THE DEMON SAID: "HUMANS ONLY SPEAKS TRUTHFULLY IF THEIR SILENCE ISN'T PAID ENOUGH."

"I've got a bad case of A.D.D.

I've been this way since seventeen

I've got a fucked up brain and a really bad attitude

I blame it on my drug abuse..."

Just Like You, Falling In Reverse

Darkness was falling when Set reached the alley he lived in. On the way to his own spot, he kissed his box-neighbor goodnight—with a couple of direct kicks in the butt.

The man turned roughly on his carton-bed and shot him an accusing stare. "Where've you been off to, slacker?" he grumbled in his friendly voice.

Set pulled out a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and put it to his lips, giving one to the other. "Light me, geezer."

The old fortune-teller snorted, but searched his own pockets to find a lighter and stretched his hand out. For a fleeting moment, the flame lit up the dark corner of their alley and a weight lifted off Set's chest. It wasn't the best place in the world but, for him, it was home.

He took a deep, slow puff. "Took me all day to sober up."

Isaac frowned. "After all the trouble we went through to get your ass off of that shit, are you using again? Don't you have any consideration for this ol' man?"

Set clicked his tongue, but quietly sat beside him. Isaac was getting old and never forgot to point it out. Bullshit—if he was as delicate as he said, he would've already been dead off in the street.

The rough wall pressed against his back helped him to stay sharp, but Isaac's judging eyes were still glued to his face. It was to avoid that kind of stare that Set had left his family. After all, he knew only one way to deal with it—spit out the truth nobody wants to hear until silence remains the only option.

"Well, didn't have much choice," he admitted unwillingly.

Set couldn't bother to explain he was talking about the meds he had been shot up with at the police station. The question had him already on edge. He was done with drugs and there was no going back. His disorder had already proven to be stronger than any other shit. Sure, every time he'd been high he'd experienced a temporary peace, but as soon as he'd hit the ground, he was back to square one. In fact, more messed up with new troubles and no cash. That's why the little detour left him pretty pissed.

Still, it was undeniable that Isaac had some rights to nag him. Even if the old man claimed to see the future, he had been living like a hobo long before Set came around. When they first met, it was winter—a season Set wouldn't have survived without help.

"Did you blow all the cash I gave you on junk?" Isaac pressed.

For a moment, Set was reminded of his father—a flash of a face melting into countless others. His memory was too foggy to even remember his own family. Frustration was building up inside of him, heightening his uneasiness. The feeling of guilt for being a troublemaker made him even more restless. His blood heated up and his eyes burned—no way he could bear another emotional talk. It had to be quick. He nervously sucked in the smoke.

"Police took everything," he hissed.

"Oh boy, you're such a piece of work," Isaac mumbled, shaking his head.

Then he waved Set off and, with a kind smile, handed him a brown paper bag. The young man took it, carefully, and looked inside. He didn't know which kind of face he should make, so he didn't try to make any. He felt like a goldfish when human fingers tapped against the tank's glass.

"Eat, brat. It's on me. Today was a good day," Isaac said.

Set's irritation faded as he tossed away the cigarette butt, strangely aware of the fact that he was starving. He eagerly peeled the burger out of its paper wrap and, bite after bite, almost forgot about his shitty day.

"Some guy stopped by this afternoon," Isaac said with a bright smile. "He gave me twenty bucks asking about a certain Sybil Vain. He dropped his card, said to call him if I hear anything." He took a deep breath as if he didn't like the topic, then searched his pockets and handed over the card.

Set finished his meal and glared at the little business card. Compared to the filth of the alley, the pristine white cardstock seemed alien. At the top, small letters in precise black handwriting read: information about Sybil Vain aka The Oracle. In the middle, the professional print referred to David Green, editor-in-chief of Evening Times, Glasgow, and ended with his email and telephone number.

"Do you know anything about it?" Isaac asked, giving him a suspicious look.

Tension built up in his veins again and Set took a deep breath. A sweet exotic scent filled his nostrils. Right away, the divine image of Sybil Vain came back to his mind. His mouth dropped open but he wasn't ready to talk. He balled up the paper, stood up and tried a shot at the dumpster at the end of the alley. It did nothing to ease his nerves. Bent forward, he turned towards the man and looked down at him.

"You reek," he pointed out, the last word slowly dragging out of his mouth, while he loomed over Isaac.

"And you're no better." The man frowned back.

"Oh, but you reek of him," Set countered in the same devilish voice.

Isaac sniffed his worn-out jacket and his mouth twisted downward. "No idea what you're talking about. He kept his distance. Guess whatever you took today didn't do you any good."

Set placed a hand over his grey head and for minutes he kept still in that posture. Nothing happened. He lifted the hand and silently stared at it as if it could reveal some mind-blowing truth. Again, nothing happened.

That was it. It didn't work.

Set wondered if the Shining White Being had freed him from his curse. Slowly, he managed to bring his gaze back to the old man and there he kept it, unmoved.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Isaac snapped after a while.

"Where've you been today? Who else did you see?" Set asked back.

"I really don't get you," the man muttered, frowning.

"So, is Sybil Vain paying well?"

Isaac shook his head and let out a meek sigh, but Set kept pressing his charges and sharpened his tone.

"I'm sure he does," he hissed.

He wasn't the type to waste time explaining the obvious. He could've been crazy and confused but he was not a fool. One of his rock-solid certainties was that nobody paid for nothing. It meant that David Green was confident about Isaac knowing Sybil Vain, that's why he tipped him in advance.

Another unshakable truth was that nobody accepted the minimum wage without bargaining unless there was a much bigger gain in letting go. Thus, it was safe to assume that Sybil Vain had already paid – and paid well – for Isaac's silence. Moreover, Set knew they had a connection already.

It was all good and well, he couldn't blame his old friend for picking all means to survive and even sharing with him. What pissed him off was Isaac doing that behind his back.

"Tell me where he is," Set demanded, determined to take the bull by the horns.

Ignoring him and faking peace-and-quiet, Isaac lay back in his box. As if there was no point listening to the delirious blabbering of a madman, he turned around and adjusted to sleep.

"Sure thing. Tomorrow, boy," he muttered, shutting his eyes.

Set crouched beside him. Again he stretched out his hand and put it over Isaac's resting head. He leaned over the old man, close enough to hear his breathing. This time, something stirred in his guts. The doorbell of his personal hell chimed and his inner demon awoke. Set held back the familiar urge of violence and watched as the symptoms of his disorder arose—building up layers of tensions and chaos - getting ready for a huge breakdown. Soon his eyeballs itched and started burning. A throb sprang from his gut and curled around his spinal cord. It released an electrical current that crawled under his skin, making his body shake, turning into an unbearable heat pouring out of his hands and feet.

When that happened, he was done for.

The energy flow made him blind to reality, stuck in visions nobody else could see. Chaos stormed in his head at full speed. As fast as the beats of its thunder and lightning, sudden flashes of clarity were cast over unknown memories of places, faces, and voices – causing countless emotions to blow through his heart.

In the beginning, Isaac's head was unchanged and unmoving in the eye of the storm. Set clung to it as the last bit of his sanity and suppressed the need to smash it to the ground and make the spinning stop.

Then, Isaac morphed under his fingers. He turned into a stranger looking like a teacher and right after that, he became a woman from the past. Set closed his eyes. Focused on the vortex inside of his head instead of the transfiguration outside of it. It took all his willpower not to succumb to his confusion—to his emotions. Surprisingly enough, his determination to protect Isaac led him to control the devastating side effects of his disorder.

The vortex slowed down at once. It felt like somebody had hit the slow-motion button.

That's when he saw it.

Somewhere in the midst of the storm—in that big river of impressions, situations, memories and faces—there was a still place. In that calm space stood the Shining White Being. He was unmoved, and empty, and attractive like a magnet. Set's attention was drawn to his dark, bottomless eyes. Then, those abysses sucked in all the chaos, leaving him alone with the sound of his heavy breathing.

As he came back to his senses, Isaac was just Isaac as if nothing happened. However, something had irreparably changed. Set had learned that the Shining White Being could definitely treat his disorder.

"I have to see Vain," he spelled out in a trance-like state.

Isaac kept still—his back turned on Set—pretending he didn't hear.

"I have to see him again," Set pressed in a lower voice.

The wretched fortune-teller sat up. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth bent in a severe twist. His face looked older and scarred by time.

"Did you meet him?" he asked carefully.

"Yes."

"And what did he say?"

"Ask Isaac about me, he is the fortune-teller living at the intersection of 5th Avenue and 64th street. I'll be waiting for you." Set mimicked Vain's mellow voice.

"Linda was right. It's not a good idea," Isaac muttered, concern showing on his face.

"Didn't ask your opinion, gramps," Set countered.

The beggar sighed, running his hand over his face. "I was informed that he personally sent somebody to me and—strange as it is—it must be you." He took a deep breath before concluding. "I'll tell you what you need to know."

Set's nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. Clenched fists at his friend's betrayal, he swallowed back his curses. Instead, he gave a firm nod.

"Face to face, I've met Sybil Vain only once. But he's no ordinary man—he's gifted in many ways and he can truly see the future. They call him The Oracle because he's changed the lives of many people, and I'm one of them. Not only, I've been living out of the predictions he shared with me." While Isaac spoke, his mouth took on a bitter twist. "There's no telling why the Lord put you in his way, but there's one thing that's sure—if somebody can change God's plan, that's him." The old man hesitantly reached out and grabbed Set by the shoulders. "So, whatever happens, try to be on his good side."

Isaac searched Set's eyes, and the grip tightened. He held onto Set like a father who was prepared to send his own son to the frontline.

Set kept still, shriveling in his own inadequacy. Even if, for the time being, his disorder seemed to have subsided, he didn't know how to deal with affectionate behaviors. He just couldn't remember. For almost a decade, the past events and lives of whomever he met had been flooding into him, becoming like his own, whenever he indulged in touching. That's why his memories were blurred and he couldn't sort them out. He was fucked up to the core.

"I hope to see you again," Isaac whispered, letting go of the other's shoulders to wipe his shaking hands on his worn-out trousers. He fished a tiny piece of paper out of his right pocket and handed it to Set. "Here's the address. It's appointment-only, so you've got to call before." The old man shook his head, as if he already knew Set wasn't going to do it.

Then, his hands cupped the young man's face. Set's brows furrowed, but he tried to keep his stance in spite of the weird situation.

"Listen, Set. You go there and just get the romance book. Mister Vain said it's on the desk. Inside, there's a message for you."

Set's eye roll earned him a pinch.

"You go, get the book, and leave." Isaac gave him a grave stare.

Set nodded and slowly looked away. He couldn't bear that tension any longer. His chest had tightened and even the dark alley seemed to have shrunk. He swallowed deeply and held his breath.

Isaac cleared his throat and stepped back, his arms falling to his sides.

"Be sure not to screw it up and, please, try to stay in one piece," he murmured, before turning back to his flattened carton-box.

"I'll go tomorrow. Goodnight geezer," was the best Set could answer, before flopping down to his own box.