Arriving back at my house, I can't help but still feel a little down after such a lackluster ending with Ruthford. But I know I have to push that aside for another time and prepare to drag Xalale into town for this dreaded visit.

Letting myself into the house, I'm more reckless about my noise level since Xalale should be up by now, though the house is chillingly quiet.

Since we're supposed to be the only ones home right now, I have no qualms about calling out to him from the kitchen. Upon not hearing a response, I do become slightly worried, but overall, I merely push it off and get ready to head back to my room to possibly wake him up.

Before I head back there, though, I open the fridge to begin putting away the yogurt Ruthford provided me with. Our fridge is obnoxiously overcrowded (mostly with expired items) and so it proves to be a challenge stacking the containers in there.

"Curse this crowded fridge," I mutter, squeezing the last container in.

Just as I'm closing the fridge, turning to head to my room, my heart just about jumps out of my chest.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasp. "Don't scare me like that."

I didn't even hear him come into the room- just like a cat. Apparently, he is up which saves me a good amount of time not having to wait on him to get ready.

"Why didn't you answer me when I called?" I ask, recovering from the scare.

To this, he merely shrugs which immediately causes my suspicion to kick in. Xalale never just shrugs in such an apathetic manner.

"You okay?" I'm asking just to be nice.

"I'm fine," He stares at me with some typical hardness in his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, you just seem..." I let the topic drop and move on seeing how touchy he gets about these things. "Nevermind, let's just head out. We need to talk to that guy I was telling you about yesterday."

No response.

He's not even focusing on me, he's staring out at something beyond me. Why is he so ADD lately?

"Xalale," I interrupt his thoughts. "You mind staying grounded for a few minutes. Let's go."

The genuine question in his voice is blatant.

"Where?"

I blink, hesitantly answering with concerned and confusion laced in my voice, "Town like I said before. Are you sure you're alright?"

This is extremely uncharacteristic behavior from him- it's quite odd and slightly unnerving.

"I'm fine. Let's not waste any more time."

Breezing past me, he leads the way, leaving me baffled as to what happened a second ago. Shaking my head, I put it behind us and follow him out the house heading towards town. Our journey is a silent one until we're over the halfway mark and I glance over at him.

"That gash healed decently," I comment.

There's a darker, thin line of a scar running from his temple across his right eye to his nose, and unfortunately for him that might be permanent, but it healed in a good amount of time considering everything.

"Hm."

Back to silence, but unlike the kind of awkward, weird silences shared between me and Ruthford, this one right now seems like a thin veil. It's a strange feeling that I can't really put words to, but it just feels like a flimsy barrier- so artificial.

"If you're getting sick, let me know so I don't catch it."

I feel like I need to add some seriousness masked with a lighthearted vibe to this silence.

"I'm fine."

Looking at the paved road, I sigh a little, "Everything's fine to you, isn't it?"

This, for some reason, causes him to halt right there, not walking any further. I take notice and glance back at him. He's finally looking at me, but with an expression of confusion.

"What?" I ask.

Slowly he shakes his head then glances away at the treeline in the distance.

"I was just in a moment." He finally answers.

"Oh, okay."

Brushing it off, we resume walking again, but just as we're nearly in view of the first house, he stops abruptly again.

"What's wrong?"

This time the expression he wears is one of uneasiness.

"Xalale, what's wrong?"

Taking a hesitant step back, he shakes his head unwillingly.

"I'm not going."

"What? What are you talking about?"

The uneasiness etched across his face is now apparent in his tone. He begins to turn away, but I stop him before he walks away.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not going in there."

I attempt to maintain a calm, understanding demeanor, but underneath I'm bewildered as to what is going on with him today.

"Why? We've been in town before. Grant it, I know the people in there can be...difficult, but we need to do this to-"

"I can't go any further."

He backs away again, something about his behavior shifting from uneasy to agitated and somewhat distressed.

"It's going to happen all over again and everybody will see."

"What? Xalale, what are you talking about? What's going to happen all over again?"

This time he turns away from me and the direction of town. Wanting to get to the root of this problem, I gently seize his wrist to stop him from walking away, but that just makes things worst.

"Let go!" Pulling away from me, I'm a little taken back that he yelled at me in such a hostile manner.

"What's wrong-"

"I'm not going in there."

Why does he have to yell at me, I don't know, but he's becoming very aggressive about this. I let him back away this time without preventing him from doing so. I just need him to calm down because we're right outside of town in the middle of the street- not the wisest place to do this.

"Alright, you don't have to go there," I begin trying to pacify him. "Let's just take a moment and calm-"

"I can't do any of this, I'm not going to ridiculed again."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I'm so confused and worried at this point. He's extremely agitated and, frankly, distraught.

I don't know what to do to calm him down, it's like he's having a panic attack and I've never been around someone who's in the midst of one nor have I experienced one myself. I don't even know what triggered it. I have to try something, though, even if I'm not a therapist.

"Xalale, Xalale," Having to get his attention without directly touching him is proving to be my first challenge.

Eventually, he does stop to notice me and in a calm manner I speak, "Let's get out of the middle of the road."

We do make it to the side of the road where he immediately sits down and buries his face in his hands, muttering something to himself. He's breathing rather ragged so I kneel beside him and wait, unsure of what to do next. Then, I remember what Clifford told me about just being there, how I don't have to say a word.

So I sit quietly, patiently waiting for him to calm down. It does take some time, and I mean a good while, for him to at last compose himself to speak understandably.

Resting my chin on my knees, I look at him, "You okay?"

He looks away, making me believe he must be upset at me about this, so I fall silent again. His nerves still must be high-strung and he gets up to pace a little, not looking over at me once. I watch, this time waiting for him to start up the conversation.

The pacing ceases and he stares at the ground.

"I feel like a fool."

I glance up, frowning.

"No, you're not, it's normal to react to things-"

"No, I let my emotions get the better of me." He snaps.

Getting to my feet, I stare at him.

"It's alright to have some emotion. I mean it is the human thing to do."

This offers him no comfort, though, and he begins pacing back and forth again. I watch him with discouragement, wondering how to address him. He stops once more, his body language still being perceived as agitated.

"Xalale, it's alright to have those moments. Nobody's judging you- I'm not.

I pray my words are getting through to him, and by the way the tension in his body slightly melts away, it seems they are.

"We should head back to the trailer, try this another-"

"No. I'm fine."

Staring at him with uncertainty, I check to see if he means it.

"You sure? I mean we really could just head back to-"

The pertinacious gleam in his eyes told me his mind is mind up and knowing how hard-strong he could be, I nod and start to lead the way.

We said no more on this matter or whatever episode previously occurred; this is one of the few things I enjoy about Xalale's company- we know when to leave something in the past.

I don't know whether this time fact or the something he did that makes the smallest, faintest small appear on my face. The worst part is, I can't wipe the freakin' thing off my face.

One thing that never fails to amaze me is the numerous stares we always receive upon entering town, but by now I don't think either of us cared- we're on a mission.

   No one confronts us- thank God- and we make it to a bungalow that's seen some better days. I know I have to take a mental breath before knocking on the door or else my mind won't be prepared for the two (and I know they'll both be there) individuals we're about to see.

   Sometimes I wonder if it's better having the blissful ignorance of not knowing who we're about to meet like Xalale does when he meets someone new in this town.

   I knock, out of politeness, but when I receive no response I casually swing open the door and let myself in like I should've in the first place. With Xalale following behind, I wander through the darkly decorated house all the way to the back where the study of the house is supposed to be, but instead there's a table with a thick purple clothe covering it and a freaky looking boy behind the table. Beside him perched on a stool, with his usual crazy eyes, is, of course, Jefferson Fry.

   "Hey," I poke my head in before coming into the dark room. The only light source is a lava lamp in the middle of the table.

   The pale kid- though I shouldn't call him a kid since he's older than me- behind the table glances up at me then narrows his eyes.

   "For the love of the Lord, does it kill you people to knock at the front door?"

   "I did but nobody answered. Maybe you should have somebody on door duty," You have to be witty with these two, or at least the pale one, to get what you want.

   "Is that Ryders?" Jefferson pipes up from the corner.

   "Yes, it's her, coming in unannounced like she's the cops or something." Jerry replies, begrudgingly.

    "Ryders! Long time no see, how're the folks?" Jefferson bellows. He already sounds high- but then again, when does he not?

    "Folks are fine," I answer briskly, sitting down in front of Jerry, who's sour face says it all.

    He folds his arms, staring me down.

    "I wasn't expecting you today. Whatcha want?"

    It takes everything in me not to scratch my eardrums out whenever he talks. Jerry uses a faux British accent which is not his real accent- he doesn't even have one- but he uses it because he claims his heritage is directly from the monarch in Britain- which Jefferson fully backs up. It's awful to hear but I have to just grit my teeth and role with it.

   "I need help regarding him." I point to Xalale, who just now enters fully into the room.

   Squinting, Jerry leans over the table a bit to scrutinize Xalale, then slumps back down in his seat, crossing his arms again.

   "Who's he?"

   "His name's Xalale and we need your help, now are you going to help us or no?"

   It's hard to see since the crappy lava lamp is the only light in this joint, but I can tell from his interested "Ah" that I've captured his full attention now.

   "So this is the one you've been knocking boots with," He coos slyly.

   Thank God this lighting is so crappy because my face is burning with anger and embarrassment. It's literally a physical struggle to keep my voice even.

   "We aren't an item."

   "Well that's not what I've been hearing."

   "Check your sources then," I snap.

    Unfortunately, this confirms my fears that Mrs. Sherman has already spread an unquenchable wildfire of rumors. I figure Jerry got his information from his mother, who's one of the old Methodist pigeons. Jerry rarely ever visits a service- it's only whenever his mother drags him out of his cave or during holidays. I'm not sure, though, if the part about us being that involved comes only from Jerry's lewd mouth or others' as well.

   "Hey," He smirks, holding up his hands innocently. "I'm not judging- I'm not God. I get having friends with benefits-"

   "I swear to God, Jerry," I growl.

   This time the coy smirk on his face twist into a grimace at the sound of his real name.

   "Maelor! I told you to call me Maelor, not Jerry," He reminds me of a kid throwing a mini watered down tantrum. "No one respects me with the name Jerry, so Maelor is who I am in this room. Got it?"

   Now I'm the one looking smug.

   "Whatever."

   I've ruffled his feathers which clams him up a bit, leaving- unfortunately- Jefferson to interrupt.

   "I dunno why ya don't fancy the name Jerry, it's a nice name."

   "A nice name for nice guys, I'm not a nice guy."

   I can't help but roll my eyes at this.

   "Please, you're just a knock off version of Andy Biersack."

   "Hey! Just 'cuz my looks are inspired by him doesn't mean I want to be compared to the weasel. Besides,"-He smooths his hair, "I had this look before he was even around."

   "Yeah, uhuh." Whatever.

   That's another thing about his fake accent. He could at least try to use the slang and lingo actual British people use. Instead, it's some American mixed with made up stuff.

   "I'm not here to have pointless conversations with you, I'm here because we need your help."

   "Alright, lay it on me."

   Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment then stare him straight in the eyes.

   "So he's not from this realm and we need another way to get him back to his universe. There was a portal in my yard, but it's gone now. You have anything to help us out?"

   Rubbing his chin, he appears in thought about to suggest something when ol' noisy Jefferson Fry pipes up.

   "From another universe!? I knew it! I knew there were other dimensions and everybody thought I was crazy," He scoffs. "By the way, which hand does your friend write with?"

   I'm actually not sure which hand is Xalale's dominate one, but for the sake of all of us, it better not be left. There's a reason Jefferson Fry is called crazy ol' Fry. He has a weird prejudice against left-handed people- believes them to be spawns of the devil and whatnot.

   So I look back at Xalale and whisper quietly- though Fry wouldn't catch on.

   "Say your right."

   His brow furrows in question, but he looks over at Fry and answers, "Right."

   Relief floods through the man and he leans back on his stool, satisfied with the answer. Xalale's confused face says it all, but I wave him off and mouth "Later.".

   "So your inamorato is from another universe and needs to get back. Hmm." He ponders for another moment before reaching under the table for something and coming up with a metal chalice, a candle, and a sewing needle.

    I definitely don't question his methods most of the time. He's clearly not fully Wiccan or anything else I've ever seen. I'm sure he makes it up as he goes along.

   As he inspects the needle, he rattles on.

   "I just need some background information, like what's this place- this other universe- called?"

   Xalale now speaks up, "Edalirwen."

   "Edalirwen, interesting."

   Lighting a match, he lights the candle, moving aside the lava lamp to place the candle in the middle. Holding the needle over the flickering flame for a moment, Jerry pipes up again, in concentration on his task.

   "Why do you wish to return?"

   "I have my reasons."

   Glancing up, Jerry rolls his eyes a bit.

   "I suppose I won't get any of those reasons, will I?"

   Xalale's stony silence spoke volumes, so being smart, Jerry gave up that attempt, moving onto a different subject.

   "Do you perhaps have anything on you that's from your homeland?" He shrugs, removing the needle from the flame. "A trinket or clothe or something of that natures."

   For a moment, it seems that we've hit a dead end, but then I remember something.

   "What about a ring?" I ask.

   I can sense the dirty glare sent my way from Xalale, but ignore it, instead focusing on Jerry.

   "I suppose."

   Even when I glance back at him, he's still giving me the death glare for even mentioning such an object, but we need to do this in order for him to get home.

   "Come on, Xalale, it's just for a little while. He'll give it back." I coax.

   Even with my assurance, there was still reservation on his face as he begrudgingly took off the ring and placed it on the table.

   Inspecting it with a momentary satisfactory approve, Jerry sets the ring inside the chalice then picks up the needle, not before glowering at me.

   "If you wouldn't mind getting up seeing how it's not all about you."

   I take my cue but not without scowling at him. Xalale takes my place and I lean against the wall, praying this leads somewhere fruitful.

   "Let me see your left-"

   "Left!?" Jefferson squawks, startled to attention.

   An annoyed sigh escapes Jerry, "Fine. Let me see your right hand middle finger."

   Jefferson settles down, returning to his placid mood, and cautiously Xalale offers Jerry his middle finger on the right hand, but immediately pulls away when Jerry approaches with the needle.

   "Don't tell me you're afraid of needles," He groans. "I just need a small sampling of blood. It won't hurt, promise ya."

   With a cynical- understandable- apprehension, Xalale holds out his finger yet again and Jerry quickly pricks the tip of the finger until a small, scarlet bead of blood appears, swiftly wiped away by Jerry with a small, white clothe that he then burns in the candle's flame.

   Jerry holds the chalice with both hands, closes his eyes, and mutters something inaudible under his breath. He peeks his eye open after a second.

  "One last question. What's your last name? Your surname?"

  "Domshov."

  "Perfect." He closes his eyes again and for a minute or so he's deathly quiet.

   Xalale's confusion is as clear as mind, yet I just roll my eyes and wait- Jerry always comes through, just in weird ways.

   "Hmm. Mh...ok..." Jerry mumbles to himself aloud, eyes still closed in a trance. He mutters these nothings to himself for a minute before quieting down again. I can tell Xalale's patience is being tested with this individual- not without fault, of course- but we just have to wait a little longer.

   "Alright...hmm..whoa!" Jerking back in his seat, somewhat startled, Jerry recovers and remains closed eyed. "Well, that was a shit ton of information. How am I suppose to shift through all this crap? Ah, nonetheless."

   It's obvious that we can't see what he's seeing so there's going to have to be some explaining on his part.

   "What'd you got?" I prompt.

   His facial expressions continually change and right now it's a rather blasè look.

   "Edalirwen's a bit drab if you ask me."

   "Nobody did," I snap.

   "That's the unfortunate part," He mutters, moving on to ask Xalale a question. "You wouldn't happen to be born into nobility, would you?"

   "More like royalty," I answer, already annoyed at him. We're not here to play Guess Who.

   With his eyes still shut Jerry's face sours.

   "I know you're probably the dominatrix and all, but could you let someone else speak for a minute, yeah, thanks sweetheart. If you couldn't tell, none of this revolves around you."

    It's probably best his eyes are closed so he won't have to see me physically restraining myself from jumping the table and choking the life out of him.

   He continues.

   "I'm not getting anything useful right now. Perhaps I should delve deeper, further back."

   Another minute of silence passes until he speaks up again.

   "Nothing much of interest he-" I'm curious as to what image cut him off midsentence. A hint of a sly curve spreads across his face. "Didn't like your mother much, huh? My mom would slap the shit out of me if I called her a hypocritical bitch- even if she is one."

   I can tell by the bitter expression in his eyes that Xalale isn't as fond with people like Jerry- or anyone for that matter- peering through his past. He barely shares it with me.

   For a quick moment, I wish I could dive into his past and see what there is to see; I want to know how a mother and son could become so hostile to each other. Then there's just plain curiosity to witness what Xalale was like as a child. But I wouldn't like it much if somebody invaded my memories like that, so I let the thought die.

  "Ah...who's the girl named, how do you pronounce it, Emmony? She your past Juliet? I kinda wanna call her Hermione, but her name isn't that- she just looks like a Hermione though."

   Fry, who's been uncharacteristically quiet throughout a major of this, pipes up.

  "What's her name?"

  "Hermione or something of that- oh, she was your first." Jerry seems to be enjoying the hell out of going through somebody's private memories, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'm a little bit intrigued.

   Actually, that name sounds familiar, Emmony. Hadn't Xalale muttered that name in his sleep one time? Apparently there is a connection to her.

   "Gave that V-card away pretty quick." He muses.

   From the stormy look gathering on Xalale's face, I can tell this is anything but amusing to him.

   I don't know if it's a surprise to me or not that Xalale isn't a virgin- maybe not so surprising- but I didn't figure there used to be someone else.

    "I forgot to use protection once," Jerry prattle on, oblivious to the storm building. "A girl named Camille or Camilla- whichever one, I don't remember. She was a hot thing but couldn't do it if her life depended on it."

   "Protection is just a mere illusion." Unnecessary two cents from Fry.

   Jerry, rightfully, ignores the comment.

   "Anyways, I'm glad nothing major happened between us. I mean she was a sultry thing that-" He cuts himself off and for a moment his face morphs from surprise to complacent- it was painfully obvious from his tone as he spoke. "I see your fling didn't work out too well. Gave her the knife, huh? Hear that Mal, he doesn't keep his women for-"

   He never gets the chance to finish that smug sentence before he's gasping for air, clawing at the pair of hands wrapped around his neck.

   The outburst startles both me and Fry, who jumps off his stool onto the floor in sudden surprise. It takes my mind a moment to recover from the initial shock of it, but when I do I don't immediately jump into action as I usually would if Xalale did this to anyone else. To be fair, Jerry was asking for it- prowling through memories he shouldn't. He was (does all the time, in fact) pissing me off, so I can't really believe he didn't deserve some of this retaliation. If you provoke the lion, you better be prepared for the repercussions.

   Jerry's eyes are wide open now, wild and panicked like a child who's been frightened. He's trying his best to escape from the constraining grip but is ultimately wearing himself out, losing more oxygen. Xalale has a very tight grip around his neck and from the enraged spark in his eye, clearly has no intentions about letting go until the squirming stops.

   Now if this was anybody else (possibly aside from Franklin Houser) I would have immediately intervened and scolded Xalale for such an outburst, but this is Jerry we're talking about. Jerry who provoked the lion and is paying the price, Jerry who annoys the hell out of me.

   Turns out Fry isn't friend of the year and just merely is observing from the floor with zoned out, bloodshot eyes as his friend is turning from blue to violet before his eyes.

    "I should do something." Ugh, there goes that helpful, humane side of me.

   I really don't want to be a witness to a murder, so calmly I get Xalale's attention by standing next to him.

  "Xalale, come on, he's not worth it," I coax patiently as though trying to talk him out of choosing an article of clothing.

   The tight constraint around Jerry's neck doesn't loosen, so I sigh and turn him so that he's looking at me and firmly repeat.

   "He's not worth it."

   Eyes hardened, he stares at me for a second before releasing the pathetic guy.

   On the floor, Jerry sucks in massive gulps of air to compensate for the time where oxygen wasn't received into his lungs. Spurting and coughing, it takes a good minute or two for him to stand up again, easing himself into his chair, and wheezing, still short of breath. The expression in his eyes read wild and shocked.

   "Are you okay?" I have to feign some type of concern even if it isn't convincing.

   The cold glare from him tells me that my fake compassion isn't heeded well, so I shrug and give up the act of caring.

   His voice cracks the first time he attempts to speaks and he has to rub his handprint neck, trying a second time- even then the strength in his voice is depleted (at least it got rid of that stupid accent).

   "You can leave now. If I knew he had a temper like yours I wouldn't have offered to assist. That's what I get for being a good person," He grumbles, then suddenly the complacent look that got him in trouble the first time comes sliding back across his face again. "I don't know what you're going to do without me, no one else can do what I can."

   Xalale has already exited the room, as I'm about to do the same- blocking out Jerry's comments- but he's on a roll now

   "I like to see you try it without me."

   "Don't flatter yourself," I scoff at him over my shoulder.

   "I don't. I'm just intrigued how you picked a perfect match for yourself- almost like fate," He barks a bitter chuckle. "I would say go screw yourself, but I know he's already doing that for-"

   Self-control I have no more of- I've spent it all. So when my fist connects with that wannabe emo, Gothic face of his, I have no regrets other than I should've hit him harder.

   Reaching into the chalice, I remember Xalale's ring is still there and take it, flashing a bright, forced smile at Jerry before pocketing the item.

    "Whoops. Nearly forgot something."

   The scowl on his face mingles with the pain and trail of crimson red leaking from his mouth and nose.

   "Get the hell out of my house."

   I'm already out the doorway, though, with my head high and not glancing back at the sorry state we've left him in. A throbbing, sore throat and a bruised face- that's going to hurt in the morning.

   Regardless of how wrong it was to resort to physical violence, I do feel better (maybe I need to punch more people). So slipping out of the house, I can't hide the slight smile on my face, no matter how hard I try to wipe it off.