Down the stairs and into the baking afternoon. Tom stumbled across the road, a swarm of chatter urging him on. A van blared and swerved exaggeratedly.

'Come back and kill me then,' answered Tom to the dopplered curses.

The dark Beetle juddered from its space, described a tight circle and reparked. Tom slumped, welcoming the scorching wheel as the day's first truth.

'You won't need her car,' answered the Gebbeth, unbidden. 'You'll live around here. The bike will be enough. It's not as if you'll be going anywhere on weekends.'

'Of course,' replied Tom. Then he flung the door open and began walking again. The Gebbeth piloted him to a real estate agent.

'Cost is immaterial,' it declared, as Tom scanned the rental list back in his office. Remember that your other expenses are about to be decimated.'

'So, tonight then?' inquired Tom rhetorically.

The reply was emphatic. 'Tonight, or all bets are off. Fortune favours the brave, arsehole.' The grip tightened. 'And after Sarah, friends and family. Pity them, tired of listening to your complaints. Sick of waiting. Fed up with looking for you, only to find you've done another f*cking runner.

Tom scrolled through a document in a feeble illusion of industry. 'Each contact I sever…' he recited.

'Go on,' encouraged the Gebbeth.

'…is a step toward my Sanctuary.'

'Yes.'

'I am at the mouth of a tunnel, spiraling vertically into the earth.'

'Good.'

'At the end of this spiral is my Sanctuary.'

The Gebbeth twitched with satisfaction. 'Correct.'

'The tunnel has steps cut into the rock. On every step is a candle. Each candle represents a personal contact. When I sever a contact, a candle goes out, and I may descend to the next step - a step closer to Sanctuary.'

'Excellent.'

'I may not enter Sanctuary until every contact, every candle, is snuffed out.'

'Every candle.'

'Every candle.'

The Gebbeth took Tom to the toilet and continued the narration. 'Your Sanctuary is everything you need and desire.'

'Uh-huh.'

'At the last step is a door. Walk through it. A cosy cavern. See? The door vanishes. Only rock now. The tunnel collapses upon itself and ceases to exist. You are alone and at peace.'

'Peace. Never to make another mistake, or harm another.' Tom concentrated. 'The purity of oblivion is as noble a quest as the purity of perfection - which is impossible to attain. In my current course I am doomed to mediocrity and therefore repeated failure. My failures hurt others.

'That's right. But in Sanctuary, no one will touch you. Nor you them. This is your forever space, where you will attain perfect oblivion. Look around; I made it just how you like it. Rock walls, endless fire, furry bearskin, oak table, pristine terminal, immortal cigarettes, two goblets...

'Two?'

'Of course - that you may entertain your fantasies!'

'Of course.'

'Of course. And all you need do to reach this perfect space is drop Sarah. Tonight.'

'Tonight.'

'Yes. Sarah is a domino. Push her, and I'll help with the others.'

'Sanctuary,' whispered Tom, the basin cool at his temple.

'Yours for the taking.'

'I understand.'

'It's for the best.'

'Yes.'

'Now go write her an email.'

'Yes.'

To be continued...