Scene+3

=Miranda- 1st draft=

As the wind blew, and leaves rustled, Christopher walked up the old stone steps of St. Elizabeth’s Church. Father McKinley was outside, gazing at the fall breeze. He greeted Christopher, his old, tired eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled, “Christopher, my boy. How are you my son?” As they walked into the church, Christopher saw men muttering prayers to themselves. The sun was setting, and the few that lived at St. Elizabeth’s were getting ready for nighttime. Christopher cleared his throat and started, “Father, he’s back. Livingston is back. He took Rose. She’s dead,” he said with a sigh, tears starting to form at the edge of his eyes, “First mother. Dear old mother. Livingston injected her with this-this- horrible virus. For weeks she suffered, and he just let it happen. No regret, no nothing. No antidote, no magic tea, no emotion! He just let her die! Then Johnny old boy. That poor man did nothing to him, and now he’s a cripple. He can’t play polo like he used to love. He can’t run with his children. His wife is up to the top with his medical bills,” Christopher stopped for breath, and went on again, “Afterward, he made me lose my job. He told lies to my boss about money being stolen. The girl at the front desk even told Mr. Templeton, the fat old greedy-” “Not in the church, not in front of G-d,” Father McKinley reminded him. He motioned for them to sit down, but Christopher refused. He went on, “Yes, sorry Father. Anyway, the girl up front told Mr. Templeton that somebody else stole the money, but Livingston always had a way with his words! I even threatened to take Mr. Templeton’s accusations to court, but somehow he talked me out of it.” “Well Christopher, people are that way sometimes. But they have no respect in the eyes of the Lord,” replied the Father, looking at the altar as he said this. He pressed his shirt down, and squirmed a little on the pew. His deep voice went silent, and Christopher went on, “Father, have you even got a glimpse of Livingston lately? Well of course not, Christopher….” he went on muttering. “Actually, son, I have. His soul was ripped out of his body by a demon. He has no compassion, no sense of being, no emotion anymore, except for anger. He is barely recognizable. He, he’s not Livingston, the sweet little boy with corn on his lip, but Livingston-,” the Father said this with a snarl, “the soulless demon with no heart. His goodness has left him. He told me it started when your mother passed; he felt a change in him. That was about a year or two ago.” “Do you think there is some light in him, any hope Father?” “I’m not sure Christopher, we’ll have to see.”

= Miranda- 2nd draft =

As the wind blew, and leaves rustled, Christopher walked up the old stone steps of St. Elizabeth’s Church. Father McKinley was outside, gazing at the fall breeze. He greeted Christopher, his old, tired eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled, “Christopher, my boy. How are you my son?” As they walked into the church, Christopher saw men muttering prayers to themselves. The sun was setting, and the few that lived at St. Elizabeth’s were getting ready for nighttime. They stepped farther into the church, and Christopher smelt the smell of old wood, the calming smell of his childhood days when he and his friends used to go to church. Christopher cleared his throat and started, “Father, he’s back. Livingston is back. And…Rose. She’s dead,” he said with a sob, tears starting to form at the edge of his eyes, “This is worse than what he did to Johnny old boy. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just because Livingston and I had a silly fight, and in his state of anger, he pushed him! Down 3 meters of stairs! That poor man did nothing to him, and now he’s a cripple. He can’t play polo like he used to love. He can’t run with his children. His wife is up to the top with his medical bills. She’s ready for divorce! But if she leaves him alone, he can’t fend for himself! Then I would have to help him. And I don’t know if I can deal with that, along with Rose’s death,” Christopher stopped for breath, and went on again, “Afterward, Livingston made me lose my job. He told lies to my boss about money being stolen. The girl at the front desk even told Mr. Templeton, the fat old greedy-” “Not in the church, not in front of G-d,” Father McKinley reminded him. He motioned for them to sit down, but Christopher refused. He went on, “Yes, sorry Father. Anyway, the girl up front told Mr. Templeton that somebody else stole the money, but Livingston always had a way with his words! I even threatened to take Mr. Templeton’s accusations to court, but somehow he talked me out of it.” “Well Christopher, people are that way sometimes. But they have no respect in the eyes of the Lord,” replied the Father, looking at the altar as he said this. He pressed his shirt down, and squirmed a little on the pew. His deep voice went silent, and Christopher went on, “Father, have you even got a glimpse of Livingston lately? Well of course not, Christopher….” he went on muttering. “Actually, son, I have. His soul was ripped out of his body by a demon. He has no compassion, no sense of being, no emotion anymore, except for anger. He is barely recognizable. He, he’s not Livingston, the sweet little boy with corn on his lip, but Livingston-,” the Father said this with a snarl, “the soulless demon with no heart. His goodness has left him. He told me it started when your mother passed; he felt a change in him. That was about a year or two ago.” “Do you think there is some light in him, any hope Father?” “I’m not sure Christopher, we’ll have to see.”

=Miranda- 3rd draft=

The birds sang a sad tune as Christopher walked toward St. Elizabeth’s Church. He was still in shock because of Rose, and his heart felt empty. He looked down toward the cobblestone, and chose a small peddle to kick around. On his second kick, the peddle fell in a drain, and Christopher kept walking, a little faster. He was eager to get to the church. After a while, he stopped and looked up at the church, and reluctantly started to drag his feet up the old stone steps. Gargoyles looked at him with sympathy, as if they knew what happened. Father McKinley was outside, gazing at the fall breeze. He greeted Christopher, his old, tired eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled, “Christopher, my boy. How are you my son?” “Not so good, Father,” Christopher whispered as they walked into the church, Christopher saw men muttering prayers to themselves. The sun was setting, and the few that lived at St. Elizabeth’s were getting ready for nighttime. They stepped farther into the church, and Christopher smelled the smell of old oak wood, the calming smell of his childhood days when he and his friends used to go to church. Spider webs hung from the rafters, and swayed when the door shut. Christopher cleared his throat and started, “Father, he’s back. Livingston is back. And… Rose. She’s dead,” he choked back a sob, tears starting to form at the edge of his eyes, “This is worse than what he did to Johnny old boy. The poor man… he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just because Livingston and I had a silly fight, and in his state of anger, he pushed him! Down 3 meters of stairs! That poor man did nothing to him, and now he’s a cripple. He can’t play polo like he used to love. He can’t run with his children. His wife is up to the top with his medical bills. She’s ready for divorce! But if she leaves him alone, he can’t fend for himself! Then I would have to help him. And I don’t know if I can deal with that, along with Rose’s death,” Christopher stopped for breath, and went on again, “Afterward, Livingston made me lose my job. He told lies to my boss about money being stolen. There was no proof that I stole any money! But Mr. Templeton, that greedy old man, only cared about money, and even false rumors about money made him go mad,” Christopher held his breath for a second, then let it go. He let him head hang down, and his eyes could not hold back the tears any longer. A single tear fell to the floor, and made a plop. Father McKinley handed Christopher a handkerchief, and sat, as he motioned for Christopher to join him. He refused. Christopher went on, “I don’t know what to do anymore. Livingston has gone too far this time. Johnny and my job don’t even compare to this!” he started to get angry, but he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, “Livingston is a horrible person. Have you ever heard of something as bad as this Father?” “Well, no, Christopher, but some people are always angry, and do horrible things. But they have no respect in the eyes of the Lord,” replied the Father, looking at the altar as he said this. He pressed his shirt down, and squirmed a little on the pew. His deep voice went silent, and Christopher went on, “Father, have you even got a glimpse of Livingston lately? Well of course not, Christopher, of course he hasn’t. Why would Livingston come here…?” he went on muttering. “Actually, son, I have. He came to me… a different being. His soul was ripped out of his body by a demon. He has no compassion, no sense of being, no emotion anymore, except for anger. He is barely recognizable. He, he’s not Livingston, the sweet little boy with corn on his lip, but Livingston-,” the Father said this with a snarl, “the soulless demon with no heart. His goodness has left him. He told me it started when your mother passed; he felt a change in him. That was about two or three weeks ago.” “Do you think that he will get better? Go back to being… himself?” “I’m not sure right now Christopher. But he will be in my heart and in my mind a lot more often.”

= Miranda- 4th draft =

The birds sang a sad tune as Christopher walked toward St. Elizabeth’s Church, in the heart of downtown London. He was still in shock because of Rose, and his heart felt empty. He looked down toward the cobblestone street, and chose a small peddle to kick around. On his second kick, the peddle fell in a drain, and Christopher kept walking, a little faster. He was eager to get to the church. After a while, he stopped and looked up at the church, and reluctantly started to drag his feet up the old stone steps. Gargoyles looked at him with sympathy, as if they knew what happened. Father McKinley was outside, gazing at the fall breeze. He greeted Christopher, his old, tired eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled, “Christopher, my boy. How are you my son?” “Not so good, Father,” Christopher whispered as they walked into the church, Christopher saw men muttering prayers to themselves. The sun was setting, and the few that lived at St. Elizabeth’s were getting ready for nighttime. They stepped farther into the church, and Christopher smelled the smell of old oak wood, the calming smell of his childhood days when he and his friends used to go to church. Spider webs hung from the rafters, and swayed when the door shut. Christopher cleared his throat and started, “Father, he’s back. Livingston is back. And… Rose. She’s dead,” he choked back a sob, tears starting to form at the edge of his eyes, “This is worse than what he did to Johnny old boy. The poor man… he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just because Livingston and I had a silly fight, and in his state of anger, he pushed him!” Christopher stopped for breath, and went on again, “Afterward, Livingston made me lose my job. He told lies to my boss about money being stolen. There was no proof that I stole any money! But Mr. Templeton, that greedy old man, only cared about money, and even false rumors about money made him go mad,” Christopher held his breath for a second, then let it go. He let him head hang down, and his eyes could not hold back the tears any longer. A single tear fell to the floor, and made a plop. Father McKinley handed Christopher a handkerchief, and sat, as he motioned for Christopher to join him. He refused. Christopher went on, “I don’t know what to do anymore. Livingston has gone too far this time. Johnny and my job don’t even compare to this!” he started to get angry, but he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, “Livingston is a horrible person. Have you ever heard of something as bad as this Father?” “Well, no, Christopher, but some people are always angry, and do horrible things. But they have no respect in the eyes of the Lord,” replied the Father, looking at the altar as he said this. He pressed his shirt down, and squirmed a little on the pew. His deep voice went silent, and Christopher went on, “Father, have you even got a glimpse of Livingston lately? Well of course not, Christopher, of course he hasn’t. Why would Livingston come here…?” he went on muttering. “Actually, son, I have. He came to me… a different being. His soul was ripped out of his body by a demon. He has no compassion, no sense of being, no emotion anymore, except for anger. He is barely recognizable. He, he’s not Livingston, the sweet little boy with corn on his lip, but Livingston-,” the Father said this with a snarl, “the soulless demon with no heart. His goodness has left him. He told me it started when your mother passed; he felt a change in him. That was about two or three weeks ago.” “But how did the demon get into him?” “Demons work by finding someone with a lot of pain. They then go into that person’s body, slowly first, then faster with time, and take over their brain and soul. Any sort of pain will do for a demon. Physical, emotional, any,” the Father said this with hand motions. “But will he go back to being himself?” Christopher questioned. “Yes Christopher. He can. You just need to forgive the child. His demon cannot handle love. Only hate. The demon takes over Livingston completely, so there is no aspect of Livingston left! Just forgive him, and everything will be OK again. Livingston will feel no pain anymore once you do, so the demon will either die within him, or it will have no choice but to leave,” the Father informed him. “What are you telling me? To forgive the monster? Livingston is no brother of mine anymore! I don’t care about any demon! Livingston //is// the demon to me,” Christopher spat, and he started to pace. “But you //have// to Christopher! You are the only one who can fix him! Do it, boy! It’s for your brother! Your best friend!”

Rumiko 1st Draft

Christopher struggled with trembling leg to climb up the few stairs of the entrance of St. Elizabeth's Church. His eyes were swollen and he let out a low moan as his tears rolled down his cheeks. He almost tripped but his arms were caught hold abruptly. "Well, dear me what happened to you?" The saint looked at him with a welcoming smile and led him to a bench. "Oh, Father McKinley," whispered Cristopher in fright. "Now, my girl friend was taken. What will he take next?" "Who my dear?" " Livenstone! What has happened to him? Oh, my little brother! He had almost killed my best friend, and now he is left with his poor legs, going around on a wheelchair! Not only that, Father, but he took my job away! I could hear rumors everywhere! I haven't stolen money, and yet Livenstone had convinced everyone that I had." Cristopher shooked, and gasped for air, muttering constantly "oh no..." very quietly. "Christopher, you had said Livenstone. Am I correct?" asked the priest and continued on a s he saw Cristopher nodding his head. "Livenstone had visited me a few days ago." "What... what did he say?" Cristopher gasped. Father McKinley's face suddenly became gloom, and clasped his hands to whisper a few prayers to the lord. He had a hard time to meet Cristopher's curious and trembling eyes, but he stood solemnly and put on effort to give him a faint smile. "He seemed very lost, and the bright him I knew was completely hidden from his anger. There was not even a slight happiness in him. The death of his and your mother was too much for him. He had given up on goodness since the day that the path of heaven was open to her, and had lost his soul to a demon. But Cristopher, never lost hope," he paused, and a bright smile craved his crinlky face, "He is a child given from the Lord, and a treasure you must believe on. Lord must protect him, even from a demon, so hope for his goodness to still be alive." "Father..." Cristopher started, but his words choaked in his throat, and the tears welled up again. "Alright, alright. Let it all come out. Cristopher, I'll have you in mind, and pray to Lord for the bright future of yours and your truly little brother, Livingston. Secondn Draft  Cristopher's legs struggled to climb up the wooden stairs of the entrance of Saint Elizabeth's Church. His eyes were swollen and he wailed as tears rolled down his cheeks. He saw the fire lit inside the church, and the warm heat rushed and crept inside his wool coat. Hurrying his way inside, unsteadily, Cristopher lost his balance but was caught hold on his arms abruptly, yet firmly by the saint.  "Well, dear me, what happened to you?" The saint, Father McKinley, welcomed him with a smile, and still holding on to his shaky arm, he led him to a bench.  "Oh, Father," whispered Cristopher in fright, sweat drenching his face. "Now my girl friend was taken. Ah, what will he take next from me now?" "Who, my dear?" "Livenstone! What has happened to him? Oh my little brother! He had almost killed my best friend, and now he is left with his poor legs, going around on a wheelchair! Not only that, father, but he took my job away! I could hear rumors everywhere! I haven't stolen money, and yet Livenston had convinced everyone that I had." Cristopher gasped for air, and he shook again furiously, as he bega to mutter prayers. "I am very sorry, Cristopher. You've faced so many challenges. Son, you had said Livenstone. Am I correct?" asked the Father and continued on as he saw the poor man nodding his head. "Well the thing is, Livenstone had visited me a few days ago. " "What... what did he say, Father?" Cristopher gasped, looking concerned. Father McKinley's face suddenly became gloom, and grasped his hands to whisper a few prayers to the lord, closing his frailed eyes. He hesitated to meet Cristopher's curious and trembling eyes, but he stood solemnly and put on an effort to manage a faint smile. "Cristopher, how should I say? He seemed very lost, and had eyes of pitch black filled with hatred. There was not even a slight happiness in him. The death of you brother's mother could have been too much. He had given up on goodness since the day the path of heaven was opened for her, and because of this he had lost his soul to a demon. But Cristopher, never lose hope. Thank the Lord for his life to still be safe," he paused, and a bright smile was carved into his pale white face. " He is a child given from the Lord, and a treasure you must believe on. Lord must protect him, even from a demon, so hope for his goodness to still be alive." "Father..." Cristopher started, but his words choaked in his throat, and the tears welled up again. "Alright, alright. Let it all come out, Cristopher. I'll have you in mind, and pray to Lord for the bright future of yours and your truly brother, Livingston."

Rumiko third draft:

Christopher's legs struggled to climb up the wooden stairs of the entrance of Saint Elizabeth's church. His eyes were swollen and he wailed as tears rolled down his cheeks. His mind was completely blank, as if every incident of Livenston seemed to brain wash him little by little, and a huge fear enveloped him. As the fire lit inside the church, the warm heat rushed and crept inside his woolen coat. Hurrying his way inside, unsteadily, Christopher lost his balance but Father McKinley had caught him just in time. "Well, what happened to you, son?" Father McKinley asked, scrunching his furry white eyebrows. He gazed at Christopher in a concerned way, and led him to a bench. "I...I," he stuttered, as sweat trickled his cheeks. He himself didn't know what was happening, and wished it was all a nightmare. "I don't know, Father." Father McKinley nodded his head, and started, "How is your brother, son?" As expected, he saw Christopher trembling. He began to sob, with a stunned expression, and grasped on to Father McKinley's soft cloak. "I don't know! I told you so already!" Christopher yelled, his eyes wide open like an owl. His fist clenched tightly, and Father McKinley squinted by the huge force of his. " Why do you ask? Ask Lord whatever you want. He'll tell you because Lord loves you, but what has Lord given to me?" He paused, horrified and exhausted of everything. "Nothing, but a foolish brother that takes everything away from me!" "Everything?" Father McKinley questioned, and felt relieved as Christopher let go of him. "Yes! Everything! Rose..." The mention of her name had made his throat choke, and him to burst into anger. His flesh became bright red, and the veins on his forehead popped up, as if any moment it was going to break apart. "Father, he killed her! My girlfriend. I thought he was going to finish everything when he hurt my friend. He almost killed my best friend! Unbelievable! And I have barely any money left. My job was taken. All because of Livenston's foolish lie that I had stolen money." He stopped and gasped for air, and banged his head on the bench in front of him, exasperated. "What has he got next to take away from me?" "Son..." Father McKinley began but was caught off by Cristopher. "Where is my brother?" He screamed with all his might, that the church was filled with his echos. Father turned pallid as he heard the question. He muttered a few prayers, frantically, and whispered, "Livenston is not your brother..." "What?" Christopher turned around to look at Father McKinley, dumbfoundedly. "Of coursed he is. I saw him with my own eyes! Though I wish I never had a brother!" "Say, son, what happened to your mother?" Father asked, ignoring what Christopher had said, with a worrisome face. The question hit Christopher, and a pang of guilt strike him suddenly. He loved Father McKinley, but he was starting to feel frustration and anger towards his questions. "What has mother got to do with all this!" he yelled, and grabbed on to Father's neck, tears welling up. "Stop with this all! Don't ask me anything!" "Son... " sobbed Father, starting to feel light headed. "Let me explain it to you, but please let me go..." Christopher stared at Father McKinley, and loosened his grip. "Livenston had lost his soul to a demon..." Father mumbled, and every now and then, he would make sure no one was around. "He had given up on goodness since the day of the death of your mother." This was all news to Christopher, and he began regretting for what he did. "Father..." He started but nothing came out, and cried out, desperately.

Rumiko fourth draft

Christopher's legs struggled to climb up the wooden stairs of the entrance of Saint Elizabeth's church. His eyes were swollen and he wailed as tears rolled down his cheeks. His mind was completely blank, as if every incident of Livenston seemed to brain wash him little by little, and a huge fear enveloped him. As the fire lit inside the church, the warm heat rushed and crept inside his woolen coat. Hurrying his way inside, unsteadily, Christopher lost his balance but Father McKinley had caught him just in time. "Well, what happened to you, son?" Father McKinley asked, scrunching his furry white eyebrows. He gazed at Christopher in a concerned way, and led him to a bench inside the empty church. "I...I," he stuttered, as sweat trickled his cheeks. He himself didn't know what was happening, and wished it was all a nightmare. "I don't know, Father." Father McKinley nodded his head, and started, "How is your brother, son?" As expected, he saw Christopher trembling. He began to sob, with a stunned expression, and grasped on to Father McKinley's soft cloak. "I don't know! I told you so already!" Christopher yelled, his eyes wide open like an owl. His fist clenched tightly, and Father McKinley squinted by the huge force of his. " Why do you ask? Ask Lord whatever you want. He'll tell you because Lord loves you, but what has Lord given to me?" He paused, horrified and exhausted of everything. "Nothing, but a foolish brother that takes everything away from me!" "Everything?" Father McKinley questioned, and felt relieved as Christopher let go of him. "Yes! Everything! Rose..." The mention of her name had made his throat choke, and him to burst into anger. His flesh became bright red, and the veins on his forehead popped up, as if any moment it was going to break apart. "Father, he killed her! My fiancee. I thought he was going to finish everything when he hurt my best friend. He almost killed him! Unbelievable! And I have barely any money left. My job was taken. All because of Livenston's foolish lie that I had stolen money." He stopped and gasped for air, and banged his head on the bench in front of him, exasperated. "What has he got next to take away from me?" "Son..." Father McKinley began but was caught off by Cristopher. "Where is my brother? Where is my //real// brother!?" He screamed with all his might, that the church was filled with his echos. Father turned pallid as he heard the question. He muttered a few prayers, frantically, and whispered, "Livenston is not your brother..." "What?" Christopher turned around to look at Father McKinley, dumbfoundedly. "Of coursed he is. I saw him with my own eyes! Though I wish I never had a brother!" "Say, son, what happened to your mother?" Father asked, ignoring what Christopher had said, with a worrisome face. The question hit Christopher, and a pang of guilt strike him suddenly. He loved Father McKinley, but he was starting to feel frustration and anger towards his questions. "What has mother got to do with all this!" he yelled, and grabbed on to Father's neck, tears welling up. "Stop with this all! Don't ask me anything!" "Son... " sobbed Father, starting to feel light headed. "Let me explain it to you, but please let me go..." Christopher stared at Father McKinley, and loosened his grip. "Livenston had lost his soul to a demon..." Father mumbled, and every now and then, he would make sure no one was around. "He had given up on goodness since the day of the death of your mother." This was all news to Christopher, and he began regretting for what he did. "Father..." He started but nothing came out, and cried out, desperately.

Rumiko Inoue fifth draft

Cristopher's legs struggled to climb up the wooden stairs of the entrance of Saint Elizabeth's church. His eyes were swollen and he wailed as tears rolled down his cheeks. The vivid image of the lifeless Rose was invading his mind and he could still hear the last whispers of her while a huge fear enveloped him. As the fire lit inside the church, the warm heat rushed and crept inside his woolen coat. Hurrying his way inside the empty church, unsteadily, Cristopher lost his balance but Father McKinly had caught him just in time. "Well, what happened to you son?" Father McKinley asked, scrunching his fury white eyebrows. He gazed at Cristopher in a concerned way, and led him to a bench. "I...I" he stuttered, as sweat trickled his crimson cheeks. He himself didn't know what was happening, and wished it was all a nightmare. "I don't know, Father." Father McKinley nodded his head, and started, "How was your day, son?" As expected, he saw Cristopher trembling. He began to sob, with a stunned expression, and grasped on to Father McKinley's soft cloak. "I don't know! I told you so already!" Cristopher yelled, his eyes wide open like an owl. His fist clenched tightly, and Father McKinley squinted by the huge force of his. "Why do you ask me? Ask Lord whatever you want. He'll tell you because Lord loves you, but what has Lord given to me?" He paused, horrified and exhausted of everything. "Nothing but a foolish brother that..." "That...?" Father McKinley questioned, and felt relieved as Cristopher let go of him. "Rose... Rose!" Cristopher hollered, and banged his fist on the bench, shaking it vigorously. The mention of her name had made his throat choke, and him to burst into anger. His flesh became bright red, and the veins on his forehead popped up, as if any moment it was going to break apart. "He took away Rose! He stole my fiancee! Killed her! I... I don't know what do do anymore." His mind was jumbled up and was completely blank. The little brother he had known up till now was a caring and cheerful person, and Cristopher couldn't imagine even a speck of him doing what he have done. Longingly, he stared at the crinkled eyes of the priest, hoping to hear an answer. "Say, son, what happened to your mother?" Father asked, with a worrisome face. The question hit Cristopher, and a pang of guilt strike him suddenly. "What has mother got to do with all this!" he yelled, and grabbed on to Father's neck, tears welling up. "Don't ask me anything! I dont' know anymore! I know nothing." "Son,,," sobbed Father, starting to feel light headed. "Let me explain it to you, but please let me go..." Cristopher stared at Father McKinley, bewildered at his own hands clenching tightly on Father's neck. The Father choking for air slowly became replaced by the face of his own Rose suffering, that he helt chills running down his spine. With shaky hands, he hastily loosened his grip. "I saw Livenston with my own eyes..." The Father muttered, and every now and then, he would make sure no one was aroung. "He had given up on goodness since the day of the death of your mother, and lost his soul to a demon..." This was all news to Cristopher, and his tense body, froze into position. He began regretting for what he did, and was concerened now that Livenston was not the whole cause of Rose's death. "Father..." He started but nothing came out, and cried out desperately.