Denny walked into the room the moment that he caught a glimpse of Tommy's future wife, Lisa. As much as he wanted to deny it, Denny had been wrestling with guilt and anguish ever since he had laid his restless eyes upon Lisa. The night he first went to Tommy's home-after sprinting along the slanted rooftops of San Francisco-he had caught a glimpse of Lisa. His heart skipped a beat, but he had chalked it up to battle fatigue. Alas, as the weeks rolled by, Denny found himself possessed by this woman. Her flowing blonde hair haunted him, and her emerald gaze pierced his soul. He could not tell Tommy of how he felt; how could he betray this surrogate father? But bottled feelings cannot be forever contained! And this evening, to see Lisa in a flowing red dress? To see her fleeting gaze flick between Tommy and himself?

"Hearts tear asunder and empires collapse under less strife. O! the tragedy of the love-torn youth! The bond between master and pupil cannot be stronger than the ache I feel right now!" Lamentations and half-formed sentences swirled around his head. The youngest child ever to survive Master Hiroshi's Seven Tribulations found himself stammering half-conceived thoughts and phrases as Tommy and Lisa laughed and basked in the warmth of each other's glow. He felt as if some unseen, malevolent force was directing him on how to behave, and forcing him to say strings of words that followed only rudimentary guidelines of grammar and logic, and thus could hardly be considered "sentences," or "language," or "speech." No sane human could have dreamt up these words, without of course being under the influence of a staggering amount of psychoactive medication. He lurched around the room, muttering wildly, took a bite out of an apple which seemed to materialize before him, and soon everything darkened.

When Denny came to, he found himself standing outside his Tommy's apartment. Denny had become used to occasional blackouts ever since trying (and failing) to steal the Le Bijou du Roi, the most valuable diamond in the world, in the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. Unfortunately, the boy fell victim to the diamond's notorious curse. As he approached the diamond's case, scaffolding from a nearby dinosaur exhibit knocked him unconscious. He awoke in a classified location, chained to a metal chair. Before any torture could commence, however, Denny managed to dislocate his wrists and slipped out of his restraints, escaping the secret grey bunker. While his pain was temporary (as all pain is), he still experienced stretches of lost time wherein he found himself in peculiar and potentially threatening situations. Once, Denny woke up (after losing two whole days) wearing a flight suit filled to the brim with seedless grapes and blue M&Ms. Even though Denny held to no particular religion, he assumed that it had been an eventful Easter Sunday.

Denny still held the half-eaten apple. He would later tell Tommy about his attempt to jump in-between the two lovebirds. Had the listener not been Tommy, mankind's absolute pinnacle of virtue and grace, Denny would have expected some form of retribution. Denny feared no man, but even the proud boy knew that the sickly-green vengeance of a jilted lover was never to be taken lightly. And he was full aware of the extent of their desire. Although merely 16, he understood precisely what the two did between the hours of 7:00 and 11:30 P.M. Anyone in the apartment could have guessed. The music always began exactly at 7:00. Tommy's sense of time was impeccable. The man, in so many ways, was a specimen, a Swiss watch. His lovemaking sessions were fodder for legend. Parents no longer called their children in for the evening, for every child understood: when the steel guitar played, dinner was on the table. It didn't matter where the children were, since as long as they were within the area, the soothing, saccharine melody would draw, hypnotically, anyone within earshot closer, until they forgot what they were doing and gazed up into their window. One became used to it after a while, and the effect eventually wore off, but there would always be those who had never heard the slow, sweet, sensuous song of the mysterious, yet seductive womanizer from the terrace. Tourists and new neighbors always crowded the sidewalks, completely entranced. Curiously, despite the auditory ambrosia's near-constant presence throughout the years, not one man ever met or even saw the owner of the glorious golden pipes. The sound seemed to seep from the brick of the building, just as honey drips from a honeycomb. For one night, those who had never been exposed would spend a quiet, wide-eyed evening peering, unblinkingly, into the glass eye of a god.