Redemption

              Seth stood on the rooftop of his apartment building in New York, his quiet, dark eyes staring out over the city at nothing. His ear-lobe length, black hair, wavy and frizzy, blew in the wind. Baggy, frayed jeans whipped around his legs, and his long, black trench coat flapped gently at his heels. He had the same perpetual frown on his face that he wore everyday, with calm eyebrows turned slightly downward, giving a quality of deep thought to his expression. He closed his eyes, listening intently to the world around him that he was about to leave forever. Car engines were humming along the streets below, birds were singing and chirping as they flew around or lounged in their nests. He heard the chatter of people’s voices as they talked to each other while they walked along the sidewalks.          
         “Well?” said a serene voice. “Are you going to do it or not?” Seth felt the sun at his face and the wind licking at it, blowing his hair about, and he liked the feeling. Was he making a mistake?
         He was not sure whether or not he had actually heard the words spoken by the voice or if he thought them in his own mind, to himself, and so he said nothing.   
         The gentle-toned man standing behind him cleared his throat.
         “Can I help you?” Seth said sarcastically with a sigh.
         “My friend, you must have this situation misjudged. It is I who is here to help you. Now,” he slowed his voice, apparently insinuating that Seth had not understood his previous question, “are you going to do it… or not?”
         “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, pal,” Seth said. He produced a pack of Lucky Strikes from an inside jacket pocket, placed one in his mouth and returned the pack to his pocket. The truth was, Seth did know what the man was talking about; he’d come onto this rooftop to end his life.
         “I believe you do. You and I both know what you came here to do. Of course, even an imbecile could walk up to you at this very moment and know exactly what you planned to do.” Seth tilted his head in agreement. He lit his cigarette.
         “And you just so happen to be that imbecile?” Seth asked, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. The man laughed gently, with a genuine, quiet humor. Seth snorted, expelling a puff of wistful smoke. “And where the hell are you from, anyway? Nobody fuckin’ talks like that anymore.”
         It then occurred to Seth that it was strange of him to be talking so calmly to a man who appeared so quietly that even Seth’s hyper-sensitive ears had not picked up the man’s footsteps; in addition, he had not the slightest will or intention to turn around and face his intruder. The man inhaled to speak, but Seth cut him off.
         “Who are you?” he demanded curiously. The man laughed his quiet laugh again.
         “I was wondering when you would ask me that, Seth. However, I’m sure that you have already guessed that I would not have an answer for you.”
         Oddly, this had more than just occurred to Seth. In fact, he somehow knew that he had wasted his breath with the question from the moment the words escaped his mouth. He licked the filter of his cigarette, thinking. Suddenly, he was able to turn around, relinquished from his mind’s hold on him.
         The mysterious man looked oddly familiar; Seth felt as though he knew him his entire life, even though they’d never actually met. He had deep, piercing green eyes and perfectly parted white hair; no, not grey. The man seemed to be in his twenties, much too young for grey hair. His hair was white.  The features of his face were sharp and perfect. He wore a superbly neat, black suit and tie with shining black dress shoes. His hands were folded behind his back. Seth had that unmistakable feeling that something was wrong or out of place, though he couldn’t tell quite what it was. He looked down at his slightly trembling right hand, steadied it, and turned back toward the city to see if anyone had yet noticed the happenings on the roof, if anyone was curious that perhaps two friends had agreed upon a suicide pact. No one seemed to notice them.
         “Well, this has been great, but I’ve had enough with idle chit-chat. I clearly have more important things to deal with here,” Seth told the man. He started to tell the man to kindly fuck off, but he was struck with an inexplicable feeling that he had already completely forgotten what the man looked like.
         “Seth… There are some things I can do for you. I said I was here to help.  Okay, Mr. Writer… Farewell.” A gust of wind made Seth rock backwards on his heels just a bit. When he didn’t hear the man departing, he turned around to see what he was doing. … He was gone.
         “Ah, shit… Please tell me he was really there…” He then realized the pure insanity of the situation, and this was obvious by the look on his face. You’re talking to yourself. I’m pretty sure you just hallucinated, and now you’re talking to yourself. That’s a bad sign. He felt strangely concerned for his sanity, especially for a man who had walked out onto the roof of a four story apartment complex and planned to take one final plunge. He stood for a moment, staring at the ground. He then remembered the appointment tomorrow with his wife Amanda.
         “Well, I guess this can wait until tomorrow….” Seth looked awkwardly around, blinked a few times, threw down his cigarette and stamped it out, and walked back toward the door that would lead him back inside to his unkempt apartment and mundane lifestyle.
         He threw himself onto the cradle-like couch in his living room, grabbed the remote, turned on the television. But he didn’t watch it. He didn’t even look at it. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling. 
         *                              *                              *          
         Seth sat in front of his computer, a half-consumed bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon next to the monitor and an empty word document open. The blinking cursor was taunting him, as if telling him that he would never produce thoughts worthy enough of being converted into text. Sure, he’d written before. From what he could remember, one book while he was happily married, and around three after he and Amanda separated. It took quite a toll on him, but he found his best creativity in misery.
          The small clock mounted on the wall slightly behind him to his left ticked endlessly in his ear. The sound grew louder and louder, eventually seeming to echo inside his own mind, reverberating off the inside of his skull. It was maddening. He nervously tapped his hands on his desk in some strange made-up rhythm and bounced his feet rapidly. Finally he’d had it. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon with an angry swipe of his hand and fled from his inadequacy.
         Seth once again found himself perched upon his rooftop. This time he had not come to take a swan dive off the side of the building; the view was incredible. He stood and stared, occasionally sipping on his bottle of bourbon. He heard someone approach from behind him.
         “Back to harass me some more, you creepy bastard?” Seth said. It wasn’t a question; he was already deeply irritated by his work, and now he had to endure the psychosis of the mystery man with white hair. The man was silent. The man‘s silence made Seth very nervous, and he absent-mindedly picked at the label of his Wild Turkey bottle.
         And suddenly the man’s hands seized Seth’s shirt firmly in the back. His heart skipped a beat, perhaps several--maybe even stopped beating altogether--and he was hurled over the edge of the roof by the man’s surprising strength. Seth cried out in surprise and fear as he plummeted down the side of the building. The bottle of bourbon fell next to him, and Seth thought he heard it speak: “This is what you wanted, just yesterday, is it not?” and then it laughed maniacally. He could very well have thought it to himself, or the man could have shouted it at him in taunting. He closed his eyes tight as the wind whipped at his face and caused his arms and legs to be thrown back, presenting his face to a Buick just below him, and he screamed again just as he collided with the vehicle. He could feel his own blood all around him; he could have been swimming in it. When he opened his eyes to check the damage, he could see that he had fallen from his computer chair, his legs tangled up in the arms, and his blood was actually the spilled bottle of bourbon, which was now entirely emptied onto him and the carpet. He had fallen asleep, but he was certain that he’d cried out from that sleep, and was now thoroughly embarrassed at his fear of a mere dream. He knew the walls of the apartment building weren’t very thick and therefore did not allow for much absorption of sound and his neighbors had probably heard him.
         Seth suddenly jerked back up to face his monitor and noticed the time: 12:26 pm. “Shit!” he muttered; he was supposed to meet Amanda at Moshe’s Café for lunch at noon. He jumped up off the ground and doubled backward to bolt out of his room, but was caught on the chair once more which threw him back to the ground. He kicked his legs free and got up, stumbled, and jogged out of the room, towards the door.
*                              *                              *
         “You’re late,” Amanda said sharply, after Seth stumbled into his seat across from her. “As always.” She’d always been marginally attractive; by no means any kind of supermodel. She was a woman of stress, and it showed in her face and in the manner with which she carried herself. Her eyes looked tired but they were a beautiful amber color and her seemed face somewhat tight. When she smiled it could make anyone feel at ease. She was skinny, but with perky breasts, however small. Marginally attractive, yes, but if you paid attention, her world-weariness was obvious. And she slouched with the weight of responsibility and obligation on her shoulders.
         “Well that’s a helpful attitude,” he replied, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. They sat in silence for a moment; both of them staring at the other. Amanda’s stare was angry and piercing, Seth’s bored and waiting for the fight to start. He knew that’s what would inevitably happen. “Am I going to have time to order?”
         “Why were you late? You knew this meeting was important to me. Do you just not care?”
         He chuckled, somewhat under his breath. Ducking slightly he looked out the café window next to them, “‘Goodbye blue sky,’” he muttered with a dirty sarcastic grin on his face.
         “That’s not funny.” He always quoted that Pink Floyd song with Amanda when she was starting to become unpleasant.
         “Oh… it is. Your sense of humor could just use a bit of fine-tuning.” He was laughing softly, trying to add some humor to the situation. Her lip didn’t even twitch with a desire to smile. “Ah, c’mon, Amanda! Lighten up. That’s how we stay sane.”
         “It’s not how I stay sane. We’re here to talk about our ‘arrangements’, remember?” She referred to the arrangements of their separation. What Seth wasn’t exactly privy to was the fact that Amanda had been seriously considering a full divorce.
         A portly waitress in her early twenties with a terrible case of acne, a slightly stained apron and perhaps a herpes outbreak approached the table. Not the most appetizing sight. “What can I getcha?” She had a perky voice, but her face was tired.
         “Salad. And some cheap wine, if you have it,” Amanda said, the anger at Seth still obvious in here voice.
         “And you, sir?” the waitress asked.
         “Well, I actually came here to eat. I’ll have this club sandwich here,” he pointed to the display on the menu, “and…” he paused, considering following Amanda’s lead on ordering something alcoholic. He decided against it, deciding he could tell Amanda that he’d quit drinking, earn some points back with her. “Do you have Sprite?”
         “Yes we do, sir.”
         “Okay,” he looked up and smiled at her. “I’ll take that.”
         The waitress took their menus away with a smile and a slight dip and was off. A silence lingered and Amanda seemed as though she was about to speak. He knew, perhaps subconsciously, what she was going to say. Seth looked around awkwardly for an out, and decided to speak first.
         “I’m going to the bathroom,” he forced out. He jumped from his seat, knocking his knee on the bottom of the table, and walked quickly to the restrooms. Amanda made a face at him.          
         The restrooms were dirty and cheap; he made a vow to himself to never actually use them. Instead he stood in front of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, then started washing his hands out of impulse.
         “I don’t want to talk to her,” he muttered.
         “Why not? Are you so afraid of your own wife?” his voice responded. He frowned, pausing to think, and looked up at the mirror. It was him in there, to be sure, but it wasn’t his reflection.
         “W--…what?” he asked the mirror.
         “You’re afraid of your own wife? What kind of man are you?” Seth had never been so insulted by himself before.
         “I’m…I’m not afraid of her. I just don’t know what she’s going to say. Makes me nervous,” he said.
         “Isn’t it obvious, man?” the mirror asked him.
         “No, apparently it isn’t. Since I don’t know.” The look on his face was one of discomfort and a taste of denial.
         “C’mon. You know. Dig deep.”
         He thought. He thought hard, staring at the faucet. Suddenly he looked up at the mirror with a shocked look on his face.
         “Thaat’s right,” the mirror told him, grinning.
         “Divorce,” they both said sharply in unison. The mirror out of spite, Seth out of scared realization. “Ah, no…” Seth said. He was exhausted. He had no emotional or mental energy left to handle a divorce.
         “It doesn’t have to be that way…” A soft voice from behind him. Familiar. He whirled around. It was the mystery man again, this time clad in a white suit, black tie, and shining black hair with a slight red sheen. He looked quite different, but Seth was sure it was the same man. Same sharp features. Same even tone of voice. Same piercing green eyes… It was him, alright.
         “Was that you in my dream earlier?” Seth asked. The man thought for a moment.
         “Well, we’ve only just met…but I’m flattered that you’re dreaming about me,” he joked. Seth made a face at him and turned back to the mirror. The mirror asked him, “You’re not gay, are you?” It laughed ridiculously and Seth was so enraged at the entire situation, that he threw his fist into the mirror with an angry shout. He looked down at his bleeding hand in the sink, his knuckles cut. His own face reflected back laughing at him from every shard. He grasped one of the shards, turned to face the man in the white suit, and glared at him.
         “What do you think you’re going to do? I’m the best friend you have ri--,”  before he had a chance to finish, Seth dove at him with the shard of mirrored glass poised for attack at the man’s throat. As soon as the glass would have sliced open the man’s arteries, he was gone. Just gone. Seth fell to the floor, dropping the glass. He stared at the ground for a moment, the shard now broken into four more pieces, his bleeding hand making a small puddle on the ground.
                                                                                                   
         Seth walked heavily back into the dining area, tightening the toilet paper around his hand that he wrapped there to stop the bleeding. When he sat down, Amanda asked him, “What did you do in there?”
         “What?” he snapped. Everything was irritating today. “Nothing. Now what do you want?”
         “What do you mean, nothing? What’s that on your hand?”
         “It’s nothing, Amanda, alright? Leave it alone. Now, we both know why you’re here, what do you want to say?”
         “You broke a mirror, didn’t you? What is wrong with you?”
         “Oh, goddammit why can’t you just leave things alone? That’s why people don’t wanna be around you,” he made a shot at her sensibilities to create a feeling of power for himself.
         “Obviously you never had a problem with it.”
         “That’s why we’re separated.”
         “No. We’re separated, soon to be divorced, because you throw little fits and break mirrors and shit.” It was like slapping him in the face.
         Seth tried to force out a response, filled with angry profanity, but he thought of nothing. Instead, he sat there and stared at her with his face contorted in anger, and that rage from before welled up inside him, and he couldn’t help but to kick his chair out from under him as he stood, grab his side of the table, flip it over, and storm out of the diner, stepping over the legs of the table. 
*                              *                              *
         A man in a black suit walked down the heavily traveled streets of bustling New York. He didn’t stand out much; fitting in almost perfectly with the hordes of business men and women clad in seemingly identical suits. But this man did have somewhat of an outstanding quality to him; his hair had a tint of red in the sunlight as did his eyes, but only when caught by a ray of light. Aside from that they stayed a deep, remarkable black.  He wore a smirk on his face and his eyes were cunning. His skin had an ivory look to it. He had been scouting this area for a while now, and was rather certain that he’d found the perfect assistant to his plan. His smirk grew to a grin when he again found his subject. The man was sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette, apparently awaiting a bus. His shirt hung loosely on him and his hair was somewhat disheveled; an obviously downtrodden man.
         The man in the black suit approached the bench and sat down.
         “Lovely day, today. Don’t you think, Michael?”
         “Yeah, sure… How’d you know my name…?” timid Michael asked.
         “Well, I know more about you, and everyone else, than you would probably be comfortable with. Now, one thing I know, is that life is not easy for you. You’re losing your job, your kids hate you, you haven’t talked to your girlfriend who bore them for years, other women tend to stay away from you, and you still live in your parents’ house, which is evidently not in very good condition for all of you.”
         “How the hell do you know all that?” There was a sign of shame in his voice, and he was obviously shaken by this situation. The black suited man’s work was cut out for him; it was hard for him to resist smiling. The conversation that ensued was the same the man had had frequently throughout his existence. He promised the poor soul, Michael, fortunes and happiness, anything his un-expecting victim desired. It took some time to convince Michael, but he did, as all others, eventually succumb to these temptations. The only condition offered by the man in the black suit was that Michael get some materials; gasoline, gloves, Zippo lighter, boots, and torch a house of the choosing of the man in the black suit. Michael was promised that no one was home, and that the house was only being burned for fraudulent purposes.
         *                              *                              *
         Seth lay awake in his bed, early in the morning when it was still dark. He stared at the ceiling. Amanda lay next to him. He heard some kind of sounds from downstairs, and after a while, someone coming up the stairs of his brilliant suburban house, toward the bedroom. He jumped up, rolled to the other side of his bed, and quietly landed behind it, facing the door. It was never shut, so he would see the intruder the minute they entered the threshold. Amanda never stirred in her sleep. He reached under his bed and grabbed a small black box, and opened it to reveal a .38 caliber revolving pistol. Checking to see that it was loaded, he prepared himself to shoot whoever had wandered into his apartment. He aimed at the doorway. His hands trembled slightly; it’s not like shooting people is something you do every day, after all. Depending on who you are, of course. The footsteps neared his door, until he was certain the person was standing in the doorway, but he saw no one…
         “Who--…who’s there?” he asked the darkness. The fear was evident in his voice, despite his efforts to conceal it. He blinked his eyes hard and squinted, trying to focus in the dark. It was then that he was able to make out a figure, a simple dark outline. “Who are you!?” Seth shouted. He was still afraid, but he seemed to be more able to hide it now that he saw what he was dealing with; the man in his doorway wasn’t large, and did not appear to be armed. Amanda was startled out of her sleep by the loudness of Seth’s voice and the dark figure lunged toward her to quiet her. His hand was around her mouth and the barrel of a gun rubbed against her temple. Seth hadn’t seen the weapon before; it must have been concealed. He began to panic.
         “Come over here. Now. Show me where you keep the money. C’mon, you know the drill,” he said calmly, with a slight tone of impatience in his voice.
         “No. I won’t give you the satisfaction.” Seth stood up and pointed the gun steadily at the intruder’s head. Even in the dark, he could see the man grin, and Seth grimaced and closed his eyes tight as the shot rang out into the night.
         The intruder came towards Seth, stepping over Amanda’s body to get to him. Seth felt the most immense fear of his life. When the intruder neared Seth, he knelt down next to him. The intruder’s face was obscured by a black hood except for a soft smirk protruding from the bottom. He slowly slid the hood back across his face, and when it fell to his back and his face was revealed, Seth was looking at himself.

          Seth awakened and jumped up in bed, sweating badly, and he heard a calm man with a smile in his voice and a slight New York accent say,  from the corner of the room in his apartment, “Do you see what you’ve been doin’ to yourself?”
         “What? What are you talking about? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?” he shouted at the voice. The calm man chuckled, and it was soothing.
         “That right there, man. You think I don’t know why you were tossin’ and turnin’ in that bad and makin’ those crazy sounds? He killed your wife, didn‘t he? You didn’t care, though. But it was you the whole time, huh? The killer? What do you think about that? And how ‘bout how you weren’t really afraid ‘til he came after you?” Seth thought about what the guy was trying to say. He meant to say that Seth only cared about himself… The man had Amanda by the neck and Seth didn‘t do anything. He hadn’t felt the real danger of the situation until he was the one in danger.
         “You mean I’m selfish?” he wanted to be sure he understood the young man. He got up and walked over to the side of the room where the kid sat in a chair by the door.
         “Well, yeah, man. But it’s cool; there’s always a chance for redemption. You believe that, don’tcha?” He wore a light leather jacket with a hood, and dark jeans. Long straight blond hair covered part of his face as he looked sideways up at Seth, with a grin. Not nearly as ominous as the man who had appeared in a suit with shined shoes.
         “If you say so… Who are you?” he asked the young man. After his luck with the man in the suit, he wasn’t really expecting a response.
         “You can call me Jess if you gotta gimme a name.”
         “I don’t know many guys in New York named Jess,” Seth said quietly.
         “Well, I’m not from here. The accent kinda rubs off on you, don’tcha think?” he chuckled again. Jess may not have been as ominous as the man in the suit, but he was certainly almost as strange.
         “So what are you here to do, tell me I can save my soul?” Just as he said that, Jess stood up. He looked Seth directly in the eye, still maintaining his soft grin. He grasped Seth by the shoulders.
         “Would you take that chance? If you could… would you do it?” Jess stared into Seth’s eyes, searching them, trying to find out what he was thinking. He could very well have been staring into the depths of Seth’s mind. The accent was gone… That couldn’t have been normal.
         “I… uh, yeah, I guess I would. I mean, I’ve always just done stuff for myself. It would be nice to do something good for someone else. But it’s not like I’d be able to now; it’s too--” Jess cut him off.
         “It’s never too late, man!” Jess’s accent had come back. “But I suggest you make a trip to your wife’s house right about now. Just a suggestion.” His grin took on a sly quality, like what he was saying was code for something very important. He turned and quickly exited the room.
         “Hey, wait! What are you talking about?” Seth called after Jess, following him. But at his door, turned toward him, stood a tall, skinny man wearing a white robe, with long unkempt brown hair and a beard. There was something brown around the top of his head… with jagged edges. He grinned, turned around slowly, and exited Seth’s apartment. “What is going on around here…,” Seth was sure he’d just Jesus standing in his doorway.
         Seth stood for a while, trying to comprehend the insane scenario that just occurred within his own living space. He thought about Amanda, and why anyone would  suggest that he go to her, especially after something such as what had just happened. He tried to piece these things together, and decided instead that he should hurry over there. Moments later, Seth was in his old Pontiac speeding to his wife’s house.
*                              *                              *
         Seth saw the smoke billowing into the sky from about half a mile away. He and Amanda may have had their problems, but he loved her. He truly did. And he knew what was happening now, what he would have to do, and what it would cost him. He knew this is why “Jess” wanted him at Amanda‘s house. His car skidded to a halt in front of the house and he got out, leaving the door open, and ran as fast as he could toward the house. Time seemed to have slowed and in the time it took Seth to reach the house, he wondered if the man in the suit had been the embodiment of Satan, since Jess was undoubtedly that of Jesus. The man in the suit offered to do things for Seth, probably make him rich, famous, and give him everything he’d always wanted, and likely take his coveted soul in the process. Jess offered Seth a chance to live for someone else, to do something without himself in mind; a chance for redemption. It certainly seemed right to him. He turned back toward his car for an instant to satisfy some inexplicable urge, and he saw them. Jess sat on Seth’s car, spinning a chain with a crucifix charm on it with his finger. The man in the suit stood in front of the car, arms folded, a look of anger and contempt upon his face that, unbeknownst to Seth, stemmed from the fact that coercing Michael into burning the house had been to kill Amanda, a punishment for Seth’s rejection of the man’s offers. Never did he consider that Seth would discover this plot and attempt to save Amanda; he knew that would put Seth back in good graces. He stared at Seth and the burning inferno that was his wife’s house. Seth laughed. He had been overcome with this feeling of joy. He knew what would happen if he followed through and he didn’t care. This would work. This would save him. This would erase all the time he spent living for only himself. All his life, that’s all he’d done. He realized it now; when he and Amanda got married, it hadn’t been because he thought that would be best for both of them. It was because Seth never wanted to lose Amanda. He wanted to have her forever, for himself. He was deeply in love with her, but never actually gave much thought as to how she felt or what she was thinking. The real reason Seth hadn’t wanted to divorce Amanda was because he’d be alone. It didn’t matter to him that it was best for her. He wouldn’t be able to live like that. He always thought that if she died, he would definitely take it hard, might go a little more out of his mind, but not because Amanda had left this world and her time was over and she’d never see or hear or taste or touch or smell or laugh or speak again. It would be because he would never see her again. He would never again be able to enjoy her company. It was all about him. But as he stood there, his hand on her front door, flames erupting out of the windows and smoke high enough to mix with the clouds, he didn’t enter into his thoughts for a second. It was Amanda. She was trapped in there, and if he didn’t save her she would die. She would burn to death or choke to death from the smoke. She lived fairly out of the way, so no emergency services were likely to come. He was Amanda’s only chance.
         Seth ripped open the door and was thrown backward by an explosion of fire. He stood back up and ran inside, through the flames. He remembered her bedroom being on the second floor and, since it was late, figured she was most likely to be there. Quickly he found the stairs and ran up as fast as he could. The heat was stifling, and the smoke made it hard for him to breathe normally, let alone to account for running. He threw open the door to her bedroom and it slammed into the wall.
         “Help!!” she screamed. It was a surprised scream; the kind of scream you hear from someone who had expected to die but was suddenly offered one last chance. “Please God! Help me!” The scream came from under the bed. Seth quickly moved to the bed and flipped it over. There was a minimal amount of fire in her room, so moving her would be safe. Amanda coughed. She looked up at him, tears streaking her face, hair a mess. “Seth…?” she coughed again.
         “It’s okay. I’m gonna get you out. You’re gonna be fine.” He pulled her out from under the bed and stood her up. He grabbed her hand and led her to the stairs.
         “Are you okay?” he asked.
         “Yeah, I’m fine…” There was an explosion from deep inside the house, probably the furnace in the basement. “Amanda!” he shouted. The fire was now so strong he couldn’t be heard by speaking normally. He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He was crying, softly. “I love you.” The deep meaning he felt was not lost by the fact that he had to shout it. She looked slightly taken aback, but then the expression on her face showed Seth that she was truly touched. His wife returned the sentiment with an equal deepness to the words. She looked at the ground.
         “RUN!” Seth yelled at her. He turned her around forcefully and pushed her. She ran, or more accurately fell, down the stairs. Seth tried to follow. That’s when the ceiling collapsed on top of him and the second floor finally gave way. First the stairs buckled, and the floor below him followed suit. The roof came down along with it. The entire house collapsed.
         Seth laid on the ground somewhere in the rubble. There was somewhat of a gap in the wreckage of Amanda’s former house. He stood slowly; his body was heavy. A piece of the house, a support beam, a wall stud, something of that nature… was sticking out of chest. It had impaled him and it was covered in his blood. As were his shirt and jeans, his hands… he would bleed to death. He screamed quite loudly as he pushed the part of the house that would end his life back through him and out the front of his chest. He’d never felt a pain like that in his entire life; it was more horrible a pain than he thought anyone should ever have to feel. He didn’t want to die looking that grotesque. The pain of this action made him stumble backward into some of the ruin of the house. He stared down at his bloodstained hands, his breathing extremely labored.
         “Don’t worry.” The voice was soft and peaceful, and seemed to come from far away. He looked up. Jess stood in front of him, but as Seth looked at him and his vision drifted from the heat of the fire, the image of Jess was mixed with that of Jesus, and they were both standing in front of him in the same body. “She made it out.” The accent was gone again.
         “Tha--” he coughed, “that’s good…” he forced out. His voice was raspy.
         “It’s okay,” Jess told him. “You can go now. Everything’s alright.” Seth closed his eyes and a smile grew across his face. He sat down gently and stared at the fire that was visible above the wreckage. The last thing he saw was the fire.  Then his vision left him, he no longer felt the heat of the fire or the pain in his chest, and he could no longer smell burning wood. It burned above him like it would never stop. And then he could see nothing. The last thing he took from this world was the beautiful, soft, crackling sound of the fire above him. Then, even that, as it was destined to, ceased.
         Tears came down his face, but he was happy. He was truly happy at last. He finally had done what he really wanted to do, and did it for someone else. He was no longer alone in the world, even though he had just left it. He knew Amanda was standing safely outside and that was all he needed to be able to go as happily and peacefully as he did. The fire raged on, more explosions ripped the house apart. The fire burned until nothing was left. Not the house, not the pictures of Seth and Amanda that Amanda still kept, not the books written by Seth that Amanda got after they split up to try to better understand him, not even Seth himself. They were all gone, and the only person saddened by this event was Amanda, sitting on the sidewalk outside the ruined house sobbing into her hands.