disappointment. His compliment was an understatement, almost ridiculously so. The food better than anything he had tasted before, with rich flavors bursting here and there, yet James ego was already swelled enough, and Owen didn't want to feed that fire more.

"It shouldn't be bad at all," James said, though he eyed the platter of food with a sudden look of distaste. "After all, if it was, the chef who cooked it would need to learn not to slack off again." James gave Owen a strange look that made him inwardly shudder. Something tells me I don't want to know what that means.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, with idle conversation about how things were going for them, or the events happening around them. Yet every time James talked again about his plan to sell the excess soul, Owen couldn't help but give a faint smile, which he hoped nobody would notice.

If only you knew, James.

*     *     *

"Well, thanks for letting us come over for dinner," Owen said as he put on his coat, making sure that the canister was still hidden in there. Good.

James shrugged. "No problem, y'know? I have plenty of food to spare."

As Hob opened the front door for him, Owen stepped outside and gave one last wave of goodbye to James. "See you at the Dice Cup."

James nodded and waved back. "Bye."

Owen closed the door as Hob also stepped outside, glad to have left before something went wrong again.

"You were quiet the whole time," Owen remarked as he took his bike and began carrying it down the marble steps. "Something on your mind, Hob?" 

Hob turned to look at Owen and shook his head. "No, I just didn't want to say the wrong thing and ruin it for you. Speaking of which..." Hob glanced back at the mansion and then, lowering his voice, asked, "Did you get it?"

Owen also glanced back, praying that the area around the house wasn't bugged, and then nodded. "I have it in the inside pocket of my jacket. I don't think James noticed anything."

Hob smiled. "Glad I could help, Owen."

Owen shrugged. "I definitely owe you something after this." But what can compensate for a life saved?

Hob waved it off. "Bah, you're already in enough debt from James. Don't worry about it."

They continued walking in silence for several more moments before finally reaching the bottom of the driveway. Taking a deep breath, Hob muttered, "Well, I guess this is where we split ways, then? Good luck with Jessica. I hope she's alright." With a pause, he added, "Come to think of it, I haven't actually seen her before. You think I can come over to where you live sometime?"

Owen scrunched his face, unsure what Jessica would actually think about the visit. "Er... sure if you want."

Hob smiled. "See you, then."

"See you too, Hob."

Stepping onto his bike, Owen took one last glance at Hob, now walking the other direction, and then sped up his pace.

After all, it wasn't over yet. All the gears had been set in motion, but he had yet to add the final touch that would bring the machine to life.

*     *     *

There was still a small price to be paid, using the last of the money he brought along with him to buy a syringe from the local pharmacy. Not that it really mattered now - nothing seemed to matter now in comparison to saving Jessica - and nearing his apartment, Owen hardly cared if anybody glanced at him wondering why he was grinning like an idiot. Locking his bike, Owen strode up the apartment stairs, often patting the canister hidden in his jacket or stroking the syringe that he gripped with his free hand.

Jessica, Jessica, Jessica, Jessica...

The imminent future for him seemed to slow down, as if nature were testing his patience, while the past was all a blur to him now. Sliding the key into the lock, Owen gave a quick sigh, glad that all this was finally over, and then hung his coat, taking the canister out of the pocket.

Walking over to the kitchen table, Owen laid both the canister and the syringe on top of it, inspecting them. There seemed to be a spot in the middle of the canister made of a weaker material than the rest, deliberately put there for a syringe to go into. Suddenly wishing that he had an instruction manual with him - though chances were James had already thrown that away the moment he bought it - Owen took a deep breath and tore the syringe through the weak spot, sucking the soul-wisps into the tube.

Am I doing this right so far? It looks right, or at least, it looks right.

Grimacing, Owen held the now wisp-filled syringe between his hands as if it were a grenade, the canister empty of anything the eye could see. Carefully nudging the door to Jessica's room open, Owen walked in, making sure not to step on the puddles of corrosive blood. At last, reaching her bed and looking at his daughter with an anxious expression, Owen lifted his arm and prepared to inject the syringe into her.

And then he stopped.

There were so many things that could've went wrong at that moment, simply by injecting it into Jessica. What if he injected it into the wrong place? Could he even have injected it into the wrong place? He had always seen doctors inject needles into patients' arms and assumed there was a reason for that, yet he had never further questioned it.

Oh, all those little things in this too-short life. Those little, trivial things that will always come back to mock you in your weakest moment, those little things that build up to a mountain of regret. In any other circumstances, he wouldn't have cared anyhow about properly injecting a needle. But now... now, it could've defined the line between someone's life and death.

Taking another deep breath, Owen gripped the syringe tighter, as if it would inject itself into Jessica without his command. I have everything to lose now, don't I? With Jessica gone, what will I be? Another jetsam in the river of fate, washed up onto the shore one day or the other, my journey in the current now at an end.

But there was no turning back now either, was there? Owen had everything in place, himself now being the only obstacle in the way. And if he delayed for another day... would he wake up to find himself regretting it? Another boulder to add to the mountain.

Filled with newfound determination, Owen clenched his teeth as he sunk the needle into Jessica's arm. All he needed was to squeeze the plunger - something so trivial, yet an act of sheer willpower - and it would be over.

Owen steadied himself for a moment, suddenly feeling numb of any emotion, then injected the soul into Jessica's body.

When he opened his eyes again, there was nothing in the syringe.

It's done. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, Owen stumbled his way back to the kitchen, not even caring if he stepped on any blood.

Collapsing as he sat on a chair, Owen sighed.

Earlier in his mind, such a thing would've been celebration-worthy. But now, Owen didn't even feel like having a drink.

*     *     *

James frowned as he watched his servant continue to babble.

"I was in the servants quarters... sir, and then I heard the sound of glass shattering coming from down the hall. Naturally, I knew something was wrong, so I went to investigate it. Turns out the sound was coming from the living room, and when I went to see what was going on there, the first thing I noticed was that there was glass shattered on the floor beside the fireplace. The second thing I noticed, ah... sir, was that the jar you kept on top of the fireplace was missing. And that's when I alerted you, sir."

Stepping closer to the fireplace, James looked at the empty glass cube ahead of him. "You said you just heard the glass shattering a minute or two ago?"

The servant nodded. "Yes... sir."

Glancing at the cube one last time, James paced around the living room. It was absurdly late at night, and he generally did not like being waken up in the middle of sleeping - especially since it was hard for him to sleep these days. I can't blame Noah for alerting me either though, can I? Especially when I told him to alert me whenever something was wrong. Smiling in exasperation to himself, James thought about the sudden change of events, and his next move from here.

Clearly, I can't sell the soul anymore, unless I find who stole it. Could I be somebody I know or just another one of those overly greedy thieves that pop up some times? Either way, he would catch who did it.

And then he would have his extra soul back, while the person who stole it would be educated about the importance of honesty, the way James enjoyed teaching it. It was a win for everybody.

"Noah, call the police," James said, somewhat impatiently. "Tell them to come over and see if they can find any clues. A trail, maybe." 

This would certainly be fun to watch unfold.

*     *     *

Owen woke up the next day feeling strangely refreshed. His mind instantly darting back to the events that unfolded yesterday, Owen stood up from the chair that he found himself slumped over, twice now. At least, there won't be a third time now that all this is over, right?

Owen half-expected that Jessica was already up, as energetic as ever. A slight ripple of disappointment went through him as he saw her still in bed, but he ignored it. She needs rest. It's not like the soul's effects are instantaneous either, I bet.

Casually biding his time, Owen grabbed a towel from the kitchen and began to clean up the mess of blood his daughter's room, now that Jessica was done spurting it. Throwing the towel into the garbage, Owen suddenly felt a lightness on his shoulders. For once, he was grateful that everything was back to normal.

Sitting on Jessica's bed, Owen waited for the time when Jessica would finally wake up, not caring for how long it took.

And in the moment when Jessica finally did open her eyes, Owen could've danced.

*     *     *

Whether Alan noticed that he was still missing from work, Owen didn't care. The rest of the day was spent with Jessica, at last taking her to see the downtown, showing her the sights and wonders of the city, or strolling around nearby parks for a while, enjoying the winter breeze as they walked through the soft, delicate snow. His fears casted aside, Owen felt a strange warmth glowing inside of him every time Jessica laughed as he remarked something, or smiled as she saw the world around her. Certainly even fate wouldn't be so cruel as to take her away now, would it?

The sun beginning to set once more, the two of them began to walk home. This was one of the few instances when Owen had not brought his bike with him - after all, it could not carry two people, and now he truly did not seem to be alone anymore.

While before, the sun seemed to be like a symbol of another day passed, inching closer to Owen's eventual end, now it seemed to be full of light and energy, as if even the world was celebrating.

*     *     *

Alan wasn't completely happy the following day when Owen returned to work, but didn't bring up the topic either. The joy of having Jessica again still remained, but it now felt odd, as if the joy was diminishing, replaced by a feeling of disappointment. The disappointment that in reality, all the tension that had transpired over the past few days didn't actually change anything. How in reality, nothing was really better for him, only brought back to his normal, grueling life.

Yet, something had changed too. Something had changed, yet Owen could not place his finger on it, though a strange feeling in his stomach told him that he had dropped a pebble into the waters of fate, only to create a ripple far greater than he expected.

The day went on for him, first at work, then at home with Jessica.

And the ripple grew.

*     *     *

The next week and a half remained without any shift or change. Jessica seemed to become more and more alive each day, bursting into perfect health, as if nothing had happened. Oddly, Jessica had said that she didn't remember anything wrong either. Only that a strange darkness that had swallowed her all of a sudden, followed by a flash of bright colors that brought her back to consciousness.

That's not far off from the truth, Owen mused. Only, the bright colors are gone now, aren't day? And now it's back to grey. The greyness of before, the novelty of it once again worn.

But deep down, he still felt something wrong. Something stirred. 

*     *     *

By the end of two weeks, Owen saw the ripple he had created. And it seemed that fate was as cruel as Owen had feared.