A story about... Forgiveness © 2000 Damon Diehl, Marg Frey, Greg Gbur, Bryce Graves-Hurst	GREG	MARG	BRYCE & DAMON
				DAMON & BRYCE
			BRYCE	MARG & DAMON
				DAMON & MARG
			DAMON	MARG & BRYCE
				BRYCE & MARG

     I tied his arms behind his back while he was still stunned, and dragged him to his feet. His eyes were still glassy and staring; he wasn't conscious, really. Walking him over to a nearby chair, I sat him down. The chair was a heavy, wooden type, good enough for restraining a man. I made sure his arms went behind the back of the chair and then went to work tying up his feet.

     He was making small noises now, groans and incoherent mutterings. By the time I had secured both his feet to the legs of his chair, he was starting to say my name.

     "J-Jack? Jack?"

     I looked around the room absent-mindedly, and eventually found where I had left the duct tape. Tearing off a strip, I slapped it across his mouth. As he looked up unsteadily at me, I wagged a warning finger at him.

     "Enough."

     That all being done, I went to the window, lifted the curtain, looked out. I couldn't see anyone on the motel balcony, so I turned back inside and walked over to the dresser by the bed. I had left my knife in there, and I pulled it out, let its blade shine wickedly in the light.

     He was still trying to talk, even with his mouth sealed shut. I turned to him.

     "Enough already," I said scoldingly. "I'm trying to forgive you."