Tara and Joe received the message just as they were preparing to go out for a meal. Joe's brain was sharper than Brian's - in a way - and had taken to the idea that he had been created long ago by a playwright far easier than his teenage Essex look-alike. He took it as a signal from the universe that he'd been forgiven for his crimes, but those were crimes unforgivable. Clearly, he was supposed to atone for his sins. Unfortunately, this new knowledge of how he'd come to be here, seemed to dictate that one day, he'd have to return to the kitchen, return to Peter's knife. He didn't mind. He deserved it. One more month he'd have. He would make use of it. Nobody else would die, not if he could help it.
"Tara," Joe furrowed his brow, "What did...whatever that was...mean by plural 'culprits'? Are there more of you?"
"Three more that I know of," Tara finished tying her shoelaces.
"Who? Can we go see them?"
"I doubt it. None are on this continent."
"Well, where are they?"
"Two are in the UK, one in Scotland actually, so sounds a bit like you. The other is in India."
"How do you know them? That new Facebook thing?"
Joe's story having taken place in 2005, Facebook was still a little baby in his eyes. Twitter wasn't there at all either. So Tara showed him the James McAvoy Fan Club, as well as an IMDB review of the BBC series 'Shakespeare Retold'.
"Well, I can see the attraction," Joe muttered, "I mean, that is one good-looking fellow."
"He looks exactly like you!" Tara chuckled.
"Exactly!"
Before Joe could break into a round of 'Baby, I love you', Tara received a Facebook message from Jan. Evidently there was a faun in her kitchen, staring lovingly at the kettle, totally mystified by a device that halved the time he took to make tea. According to Jan, he hadn't moved since he found it, seven minutes ago. It was like he'd been turned to stone...
Tara's stomach would wait for none, however and so she suggested Jan fed the faun and herself, then she and Joe set out for dinner.
Joe decided he liked Tara. She obviously knew even his darkest secrets and exactly what would become of him if he returned. She could sense what he wished, that he wished for Peter's revenge more than anything, she knew he wanted to die. He could tell she did not want this, but she seemed to respect this, and was willing to help him. Of course, it could be that this actor and all his non-murderer characters were the motivation for her desire to assist him, but she didn't try to warn him of what was coming, or how he could dodge the knife when he got back. He would die, she knew, and yet she let him go. This Joe was grateful for. He would happily spend this last month with Tara.
"It feels strange being on this side of the kitchen doors," Joe mused, "I guess this is what it's like for your actor guy when he's watching his movie...or BBC miniseries..."
"Well, I doubt the food will be as good as yours but the pizzas here are respectable."
Joe pointed to a dish, "This pizza has chips on - sorry, fries, I guess," then he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "Is this place run by infants...?"
"No, no, no, that's government you're thinking of. No, this place has top-quality chefs and waiting staff."
A man in chequered trousers emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray in one hand and twisting his pinky finger around in his nostril. A chunk of lamb made to slip off the plate but the man yanked his finger out of his nose and patted it back into place. Tara noticed a sign in the window and motioned to Joe with her arm.
'New Management' read the sign.
"I've not been here since..." Tara trailed off.
"Seems like the turn my kitchen took under my new management," grumbled Joe.
Tara took Joe's hand and offered him a consoling smile.
"Anything is an improvement upon Duncan Docherty," she promised, "Even cold-blooded mass assassination. What made you do it?"
"My wife..."
"Well, I think it's safe to say you are most well and truly whipped."
"Yes. Extremely," Joe took a sip from the wine Snot-Nose had brought him.
Tara began to hum 'Baby, I love you', "Hmmmm hm-hm hmmm hm."
"Hm hm HM-hm," Joe replied, "Come on, Babyyyy."
