ALMOST EVERYONE ON THE DANCE-FLOOR was sorrowfully crying after hearing Lord Stamford was critically wounded… some wailed aloud in-grief, others were still-shocked… some girls even fainted.

Jezebel was weeping-hysterically on stage and was calmed by Principal Burnell, Nancy Corrigan, the student-counsellor – and other female-teachers. Peter raced-up the stage, to be in the arms of his lover…

“… my-Uncle Ford is going to die, Peter… I’ll then be alone… I don’t want him to die…”

Peter was tongue-tied, as he held onto her-head, shedding hot-tears on his tuxedo jacket.

VP-Tom Harris, Mr Hull and other male teacher were on the crowded basketball court tending to the fainted-students. Soon everyone was making their way to the exit doors, to go home. Among them…

… were Jane and Paul who were holding-hands… still shocked, of the sudden ‘bad-news.’ Jane-then whispered to him, in animosity…

“I hope he dies…”

Paul was in 2-minds…

‘… if Lord Stamford was Asmodeus, as Jane CLAIMS HIM TO-BE… can he ‘die’ in his own-realm…?’

The hostile Jane rambled, and continued speaking-out her-mind…

“… that ‘creepy’ Jezebel… I ‘sense’ there is something ‘wrong’ with her… I don’t trust her, one-bit…”

Paul was quiet and processed of ‘what’ she had mentioned, as he walked, holding her hand…

‘… why… are you jealous of Peter’s new girlfriend, Jane? Well… reckon you ‘were’ his-ex… over there, in our-Perth…’

… that was ‘not’ the same-Jezebel that Jane was talking-about – the Jezebel he ‘knew,’ had told him that he had-won the dancing-award for-Jane… and, wished them well, as a couple.

Paul heard Jane calling-up her father in her-Samsung, to pick-up her and her brother in school… after informing the news of Lord Stamford’s tragic-news. Paul knew her-father would come ‘soon’ as the Wilsons, lived closer to SHS…

… where else, he lived 18 kilometres away and had to cycle back-home later…

They-both reached outside – the school’s parking lot was in chaos as cars were honking at each other… as they were bumper-to-bumper, leaving through the single main-gate.

There were throng-of students, in their party-dress swarming as they gathered together, waiting for their transportation of their parents-or-Uber, to go home. Over-there, Samuel was with Akatendeka, who was still crying and holding onto her boyfriend. Jane found-him, and walked to her brother…

…while Paul halted and did ‘not’ go-any further… as there were bitterness and antagonism, of the Black-tween with him, of being in the present of his-sister.

“Jaheem, I had called Daddy… and he’s picking us up…”

“…what…? What about Dougie?” Samuel was confused.

“We broke-up, just now…”

“… wha… why would you do a thing like that, you crazy-fool… do you bloody ‘know’ who he-is…?” Samuel scoffed…

“Yes, I know ‘who’ he is… just a rich-kid, whose sportscar whom you admire-a lot – well-kiddo, go make your ‘own’ fortune, on-your-own… and be proud in sitting in your-own Lambo again, to impress your girlfriend… if that’s your dreams.”

“Sis, why you always go-in this-DESTRUCTIVE PATH OF YOURS, to hurt everyone’s feelings… why you hurt Dougie, with your bloody crazy-ways?”

“Dougie will be-fine… I had hooked him-up with Zoe…”

“What…? So, what about you?”

The annoyed-Jane walked away from him, into the crowd…

“You don’t worry about my love life… focus on yours…”

He saw her approaching Paul – the Black-tween pointed, and cried out…

“You are going out WITH HIM! THAT LOSER!”

…Paul saw Samuel Jaheem-Wilson glaring at him, with his sister approached.

“Sorry about that, Paul… ignore him…”

Paul laughed, shaking his head with disapproval…

“No worries… it comes with the territory, in-between-worlds… so in this Perthland, I’m the LOSER BUT I WON ‘THIS’ FOR YOU… I like-and-love you to have it, Jane.”

He handed his DANCE-AWARD TO HER, and she was overjoyed, pulled him his-neck and kissed him…

“Thank-you soo much-Pauly… I will cherish it…always.”

… she had given-back her Top Sports-Girl trophy to Coach Jonah just now – to-be put back, in the west wing's Hall-of-Fame’s showcase – as tonight’s award-presentation was ‘just’ a mere formality show-for the visitors, for the 131st celebration… but-now…

…

she ‘had’ a prize…

… that she could take home…

For the next 10-minutes, they were talking ‘about’ Jane – who wanted to spend-Sunday, to put-up her sore-feet and rest, as her high-heels were ‘killing-her,’ as she was ‘not’ used to wearing-those. Paul was saying about the Dickson’s Easter lunch, with his ‘Uncle Seth’ coming-over, with his-boys…

… he wished he could invite Jane over for it… but…

… he felt in this-realm… he had yet ‘not’ gained the ‘trust,’ with Joe and Caroline, whom he shared a roof-with… with his ‘given’ reputation…

Many students’ cars drove-out away, in the SHS main-gate… and Anthony Wilson’s Mercedes came on-in from the opposite direction, into the parking lot. Jane noticed the vehicle’s head-lights… she gave him a quick kiss…

“… mwah …my daddy is here… bye-Paul will call you later, in the morning.”

In the car’s headlights… he saw her voluptuous silhouette, wearing her short black dress, scuttling-in her high-heels, her 3 dreadlocks bopped while lifting ‘his’ trophy over her head, if though… she was celebrating his victory-tonight. Jane got into the passenger’s seat… while Jaheem-and-Akatendeka got into the backseat…

He did ‘not’ want to wave at her… in the presence of her ‘daddy,’ in the driver’s seat… as he didn’t want to attract his attention…

… he was amazed that Jane called her-version of her father, in this world… as ‘daddy’ too – while-at home, he called his stepdad by his-name.

Nearby, Paul saw the Merc-backing and joining the rest of the cars, and heading to the main gate. He licked his lips, and tasted Jane’s lipstick… it was sweet as cherry…

… remembered the many-kisses he ‘scored’ from her tonight, and saw her reapplying her lipstick-back after each time they had kissed. He felt warm-feelings in his gut and a sense of accomplishment that the night had paid-off ten-fold – where he got his-girl… and presented her his dancing accolade, as-if he had won it like a stuffed-toy, and given it to her, like they been to a carnival…

… he-then recalled the greeting-card she gave him just-now… and had slipped his mind to thank her again, in the gym… he had forgotten ‘about’ it the entire evening as he was focused on only-winning the dance competition – he had put the lovely-card in his backpack, after reading her ‘scribbling,’ …

…but…

… he ‘GOT’ HER message.

Paul walked to the VVIP area with the red-carpet. Jezebel’s limousine was still there, and also parked-behind was a police patrol car, with 2 coppers in the front-seats… communicating with the fellow-officers inside the building…

… the devastated Jezebel have ‘not’ left the building since she got the ‘bad news’ of her grand-uncle’s shooting… there were teachers and her die-hard fans with her, at that moment – with Peter-too.

Paul was tired as it was past his bed-time… looking at his digital-watch, showing 12:13 AM, he proceeded to the bike parking-section, and dreading the thought of the 18-km… he had to dredge the distance, to get back to the Dicksons…

… noticing-too that the Chinese’s super-bikes were gone-too – Paul remembered he had beaten Ken Chan, their ‘hero’ – Alicia Wong’s boyfriend, in the dance-contest… he was now worried…

‘… are they ‘waiting’ for me outside – to beat me-up…?’

<>

HE WAS IN HIS 5TH KILOMETRE on the way home, as he peddled away. He could ‘not’ ride fast as his Achilles heels were aching, by the dance-routines that he has just done, just-now. There were fewer cars of students coming along, the road from their school – and the milieu was dark, as he panted to-get uphill.

As he come-up, in the dark bushes lighted-up simultaneously of several headlights… and he faced his earlier anticipated-nightmares…

… true-enough, the Chinese were waiting for him. 8 superbikes were then coming at him in face-frontal, in full speed. The scared-Paul froze on his bicycle, and looked over his shoulder, at a car nearing at his rear…

“Help!!!”

The intimidating bikers with full-visor helmets reached the stationary-Paul first, trying to knock-him to the road. They all passed him, as the car horned at their dangerous riding. The Honda did ‘not’ stop to help, as it drove-away…

… the panicking-Paul stood on, his bike – as he knew he could ‘not’ out-ride the bikers… and he wished he had his superpowers of his-world, at ‘this’ clear-present-danger situation – where he could ‘fly’ above-and ‘fry’ them, with his electro-blast…

The bikers doubled-back and reached him. They were circling Paul, who was at the centre of the road – hurling verbal abuse in their mother-tongue to intimidate him. Finally, the leader stopped at his side… Ken Chan lifted his dark-visor, and so did his platinum-haired girlfriend at the pillion – Paul saw only-both of their angry-eyes, at the gap of their helmet-front… the rebel teenager grabbed Paul’s FUBU hoodie in one hand and revved the throttle in his-other.

“Where is your bloody award?”

“Why?”

“So that I can smash-it, onto your bloody face!”

They all turned to a police-siren sound coming from a distance – the Chinese-teenagers panicked… Ken Chan cursed in Hokkien, at the approaching vehicle…

… to his-disappointment of ‘missed’ opportunity to teach the White-boy his ‘lesson’… but-a lesson ‘should’ be taught…

… so, he punched Paul in his mouth.

“… that is for kissing my girlfriend, and-for Mrs ‘Burn-Hell,’ letting you get away with it!”

They all revved their bikes before they took-off to flee… with Paul sprawled on his-fours on the road. The police-cruiser that accompanied the limousine stopped to aid the injured teenager. The bodyguard-Ian McNelly, in the limo got-down from the front, to investigate.

The back-end door opened – Jezebel came out to-look…

“Peter! It Paul!”

“What has bloody fat-Poe been up-to-now?” A voice was heard in the backseat.

Peter came to-view, and saw a police officer and Ian McNealy helping Paul on his feet… and he guffawed out…

“What happened-Poe, fell off the bike…? You should fit trainer-wheels when you ride-on the next time.”

“Paul, what happened?” Jezebel asked.

“… it’s those martial-arts Chinese students… they hit me, and took off…”

Peter scoffed…

“It serves you right, you show-off – you think you can do what you please, just because you are an arrogant White-boy? First, you kiss-and-molest Chinatown-Wong, and-next you won your dance-contest, with your bloody fancy-shoes, by the White-popular votes… who won’t be pissed-off-yea? That goes without saying… it serves you right, to mess with them ‘minorities’… and they came around, and taught you a lesson…”

“Shut-up, Peter – Paul, I’ll send you home.”

“Hey-Belle, we are supposed to be in that-Royal Hospital now… your uncle, has been shot, over there, remember…?”

“Ms Crowley, I don’t mind tagging along to the hospital.” Paul requested.

“Hey, why should you-come – what ‘business’ of your, in the hospital to-go there… are you somehow a bloody doctor-or-surgeon now!?”

… Peter was still-pissed-off at his twin, who HAD TOLD HIM-OFF EARLIER at school, that Perthland WAS ‘NOT’ REAL.

“Peter, you shut-your mouth now… if Paul wants to follow, let him come!”

She instructed the bodyguard to put the racing bike into the limo’s trunk – and soon they were speeding behind, the siren police-car.

At the limo’s backseat cabin – Jezebel inquired…

“Why were you cycling – where is your car, Paul?”

“I don’t have one…” Said Paul, holding his aching jaw…

… apparently realising that Ken Chan had punched him, on the same-spot that ‘his’ girlfriend had-slugged him, in the principal’s office… in front of her-parents-and his…

“Peter, why don’t you give him your car – it has been sitting ‘idle,’ at the hotel-car park…”

“What!!? Give away my-Beauty? That DeLorean of-mine is one-of-a-kind… both priceless and precious… to be given to someone, who don’t even know how to ride a bloody-bike!”

“You are both thoughtless and selfish, even to your ‘own’ family-member!”

“Whatever… they say water, is ‘not’ thicker than blood – but my spit-is…”

Peter despised his twin, for getting Jane in this-world, as his girlfriend… she ‘should’ be ‘Dougie’s’ instead – even though JANE WAS ‘AVOIDING’ HIM but it was Peter’s ‘decision’ on-‘WHO’ SHE GO-WITH…

… as-Dougie HAD WON HER from-him ‘FAIR-AND-SQUARE,’ in a gentleman-game of tennis… ‘NOT’ IN some-fairy dance contest…

Paul-also did ‘not’ want to be-disrespectful in front of the VVIP-host, so he did ‘not’ give a ‘comeback’ response, at-his egoistic-twin. He sat mum, enjoying the ‘luxury’ of riding in the backseat a Rolls Royce limousine, for the first-time in his-life.

Jezebel noticed him still-sweaty, and dehydrated.

“Hey-Peter, offer your-brother a drink, will you?”

Peter scoffed and reached-out at the mini-fridge…

Since and his new-found girlfriend-and-his twin, USED TO CALL AND TORMENT him, as-a good-for-nothing drug-addict, in their-Perth…

… he wanted to MAKE A ‘PRANK’ as he gave a bottle of pomegranate-juice to Paul, that he spiked earlier with the psychedelic-drug Gochi…

… to give a taste OF HIS-OWN MEDICINE.

<>

ON THE ROAD TO THE HOSPITAL, they had to give priority to a racing ambulance… which was-also on the way there, in a life-threatening situation. The police-cruiser also used its siren and escorted the limousine…

… following the ambulance-ahead…

While they were nearing the Perthland Royal Hospital… and Paul saw out of the window, that the denizens of-the-city were already there-in the thousands, after midnight, at the road-side, with lighted candles in vigil, praying for Lord Stamford’s successful surgery.

At the hospital gate which was barricaded by the riot-police, the ambulance entered…

By then Paul was hallucinating, like he was inside a big-glassed boat, coming slowly to a seaport shores… looking-out the window of seas of naked-people, swimming with burning red-candles in their-hands, trying to climb-up the glassed-vessel…

… in their-attempts abord… their candle-wax were dripping at his window, then soon-solidifying as red cryptic-words…

… you’re next…

“Oii-Poe! Are you coming…?”

Paul snapped-out of his reverie, into the reality that they had passed the hospital’s main-gate – with his twin calling-out…

He soon-realised that Jezebel had already alighted-off the limo, ushered by Ian McNealy – her bodyguard and a few police-personnel, who were shielding-off the paparazzi news-media… who wanted the billionaires-socialite’s comments.

…Paul pulled his hoodie-over to the flashing camera-lights and followed his twin in a tuxedo, who like a-Rockstar, waved-back and swaggered himself to the guarded-door entrance.

Inside the doorway, were waiting white-coat doctors, filling-out updates of Lord Stamford’s status in-progress… of the major-surgery of removing the 2 bullet fragments, from the frail-old man’s stomach, was still-in-progress. Jezebel broke-down… and Peter held onto her…

The cold-sweating Paul’s throat burned, as it was on fire… he was dehydrating-fast and needed desperately a drink-of water. Soon he was wandering in-search of drink vending machine… and left his twin and Jezebel behind.

In-his head, he heard ‘surreal-voices,’ as he further walked the crowded corridor, with medical-posters on the wall… that came ‘alive’… AND WERE INTERACTING TO HIM…

… the ‘healthy-heart-man’ with his-organ 3D-pounding, and the caricature-man’s face was popping-out and animating-message, as before…

“… you’re next…”

… next, the diabetic-poster of an amputated-man on the wheelchair, too ‘spoke-out’ … as the man was kicking his only-leg high… like a dancer… saying-out…

“…you’re next…”

Finally, he found a drink-vending machine at the ‘Burn-Trauma-Unit’ ward-centre. He had limit cash after his ‘investment’ in his LED-shoes… and could only afford a can of coke and a small bottle of water…

He put the water-bottle into his hoodie-jacket pocket… and, he drank-up the sweeten-cola at a single-go, before dropping the crushed-can at the recycle-chute. Feeling much better, Paul stood-back and people-watched, in his ‘zoned-out-state’ of mind… that were, seeing people walking fast-but spoke slurry-slow…

… he noticed a uniformed policeman walking fast, with a nurse – as he shared details to her, as the-copper slurred…

“…apparently… his-son… a meth-head… set his-old man… on-fire… when he was drunk… and-sleeping in… his-bed…”

Some-how, Paul ‘knew’ their refences of the case, as the ‘man’ – who was transported earlier in that ambulance, which their-limo had followed…

… true-enough, a door ahead opened – with nurses were pushing a gurney with an oxygen-tent of the burnt-victim, and were urgently rushing to the operation room… and-behind them – was ‘seem-to-be’ a WALKING-BURNING-MAN following…

Paul’s bruised-mouth gaped in-shock… that the fiery-apparition was SOLOMON WALKER, his-father…

“Dad!!?”

The teenager rushed to him… but could ‘not’ keep-up in-pace, as his Achilles’ heels ached in each step he-took… soon, they were ‘not’ at sight, and-had left-in a breeze…

… but his father left his burning footsteps, for Paul follow… in singe-marks, that trailed ahead on the floor…

The limping-Paul followed the ‘trail’ that led to an operation-theatre… he pushed-open the sliding doors inwards – to find the burning-father, who stood at the door, watching-ahead, in the roomful… of the doctors and nurses reviving the victim, who was going into shock…

“Dad, why am I here?”

“…Paul, go-and-stop Peter at-all cost – the choices HE IS ‘ABOUT’ TO MAKE… would result to disaster, to follow as its consequences…”

“Stop him, how?”

“… STOP-HIM WITH YOUR-LIFE, Poe – it’s from YOUR-DEATH, COMES YOUR-REBIRTH…”

“What-Dad – how-so…?”

His burning-question was ‘NOT’ ANSWERED by his burning-father… as Solomon had by-then disintegrated, into ashes in front of his son’s eyes. The shocked-Paul saw a pile of his father's dust, slowly crumbling to the floor…

“Dad!”

… Solomon’s residue was soon, into its ‘molecule-structuring’ into a potted-plant form – in its ‘rebirth’ into a rose-plant, in-full bloom. The dazed-and-shaken, Paul carefully touched the white-rose petals… it transformed into hundreds of small red-winged butterflies, and flew away, before his surprised eyes…

“You-there… what are you doing here!”

A male-nurse ‘caught’ Paul, squatting in front of a potted-plant, seen-to-be ‘inspecting’ it…

The dazed Paul turned his neck, to an approaching male-nurse. He then turned back to see that, some-how the flora-fauna HAD VANISHED, like a magical ‘illusion.’

“Huh!!?”

“Hey young-man, this is an operation-theatre, a restricted-clean-space – your presences here, will contaminate and make the patient sick!”

“I hope ‘not’ – sorry-about that, Sir…”

The puzzled-and-apologetic, Paul pushed the sliding-doors outwards, and he left, in more-confusion.

-O-

The senior Surgeon walked out after performing his surgery and delighted to tell the ‘good news’ to Jezebel… that the operation on Lord Stamford went well – the grand-niece and her new-found boyfriend rejoiced…

… but it was before-long HE GAVE THE ‘bad-news’…

“… but his ‘personal’ rare-blood supply had depleted – and, we can’t perform future surgeries to remove the smaller broken-fragments that are still inside his frail-body… I’m sad to inform you, that your uncle would ‘not’ live long – if there is no Ru-null blood-type, for us to work on at this point of time… as there is no way we can secure this rare-Golden-blood, from donors as fast, in this critical times…”

Instantly, Jezebel broke-down and cried… but the excited-Peter shot his-mouth out…

“Hey-doc, look no-further – I’M HERE – I too have THE GOLDEN-BLOOD!”

Jezebel pulled his arm-rough, and YELLED AT PETER, pointing her finger at his face…

“My beloved-uncle is there dying, and you bloody-pick the RIGHT-TIME TO JOKE-around!!?”

“… wha… whose-joking…?”

“Its ‘not’ all-about you, Peter – this RARE GOLDEN-BLOOD has less than 50 people in the world, who has it, okay!?”

“But I’m ONE OF THEM… why don’t YOU BELIEVE-ME?”

“You-and your nonsense… Peter Walker, you-bloody have crossed the line here!”

He looked at the Head Surgeon, in defence…

“Y’all have to trust me… that this ‘golden-shit’ is running in my veins… go-ask Taro-san, he will confirm that I have the Ru-null blood-type… he was surprised and amazed-too… when he tested me at my father's house…”

“Who?”

“Taro-san from Kimura Star Corp. in America… Janey’s uncle sent him-over?”

“America?”

… Peter recalled his ‘geography’ lesson from class, and he self-corrected himself…

“Kimura Star Corp. from New-Mexico! That’s it – Taro-san from that company tested-me, and confirmed ‘that-so’… that I’m ‘POSITIVE’ AND HAVE THE GOLDEN-BLOOD… believe me… come test me, if you want?”

Peter held both of his veined-arms at the doctor and his girlfriend… Jezebel in tears, scoffed in disbelief, and walked away… the Head Surgeon followed her saying…

“… Ms Crowley, you can go in and see your uncle, if you want… but he is weak, my dear… please don’t-stress him into talking…”

The doctor and boyfriend saw Jezebel entering the surgery-room… as the surgeon turned his back, to also-leave – Peter ‘challenged’ him…

“Hey-doc, what if I’M ‘RIGHT’ – and you’re ‘wrong’…?

The Head Surgeon turned to see, the smirking teenager…

“What if I’m right’ and my-Golden-blood WAS “THE-MIRACLE’ THAT SAVED that dying old-man – wouldn’t that MAKE YOU A ‘HERO’ – to save a world’s prominent iconic-figure, named Lord Stamford… to-be in-top of your mediocre-resume, O’ my dear-doctor?”

Peter sniggered, as he eyeballed the doubting senior medical-man…

“Okay-come with me… I’ll personally test your-blood…and put an end to this bull-shitting!”

-O-

Paul wandered in the hospital’s darken corridors, still-under the influence of the hallucinating Gochi-drug – he saw the sign on the wall… ‘children cancer-ward’… and followed the ‘arrow’…

He looked through the glass-panel window… at the innocent, shaven-headed young-ones, who were suffering, as they slept in discomfit. with the aid of morphine-doses…

… his heart-sank, and he wept… whispering…

“Why? Why… are they-next?”

-O-

Jezebel walked in, to see her recovering grand-uncle in the room, and heard medieval middle-eastern chants… from the old man's personal Head-nurse, seated in the dark corner.

She went and whispered his name, to his ears…

“… Uncle Ford…”

The partially-blind old-man grunted, as he was awakened…

“… my-dear… sweet Bella… my-bride…”

The tearful teenager kissed her master's cracked-up lips…

“…your will is ‘done,’ my-husband… O’ my-mighty BELOVED LORD-ASMODEUS…”

“… Go-forth… secure… the… asset…”

“… Your will would-be done-soon…and YOU’LL LIVE FOREVER…”

<>

AN HOUR LATER, JEZEBEL CAME OUT, the heavily guarded ward-room – after she herself had been ‘chanting,’ mystical-spells for the recovery of the dying-of ‘her’ religious-icon, to ever-live on earth. The teenager saw the excited Head Surgeon, coming-up to her…

“Ms Crowley… it’s a walking-miracle that this young-man-is… your ‘boyfriend’ – is indeed having the Golden-blood… Praise-be, what are the-odds in Perthland! That-Peter’s a true national-treasure!”

Jezebel ran towards the blood-bank, in a ‘private’ booth, where Peter was lying still from recovery, after donating 2 pints-of-his blood. She embraced him, in tears…

“Sorry that I doubted you, my-love… YOUR ‘BLOOD’ IS GOING to save my-Uncle Ford… for a moment, I thought… there was no hope for him… and here you were, and there was hope…”

“Belle… I TOLD YOU SO… but you didn’t believe-then…”

“I do truly believe you-now, my-love!”

They were then kissing passionately… touching each-other… and Jezebel was aroused, and reached for-him…

“Whoa-Belle, chill – this is a hospital – ‘not’ the hotel-or-a porno-set…”

She giggled and looked into his eyes…

“I love you… come… come to UK with me, and we both will live in Uncle Ford’s castle… and live-our lives together… Peter, will you…?”

Peter was quiet in his-thoughts…

“… well? I can make it ‘happen’ … I will get Richard Bradbury, our family-lawyer – and he will draw-up the necessary papers… and all-you-need is your mother’s consent, cos you are still under-18… what say you…?”

Peter was still thinking… Jezebel was ‘suspicious’…

“Why are you thinking, don’t you love me…? It that-the ex-of yours? Do you still love Jane Wilson? I had noticed you were looking at her, the entire evening just now, at the dance-ball…”

A tear dropped on her cheek… and he finally spoke…

“Nah, I’m no-more with Jane… we are history…”

“Then what…? Will you come AND BE MY-PRINCE IN MY-CASTLE… and live happily-ever-after with me?”

“Then what about your-Prince-of-France boyfriend? And, the other list of lovers, you have accumulated over the time…” Peter was fuming to the thought.

“No, they are all-nothing to me… just ‘friends’ who call up, when I’m bored in my travels.”

“…then ask them, to stay with you because I DON’T SHARE MY LOVE… and have to compete with those bloody filthy-rich dudes… and, also I’m the possessive, and jealous-kind… you might dump-me be by-then, when we get over there in the UK…sorry Ma’am, no thank you…”

“…but… I LOVE YOU ‘ONLY,’ Peter…”

“Yea-yea… but for how long…? When the next-best-thing would-come-along, I will be thrown outta the castle-window…ending-down at some filthy-moat… I don’t want that…”

“No… no, I SINCERELY LOVE YOU, Peter…” Jezebel was sobbing.

“Yea Belle… that what you-girls-say… but will you remember what you’d said today, when it’s tomorrow? Remember, although those-guys have wealth which I don’t… but what those-other bloody Michael Jacksons don’t have IS WHAT I HAVE – which is…

“… the Golden-blood – while-they have some mediocre ‘A-B-C-1-2-3-Do-Re-Mi’ blood-types, running in their bloody-vein… but…

“… I’M ‘IS’ THE REAL DEAL HERE, and, you remember that, Belle… if you ever-want your grand-daddy-uncle to keep-on kicking-and-breathing, you should-be FAITHFUL TO ME-ONLY!”

Jezebel nodded… and took-out her cellphone and dismantled the titanium back-cover – and pluck-out the SIM-card, and gave it to him…

“…here, I will be-loyal you, and ‘only’ you-Peter, from now-on, till the end-of-times…”

She hugged him, and Peter saw the tiny SIM-card in his palm… he used his thumb-and-2 fingers to break it… and toss it over, at-the wall, before he then responded…

“Now where is my messenger-errand-boy of a twin – he’s got a MESSAGE TO DELIVER to those Dicksons.”

-O-

At 1:23AM, Ian McNealy and a few cops went finding the twin-of-Peter, who had wandered-off by-himself, in the Perthland Royal Hospital, since their arrival. They found him eventually sleeping on a bench, outside the cancer-ward…

He had a weird dream…

… of cycling fast, on his stepdad’s racing-bike to see Jane, in the middle-of-the-night. As he was reaching nearer to the Wilsons – a portal opened in the middle of the road – but…

… he was knocked off the bike… and ‘only’ the racing-bicycle was sucked-into the portal. Fallen on the grass…

… he saw the portal-then vanished…

… and had a fear-feeling, that he had ‘LOST’ THE BIKE, belonging to Joe Dickson…

Paul opened his eyes to the bodyguard… telling him that Peter was ‘finding’ for him…

‘… maybe it’s time-to-go home… I need my sleep-badly… on my bed…’

Paul was in 2-worlds, as he lagged behind the bodyguard and the coppers. He was thirsty – and remembered the bottle of water, he had earlier purchased… he took-it from his hoodie-jacket-pocket, and drank…

… his whole body-ached, from the breakdancing in school. He limped along, as he followed from the rear.

He noticed some ‘familiar’ health-posters on the wall, of heart attack and diabetes. He saw his twin coming-over to him and was filling ‘what’ he had-missed, at his-hour of absence…

Peter was mentioning to him – that he had donated his blood to save Lord Stamford’s life, for the future-surgeries to remove the bullets’ fragments in the old man's wounds… since he had the ‘Golden-blood-type’ just-like Lord Stamford…

… there had been an ‘offer’ now-by Jezebel, to migrate to the United Kingdom – but it required the signature of Caroline, for the approval of the travel-documents, because he was still underaged…

Paul stood and passively listening to his twin rambling, while he was in his-thought process-world… where, some-how the Gochi that he-took, had given him ‘clarity’…

… his mind went back to Egypt, where the Cursed-trio had fought evil in the desert-sands, where they eventually went-up to the Dark-tower… and destroyed the vial containing the ‘Blood-of-Peter’ and saved the ‘Soul-of-Peter’…of their-Perth…

… déjà vu…

… it was happening ‘again’ in Perthland, where Peter’s blood was the ‘pawn’ – for evil to rejuvenate from its weakness, to be full-strength – before it returned in full-force in Perth…

… these ‘VISITORS’ HAD DUPED the straight-minded of greedy-Peter…

“Poe, are you listening-to-me… I have to get Mrs Dickson’s signature on the papers so that I can travel outta here…”

“No…” Paul flatly said.

“What do you mean ‘no’…? WHY NO!” His-anger twin shouted at him.

“… because Lord Stamford is Asmodeus…”

“ENOUGH!!!”

Peter held his own-head, in the disappointed-response by Paul… so-much-so, had the frustrating-urge to rip-off his ‘own’ hair by its-roots…

“Come-on what’s wrong with you? This bloody Asmodeus ‘excuse’ of yours is wearing-thin… how long can you use this bullshit over-and-over again, like some bloody broken-record!!?”

“But Peter… ITS TRUE – I’ve ‘seen’ the signs…”

Peter came-close in-range of punching his twin's face – but refrained the physical action, because he was in a public area… he should come-up with A DIFFERENT-TACTIC to the same goal-strategy…

… so, he made PAUL AN OFFER…

“Now listen – I will TAKE YOU TO UK WITH ME-Poe, and over-there… we live our 2nd chance of our-failed lives from-over here, and we-both start afresh in our original colonial-country. We get the hell out of this country…

… where we both are ‘nobodies’ where nobody wants us… just-like ‘those’ Dicksons… who are planning to bloody-throw us both out of their doorstep into the streets, once we are bloody-18…

“Poe, I have ‘ALREADY’ FIGURED OUT our-endgame – its easy-peasy money sitting on the high-table over there, for us to-reap – imagine-now, the amount of millions of British-Pounds I can DEMAND FOR A PINT of my ‘preciousss-Golden-blood’ for that old-fart to survive…

“… think of it, Poe, he’s a trillionaire – and soon my asking would-be a billion-for a pint… what-so if he doesn’t want to pay… then-my blood-bank is ‘closed’ – he would have to force to-agree to my-terms…

“… as it’s the supplier’s market… just, simple economics – of his ‘wants’ of ‘existence’ of furthering his long-life to be living till 200… and that Lord Stamford would-be forced to simply-agree…

“… because he ‘needs’ me, as I’m his blood-bag… and furthermore, in this ‘blessed’ market, I’ve no competitor…

“I’m going to make you a sweet-deal, my ‘little’ brother – how-about I cut you a deal of 10% of my gross-earning since I’m doing most of the heavy-lifting, mate… how about-it? You can hire your own-lawyer and draw-up your-own papers, and I put my John Hancock on it since – we ‘had’ a fall-out in our small-trust issues, with our tennis-YouTube deal, in the past.

“How about our future plans, Poe…? We can live like rich New-Jacks over in the UK? You would have tons of British-Pounds by-then to buy your ‘own’ property and live in it as a millionaire, drive-in luxury sportscars instead of riding borrowed bikes, for the rest of your life… and me too, I would live in that old man’s castle to keep, his grand-niece busy, and then-network – in their elite-circle to cut more resourceful deals, to build my-own empire…

“Well, Poe… what say-you… is it a ‘Go-Gemini-Go?”

The blurry-Paul was just bombarded with his twin’s counting-the-chicks-before-their-eggs-hatched talks… he flatly responded…

“NO…”

Peter was back being-furious, and frustrated with his twin’s refusing-to-his-bigger-picture…

“WHY NO?”

“… because Dad said-you’ll be making some ‘bad’ decision choice… and the world would suffer, as its consequences…”

“You mean you went behind my back… and TALK-ABOUT ME, to that-idiot-man who divorced our-mother for that migrant-housemaid…?”

“No, ‘not’ him… but ‘our’ dad – I had a ‘burning-vision’ of him in that-ward just now, and he told me ‘WHATEVER’ YOU DO NEXT, is a disastrous-choice…”

Peter had a tunnel-vision… staring at his imbecilic-twin…

‘… Poe had a vision…? Double-dang… it’s the bloody-Gochi…”

He grabbed both of Paul’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear…

“… shh-Poe, that was a ‘fake’ vision… you’ve been ‘drugged,’ just now by the drink you in thad in the car…”

“What? How did that happen? Who did that to me?”

“… shh-but… I did that to you…”

“You! Why?”

“… for fun… but that’s beside the point since it’s fake-vision – now back to our ‘deal’… can you get your mum's signature, for the exit-papers…”

“Certainly-not… you-and-I, WE ARE ‘NOT’ GOING anywhere!”

The denial got Peter into a tantrum of rage and fury…

“You-selfish piece of shit! I‘ve given you-Jane, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT, you-greedy bastard? Are you jealous of my-PFC fame that I’m now seeing a trillionaire’s niece – do you want to bloody bang her too, you sex-maniac!!?”

“No, you fool – what are you accusing-me about!!?”

The twins’ loud-commotion grabbed the nearby attention of the bodyguard and a couple of uniformed policemen… to see them almost-punching each-other-out. Ian McNealy grabbed the tuxedo-suited Peter, as he kept-shouting…

“We are ‘not’ 2 Siamese-twins joint-to the hips, okay? That’s why I don’t need your bloody approval in ‘whatever’ I do next… Do you get ‘this’ Poe? I don’t bloody need you anymore!!!”

… Peter turned next to the bodyguard, who was ‘protecting’ him, and instructed…

“Ian, send this piece of trash-now back to bloody where-ever, he calls it-his home!”

… Jezebel came running to her-lover…

“Peter, what happened?”

“I don’t need those bloody-Dicksons’ signature for anything, now that I know, ‘WHO’ I AM – go tell your lawyer, to get in-touch with PM John Blake… tell the bloody prime-minister, that Lord Stamford’s life depends on this ‘one’ Peter Walker – WHICH IS ME!!!”