The little shack out by the lake smelled strongly of tobacco, marijuana, and incense. Zane stood in the center of the shack, scowling down at the blind man who sat at the table in front of him.

"They said you could help," the 'slinger explained.

"Aye, dey prolly deed. But do ya tink I c'n help jus' like dat?" the man snapped his fingers, eyes staring straight ahead.

"What do you need then?"

"I need ta know 'bou'cha, I need ya ta tell me everytin' der is t'know 'bout'cha, your past, d'way tings are now, how ya got ta where ya are now, ya seein'?"

Sighing, Zane pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, setting his hat down between him and the man. He spoke, told the man everything there was to know about him. Starting from his childhood, all the way up until he reached the point where he was now, in front of the man. It was all said without hesitation. And surprisingly enough, that in itself felt better.

Zane had never confided so much to one person. Not a soul alive save for the voodoo man knew much about him. The hours ticked away as Zane told his story, night fell into day, day into night. Not once did the voodoo man stop him and go to rest, only sat and listened.

Finally, Zane finished.

"Ya been through a lot in da years ya been walkin' on dis earth, Zane."

"Can you get rid of it?"

"No. Dat's somethin' ya can never be rid of. It's clingin' ta your soul now, der ain't no way without dyin'."

"But you said-" Zane started, cut off by the man lifting a bone thin finger.

"I said I could help ya, never said I could get rid o'da ting. I can seal it away for ya, make it weaker, give ya control o'it. But if ya don' act wisely, Zane, den it'll take control o'ya instead. Den ya won' be worryin' 'bout anytin', you'll be dead. Ya seein'?"

"I understand. What do I need to do?"

Smoke swirled upward, forming a cloud beneath the ceiling. Zane sat in the chair opposite the Voodoo Man, his arms crossed impatiently over his chest. The gunslinger?s hat rested on the table between him and the man, his dark hair tousled from its constant use. His face was covered in stubble, dark eyes narrowing on the constantly grinning man before him.

?Ah, Gunslinga, ya got to relax if ya want da Voodoo Man ta help ya.? Said the Voodoo Man, rotting teeth bared to Zane with his cheerfully widening grin.

?It?s been a lot more than two days.? Zane replied. ?And I?m still waiting for you to make it weaker.?

?Zane.? Said the Voodoo man, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. ?I tried ta make it weaker. Ya have hatred in your heart, hatred das too strong. It feeds off o?dis, ya seein???

The deathly thin man leaned forward, propping an arm on the table between him and the gunslinger.

?Ya need to be happier, Zane. Go find sometin? dat?ll do dat. A can?t help ya with all dat darkness in your heart. Dat?s not its fault.?

Zane growled angrily under his breath and stood, snagging his hat up from the table. He returned it to its rightful place upon his head and turned toward the door.

?Go home, Zane. See dat woman o?yours, enjoy da little things in life, once ya start appreciatin? dem, den ya come back ta me.?

The gunslinger grunted and jerked the door open, stepping out into the crisp air. He let it close behind him while his back was turned to the lake by the Voodoo Man?s hut and he started back toward the city.