“Jimmy! Come on! I wanna see your tattoo!”

Jimmy realized there was no way out, so he gave in and let Sandrine take his arm, and Sandrine pushed his sleeve up and positioned it—and herself—so she could see what the tattoo was. And she saw that it was an assemblage of letters. In Old English-style font:

“Villian,” read Sandrine.

“Villain,” Jimmy quickly corrected. But Sandrine didn’t really hear him. Because she was staring at the tattoo and reading it again to herself.

“Who’s Villian?” asked Sandrine earnestly.

Jimmy shook his arm free of Sandrine’s grasp and pulled his sleeve down, covering the tattoo, and testily corrected her: “Villain.” And realized that he was going to have to explain his tattoo. And that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

“Huh?” asked Sandrine, looking for clarification.

“Villain. It’s supposed to say ‘Villain.’”

“Well, it doesn’t say ‘Villain.’ It says ‘Villian.’”

“I know. I spelled it wrong—”

“What?”

“They spelled it wrong.”

This wasn’t quite true. Jimmy had gone to Inkredible Tattoos in Caribou not long after Sandrine had disappeared on him. And he had brought Liv, one of the tattoo artists there, a printed image of what he wanted his tattoo to be.

And the image was supposed to be the word “Villain” in an Old English font. But—the printed image Jimmy had presented to Liv was spelled wrong. Because Jimmy had spelled it wrong when he had typed it up. And instead of “Villain,” it read, “Villian.”

But Jimmy’s eye corrected the mistake every time he read it, so he only ever saw “Villain.”

But Liv saw “Villian.” And figured it was the name of someone who was very special to Jimmy. And she showed the image on the printout to him to make sure it was what he wanted his tattoo to be.

And Jimmy confirmed that it was.

Because his eyes only ever saw “Villain,” and not “Villian.”

So Liv proceeded to emblazon “Villian” on the inside of his right forearm.

And, a couple of hours later, she was bandaging Jimmy up. And after giving him instructions on post-tattoo care, she asked, “So, who’s Villian?”

Jimmy looked confused. “Huh?” he asked.

“Who’s Villian?” Liv repeated, pointing to her handiwork—which was covered by the bandage.

“Huh?” Jimmy repeated.

“Villian—your tattoo—who is she?” Liv asked again, handing him the printout he had given her.

Jimmy took the printout. And finally saw what was actually on it:

“Villian.”

And he turned the color people turn when they’re about to puke.

“You okay, pal?” asked Liv.

“Yeah…” Jimmy broke into a cold sweat.

“So, who is she?” asked Liv, all smiles.

Jimmy managed to lie to cover for his mistake. “She’s … she’s my girl.”

“I figured.” Liv smiled. “That’s sweet. I like her name.”

Jimmy smiled and nodded and got all hot and embarrassed.

“You must really love her—to get a tattoo of her name!”

“Yeah.” Jimmy was drowning in embarrassment.