promises

Beau, why don't you take off?"

McKayla wasn't really looking at me as she spoke, her gaze fixed someplace over my left ear. I wondered just how long she had been talking to me that way without my noticing.

It had been slow all afternoon at Newton's. At the moment we only had two patrons, two dedicated backpackers from down south. When they'd first entered the store, they'd come straight to me to find out my opinion on the pros and cons of some of the lightweight packs displayed out front, but fortunately McKayla, the real expert on anything outdoors, came to the rescue. The conversation had segued off into a language only outdoor enthusiasts could understand, until they'd turned to telling stories from the trail, each trying to best the other. As one particular story turned into an argument, McKayla had finally been able to slip away briefly to talk to me.

"I can stay," I said. My numb, zombie-mode sense of being was still evading me, and everything felt oddly close and loud, like my ears had been full of wax, and had just gotten a good cleaning. I tried to tune out the backpacker's raucous conversation without success.

"I'm telling you," said a thickset man with an orange beard. "I've seen grizzlies pretty up close in Yellowstone. But they had nothing on this brute."

The other man, tall and lean with a weather-beaten face, laughed and shook his head. "Black bears don't get that big. You've probably never seen a real grizzly."

"Really, Beau," McKayla murmured. "As soon as these two go, I'm closing up for the day."

I shrugged. "If you want me to."

"On all fours it was bigger than you," continued the bearded man as I headed to get my bag. "Completely black. I'm going to report it to the ranger here, just as soon as I get the chance. It's dangerous. This was only a few miles from the trail head."

The tall man grinned and shook his head, not looking convinced.

The bearded man turned in my direction. "Hey, son," he called, "have you heard any warnings about black bears around here recently?"

McKayla again took over. She was used to people automatically turning to me for questions, and she always took it with good grace. Even when Mrs. Newton, one of the joint owners of the store, was around, sometimes new customers still came to me first, and she only laughed about it.

"No, sir, not that we've heard," McKayla said. She added with the authority of someone who had spent years backpacking trails with her parents, "But as long as you maintain as much distance as you can and keep your food stored correctly, you're less likely to run into a problem. We have some new bear-safe canisters here you might be interested in. Barely two pounds, that's half a pound lighter than competing brands..."

The sound of McKayla's spiel faded as I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped out the front doors.

It was raining as I crossed the lot to my truck and I pulled my jacket hood up over my head. The rain pounding against the hood of the truck sounded oddly loud, too, but the roar of my truck engine soon drowned out everything else.

I sat where I was a minute, leaning my head back against the headrest, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing deeply and evenly.

I wasn't looking forward to going back home, where the house would empty the rest of the afternoon. Last night had been bad, the worst I'd had since that first night in the forest. I'd eventually fallen asleep, but even that hadn't brought any peace. Instead, the nightmare I'd had a thousand times had visited me again.

The funny thing about the dream was that nothing actually happened. I wasn't being chased, nobody died. She wasn't even there to repeat those painful final words I always worked to keep buried as deeply as possible. I only dreamed about the forest, a sea of moss-covered trees on every side as I hurried down a winding path. Eventually I would leave the path behind, going faster and faster as I tried desperately to find what I was looking for. But then there would come a point when it would hit me—I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember what I was looking for, and in the heart of the dreary wood, I would realize there was nothing to find.

I always awoke in a cold sweat, and had to dash to the bathroom across the hall to throw up into the basin. At first Charlie had been convinced I'd come down with something, and tried to get me to go in to see Dr. Gerandy to get something prescribed. But it had since become such a normal part of every night that he no longer rushed in to find out what was the matter with me.

Instead of turning the truck in the direction of Charlie's house, I made up some errands for myself. I stopped by the post office to see if we had any packages in—we didn't. Next I stopped by the hardware store and spent twenty minutes trying to remember what type of oil my truck and Charlie's police cruiser took, before I bought an extra quart of each. I drove endlessly around the town, eyes drifting over each shop or business, and trying to think of something I might need to look for inside, that might just burn another fifteen minutes. Several times I found myself on some back roads, going through neighborhoods, and I studied the houses as I passed, trying to occupy my mind with naming the people who lived in them. Trying to fill my mind with anything but the thoughts that hovered just on the periphery, threatening at any moment to close around my mind.

It will be as though I never existed...

"No," I said aloud, my voice sounding almost too loud in the silence, even over the roar of my truck engine as I twisted the steering wheel and turned onto yet another neighborhood road. "Not thinking about that. Let's see now...that's the Markses house...man, what a pile of junk they've got out there...They really think they'll sell those? Those bikes look like they might have run last century..."

However, as I crept the truck along the road, my eyes fell on the house at the end of the road, and I realized that, in spite of my best efforts, in all my meandering I'd drifted back to Charlie's house anyway.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, and images from my nightmare the night before flickered in my mind. I felt the horror coming back, threatening to come crashing down on me, to consume me. Nothingness. Unable to remember what I was looking for.

It will be as though I never existed...

I gritted my teeth against the voiceless sound of the words. That promise—that promise I hated. It was the kind of promise that never should have been made, already broken from the moment it had been put into words. And if it was kept—if I forgot everything, that beautiful dream I had experienced so briefly—then that would mean my nightmare had come true. It was the kind of promise that devastated, tore me from the inside out, whether kept or broken. I was trapped.

Instead of pulling into the driveway, I turned the truck sharply down another road, desperate for anything to keep me away from going inside, and spending the rest of the afternoon there, alone. I decided maybe I would make a quick trip to the grocery store. I'd just on Monday, my usual day, but I was sure I could think of a few things we could use if I wandered around for a bit.

I pulled into the parking lot, and headed through the sliding doors. As I wandered hazily down the meat aisle, my eyes drifted from one package to the next, and I tried my best to focus on the poundage and fat percentages. Trying to shut out the voiceless promise playing again and again in my mind.

"Beau?"

I paused and raised my head, turning. In my distracted state, it took me a moment to recognize the face.

"Julie?" I said in wonder. "Julie Black?"

Julie—Jules—grinned broadly. "Sure is. Good to see you. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Julie Black looked a little different than I remembered. She had gotten taller—again—perhaps another inch or two. But more notable than that was that the former roundness of her young face had been replaced with sharp angles, and though she was still lean, her arms had the toned look of a professional athlete. She could have been a player in the WNBA.

However, the cheerful grin that stretched across her face and her bright teeth that contrasted sharply with her copper complexion was the same as ever.

Strangely, without having to make a conscious effort to do so, I felt my own mouth split into a grin. "How have you been? I haven't seen you up here before."

Jules shrugged and made a face. "Just doing a shopping run for my mom, as usual. I usually just go to the general store on the rez, but they were clear out of Tabasco sauce."

"I'm getting some stuff for dinner tonight," I said. Again, I felt my mouth turn up in a smile. The expression felt unfamiliar on my face, so I was surprised how easily it came. But then, I'd always gotten along with Jules. Even though I hadn't had much to do with her when I came down for my yearly summer visits to Forks, at least that I could remember, she almost felt like the childhood friend I'd never had.

Jules snorted. "They think we're slaves, I swear."

"Maybe we should start a revolt," I suggested.

Jules laughed, dark eyes sparkling. I remembered she always had a way of making me feel more funny than I was. "If you round us up some allies, I'll get the weapons," she promised.

"Sounds like a plan." I was a little surprised when I heard myself asking curiously, "So, how did you get down here? You get your car done?" I'd never been one for small talk, and over the past few months, I never asked questions or volunteered anything, but I was startled to realize I was genuinely interested.

"I did get that master cylinder my mom promised me," she said, grinning. Then she sighed. "But no, not yet. I'm going to put a few hours of work in on her as soon as I get back. I had to borrow the Clearwaters' car to get down here." She suddenly frowned. "Apparently Lee was wanting to take it out somewhere, so I'm supposed to be back as soon as I can."

I nodded, though I would have liked to talk a bit longer. "Right. I guess you better get going then, I don't want you to get in trouble. Good to see you again."

Jules turned in the direction of the checkout counter, but looked a little reluctant to go. "Lee doesn't scare me," she muttered. "I could take him any day of the week."

"Yeah," I said, "but if you beat him up my dad would have to arrest you. Then you'd never finish your car."

She laughed, that husky sort of laugh I remembered. "Guess you have a point." However, as she turned she glanced back at me. "Hey," she said. "You should drop by sometime. We could hang out."

I was pleasantly surprised by the offer, and I found myself smiling again. "Yeah," I said. "That sounds fun." And I realized I meant it.

Jules left, and as soon as the conversation was over, I felt my gloom and the buzzing in my head return. However, I was shocked to realize that I had almost legitimately forgotten about the sickening swirl in my mind for a few minutes. Never did I completely forget—it was always there, lurking in the back of my mind, a constant murmuring stream underneath everything else that never went away. But I'd actually been distracted—at least for a moment.

I decided maybe I would take Jules up on her offer. Go to see her sometime. I doubted it would be much of a reprieve—it was just a fluke, because I'd been surprised. But, if I was going to have to be going out to see friends anyway, to keep Charlie off my case...Jules seemed as good an option as any.

I got everything I needed, dawdling as long as I could trying to compare prices, but eventually I had to take my items up for purchase, and get back in my truck. I sat there a minute again before, with a sigh, I started the engine.

It will be as though I never existed...

The soundless voice murmured in my head again, an endless cycle on repeat. Making the promise again and again, and with that constant reminder, only ensuring it was broken. But it was worse today—overpowering.

As I headed back down the road, my hands clenched around the steering wheel. My breath was coming faster, sweat breaking out on my brow. It was happening, like it did sometimes—an attack, where it all became too much, and I couldn't seem to breathe, my chest burning as though I really couldn't get enough air. But it was far worse than usual today, without the cold numbness I had carefully maintained. As I pulled onto the familiar road back to the house, my vision swam, and I turned the steering wheel to pull off the road.

I sat in my truck, a hand pressed to my chest, clenching my fist around a handful of my T-shirt, as though I were in physical pain. I gritted my teeth.

I thought I had accepted it already. But maybe that was the problem—accepting it, it was hard to figure out what to live for. How to keep living day in, day out, minute by minute, with no hope to have anything to fight for, nothing that I would ever want again.

"I'm sick of this," I whispered, and my voice cracked. "I'm so sick of this." I was sick—sick of feeling so hopeless, so fragile, and feeling like I was being lied to over and over again. And afraid what it would mean if, in the end, the lie wasn't a lie.

Another memory flickered beneath the first, rising to the surface. And I remembered suddenly that I had made a promise, too.

"Don't do anything stupid."

I'd said I wouldn't, and I'd kept that promise. More than kept it, really.

However, I felt a sudden thrill at the thought of not keeping it—or at least not entirely. I had to break out of this rut somehow, and as I recalled the rush I'd felt back in Port Angeles, when I thought I might be faced with those old adversaries, the thought of doing something completely stupid, completely reckless, suddenly sounded quite appealing. It would be a distraction. I couldn't just keep going back home and spending every day alone there—eventually I'd go insane. In a way, finding some outlet, some way to relieve the torment of my thoughts, would probably actually be better for me.

My eyes, which had been staring vacantly out the truck windshield, suddenly settled again on what I realized was the Markses' house, and more importantly, on the junk outside I'd noticed before. A pair of old, rusted out motorcycles.

I felt a sudden flare of excitement as an idea struck me. A brilliant, stupid idea.

Before I was even ten years old, Charlie had instilled in me the ingrained belief that motorcycles equal danger. As police chief in Forks, he'd seen his share of traffic accidents, and very often those ones involving motorcycles were fatal for the motorcyclist, and he'd made me swear up and down never to ride or accept a ride on one. Considering that even as a kid I was liable to fall just walking across a flat, stable surface, I hadn't considered it much of a sacrifice. Now the idea of getting on a motorcycle suddenly seemed incredibly attractive.

However, a moment later I slumped back in my seat. There was no way those pieces of junk out there would run. They'd probably cost more to repair than to buy new, and my minute college fund wasn't going to buy me a new one. However, as I stared longingly out across the road at them, an idea sparked at the back of my mind, and I sat up slowly again. It would probably cost more to fix them than to buy new if I went to a mechanic, but I did know someone who knew how to build cars. Maybe she'd know a thing or two about motorcycles, too.

Before I really gave myself a chance to think through what I was doing, I found myself putting my truck into gear, and pulling across the road to park in front of the Markses' house. I got out and marched across the wet, muddy yard up to the front door. I rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later, a young teenage girl came to the door. I remembered that she was the freshman, and she had an older sister in my grade, though at the moment I couldn't remember the younger one's name.

"Huh," she said, looking startled. "I know you, you're Beau Swan." She hesitated, eying me up and down with some suspicion. "Can I...help you?"

I ignored her look and gestured toward the front of the yard. "How much would it be if I wanted to buy one of the bikes?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Um...well, to be honest, my dad said he was going to have them pitched. They aren't good for anything. My dad moved them out there to get taken out with the garbage."

I looked at her uncertainly. "So does that mean you'll give it to me for cheap?"

She shrugged. "Just take one if you want it. Actually, might as well take both of them, my parents will just be glad they're gone."

"Wow," I said, looking back at them. "Great. I guess I'll just take them then."

"Want me to go get my dad so he can help you move them?" she asked, eying my less-than-impressive physique. "They might be heavy."

I shook my head quickly. If the parents started getting involved, no doubt what I was doing would wind its way back to Charlie. "No thanks, I can manage. Thanks a lot, this is great."

"What are you going to do with them?" she asked curiously. "I mean, even I can tell it would cost a ton to get them fixed."

I nodded. "Yeah, but I know someone who works on cars and stuff. Thanks again."

The girl nodded, and retreated back inside.

I had a time and a half getting the things onto the truck bed. They were hard to get a grip on, and even heavier than they looked. I had to back the truck up right up next to them, and make use of a long, stick-like tool Charlie had put in my truck in case I ever needed to change a tire—not that I would have known how if I'd needed to—to pry them out of the mud. Once I'd finally gotten one up off the ground and shoved into the back, I considered leaving the second one where it was, but as I'd already told the Marks girl I'd take both, I forced myself to go ahead and do that one, too.

I quickly raced back to the house, hoping I would get there before Charlie got back from work. Normally he didn't get home until the evening, but I didn't have any faith in my luck. I dumped all the groceries from the store in the fridge, then quickly went to the phone.

I called Charlie at the station, and was relieved to find he was still there. I let him know I would be out for the afternoon, and asked for directions to La Push. I had to promise I'd make it back in time to make dinner, as Charlie seemed to like the idea of his going up and meeting me there to eat, and that was definitely out of the question.

I pulled some steaks out of the freezer to thaw in the fridge, then headed out.

The sky was dark and overcast with the approach of a coming storm as I followed the roads out of town and headed out toward the reservation. As I drove down the quiet, empty road, I wasn't sure if the sudden feeling of solitude was eery or a relief, and I still hadn't fully decided when I pulled up to the Blacks' house and cut the engine short.

The house was a fairly small place, wooden, with narrow windows and painted a kind of dull barn-red. I'd been here before, quite a few years ago, but I couldn't remember it feeling as familiar, almost homey, as it somehow did now.

I glanced up only to see someone already emerging from the front door, looking incredulous, but grinning broadly. It was still raining fairly substantially, but she didn't seem to care.

"Wow," she said. "When I said you should stop by sometime, I didn't think you'd come later the same day."

Her smile was infectious as always, and as I climbed out of the truck, I found myself grinning back. It was definitely strange for me, smiling, but in a good way. "Bad time?" I asked.

"No way," she said, beaming. "Come on, let's get inside. You're getting soaked."

Jules's satin black hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck as always, but it was coming loose, and as she led me toward the house, she casually pulled out the rubber band and combed her fingers through the long locks. As I came up alongside her, I noticed again how tall she had gotten. Surreptitiously, I put two fingers to the top of my head, drawing them across to her.

Jules noticed what I was doing, and turned, still grinning but looking bemused. "What?"

"I still have an inch and a half on you," I told her, letting my arm drop.

Jules laughed, once again her white teeth standing out from her russet skin, especially in the stormy gloom of the gray sky. "Not for long. You better get going if you don't want me to pass you."

"Aren't you done yet?" I said.

She shook her head, and her untied hair sprayed a few droplets. "Doubt it. I'm a freak of nature."

As we reached the threshold, Jules twisted her hair between her hands, squeezing out the moisture, then redid her ponytail, before we stepped inside.

"Hey, Mom," she called into the house. "Look who's stopped by."

Bonnie was in her wheelchair in the tiny living room, a book open in front of her. As we stepped in, however, she set it aside and wheeled herself over.

"Well, what do you know. It's good to see you, Beau. What brings you out to this neck of the woods? Charlie doing all right, I hope?"

I found I was feeling—perhaps not quite cheerful, but something that vaguely resembled it. "Just fine. I just thought I'd stop by. Maybe hang out for awhile—if that's okay."

"Course it is," said Bonnie amicably. "You should stay for dinner too, if you'd like."

"No, thanks," I said, a little too quickly. "I told Charlie—I mean, my dad—that I'd be home in time to fix dinner."

"Oh, we can call him, too," said Bonnie, and she looked like she was already warming to the idea. "He's always invited."

I laughed to hide my discomfort. I was hoping to get Jules alone so I could make my outrageous suggestion, and if she said yes, maybe get started on the bikes right away. I doubted Bonnie visited her daughter much in the garage, but the last thing I needed was for Charlie to come up here and stumble across what I was doing.

"I already put the steaks in the fridge to thaw," I said. I saw out of the corner of my eye Jules's face fall a little, and I added, "But next time. I'll be down here a lot the next few weeks, you'll see. You'll probably be sick of seeing me." I realized I felt energized by the thought. That odd feeling of familiarity was percolating through my system now, and it occurred to me that this was a nice change from being in Forks—I wasn't so far away I could be in danger of forgetting it existed, like if I went to Jacksonville, but it was nice to be away from the overpowering constant reminders of everything inevitably associated with pain.

Bonnie chuckled good-naturedly. "Next time, then," she said.

As she went back to her book, Jules and I started toward the door.

Jules's expression had brightened back up at what I'd said about being around a lot, and I was relieved. Even though she'd invited me down, I'd been a bit worried she might be a bit weirded out by my stopping by so soon. But she seemed legitimately happy to see me.

"So," she said as we came to a stop by the front door. "Something in particular you were looking to do? I just finished all the indoor-chore stuff, and I was going to go out and work on the car, but we can do something else if you want."

Afraid Bonnie might still be able to hear us, I said, "No, that's cool. I'd like to see this car I've heard so much about."

We headed outside, Jules leading the way toward the garage. It was still raining like mad, and I could only hope the pounding would drown out our voices.

Before I could work out exactly what to say to start in on my insane idea, Jules glanced back at me, dark eyes twinkling.

"Steaks, huh?" she said.

I stared back at her, nonplussed. Her grin widened and she tapped her temple.

"I have built in radar. I can always tell when someone has something to hide—any particular reason you don't want your dad up here?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Sounds like you have some experience keeping things from parental authority figures."

"Course," she said bracingly. Not to be deterred, however, she said, "So what's the story?"

I sighed. "There really are steaks," I insisted. Then I grinned a little sheepishly. "And there might just be something I sort of decided I want to do, and Charlie would probably lock me in the house for the rest of my high school career if he got wind of it. And I was sort of hoping you might help me with it."

Jules's face always had a few smile lines, but she looked more delighted than I'd seen her at this. "Oh yeah?" she said eagerly. "I like the sound of that."

We were to the garage now. A thick set of trees and shrubbery blocked the view of the place from the main house. It looked as though Jules had put it together herself, little more than couple of preformed sheds bolted together with the interior walls knocked out. We stepped inside the shelter, and I paused as I laid eyes on Jules' work in progress, raised on cinderblocks.

"It's a Volkswagen," I said, recognizing the distinctive design, though that was about all I knew. "What kind is it?"

"An old Rabbit," said Jules, walking around me and thumping the hood. "A 1986, classic. She's almost done, just a couple of things to tweak here and there."

She shook her head. "But enough about that—what's this plan you've got to rebel against the police chief? Spill."

I leaned against the wall, arms folded. "So, you build cars," I said. "But what do you know about motorcycles?"

Her eyes glittered. "A little. One of my brothers had a dirt bike, and I helped him work on it sometimes."

"Well," I began. "The thing is, I just got a couple of bikes, but they're junk. I was wondering if you'd be able to get them going again."

Jules's dark eyes gleamed with anticipation at the challenge. "I could try."

"Of course," I said, and I pretended to make my voice stern, doing my best military impression, "you'll be sworn to secrecy. You can't tell anyone what we're doing. Charlie's got this thing about motorcycles. He turns purple when you get him on that topic. Bonnie can't know either, because if she knows, she'll pass it on to Charlie."

Jules's grin stretched to the very edges of her face. She suddenly reached over and punched me on the arm. "People think you're such a nice guy, Beau, but you're really a rebel, aren't you?"

I grinned back, and the muscles in my face I hadn't been using for so long were starting to feel a bit sore, but I didn't care. "You caught me."

Jules casually draped an arm over the hood of her car, and hooked a thumb through the belt loop of her cutoff jeans. "Sure, sure, I'm totally in. When can you bring the bikes up?"

I winced, a little embarrassed. "Actually, they're in the truck now."

Jules seemed honestly happy at that. "Great. Then let's get started. We'll bring them around now."

I glanced back in the direction of the house. "Think your mom will see us?"

Jules laughed and, picking a tool from a rack on the wall, twirled the loop around her finger once before she caught it deftly, holding it like a weapon. "Naw, we'll stay incognito."

As we started out, my conscience started to needle me a bit.

"Hey," I began slowly. "This is going to be a lot of work. I can pay you. Whatever you think is fair."

Jules looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed. She settled with a mixture of both. "Seriously? Did you seriously just say that?"

"I just thought—" I began.

"I don't get paid to help my friends," she said. Then she added, "Besides, you let me in on the secret of the conspiracy, Beau. If I want your money, I'll just blackmail you."

I grinned again. "Guess that makes sense. How about this then? I've got two bikes, but I only really need one. They were going to throw them both away. What do you say if we work on the two of them, and when we're done, you take one and I'll take the other. Then I'll have someone to practice riding with."

"That's cool with me," Jules answered, and though her tone was nonchalant, her arms swung jauntily as we walked.

Remembering the time I'd had trying to load the bikes, with only one of the Marks girls to help, I went to help Jules get them off the truck bed, but as I spent a minute awkwardly trying to find the right grip, she finally waved me away.

I watched in shock as she hoisted each of the bikes with surprising ease. The sleeves of her black shirt had been sheared off, leaving her upper arms visible as the muscles of her arms pressing out against the skin, then relaxing back as she set each one on the ground. I couldn't help but stare.

She covertly brought both the bikes back around to the cover of the shrubbery.

Once they were safely out of view, she looked both the bikes over with an experienced eye.

"They actually aren't as bad as they look, I think I can work with these. This one here will actually be worth something when I'm done. It's an old Harley Spirit."

"Okay," I said. "That one's yours then."

"You sure?" she looked over the bike one more time, then glanced at me, unable to suppress her excitement.

"Sure," I said. "You're doing a ton of free labor for me, right?"

Her grin widened, but then her face suddenly turned grave. "Can I ask you a serious question, Beau?" she asked.

I hesitated, uncertain. "What?" I said cautiously.

Her grin was suddenly back. "You really don't know the first thing about cars, do you?" she said slyly.

I laughed with relief. "Not a thing."

"I sort of figured. Whenever I mentioned that master cylinder, your eyes kind of glazed over. I can always tell car-people from non-car-people."

I shook my head. "I'm definitely a non-car person."

Her eyes flickered back to the bikes, and for a moment she looked uncharacteristically anxious. "You know," she said slowly. "These will probably take some new parts. That'll be expensive."

"No problem," I said. "I've got some money saved up. For college, you know." To heck with college, anyway. I didn't plan to leave Forks, so what did it matter? "We'll just shave a bit off the top."

"It'll probably take a while," she warned. "You won't get bored just sitting there while I work?"

I shook my head. "No way. This is my project, right?" I grinned. "Besides, it's hard to get bored with a freak of nature around."

Jules's uncertain look disappeared, and she grinned more widely than ever. "Just don't touch. My shop may look like chaos, but I know exactly where each of my tools are, and if you try to organize, I won't be able to find anything. I've seen your house, I know you're a compulsive organizer."

My grin was sheepish. "Guilty."

As we wheeled the bikes inside the garage, to get out of the rain which was barely a drizzle now, I couldn't help but marvel at my luck. It wasn't every day you found the perfect person to be a co-conspirator in a scheme like this. Like a gift straight from heaven.

Now, it was time to break some promises.