The rain stings my eyes and I have to steady myself against the handle of the shovel. The pain is getting worse. It is as if a very wide, very blunt stake is being driven into the base of my skull.

I don't see the world anymore. I see shapes and color and the people I know, moving about in my soul room as if the real world were going on in there. Or maybe my soul room is the real world and only now am I able to distinguish all this—the rain and the trees and the mud sucking at my shoes—as pretend; the unreal world. The farce.

I decide on a place as good as any, far enough into the trees that no one should see me. I try with no success to wipe the rain from my face. Gripping the wooden handle in both hands, I start the edge of the shovel into the sodden dirt and begin to dig.

One, two, three shovels full of mud I scoop aside. Sharp fingers of pain continue to throb inside my head as I work. Such a shame to pile up so much muck on the shining white floor of my soul room, but it will disappear before long. As soon as this task is finished and I can return home to a warm bed, then the mud and the rain will go away. Maybe it will all go away.

Seven, eight, nine shovels full of wet soil. The earth is drier and tighter down there, and I have to stomp the blade down into the dirt with my heel. Though the wind is chilled, I'm definitely beginning to feel warm beneath my clothes. My shirt clings to my skin, weighted down by rainwater and perspiration.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen shovels so far. The rain is stinging my eyes again.

//What are you doing, aibou?// says the sweet and strong voice in my mind at that moment. In the world out here, the voice is oddly disembodied, an exquisite agony floating around somewhere in my already aching head as my shoulders strain with the effort of digging. In my soul room, the voice is physically and immediately behind my shoulder. The hair pricks on the back of my neck, but I don't dare turn around.

/I'm digging a hole,/ I answer.

Fifteen, sixteen shovels now. It's wide enough, but for my purposes I must make it deeper. I will not leave a shallow grave for the rain to wash away.

//Indeed?// coos the voice. //Let me see.//

The pain is a pair of white-hot fingers hooking suddenly into my eye sockets. My fingers tremble violently; I fumble and nearly drop the shovel. Gasping, I lean heavily against the splintery handle.

/Don't do that!/ I snap at the other presence in my mind, and feel more than see Yami recoil. /I told you to stop prying away the control! It hurts too much…/

The voice murmurs some languid apology.

/Never mind,/ I say. /Just leave the control with me where it belongs. And let me get back to work./

Seventeen, eighteen shovels full of mud. The rain might actually be letting up.

//Why are you digging a hole, aibou?// he asks.

For a wonderfully giddy moment I remember why I have come. But he cannot be bothered by the truth just yet. I'll have to lead him on for a while. Until I'm finished digging.

/I have to get rid of something,/ I tell him instead.

//Oh? And what might that be?//

His voice is the cold and beautiful muscle of a snake coiling itself around my body, gently caressing, ever clamping my airways shut. I'll black out if he doesn't let me breathe soon.

/Something that's killing me,/ I answer.

Nineteen, twenty shovels full.

//Truly?// he exclaims, managing to sound shocked. //Tell me what this thing is; I will help you to be rid of it.//

I realize I'm laughing out loud and quickly stifle the sound. Anyone passing by in the park may not be able to see me through the darkness and the rain, but they could probably hear me if I get carried away.

/No, Yami,/ I reply/I don't think you will help me this time./

Twenty-one, twenty-two. The pain is nearly into my jaw now. This might be the worst it's ever been.

//I will always help you, aibou,// he says as if he means it. //Always.//

I grit my teeth and continue to dig. It's getting difficult. There are rocks and the shovel refuses to cooperate. I must be streaming with sweat although the rain just swallows it up. I'll definitely need a shower when it's over.

Twenty-three, twenty-four.

//Aibou? Aibou, why do you not answer?//

There is something strange in his voice. Something…tolerant. I ignore that out of necessity. The rocks and the hard soil are breaking up beneath the blade of the shovel.

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

//Aibou?//

Not now. I'm so close. I'm almost there. Don't talk to me now.

Twenty-seven. Twen—

His dark laughter makes me freeze mid-motion. The blade is buried in the dirt down there, the rain is in my eyes again, and Yami is laughing at me. The sound is infuriating, and yet it still sparks a thrill of pleasure that tremors downward through my chest and ends somewhere near my bladder. God, I hate it.

//Why don't you put that thing down and go home, aibou. Enough of this nonsense.//

In my soul room, I can feel his hand on the small of my back, silently urging me to comply with what suddenly seems to be perfect logic. I've gone rigid. I won't be talked out of what I came here to do. I set my jaw, ignoring the fire in my brain, and keep shoveling dirt.

Twenty-eight.

//Now, now, little one. Be a good boy and do as I say. We both know you will not do this thing.//

/I will,/ I say, and it comes out as more of a whimper than I'd prefer.

Twenty-nine.

He chuckles. In my soul room—the real world—he is very close. I can feel the heat of his body against my back. His arms slip around my torso—the throttling muscle of a snake—and when he speaks his voice is right next to my ear.

//No, Yugi,// he says. //You will not. No matter how much you think you want it, you cannot be rid of me.//

Damn it!

I try to throw him off and drive the shovel into the dirt again. My eyes are flooding with something other than rain. My head is splitting right open and the only thing I can think is, oh God, how I can't hate him. But it hurts so much…

Thirty.

"I can, and I will," I say aloud, not caring anymore who might hear. I just have to end the pain. "I will bury you!"

//No, Yugi,// he insists, and there is just enough hurt in his voice to be noticeable. //No, aibou. You need me.//

Snap, goes the tiniest shred of control I'd had over the situation.

I must have overestimated the force required to bury the blade of the shovel in the dirt; my wrist tingles with a numbness I assume will be pain once the adrenaline has worn off. Splinters as wide around as toothpicks are embedded in my palms, but I don't feel even these. The handle of the shovel trembles with the remnants of my blow.

"What?" I scream, and the fire kindles bright and hot inside my head. "Need you? I need you? Why exactly do I need you, Yami? I've had nothing but heartache since you came into my life!"

//You are mine.//

"Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT! Stop saying that! I'm so sick of hearing you say that!"

Sometime during the last few seconds I dropped to my knees in the mud. My hands are clamped down over my ears, although I know it will not keep his voice out. The fingers boring through my brain are driving the hemispheres apart. I hear a strangled sob out there in the world, and realize to some dismay that it came from my lips.

/It hurts, Yami. It hurts so much. I just want it to be over. Whatever it takes not to hurt anymore, I'll do it./

I nearly choke at this point. If the pain doesn't kill me, letting him go just might. Tears are streaming from my eyes and mingling with the rain on my cheeks.

/Even if it means getting rid of you,/ I manage to say at last, /I'll do it./

He takes a moment gathering his reply, and I can almost wrestle the fire down into something manageable. When he speaks again, his voice is very sad.

//Oh, Yugi,// he says, //this will not do.//

Fury.

"You!" I scream, the knife of pain wrenching inside my skull. "You did this to me! You made me what I am! I can't even look at my own reflection without seeing you! All this time I spent with you only drove me further from my sanity. I don't even know who I am anymore. You did this! You did it, and I can't decide which is worse, the ghost of a person I've become—or the fact that I can't bring myself to hate you for it!"

My fingers grapple with the chain around my neck and wrest the Millennium Puzzle from its place against my chest. He is suspiciously silent within the waiting corridors of my mind that seem to reverberate with the throes of my agony.

"So you think you know what's best for me?" I sob into the darkness of the world out there and the bright walls of my soul room in here. "I've finally figured it out! Watch this, Yami—it ends now!"

My arm swings a wide arch and the Millennium Puzzle shatters upon contact with the blade of the shovel, still half-buried in the dirt. The breaking of the puzzle is like the fracturing of my skull. The pain increases exponentially, and I am left gasping and sobbing for breath.

I stagger to my feet and take the shovel in hand once more, ignoring the mad protest in my head. It's difficult to stay upright, and shoveling is out of the question. Instead I manage to brush some of the loose dirt from the pile into the pit where I know the Millennium Puzzle lies in ruins. But even this small effort has aggravated my condition.

I cannot see the golden puzzle pieces beneath the mud. I cannot even see the trees or the darkness, or my soul room for that matter. I am beyond the threshold of pain. All I see is white; my knees buckle and give out.

And I sleep.

—I wake and do not know how long I have been gone. My head is wonderfully thick and hazy. A single glance at my surroundings from beneath heavy lids tells me I am in my bedroom. Beyond the walls of my soul room—or within, I don't know which—are my familiar trappings, my dresser, and closet, and bedroom window. And my bed, for that matter. It's warm and snug and I never want to leave.

Momentary panic draws the breath from my lungs.

Perhaps it was just a dream. Perhaps last night in the trees with all the rain was some beautiful hallucination. With a funny feeling I can't quite place, I sit up in the covers to find that I am wearing the same outfit. It is even soiled and grass-stained in the knees, proof of the evening's exploits.

I must have somehow dragged myself home, although I have no memory of it. Maybe my father came looking for me and saw me passed out in the mud. It would explain my miraculous reappearance here. And it would mean all of last night really happened.

Sunlight is pouring in through the closed blinds, and for the first time I realize the gravity of my situation: I am free. There is no pain burning through the center of my brain. There is no terrible throbbing in my head. There is, in fact, an odd sort of fuzziness up there. But I am free. And he—

Oh.

That's right; he's gone…

But something is off. A strange whisper I know I should recognize prompts me to turn my head. My gaze lands on the nightstand and the perfectly reassembled Millennium Puzzle lying there. The joints are caked with dirt, the chain is gone, the golden loop is cracked and missing a small section. But the puzzle is whole. And it is here. And he—

Oh God.

//That's right, aibou. Did you really think it would be so easy?//

This can't be happening. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes, and I stuff knuckles into my mouth to keep from sobbing. He's still here. But if he's here, then the pain—

//I said I would always help you, aibou.//

His voice is the silken pelt of a jaguar against my skin. I want so badly to be lost in the velvety folds of the sound, the warm vaults of flesh and hide and violence.

The shred of control is slipping away; it's already been ripped from my splinter-strewn hands. Horrified, I sit gnawing my knuckles while tears flow down my cheeks. This is a nightmare. It is a miracle. I feel my numbed mind begin to succumb to the purring jaguar, and already I have forgotten why that might be a bad thing.

//I have helped, aibou. You feel no pain.//

And it is true.