Dr Clayton watched April for a long time before speaking.

‘April,’ he said in a voice syrupy with compassion. ‘Darth Vader is not God. Darth Vader doesn’t exist. He is a character made up by George Lucas in Hollywood.’

April looked at her psychiatrist with doubt. It could not be true. No Lord Vader?

Darth Vader stood motionless at the helm of the Death Star. He was feeling discontented and he didn’t like the emotion. Newness displeased him.

His attendant, Stormtrooper Jad Flamethrower, waited stiffly. He watched his boss carefully. His job was to diffuse. And this needed attention to detail. This demanded observation. In his position, there would be no second chance.

‘Captain Flamethrower.’ Jad clanked to attention in hasty response.

‘Yes, Lord Vader.’

‘The woman. Where is she?’

Jad shrank inside his armour. ‘Woman?’ he squeaked.

‘Yes. The woman. The one who comes here every night and prattles on her knees. Where is she tonight? She was not here yesterday either. Where is she?’

‘I, I don’t, know, my Lord. I, I, I’ve never seen such a woman, my Lord.’ Jad couldn’t tell if he were imagining rimy fingers constricting his throat or if it were real. ‘Lord Vader,’ he choked.

‘Get out of here, fool!’ It was a hiss. It was a rasp. Jad Flamethrower didn’t waste time hanging around to decide which.

Lord Vader continued staring out at the stars. In his chest he felt the tug of longing, one that stirred up distant memories. He had become used to the woman. He liked her so small and vulnerable, trusting, kneeling in his Death Star. He used his powers to conjure her image. Her eyes were large and blue. Cloudy blue. Cloudy sky-blue blue. And large, beseechingly large. Pouting mouth. Pink. Rosebud pink. Hair, a dark silky bonnet that swung above her shoulders. And a sweet flutey voice that tripped through her litany of unintelligible praise.

Lord Vader needed April back. Her defection was unacceptable.

April lay on her bed, weeping. She wept for so many reasons she had become confused with them all. She felt foolish. And she felt bereft. These feelings were strong, the rest muddled.

Her sessions with Dr Clayton had shifted the ground on which she walked. A cloud of unknowing had drifted down on April, leaving her uncertain and alone.

Leaving her unsafe.

The wind outside was wild. April could hear its passage through the trees even though her window was closed. She listened to its sound, finding less and less comfort from its tumult.

And then the sounds changed. April became very still. With her right ear pressed against her pillow, she became conscious of her beating heart, the faint hiss of the wind, and the rasp of a man, half-human, half-machine. April continued to lie there, her back curved, positioned like a wall along the bed, shielding her face from His presence. A warmth spread across the room, its solace covering April. She breathed in the feeling, enjoying its return.

Dr Clayton knelt. He was not comfortable. And he felt foolish. Unfortunately, his body was no longer obeying him and he knew it was wise to continue speaking. Over Dr Clayton’s head April smiled up at her Lord. He was here. He would always be here. Lord Vader stared into April’s eyes. In their liquid shininess, he could see his own black face reflected.

Dr Clayton stumbled over his litany. What was next? The rasp from Lord Vader grew louder. Dr Clayton’s throat became tight.

‘Yea, shall I walk … ,’ whispered April.

‘… through the valleys of the Empire,’ Dr Clayton continued. ‘I shall fear no jedi.’

‘Good,’ purred their Lord.

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