pt.

ROCK STAR FOUND DEAD IN HOTEL - New York Times, 25th April

POLICE INVESTIGATE SHOOTING OF ROCK STAR - New York Herald, 25th

April

HELLBLAZE MURDER NOW SUSPECTED MOB HIT - New York Times, 26th April

WHO ASSASSINATED HELLBLAZE? - New York Times, 27th April

The man stared at the mirror, gawping at the reflection. Or rather the absence of one. Oh,
there was an image alright. He could see all the furniture reflected neatly in the mirror.
He just couldn't see himself.

Tentatively, he raised a hand and waved at the mirror. He could see it in front of his face,
but there was nothing in the mirror.

"What the...?"

He stared at his hand in amazement and tried to remember what he had been doing last
night. It sure must have been a wild party. So wild that he couldn't remember anything
about it at all. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember anything.

He stepped back from the mirror, alarmed, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He
clutched his head, straining to remember his name, his past. But nothing came. His
memory was just a blank, and he found himself whimpering in frustration and fright.
He looked up and glanced around the room, recognising it as a hotel room. The furniture
was sparse and the decor unexciting. It was probably a fairly low cost hotel. The only
thing spoiling the view was a reddish stain on the carpet near the bed.
For some reason, his eyes were drawn to that mark and he felt a shudder go through his
body.

No, this was silly. He was just tripping out on something. He'd taken something illegal
the night before and now he was hallucinating. That was all.

Resolving to not look at the mirror and the disturbing image, he stood up and went to the
door, grabbing the handle to open it.

His hand went straight through the handle. He snatched his hand back towards himself
and clutched it as if he had burntit. Slowly he reached out again, feeling with his fingers,
his hand shaking, but again it went through what should be a solid object.
He stepped backwards quickly, tripping over his feet, falling to the floor.
"Help!" he cried out, panicked and frightened. He started pleading, even though he was
alone in the room: "Can anyone hear me? Can anyone help me? Please help me!"

But there was silence. No one responded to his cries. The only sound was in his head, as
some song lyrics repeated themselves over and over again in his mind.
I cried for you, lied for you,
I even said I'd die for you,
And now you're gone, I can't go on,
But I'm dead, yesterday.
The words and tune seemed familiar to him, but also discomforting as the meaning
became clear to him. He lay there on the hotel floor, his head only inches away from that
stain.
Was he dead? Was that what had happened? But how?

"Good question."

He sat up in surprise, twisting round to face the voice. Another person was in the room
with him. A figure, slightly shorter than he was, dressed in a deep full length black
hooded robe. The face couldn't be seen, hidden in the shadows of the hood. He hadn't
heard the door open, and he scrambled to his feet.

He goggled at the new arrival for a moment. "Where's the scythe?" he said finally, and
despite everything he couldn't stop himself sniggering slightly.

"No need for them anymore." The robed figure walked towards him, passing straight
through the bed, causing his jaw to drop. "But I'm still the Reaper. And you are Jack
Lee, otherwise known as..." The figure paused momentarily. "HellBlaze."
Something about the Reaper's tone of voice was mocking as it said Jack's stage-name, but
Jack could only feel relief.
Yes, he was HellBlaze. He was the lead signer and guitarist in a rock band, Faust's
Minions. The band had been hugely successful, playing at packed stadiums around the
world. The song Dead Yesterday had been their biggest hit.
Recently however, sales had been dropping as the band's popularity had fallen, and the
last album had been a flop.

But now he, Jack Lee, was dead. He stared at the Reaper.

"What happened?" he asked weakly, staring down at his trembling hands.

"You were shot," replied the Reaper tonelessly. "The bullets ripped into your body,
tearing your flesh, allowing your life fluid to drain away."

Shot? Jack closed his eyes, straining to remember.

Yes... he was here, in this room. He had been getting ready to go... somewhere. He
couldn't remember where. But he had been standing in front of the mirror, when
something odd in the reflection had caught his attention.
He had spun round, turned to see what was there, and something had slammed into his
chest. Then another, then another.
He remembered the floor coming up to meet him, warm liquid oozing onto his hands. But
he didn't remember the sound of the shots themselves.

"A silenced revolver," said the Reaper, seeming to read his mind.

"Who did it?" whispered Jack. "Who killed me?"

The black robe shrugged. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room.

Eventually Jack spoke. "So, what happens now?"

The Reaper shrugged again. "You resolve your issues then go on to whatever you
believed in. Were you religious?"

"Not really," answered Jack. "What do you mean, resolve my issues?"

"Exactly that. You find out what is keeping you here and deal with it as you see fit."

"So, what is keeping me here?" asked Jack. It seemed easier to focus on that than the
possibility of some unknown afterlife or lack thereof.
But the Reaper just shrugged again. "That's for you to answer."

"Oh." Frowning, Jack thought about it. He still couldn't remember anything about his life
other than dying. "Well... I guess I want to find out who killed me," he said finally,
feeling a jolt as he realised that he did really want to know.

The Reaper nodded. "Then let us proceed. Where do you think we should begin?"

Jack considered it. "Well, if I was murdered, then I guess it will be investigated by the
Police. So perhaps we should go to the police station."

"Very well," said the Reaper. "Let's go."

The robed figure turned and walked out straight through the closed door. Jack stared, then
gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and followed, running through the door.
 pt. II

The nearest NYPD precinct building was only a few blocks away. Jack and the Reaper
hurried towards it, the Reaper walking straight through the oncoming pedestrians, but
Jack instinctively kept weaving from side to side, avoiding all the people who clearly
couldn't see him.
"F*ck!," he said catching up with the Reaper. "And I thought walking through New York
streets was bad normally."

The police station was swarming with people and Jack and the Reaper were able to walk
straight in with no trouble at all. From there it was simply a matter of following the signs
until they reached the homicide division.

The homicide office was a vast open space crammed full of desks, computers, filing
cabinets and people. Although smoking had been banned inside the building years before,
the place still stank of stale tobacco. Finding the detective in charge of Jack's murder case
was easy once someone shouted "Hey, Marshall! We arrested the Hellblaze suspect!"

Detective Keelie Marshall looked up tiredly from her desk. "Gee, that's great Sam," she
said, but didn't sound convinced. She had been working non-stop on this case for the last
three days. And if there was one thing she had learnt, it was that the murders of the rich
and famous brought out all kinds of wackos out to claim their fifteen minutes of fame.

Jack watched her. "A woman?" he commented, whilst eyeing her up.
Keelie seemed quite young, but looked older than her years, presumably due to the stress
of the job. She had frizzy red hair and wasn't wearing any make-up. Unsurprisingly, she
didn't seem to be aware of Jack and the Reaper watching her.
Slowly she stood up, shuffled through the pile of papers on her desk until she found a
clipboard, then grabbed a coffee from the machine and headed off, followed by Jack and
the Reaper.

After weaving her way through the office, she nodded to the man who had shouted at her.
"Ok Sam," she said wearily. "Let's get it over with."

The other detective smiled at her. "Hey Keelie, cheer up. It might actually be the right
guy, you know?"

As Jack and the Reaper followed Keelie and Sam through the maze-like building, he kept
wondering who this suspect was. He glanced over at the Reaper, but his companion
seemed to be simply following, uninterested beyond the call of duty. Unsure of what to
say, Jack just meekly followed, and so was quite relieved when the detectives stopped in
front of some kind of interview room and went in.
They sat down in front of a table, opposite the suspect, who seemed to be a young dark
skinned man with shoulder-length hair, wearing a black shirt and jeans.

Jack stared at him, images of his own death flashing through his mind. "That's him!" he
said excitedly to the Reaper. "I remember, that's the man who shot me!" But the Reaper
just watched impassively.

"Well then, Mr..." Sam glanced down at his notes. "Phoenix Calledro," he continued
raising an eyebrow at the name. "I'm sure that's not your real name, but it doesn't really
matter for now does it?"

Calledro just stared back.

"Well, Mr Calledro, you have been arrested for the shooting of Jack Lee, perhaps better
known as HellBlaze on the night of the 24th April..."
Jack watched as the interrogation progressed. For now this Calledro was denying
everything, and Jack couldn't help but feel alarmed at the seeming lack of evidence the
detectives had against him. Calledro seemed to know this too, and Jack noticed him
smirking.

As the interrogation went on, it became apparent that Calledro was a known professional
hitman, carrying out murders for other people. And yet despite being wanted, he had
never been convicted of anything.

"You've got to worry about our legal system that allows people like this to go free time
after time," muttered Jack. The Reaper just nodded, but did not comment.

And then something Detective Marshall said caught Jack's attention.

She had been quiet during the interview, letting her partner do most of the talking.

"Mr Calledro," she suddenly said. "You have been seen associating with a Mr Marvin
Haynes recently haven't you?"

Jack gave a jolt as he remembered something. He knew Marvin. Marvin had supplied him
with drugs during his younger wilder years.

"Yeah," said Calledro. "So what of it?"

"Marvin Haynes has been under investigation for the drug-dealing. He's a big-time
supplier."

"What's that got to do with me?"

Keelie examined her notes, then looked straight at Calledro. "Marvin Haynes was also
found shot at his home, yesterday. That wouldn't be your work would it?"
Jack's eyes widened again. Marvin was dead too? He glanced across at the Reaper
quizzically, but the robed figure just stood there motionless, watching the suspect.

Before Calledro had a chance to answer though there was a knock at the door. A
uniformed cop, this one a young woman, entered and whispered something to Keelie.

Keelie sighed and stood up. "Continue without me," she said to Sam, then she left the
room. Jack glanced at her as she went then back at Calledro, before deciding to follow
her. He was curious to know what was happening now, and he dashed out after her.
Silently, the Reaper turned and followed him, robes sweeping against the floor. Jack
couldn't help but notice that regardless of the brightness of the light and the direction of
the shadows, the Reaper's face was always fully enshrouded in darkness. Idly, Jack
pondered pulling the hood down, but decided against it. He wasn't sure what the Reaper
would do in response.
Keelie and her followers headed back to the main office and to her desk, where a young
blond woman holding an infant child waited nearby.

Jack gave a sigh as more memories flooded back.

"Cassie..." he whispered, gazing at the woman he loved and their son, Matthew.

"Miss West," said Keelie, acknowledging the visitor. "What can I do for you today?"

Cassie's eyes were reddened from crying. "I searched around like you asked," she said. "I
found these." She dropped a small plastic tub on the top.

Keelie picked it up and read the label. "Prozac. An anti-depressant."

Cassie nodded. "I knew he was depressed but he had never told me he was on tablets for
it."

Jack sighed. Yes, he had been depressed. He remembered now. The failure of the latest
record to sell in droves had resulted in the record label threatening to drop the band. And
where they had once played stadiums, now they had been struggling to fill the smaller
venues.
And there had been arguments. Cassie had threatened to leave, taking Matthew with her.
And so he had gone to his doctor, who gave him Prozac.

"Oh Cassie," he said, holding out his hand towards her.

But it was Matthew who responded, waving his little hand in return. "Dad-da."

"Matthew?" said Jack, surprised. He turned to the Reaper. "He can see me?"
The Reaper nodded. "Sometimes the very young can."

Jack smiled for the first time today. "Hey kid," he cooed to the child. "Daddy's here."

"Dad-da, dad-da!" Matthew waved his hand delightedly.

Cassie hugged the child. "No sweetie," she said quietly. "Daddy's not here right now."

Keelie watched sadly, then coughed slightly, trying to get Cassie's attention. "So..." she
began. "How are you getting on?"

Cassie sighed. "Badly," she said. "There's been accountants all over the place. There's
still no sign of any of the savings. The lawyer thinks Jack probably gambled it all away or
something."

"That's not good," sympathised Keelie. "What are you going to do?"

Cassie shrugged. "It seems Jack had taken out life insurance when Matthew was born, so
hopefully that will pay up enough to take care of the bills and stuff."

Jack frowned. He didn't remember gambling all the savings away. Oh sure, he had had a
few wagers with Marvin. And then there was the on-going drug bill. But surely that
hadn't taken all of the savings? Still, Cassie was right. There had been life insurance.

Jack kept watching as Cassie and Keelie finished talking, then Cassie, still carrying
Matthew, left the room.

"Now what?" asked the Reaper.

"I dunno," Jack said, sounding frustrated. He was now beginning to tire of this game.
"Check out Marvin's place I guess. He seems to be involved in all of this somehow."

The Reaper beckoned towards the door. "As you wish."

Jack glanced back at Detective Marshall who had settled back down into her chair and
had started to read some report. At least to him, she seemed to know what she was doing,
and Jack felt a moment of relief that perhaps she would indeed solve the case and get his
murderer convicted after all. With an unseen nod to her, he turned and walked out the
door.

As they entered the foyer and main reception area of the police building, Jack heard a
familiar sound. His song, Dead Yesterday, was playing on a radio somewhere nearby. He
tugged on the Reaper's sleeve and paused, listening to the music. His legacy. And it was
practically all that was left of him now.

A station jingle and the chattering of the DJs interrupted the closing chords of the song.
"And that was Faust's Minions, with Dead Yesterday, set to re-enter the charts at the top
this week following the murder of guitarist and lead singer, HellBlaze. Guess the only
way to revive a flagging career is to get murdered these days, isn't that right Jim?"
"Indeed Dave, but it's a good record anyway, shame Faust's Minions didn't produce more
like it..."

Jack turned to leave, remembering the meeting with the record label executives, all
shouting at him for the poor sales of the latest album.

pt. III

Marvin's house was still and silent, criss-crossed with police crime scene tape. Jack just
stepped right through it, now getting used to this strange new existence.
Inside the house was dark and silent, the only signs of violence being a broken chair and
a reddish stain on the kitchen floor. Jack stared at the mark. It looked eerily like the same
one on the hotel room earlier.

The Reaper stood and watched, but suddenly broke the silence. "I have been here
before."

Jack glanced over at the hooded figure. "Really?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Drugs," answered the Reaper, speaking for the first time with some faint touch of
emotion. "The kids take the drugs, knowing that they will kill them, but they don't
believe that they will. And yet they die anyway."

Jack watched his companion for a moment in surprise, but just nodded. "I suppose you're
right," he said thoughtfully. "I took loads of drugs. Never expected to die from them.
Still, that's not what killed me, is it?"

But the Reaper just watched, impassively. Jack resumed his search of the house. "Would
Marvin have... umm... come across too after he died?" he asked after a while.

The Reaper shrugged. "Not everybody does."

"Shame," muttered Jack. "I could really have used some answers off him round about
now."
He wandered into the study. This was a small and cluttered room, designed to give off an
aura of respectability and lawfulness, despite the illicit deals that must have gone on here.
Jack suddenly closed his eyes as he remembered something else.

He had been standing here, in this room. Marvin had been sat down at the desk in front
of the computer holding his forehead, looking tired.
"Fine Jack," Marvin had said, a touch of anger in his voice. "If that's what you really
want to do, then I'll put you in touch. But I want nothing to do with it, understood?"

Jack had grinned. "Sure thing," he had said. "Nothing goes further than this office,
right?"

"Nothing," Marvin had said firmly. "You keep your side and I'll keep mine. You have my
word on that."
He had sighed, then scribbled something down on a notepad. "Here," he had said,
ripping out the page and handing it to Jack. "As reliable as they come."
He had then turned back to the desk and signed another document, folding it up and
placing it into an envelope, which he had also given to Jack.

And then the memory faded. Jack gazed at the desk. What had Marvin given him? How
much more complex could this get?
He stared around the room looking for more clues, but there was nothing. It looked like
the police had thoroughly searched everything already. He turned and walked back into
the passage.
"Let's go," he said to the Reaper, and headed back out through the door, lost in thought,
straining to remember it all. The Reaper followed him silently.
The day was starting to draw to a close, and nightfall approached. The street-lamps
started to light up, casting even more shadows.

"Does everyone go through this?" Jack asked after a while. "I mean is it this complex for
everyone?"

"Not usually," answered the Reaper, resuming the normal toneless mannerism of
speech. "Most people's deaths are fairly straightforward. Crash or bang and that's
it."

"Heh." Jack suddenly chuckled to himself. "Guess I'm special, huh?"

The Reaper did not respond.

"What do you think I should do now then?" asked Jack breaking the silence again.

"Solve the mystery," replied the Reaper. "Move on."

"Yeah." But Jack hesitated. Move on where? He still wasn't sure about that one. Nor did
he really want to think about it.
He stared down the street, realising that he had been heading towards his own house. He
supposed it was as good enough a place to go as any.
Jack's house had surprised many visitors in the past. It was small. Very small. People had
asked him where all the money was, but Jack had just shrugged. "Savings," he had said,
not wanting to admit to having blown most of it on drink, drugs and gambling.

Jack paused. But there had been savings. Despite the greatly reduced income, he had
been saving since Matthew had been born. He had wanted to marry Cassie, perhaps have
more kids, and put them through college.

He stood in front of the familiar house, staring at the lit windows. But that had been
before the arguments. Cassie had said she had had enough of Jack being away all the
time.
He had argued back, saying that touring with the band was the only way to make any
money these days. Cassie had accused him of sleeping with other women, with fans,
young girls. Jack winced, recalling that she had been correct, although he had denied it
repeatedly.

Eventually, Jack started to walk closer towards the house, glancing at the police car
parked in the driveway before walking through the door. The Reaper followed him.

Inside, the house was largely still and silent, even though he could hear the sounds of the
television, of Matthew playing with some toy, of murmured voices in the lounge.
Jack peeked into the lounge and spotted Cassie and Detective Marshall having a
conversation. Not wanting to spy or intrude, Jack headed straight for his Den.

The Den was small and cosy, furnished with a few elderly but familiar chairs. An
expensive sound system took pride of place, and tour photos and band memorabilia had
been hung on the walls. A collection of guitars and an amp were stacked up in one
corner.
A number of candles were dotted about the room. It was here that Jack wrote his music
by candlelight. It didn't seem that anything had been disturbed here, but he assumed
Cassie would clear it out at some point. She had never liked the Den, claming that Jack
had spent more time in it than he had with her and Matthew. Nonetheless a few candles
were currently lit, presumably by Cassie.

Jack sunk down into his favourite chair. The Reaper stood awkwardly in the centre of the
room, watching. Jack stared at the wall at one of the items on the wall. A framed piece of
notepad paper with some words scribbled onto it in Jack's appalling handwriting. The
original written version of Dead Yesterday.

Jack remembered sitting in here recently, staring at that document, planning his suicide.
Suddenly Jack sat up straight. Yes! He had been planning suicide! At last, all his
memories started flowing back and he gasped, holding his head in his hands.
The Reaper watched him, and eventually spoke "Are you alright?"

Jack looked up, his eyes wide in horror. "I remember," he whispered weakly. "I
remember what happened. What I did."

There was a pause. "Tell me," said the Reaper, sounding vaguely concerned despite the
emotionless tone of voice.

Jack hesitated, then started speaking, his voice choking.

"It was after the meeting with the record executives. They had said they were going to
drop the band from the label after the last album had flopped. I was so depressed, and I
came back here. But Cassie was here, she was really mad with me. She had found out that
I had been sleeping with one of the fans. She... she threatened to leave, taking Matthew
with her.

"We... we argued, shouted, screamed at each other. And then she started going on at me
about the money. She said that Marvin had told her how much I had spent on drugs.

"I protested. I said that I had been clean since Matthew had been born. But she just cried,
saying I had told her that I had quit drugs years before." Jack sighed. "She was right, I
had lied to her. But I swear I hadn't taken anything for two years." He directed this
comment at the Reaper who was managing to look disapproving despite the hidden face.

Jack rubbed his eyes again.

"It ended up with me walking out. I went to Marvin's. I got some drugs, got high, just like
old times.

"But morning came. The drugs and drink wore off and I just didn't know what to do. I
crept back into the house. I was alone, Cassie had gone to work and Matthew was at
kindergarten. I sat here, in this chair. Listening to my song." Jack pointed at the
handwritten lyrics on the wall, then softly sang the chorus.
"I cried for you, lied for you,
I even said I'd die for you,
And now you're gone, I can't go on,
But I'm dead, yesterday."
The Reaper stood still, watching and listening. "Go on,"

Jack nodded. "I... I just wanted it to end. My career was over and Cassie hated me. The
anti-depressants weren't working. I found the gun; we kept one in the house. I nearly
pulled the trigger."

The Reaper nodded. "But you didn't?"

"No." Jack shook his head. "I couldn't go through with it."

"Because of Cassie? Matthew?" asked the Reaper.

There was a pause, then Jack shook his head again. "No. Because I didn't want to be a
copycat."

The Reaper gazed at Jack waiting for him to explain.

"So many rock stars commit suicide," said Jack. "Just look at Kurt Cobain, Michael
Hutchence, loads of them. I... I didn't want to be like that."
Jack hesitated. "I... I figured if I was going to die, I wanted it to be in a way that was
different to everyone else. I wanted people to start buying my records again, because I
was so famous for dying. It's like artists, you know? They only do well after they die. I
wanted to be like that, I wanted people to be talking about me, playing my records
decades after my death."

"So what happened?" asked the Reaper.

"I... I staged my own murder. I had some dirt on Marvin's drug dealing, forced him to co-
operate. I made him tell me how to hire his hitman, Phoenix Calledro. In return I
promised not to go to the police."
Jack frowned. Something still seemed to be missing, but he carried on. "And then..."

The Reaper watched patiently, waiting for Jack to continue.

"I hired Calledro. I took out a contract on myself." Jack sobbed suddenly, but carried on.
"Hitmen don't come cheap. It cost me half of my savings. That's where that money went,
I remember now. And then I went to the hotel. And I waited. I... I waited for three days. I
had just about given up, I thought that Calledro had conned me. But... he didn't. And so I
died."

The Reaper nodded. And then spoke. "You say music artists committing suicide are
common. But so are murdered ones. I have reaped many. John Lennon, Notorious
B.I.G., Tupac Shakur... the list could go on for ever. What makes yours different?"

Jack thought about it. And then remembered the rest. "Yes, you're right. I did more. I... I
confessed!"

Jack stood up, walked over to the framed song lyrics and stared at the words.

"I wrote down what I had done in a letter. And then I made Marvin sign it. I hid it.
Behind my song. I... I wanted the letter to get found, after my death, and the whole story
to go to the newspapers. That was what I was going to be known as. The rock star who
paid for a hit on himself."
Jack frowned, looking at the frame still hanging on the wall. "I guess Cassie hasn't found
it yet."

Jack stared at the Reaper then back at the lyrics. "But, that's not all. I also hid a CD."

"What's on the CD?" asked the Reaper.

"I recorded my conversations with Marvin and Calledro. I left the CD as evidence. I
wanted them to go to prison."

"But Marvin got killed," said the Reaper.

Jack nodded. "I remember. I changed my mind. I didn't want Marvin claiming any of my
glory. And I was mad at him, real mad for turning Cassie against me. So I paid Calledro
the rest of my savings to kill Marvin."
He turned to the Reaper. "Oh God, I'm going to hell aren't I?"

The Reaper shrugged. "I'm not God."

"What have I done?" mumbled Jack staring into the flickering candle.
There was a pause and then the Reaper answered. "What you have done is
inconsequential. The question should be, 'What are you going to do?'"

Jack thought about it. "Well, Cassie's right. There is life insurance, they should be
adequately covered." He gazed back at the framed song sheet with its hidden treasure
behind it. "No...."

"No?" asked the Reaper.

"Oh f*ck," said Jack suddenly, turning round and pacing across the room. "No, no there
isn't. Oh God!"

The Reaper's hooded face followed Jack as he marched back and forth across the room.

"The insurance won't pay out for suicide will it?" said Jack desperately, thinking it
through. "Or if I get implicated in the death of Marvin. I... I hadn't thought of that. Cassie
won't get any money!"
He stopped pacing and stared at the Reaper. "I scr*wed up! I've left Cassie and Matthew
bankrupt!"

Jack perched back down on the edge of his chair. The Reaper watched impassively.

"No, no, wait," continued Jack. "That only happens if my confession gets out. And the
CD."
He looked back towards the framed song. "Cassie hasn't found it yet. Maybe she won't."

"But then, maybe she will," said the Reaper. "Perhaps you have now found out why
you are still here?"

"Yes!" said Jack standing up again and running over to the song. "Yes, I just need to
destroy the evidence. Then Cassie and Matthew will be fine!"
He reached for the frame to grab the envelope behind it, but his hand passed straight
through.
Jack screamed out and ran back to the Reaper, grabbing onto the robes.

"How?" he yelled desperately, staring into the shadowed face. "How do I destroy it when
I can't touch it?"

The Reaper slowly and calmly reached out and took hold of Jack's hands, removing them
from the robes. "There's always a way."

Jack shivered at the coldness of the Reaper's touch, but felt the desperation fading, and he
began to think more rationally again. "Yes," he said. "There must be a way."
He sat back down in his chair, clutching his head, trying to think. "There has to be a
way," he said softly to himself.

He started to hum Dead Yesterday again, letting the music soothe him as it had done so
many times in the past. The strategy worked. Jack suddenly leapt out of his chair.
"There is a way!" he cried out and ran out of the room towards the lounge.
Detective Marshall watched the other woman, feeling sympathy for her as Cassie
described the break-up of her and Jack's relationship. Keelie had seen too much crime
and violence associated with drugs in her job. She glanced towards Matthew, playing
with toy cars on the floor in front of them.

"Dad-da!" said Matthew suddenly, staring at something. He climbed to his feet and
toddled off out of the room.

Keelie glanced over at Cassie who didn't seem to have noticed. She was dabbing her eyes
with tissues, lost in her own bereavement. She picked up the box of tissues from the table
and handed it to Cassie, and then stood up.
"I'll check on Matthew for you," she said softly and walked out of the room, looking for
the child.

"Dad-da!" cried Matthew happily as he waddled into the Den. Keelie followed, pulling
open the door, just in time to see Matthew pick up one of the candles.
Keelie gasped. "Matthew!" She hurled herself towards the infant to grab the candle from
him, but it was too late.
Matthew dropped the flaming candle into the waste paper bin. The dry papers in the bin
immediately caught fire.

"Matthew!" Keelie picked up the child who had started crying and looked around for a
fire extinguisher. But she couldn't see one.
The fire in the bin flared up, setting alight some of the old brittle papers on the walls.
Rapidly the fire began to spread, and thick black smoke started to pour over the room.

Keelie backed out of the room quickly. Her last view was of a framed paper on the wall
catching fire, and a burning envelope dropping down from behind it.
She turned and fled, carrying Matthew, calling for Cassie.
Two hours later, Jack watched the fire service start packing their equipment away. The
fire had been put out, but the house had been gutted. Jack had been in to check. All that
was left of the envelope of evidence was a molten charred disc that might have once been
a CD.
He turned to the Reaper. "Well there goes my fame," he said sadly, but as he glanced
over at Cassie and Matthew, being comforted by Keelie and the neighbours, he smiled.
"Will they be alright now?" he asked.

"It is up to them." the Reaper answered. "Destiny can only be chosen. You gave them
that choice."

Jack nodded. "The house can be rebuilt and refurbished. And I guess Cassie is right. She
deserves someone better than an old drug addict."
He felt a bit light-headed, and he realised that the world was slowly beginning to fade
away from his vision. He felt no fear, just curiosity at what would happen next.

"Take care, Jack," said the Reaper holding out a cold hand.
Jack smiled and shook the hand.
"Thank you," he whispered as the world faded away completely.
New York Times - April 30th.

HELLBLAZE CONSIPRACY INVESTIGATED

Police have ruled out the possibility that Faust's Minions singer HellBlaze (real name
Jack Lee) had arranged his own murder by taking out a contract on himself. The theory
had been put forward by several conspiracy theorists. "There is no evidence to suggest
anything of the kind," stated Detective Keelie Marshall of the NYPD. "A homicide
investigation is still in progress."

One man had been arrested in association with the murder, but had later been released.
Lee's house caught fire and burnt down a few days after the murder, however the Police
have ruled out any connection. "Foul play is not suspected," reported Marshall.

Nonetheless, sales of Faust's Minions albums have reached record heights after the
murder, reviving the flagging careers of the remaining band members. The song Dead
Yesterday re-entered the charts straight in at Number One.