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In the middle of the very first night alone, Tim hears an awful sound. Not gnashing, but a gnawing so loud it carries through the wall tent into the caretaker's cabin. Now gnawing on its own, in clear daylight with whomever or whatever visible in the act is acceptable. It doesn't evoke any imagination. You see it, you believe it, and after acknowledging it you move on or do something about it. Gnawing in the middle of the night; where many a bear rambles and ambles by, even leaving a mark or two... way up on the lodge's long legs holding up the large deck overlooking the lovely lake--takes on a different sound.

Misery loves company and the Magus is miserable. His demise, compromises all those around him or attached to him. He drags them all down by his own death sentence. It's his alone; yet, but by the sheer weight of his height held in the Order, all below will end beyond mend. His sentence fences in all who stray his way. He makes you sign your soul away. Back in the day, every member of that cult come Order is initiated in almost the same way. Upon completion of the initiation ceremony, the initiate is surprised by the sudden presentation of a black book: crooked like a nook on whoever partook.

Like a jingle giving him a terrible tingle, the single fact about the awful act is there's no way to detract or retract from it - he's unable to undo what's done. He thinks if going back in time gave the traveler the ability to avoid an act then all that follows in regards to the fact will no longer be intact. Timmy thinks about this a lot, and really wishes that if he can change one thing in his life, it's this. So many bad things happen after the fact and it all stems from that one act.

He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes.... "I can live with the hunger for a bit...but the thirst I can't." He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by.

In Lucifer's mind, there are legions of demons bound to his will. His will is to unleash the hell humans have created with all their wrongs on earth so that everyone gets their due. His rue shall be done come kingdom come. His will is to right all wrongs including his own. To return to heaven and to make heaven a place on earth. After all, he's not just the Lord of Hell, he's also been given dominion over earth.

This idea of vindicating his life, rife with strife, moves him. He's endured just about every wrong a human can, to the point of losing his mind. He will no longer hide. He will set aside his fears and fight and make things right. He must right them all and then write about them all to help others do the same.

With that fleeting fancy passing, he begins his second stint at putting his life down in print. Fueled by coffee, tobacco, and the momentum of what he’s already written, he continues to vent until he’s spent. He then transfers his entire existence electronically, from his computer onto paper by way of his prehistoric printer. When he prints out all he’s written, he’s stupefied to see the story line literally has a line drawn, as in dashed, if not gashed through each word.