But he wasn’t thinking about Jim’s victory or dwelling on the fact that although it was customary for the savior to come up and mark the occasion with a visit, the angel had not, in fact, made an appearance. No, Nigel was tied up in his head. He was well aware of what had transpired and was transpiring down below—Jim was on the verge of passing away, and given that they were heading into the final round, Nigel should be taking initiative and interceding. After all, the Creator did allow interaction with the savior by him, and curing a head wound, one could argue, was a sort of “interaction.” Instead, he waited for the summoning. And was rather unimpressed by his apparent willingness to use this dire situation for his own, personal, means. Indeed, desperation changed one, didn’t it— “Ah, yes,” he whispered. “Welcome, Edward. . . .” With permission from him, the angel materialized on the lawn beside him . . .
