Divine Intervention (524 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Magicaddict (View user info) at 2005-08-01 11:14:33 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"No...nooooooo!"
From being transfixed and standing on the edge of Charing Cross road like some statuesque interpretation of gross surprise, Peter Stevens sprinted the barely fifteen yards to where his wife lay motionless in the middle of it.
So long had he stood stock still taking in the scene, that by the time he got there the driver of the truck that had hit her on one side and sent her flying into the row of parked cars on her other was already out of his vehicle and crouched down beside her, shaking her and shouting. Sliding to a stop, Peter shoved him out of the way and took his place.
"Don't shake her! You could paralyse her!" shouted someone from the crowd that was fast gathering around the scene.
Some part of his brain that was still functioning rationally registered that they were a little late for that, as he looked into her eyes and saw the blatant lack of anything living behind them.
"Jen?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked again. Still nothing.
"JEN!!!"
No response.
"No...oh God, no...Jesus...Jen, wake up...please wake up...fuck..."
The truck driver, looking more than a little the worse for wear himself, had picked himself up from where he'd been unceremoniously dumped and moved back to the other side of the still motionless woman. He was shaking like a leaf.
"I tried to stop...I didn't mean to..."
"SHUT UP!!!" came Peter's not particularly coherent response, as he went back to coaxing his wife to wake up, tears streaming down his face.
"Jen...please...don't do this...oh God, don't let her go...please..."
Someone in the crowd got out their mobile and started to call for an ambulance, despite their feeling that maybe it was a little late to save the woman who had been hit - more to be appearing to do something other than just stare. Peter continued his desperate missive, rather ignorant of anything else that was going on. He seemed to be trying to make her wake up through sheer force of will. It wasn't working.
"Oh shit, Jen, don't do this...please...oh God, please...don't let her go ...just let her wake up...shit..."
"Don't stress," she'd laughed as she let go of his hand and jumped off the curb, "They're better off stopping - I'm not worth the insurance claim!"
She'd always been like that, willing to take risks crossing a road that even he, with what he considered his superior traffic dodging skills, balked at. She was always at her best when showing him up in some way - unashamedly full of life and laughing at his conservatism - and whatever people may have thought he thought of it, he loved her for it. He loved her for being the perfect answer to every question he had ever asked of life. He loved her for being the picture of everything he had ever considered beautiful, and being happy to share it with him without question. He loved her for how she had persuaded him to follow his dreams rather than accept the more mundane alternative, and he loved her for being willing to go along with them - not that she'd needed much coaxing. In fact, the thought occurred to him through the delirious haze that was sinking down upon him, there wasn't actually anything about her that he didn't love her for. He'd always jokingly said that jaywalking in London would be the death of her - at the time, he hadn't meant it literally.
"Jen, oh God, please...wake up...take me instead...please take me instead...don't take her..."
"You care to repeat that, friend?"
The question, asked in a Creole drawl, was unusual enough in content and sound to snap him out of his rambling and look up.
There was a man between him and the line of the crowd - just older than middle aged, and wearing an immaculate if slightly old-fashioned suit. There were a few lines around his eyes, and his tightly curled hair was beginning to turn grey, but he had a look of excellent health about him, and a strange twinkle in his eye, as if he knew something the world didn't. The only thing missing would be a saxophone, said his still mostly incoherent mind, and he would look for all the world like a New Orleans jazz man about to go on stage. It was amazing the kinds of things the imagination came up with when it was put under stress.
It also occurred to his fevered subconscious that this was the way angels tended to appear in films. He really wasn't sure where that one came from.
"What?"
The man smiled. "I said, would you care to repeat what you just asked?"
It was at this moment that Peter realised that around him, everything had stopped. People were frozen in the acts of walking, talking, drinking from takeaway coffee mugs...cars were stationary, silent as if switched off. There was no sound, no movement anywhere whatsoever except for himself and the man in the suit, the twinkle in whose eyes looked mischievous in his kindly face.
This was too weird.
"What do you mean?"
"I meant," said the man as he walked over and crouched down beside Peter, "can you verify for the record what you just asked God to do for you?"
Still disbelieving, Peter reached over and passed his hand in front of the face of the truck driver, as motionless as everyone else, to no response. Everything else really was frozen in place. The knowing little smile on the man's face was growing into a grin.
"What did you do?"
"Me? Nothin'. That was the work of...someone entirely different. However - it's not the answer to my question."
The man was patient but insistent. Peter thought frantically about what was going on, looking down at the body of his wife. Who was this man, what had happened, and why did he have to be doing it now?
"I said," he answered eventually, looking back up at the man, "take me instead."
"I thought so. You sure you mean that?"
"What?"
"Are you sure you want to go in her place? Have you actually thought about what you're askin', or is it a spur of the moment decision?"
Peter stared at the man.
"Look, who are you? What the fuck is going on?"
The man winced slightly.
"I'm just someone doin'...community service, and please don't say that. There are any number of words that sound good when said - and that ain't one of 'em."
"I'm sorry," Peter replied, "I'm a little...
"...Shook up. I know."
The man straightened with a groan, and offered Peter his hand. After a couple of moments, he took it and stood, still looking at the body of his wife, as he heard the man again.
"I'm here to help you decide whether or not you actually do mean what you say - whether you actually do want to die in her place."
He waited until Peter had changed from staring desperately at Jen's body to staring incredulously at him before continuing.
"If, in the end, you do, we may have a proposition for you."
Peter passed out.
___________________
"Wake up buddy - rise and shine."
He did, with a start, an immediately wished he hadn't.
He was in the middle of an expanse of white, so bright that he couldn't tell where the floor met the wall met the ceiling, or even how far away they were, or even if they existed. The floor must have been, he thought - he had to be lying on something. The man was there too, crouched down beside him, a friendly look on his face.
"Welcome to limbo. You're frozen in time, and space. How's it feel?"
Bizarre, thought Peter. He once again took the offer of the man's hand to help him up.
"What are we doing here?"
"It was somewhere for you to recover in. Brace yourself, headin' back."
The world quite literally sprung back from all sides in a very disconcerting way. They were in a park, under a tree - Kensington Gardens, if his eyes weren't deceiving him and that was indeed Marble Arch in the distance. People walked past, paying the two of them little or no mind. Peter spent a few moments plucking up the courage, and then asked the question he'd wanted to ask almost since meeting the man.
"Are you an angel?"
The man chuckled.
"In a word, yeah. Call me Gabe."
Peter's eyes widened even further than they had moments before.
"Gabriel? THE Gabriel?"
The man laughed again, louder and more openly.
"Hell no, Not him! D'you have any idea how long you've had to be doing this kinda thing to be ordained as an Archseraph? Damn, we're talking thousands of years, boy, thousands of years...and he's really busy. There ain't many that get visited by him - you got to be on top of something big - something, well, really big."
He walked over and leant against the tree, arms opening in a shrug.
"No, I'm just your regular, run-of-the-mill kind of angel. In life, I was Gabe Turner. Now, I'm just Gabe, and I've been doin' this for no more than seventy years."
He waited for this information to work its way through the more rational portions of Peter's mind before continuing.
"C'mon, we got a lot to get done - fortunately, we got all the time in the world. You ready?"
"For what?" asked Peter. Gabe's eyes twinkled again.
"To see whether or not you actually do want to trade. Remember the combination of circumstances that brought you here?"
Realisation dawned on Peter's face. With little else to do, he nodded in agreement.
"We're goin' on a little tour of history. Nobody you see will be able to see or hear you, and nothin' you do will make 'em. It'll be an image, not the real thing, you understand?
Brace yourself again."
This time, Peter was able to do so as the world dropped out of focus disturbingly, then snapped back in. They were in a different place, and Jen was there, alive.
Peter almost screamed, but Gabe put his hand up and motioned for him to be quiet. He looked at her again, and realised how much younger she appeared. This was clearly from quite some time in the past.
She was in her school uniform and walking along the road in Birmingham that Peter recognised as the one between her old high school and the bus stop she used to travel home from. He put her age somewhere around seventeen, just before...
"Just before she met you," chimed in Gabe. "Right now, she doesn't even know you exist."
Just before her eighteenth birthday, then. Peter sighed - even though she was younger, she was every bit as beautiful as all of his other memories of her. Her honey blond hair was held back in a ponytail almost to her waist, and her round face held patches of freckles on her cheeks, and black-rimmed glasses framing brown eyes that even at this age had a slight hint of mystery about them. She was the cute girl he had fallen for before she became the beautiful woman he had married.
"However, that's about to change."
That puzzled him - he remembered where they'd met, and it wasn't here. He was about to turn and ask Gabe what he meant when he saw something that made his head spin, even though somewhere in his mind he knew he had to be expecting it.
He saw himself, equally as young.
He was walking round the corner of the block across the road from her, head buried in a book - the script for Guys & Dolls, if he remembered correctly. With his paying attention to the manuscript, he hadn't noticed her, or anyone else for that matter. She, however, had just happened to be looking in that direction.
"Watch her," said Gabe. "This is good."
Her walk slowed, and then stopped, as her head turned to follow him. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she was surprised, and she stood there watching him until he disappeared round another corner and out of sight. She stood for a moment longer, then turned and carried on walking, a little slower and still wearing the same slightly surprised expression on her face. Peter couldn't believe it.
"She never told me she did that. I mean, she said she knew it when she first saw me, but I thought she meant when we first met."
"I ain't surprised she didn't. I imagine it was one of the most personal moments she'd ever had. Still, nice to know you turned her head at first sight, ain't it?"
The two of them watched as she walked right past them, still looking slightly surprised.
"But...why?" asked Peter. "I wasn't exactly much to look at. She was the one with the pretty face, even at that age."
Gabe laughed out loud.
"Damn...d'you really think she fell for the way you look?"
He shook his head.
"Some people are blessed, Peter, with the ability to know the love of their life the moment they see 'em. They can't explain it, but for some reason they can pick a face out of a crowd as the one they're goin' to marry. It's a rare talent, but she had it.
That night, she called her boyfriend and broke up with him. You know that?"
"Yes," replied Peter. "She told me about it - he was almost in tears."
"Broke his heart at the time, but I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that he had a new girl not more than a week later, and another about a month after that. Heads up, Peter - here we go again."
The world blurred and changed again. This time, Peter recognised the situation and smiled.
"You know where we are now?" asked Gabe.
"Birmingham central library, coming up to a quarter past two in the afternoon on Saturday the eighteenth of April, nineteen ninety-eight?"
"Take a cookie, go to the top of the class."
He watched himself, sat at a table, reading the same copy of Guys & Dolls as he had been before. It was six weeks until his first opening night with the university musicals society, and he was still having trouble learning Nathan Detroit's lines. As usual, he was so engrossed in what he was reading that he was slightly startled when addressed.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Peter's smiled broadened - he remembered this moment in as crystal clarity as he was experiencing it right now. He watched as his former self looked up and froze, transfixed, mouth slightly open. For a couple of seconds, everything else ceased to be as he was held utterly by the gaze of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, eyes innocent and hopeful. It was all he could do to nod, then remember what she had asked and quickly change to shaking his head, gesturing for her to sit down. She smiled, sat down across from him...and with that all thoughts of learning the script flew straight out of the window.
"Strange to see it again from this angle? Peter?"
Gabe snapped his fingers around the just as transfixed real Peter, waking him from his reverie.
"What? Err, yes. Very strange."
"Her work didn't last long either, did it?"
"We were talking within minutes."
"How long for?"
"Hours."
Gabe wore a knowing smile.
"Four hours and thirteen minutes to be precise, durin' which time she told you she was also a wannabe actress, would be joinin' you at the university next semester, and found out the dates of your current show, promisin' as a fan of it to come and watch."
A nasty thought occurred to Peter in the light of what he had seen earlier.
"Was any of it true?" he asked. Gabe nodded.
"All of it. You already know she'd been on stage for almost as long as you. It's one of the things that subconsciously swung it when she first saw you...natural affinity and all that jazz. All true, except the part about her being a fan - she hated Guy & Dolls - but right then she'd have come to watch you paintin' a wall."
"She did, the following year."
"I know. Anyway, shall we?"
Blur. Change. Now tears did come to Peter's eyes.
The final scene of West Side Story the following year, as his Tony met her Maria for an all too brief final liaison before being shot in back by Ben Masters' Chino. As she collapsed in tears over the body of her fallen lover, the rest of the cast drifted on, picked up his body and carried it off, leaving her on stage with her grief.
Having been together for four months before the show started, they had been able to work a level of intimacy into this scene that even people who didn't know them thought spoke of real chemistry. They had practised it constantly, and it had picked up the award for best scene in a stage production at the university awards that year, along with best actress for her and best actor for him - an unprecedented treble.
"It was that night, wasn't it?" asked Gabe.
Peter nodded. That night, surrounded by the rest of the cast at the after-show party, that he had gone down one knee and outright begged her to marry him. The two of them had cried openly with joy, to tumultuous applause, when she said yes. They had held each other like they couldn't let go for a good couple of minutes, while everyone else quickly took the hint and found something else to be doing.
Peter was surprised that, rather being shown the finest moment of his life as he saw it, he had been shown the moments just before it. Before he could ask why, however, Gabe carried on.
"I don't need to show your proposal and her acceptance. That moment is etched onto your memory in better detail than any image could ever convey."
"Are you reading my mind?"
"Yeah. Ready to move on?"
At least he was honest, Peter thought, nodding.
Blur. Change.
The dreamy smile vanished from Peter's face in a dismayed instant. They were in the student digs they had shared with Ben and Sarah, also engaged at the time, about a year later. He watched, appalled, as he and Jen screamed at each other as if they were mortal enemies. This, unfortunately, had nothing to do with acting.
"What are you showing me this for?"
"This ain't no pleasure cruise, Peter. Informed decision, remember? Now shut up and listen."
So he made himself do so - made himself relive the worst argument they'd ever had, over the trifling subject of her father's low opinion of him. He had been worried about the lack of stability associated with Peter becoming a professional actor, a fact that Peter had resented bitterly. Jen had tried desperately to make the two of them see eye to eye, but she had been caught between two oversized egos and had had to resort to her own considerable one to stand up to them. The ensuing rows had been incandescent, culminating in the one he was watching here.
"You're not even TRYING to understand! You arrogant fuck, I'm trying to HELP!"
"FUCK you, and your SLAVERY to your father! If you're going to pander to him, there's clearly no fucking room for me."
"Pete!"
"No, FUCK OFF."
With that he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him and sincerely hoping she wouldn't be there if and when he decided to come back.
"Who's fault was it?"
"Mine."
"Entirely?"
"...No."
"Oh?"
"She was obsessed with pleasing her father, regardless of what others may have thought. She refused to accept any other stance than his, and clung to it even when it was entirely irrational. I hated it at the time."
"What was her father like?"
"Domineering, overbearing, still thought his daughter was a child. He thought I was a wash out, and tried everything he knew to drive a wedge in between the two of us."
"Looks like it worked."
Peter looked ill. "How much longer do we have to watch this?"
"Not much longer - this is what we're here to see."
Now alone in the house, Jen had collapsed onto the sofa, crying like a baby. She remained there for minutes, making Peter feel sicker with every second. Eventually, she calmed down and sat up, looking like she was trying to find the courage to do something difficult, or even dangerous. He then watched as she picked up the telephone, called home and quite calmly told the man that she had lived for twenty years in the shadow of that she and Peter had had an argument over his attitude, and that it had to change or he would never see her again. She hung up the phone with her father still yelling at her down the line, took off her engagement ring, stood up and left the house.
Peter was stunned. The realisation of what she had done for him made his knees go weak - there was standing up for someone and standing up for someone, and she had just done so to the person he thought she valued more than just about anyone else. The thought again crossed his mind that he did not deserve such unconditional love from someone he could do such things to, as he looked at the now empty scene in the living room.
"That's how I found it when I came back."
"How long did you spend lookin' for her?"
"Not long, actually. She was testing me, leaving it up to me to see if I still loved her enough to try to find her."
"No surprise then."
"I spent the worst eighteen hours of my life calling everyone we both knew. Eventually I found out who she'd trusted the information to, through a combination of mutual friends."
"One short trip up to Edinburo'..."
"...And there she was, waiting at Waverley station when my train pulled up."
"Strange place to end an argument."
"I went through the entire proposal again. When she finally took the ring back, we held each other for what felt like hours. I don't think I stopped saying sorry throughout."
"Six minutes, forty-three seconds. Long apology."
Gabe looked serious. "Look man, I'm sorry to have to do this next one, but we got to. Okay? Get ready."
Blur. Change.
"Oh God, no."
The living room of their flat in London, not twelve months prior to present day. Jen sat at the end of a sofa, holding Peter's head as he lay along its length, crying like it was the last night of the world. As if Gabe needed it, Peter felt himself explaining.
"I had received the news earlier that day - of our four parents, no-one had thought that my mother would be the first to go."
"Everyone has their time, buddy."
"How is she?"
"Fine and dandy - doin' well."
"Good."
They stood and watched the unchanging scene for several minutes, Gabe looking on sympathetically, the real Peter lost in thought as he watched, before he had the nerve to speak again.
"She never gave up on me."
"Never?"
"Not once. I was a wreck for three months, and she flat out refused to lose me to it. Whether it was sitting here cradling my head for eighteen hours straight, or incessantly following me when I told her I wanted to be alone, or sitting down next to me and telling me that she wasn't moving until I did - she took the weight of my entire nightmare on her shoulders, and never put it down once. The number of times she had to physically drag me out of a mood...I'm surprised it didn't kill her."
Gabe wore a wry smile. "Not far off - she once described it as 'like towin' a car through treacle' to one of her girlfriends. Doin' that can't be good for you."
"But she never stopped dragging - that's the point!" Peter's enthusiasm was tangible. "To carry on loving me, despite everything I did, the...idiot I was - she was stronger than anything I could hope to be. She was...perfect."
"It hurt her," said Gabe, looking compassionate. "She never told you, but she was ground down by you every bit as far as you were by your mother's death. She was as surprised she made it through as you were."
"But she did." Peter was lost in dreamland again. "There was no-one...but no-one...other than her that would have got half way."
"Maybe so, maybe not, but she did, and that's the important thing to remember from this. Hang on, we're outta here." Gabe sounded gruff. Peter, just holding back the tears, nodded in readiness.
Blur. Change.
"Back where we started?"
Peter watched as he and Jen ran, laughing with joy, down the steps of the Queen's Theatre - thirty minutes before the accident that killed her.
"Our first London show - we'd got into Les Miserables together."
"Only the chorus."
"It didn't matter - we'd got in together. That was our life set up." Peter's demeanour changed from happy memory to sad realisation. "It's amazing how things can change in half an hour."
For a few minutes, he and Gabe followed him and Jen through the London crowds in silence.
"Yeah, well," piped up Gabe eventually, breaking the silence. "You know what came next, which brings us up to date..."
"...And I've made my decision," replied Peter. "If ever I needed reinforcement of what I said, I've just received every bit of it I'll ever need. When do we-"
Gabe raised his hand, cutting Peter off.
"Hold on, Peter. We ain't done yet."
Peter looked quizzical. "What else is there?"
Gabe looked him in the eye, the twinkle still there but deadly serious.
"Peter, we can't be sure of what you're about to see, but we tend to be able to predict the future with somethin' like ninety-six percent accuracy, and you wouldn't even be close to makin' that informed decision of yours if you didn't see what I'm about to show you."
"You're going to show me my future?" asked Peter incredulously.
"As close as we can be certain to it. As I said, we ain't absolutely sure, but I'd be very surprised if the one thing you're goin' to see won't happen exactly as we show it to you. You ready?"
Taking into account how serious Gabe looked, Peter took a moment to prepare himself, and nodded.
Blur.
Change.
"What...the..."
Peter recognised where he was, and what he was watching - he just couldn't, or didn't want to, understand why he was there. They were in the auditorium of the Hammersmith Apollo on the evening of the Laurence Olivier awards - as important to British theatre as the Oscars were to American film.
He turned to Gabe, just as incredulous as before. "I'm going to get an Olivier?"
"Not just any Olivier. Watch, Peter - watch your life's dream come true."
He watched - slightly delirious - as John Owen-Jones, the best thing to happen to musical theatre in years, walked out to the lectern. John was legendary already for award winning performances in Les Miserables and Phantom of the Opera, to say nothing of what he had managed to do between the present day and whenever this future was. When he spoke, Peter recognised the same wonderful oratory that had graced his portrayals of Valjean and Erik, and that he had once hoped to emulate.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the nominees for the award of Best Actor in a Musical Leading Role are as follows..."
You have got to be fucking joking, thought Peter, as the list was read out, punctuated at regular intervals with polite applause from the crowd.
"...Tom Wilson as Mickey in Blood Brothers, at the Phoenix Theatre; Michael Fargoe as Nathaniel in The War of the Worlds, at the Dominion Theatre; Peter Stevens as Erik in The Phantom of the Opera, at Her Majesty's Theatre; Philip James as Fiyero in Wicked, at the London Palladium; and Will Freeman as Luther in South Pacific, at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane."
He opened the winner's envelope as Peter sank to his knees, his head in his hands.
"The winner of the Laurence Olivier Award Two Thousand and Twelve, taking a night off to receive his award and perform for us this evening, is..."
"Oh dear God, why show me this?"
"...Peter Stevens, for..."
Whatever else was said was drowned out in a thunderous roar as the crowd showed their appreciation for the choice. The opening strains of the Music of the Night ascended through the auditorium, and Peter raised his eyes to the stage, tears streaming down his face, to watch himself walk out in full regalia as the part that his dreams of playing drove him to become an actor in the first place.
He sang, beautifully. The emotion and power in the delivery of the song was everything that he had hoped he could bring to the role, and for the four minutes that the stage was his, the audience was every bit as enraptured as his earlier self. They watched in a stunned silence as he and the song made magic together - finishing in an almost miraculously pure final note that seemed to hang in place forever, while the orchestra resolved the famous five-chord progression around it back to the tonic major - before roaring their approval once again.
As the future Peter took his bows and headed to accept his award, the present Peter turned to Gabe and fixed him with an angry, determined stare.
"Let's go. Now."
Gabe didn't need telling twice.
In an instant, they were back at the scene of the accident, frozen in time. Jen had just started to cross the road, everything about her shouting life in all its forms, motionless as she was. Gabe turned to Peter.
"One more question, Peter. Have you considered what it'll do to her, if you go through with this? You've always said that you can't live without her - have you thought about whether or not she could learn to live without you? It's all very-"
This time, it was Peter who put his hand up to silence Gabe.
"Yes I have. You've seen her, and I've known her. We both know that she was a stronger person than I could have ever hoped to be.
No, I couldn't live without her - I wouldn't know where to begin - but it's been shown so many times that she is not me. She would find it hard - at least I hope she would - but she had more character in her little finger than I have ever possessed. I never quite understood why she fell for me, but I do know what I owe her, and...whatever...the cost, it's a pitifully small price to pay for the seven years of bliss that she gave me. There's no choice to make whatsoever."
A smile spread across Gabe's face, as Peter continued.
"What do I do?"
"It's down to you," Gabe replied, pointing to the tableau in front of them. "At this moment, you got just enough time to dive across the road and push her out of the way - or you could change your mind and stand there. I ain't here to judge."
Peter looked down for a moment, before reaching out and taking Gabe's hand.
"You - and your colleagues - have given me a chance to repay her, and for that...I can't thank you enough."
They shook hands, and Peter turned away, walking over to Jen's statue.
"Goodbye Jen - I love you, now and forever."
He kissed her cheek, and walked over to the hole the scene that he was to fill, glancing over at Gabe, already receding into the crowd, eyes twinkling with anticipation.
"Whenever you're ready."
___________________
He was moving as soon as everyone else was, racing across the road after his wife. He reached her as she turned, a horrified expression on her face, to confront the oncoming truck as its brakes squealed in their unsuccessful effort to stop it and avoid the impending collision. In the moment of their contact, he was able to breathe "I love you" as he pushed her forward with all his might before taking the full force of the truck almost head on.
He flew backwards into the row of parked cars a little further up the road than where his push had sent her head first into them, knocking her out cold.
He lay there, the last semblances of life ebbing from him, as people rushed over to check the pair of them. The last thing he saw, as his body started shutting down senses in a desperate attempt to conserve energy, was Gabe, standing just forward of the crowd and smiling at him. The last thing he heard was one of the people over Jen saying she was alright, just knocked out.
That'll do nicely, he thought, as Gabe reached out his hand to him, beaming like he'd just found a long lost brother.
"C'mon boy - there's someone up on high wants a word with you..."
User Reviews
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2005-10-27 08:17:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This one was, in my rarely humble opinion, outstanding!