R. M. Haldon, the guy whose characters would rather die than bow down. And not just die in some simple manner, like by the clean stroke of a headsman’s axe, but who would still keep their secrets even if it meant being drawn and quartered. Who would willingly sacrifice themselves for principle. In the Swords and Shadows books, men and women cursed their killers with their last breath. A few even managed to come back from the dead (a tad worse for wear) to wreak revenge.

But as Derrick looked down at the creator of those majestic characters, he realized Bob was really no better than anyone else. The people in grocery stores or Starbucks, the kids Derrick went to school with. Those people wouldn’t die for a noble cause. They wouldn’t even look up from their phones. It was why Derrick would rather read or LARP. To believe, just for a moment, that things were different.

Bob was an imperfect vessel, but he was still the vessel. “Your words are so much better than you are. You write about heroes when you’re nothing but a coward. Do you want me to let you go? Then you have to write.”

“But I can’t,” Bob whined. “Don’t you see, Derrick? That’s why I came up with this dumb idea in the first place. I have writer’s block!”

“That’s just a trick your mind is playing on you.”

“What do you think I write with, Derrick?” Bob tapped his temple. “With my mind. So if it decides to stop cooperating, I can’t do anything about it.”

Derrick felt like Queen Jeyne when people didn’t take her seriously. They soon learned their mistake. “Oh, I think there are ways to change your mind. Your mind lives inside your body. In fact, it needs your body to exist.”

“What do mean?” As Bob shrank back, Derrick felt himself expand. He had found the old man’s weakness, and now was the time to exploit it. He’d say anything that would make him write. And hopefully words would be enough.

“Of course, we won’t hurt your fingers. We won’t hurt your eyes. We won’t hurt your head because we need that brain of yours. In fact, I’m sorry I hit you in the head. I got carried away.”

“What are you saying?” The old man’s voice shook.

“I’m saying that while your mind might need your body, it doesn’t necessarily need your whole body to write. For example, you don’t need your knees or your feet or your ankles to write. You don’t need your legs.”

“Oh my God.” Bob went very, very still.

Derrick saw himself reflected in Bob’s shiny eyes. Tall, dark hair, sharp features. He looked far more like one of the heroes in Swords and Shadows than Bob did.

Or maybe he looked more like one of the villains.