Nick sits alone at an empty bar in an empty inn writing on the pages of his small notebook. When he's done he frowns, rips out the pages that he wrote and crumples them in his fist. On his way out he throws the wadded up paper in the trash and makes his way down the street.

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As much as I try, as much as I try to deny it, one simple truth remains. I am still human. Trapped in a prison of dead flesh, I long for things that belong to the living. Simple things like, the taste of a good bourbon, a nice thick rib-eye tender and rare, the feel of the breeze upon my skin, the scent, the soft touch of a woman. This cold, unfeeling body is unable to enjoy these things like it once did. Then there are the more complex things, desires like companionship, love, hell even just somebody to listen, to be there after a long day and let me know everything is going to be alright.

What makes it so hard is that it's all so tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach. It's like I'm watching my life play out through an unbreakable window and am constantly taunted by that which I cannot have.

Don't get me wrong, I try to live my life, un-life, whatever you want to call it. I go through all the motions. I work, I talk, I drink, I smoke. A mimicry of life, a mockery even, putting on airs, a joke here, a smart-ass remark there. Everything is always alright with old Nick, even if it ain't. Even running a detective agency because I don't know what else to do, except maybe for what I've always done. Survive, trudge along even though I should be resting.

There IS a woman though, there's always a woman. Maybe my life plays out more like the radio shows and pictures than I thought. I'm drawn to her like a moth to the flame. She, however confuses the hell of out me. Close one moment, distant the next. Playful one minute, serious the next. Difficult to get a read on her, but then I suppose I've never been the best at reading women. Still, I find myself looking forward to every little moment I see her. I know it's dangerous, I know I've no right to expect anything. Feelings, things I haven't experienced since my death stir within my chest. She reminds me that I am still a man. I don't dare to hope. Experience has taught me that hope only brings more pain, but like a moth I can't help but bask in her flame. If I don't fly too close, maybe I won't get burned. Then again, maybe it's already too late.

Everything is alright with Old Nick, just smile and wave for the crowd.

Sometimes, you're down in the dumps. Sometimes, you're so down, you don't think anything will pick you up out of that whole.

Then one day you hear something so horrible that it's a wake up call. Yeah, you might be dead and down in the dumps, but there are just some things in this world that can't stand. Even if you don't know how to approach the matter at hand.

It's even worse, when the person doing that horrible thing was a friend. It's enough to make you re-evaluate your life decisions back all the way until you were born.

What does one do when you've found that the devil has infiltrated your life in such a fashion. What do you do when the devil has those close to you wrapped around their little finger.

It certainly would have been better to go on not knowing what I know now. I know for certain I can't let things stand the way they are.

Sometimes, somebody is just doing something so bad that you have to intervene. Of course, I have no proof other than what they told me themselves, and walking up right behind them and making an attempt to blow their brains out would be foolhardy at best.

My problems? I guess they seem small in comparison.

This new information, I'm going to need some time to process it. Maybe get some help. This isn't something a man just rushes into blind.