He sat down on a wooden bench facing the river, took a deep breath, and surveyed his scenery. Lights from houses and buildings, way across on the other bank, twinkled on as dusk descended. The river, normally a murky green-brown, darkened to take on the color of swirling oil. The faux turn-of-the-century, green gaslights dotted along the path flickered to life, bathing the area in gentle, gold light.

Yes, this would do well as his last image of this earth. He could close his eyes and imagine slipping into the river, to be dragged under by currents and dissolving into the cool blackness.

Upon hearing that thought, he panicked. Was he really considering this? Was that the loud voice again or was this him? Truly him. His truth. Maybe it had come to this because without his career and without his Orelia obsession what did he have, but nothing.

The idea though had merit, and he told himself this might be the only way to rid himself of her and the pain in his chest every time he thought about the loss of his success.

It was only as he took a final glance around to check if he was alone before bringing out the gun, that he saw he had company. At first, he told himself he’d made a mistake, that his mind, so close to losing all threads of any sense had manufactured a mirage. He seemed so real though that he soon dismissed that idea and decided it really could be him.

If it was, that begged one question: Why was Morris sitting here by the river?

Then the bossy voice which he’d begun to hate, replied, “Why wouldn’t Morris be here, in this exact spot, at the crappiest moment of your life?” Said moment being one tick past can’t-take-this-shit-anymore.

He might be here to help William pull the trigger. Wouldn’t that be fun and dandy? Despite the dark and somber moment, William laughed out loud at the idea of Morris explaining he’d like to handle everything for his clients, suicide notes included. “Remember, William, you signed a contract. I get fifteen percent of everything. Forever. Even after you pull that trigger; that’s a binding deal, buddy.”

Wait a minute. What if this is like that soppy Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Crap-Crap Life?” The one where an angel is assigned to save the life of the poor sap played by Jimmy Stewart. The bumbling fool convinces the Stewart character his life really is wonderful. Yahoo, yippidie-doo, and they all lived happily ever after.

Maybe fate has a twisted sense of humor and this was Morris’ chance to redeem himself by proving to William It’s a Wonderful Career.

Well, no he wouldn’t buy into that. He wasn’t here to save him. He probably wasn’t here for William at all. That was just his own crazy imagination on fire from the stress of facing reality.

So if he wasn’t here for William, then what was he doing sitting on that bench instead of sipping cocktails in the green room or taking manuscripts from wannabes after his scintillating presentation? Maybe it wasn’t even him. But, it sure appeared to be him even from this distance. Well, he could spare a few minutes to see how this little twist eventuated. Why not? He had nowhere else to be.