Chapter 2 - Feelings

   I just got up. Its the middle of the night. Ever since my ex got shot and died in my arms? I haven't slept the night straight through. I get about 4 hours. Then? My eyes pop open. I'm up a little while. Then, I grow tired all over again, and get the second 4 hours. 4 hours is enough to get the REM sleep you need, bare minimum. I get a second 4 hours, so I get all I need. Doesn't mean it might not be nice to get eight solid hours, if only just the once, on accident.

   I can have bad dreams from it all, sure. It happens. No one remembers all of their dreams, and I'm no exception. If I'm having a good dream, say… my ex is alive and we're together? Just hanging out. When my eyes pop open, its wonderful for about three seconds. Then, I realize he's gone. I hadn't known as I fell asleep my boyfriend had gotten back in. He obviously crept into bed without waking me.

   Tonight was a no dream wake up. I mean I'm sure I had a dream, I just don't remember this one. Just as well. I worry about this one and his dreams more than my own. My only two main nightmares I get once in a blue moon? Trapped underwater in the mud, and the other possible one? I have to relive my ex getting shot and his blood and guts blown onto and into me.

   When you know something from real life? Your dreams now have something real to draw upon. Getting shot, for instance. I've been shot by a hunting rifle in my shoulder. It feels like a carpet covered brick slams into you shot from a cannon. There's a generalized numbness you just know is going to hurt like hell once the shock wears off. Also, a burning. Hey. Hot lead just passed through your flesh and muscle tissue. Go figure, its going to burn and sting on top of the blunt force and the rending.

   So, if he gets shot in a nightmare? I get shot, too. I know what its supposed to feel like, so my dream knows what it should feel like. Like any dream? Its very real, until you wake up.

   This one gets nightmares, and a lot more frequently than I do. He doesn't sleep 4 + 4 like me, he can get the whole eight hour package. But, when he was a military contractor he saw and went through a hell of a lot. He really doesn't have PTSD, though. Just some nightmares, and it doesn't seem to trouble him much. A coffee and a smoke, and he goes back to bed.

   I made him describe things to me, and… honestly, no one should have to go through that stuff. First of all, the monsters preying on the innocent villagers shouldn't be doing it. Then no one should have to do those kinds of things back to them, to try to put a stop to it. But, people do those kinds of things. So someone has to try to put a stop to it. Or at least do it back to the ones doing it. To, what? Make it fair, I suppose.

   So he has the occasional nightmare about hunting human prey. His brain is like mine. It has reality to draw upon, to make the dream all too realistic. Sights, sounds… smells. If I ever had to explain to someone, the kinds of things he can see in his dreams? Christ almighty. Here's the best way I can explain it. He was down around the equator at the time, a little south of it.

   To this day, there's infamous "gore" videos floating around. Cartel violence, most of the "best" ones. And by best? I naturally mean the very worst. I think most people online have seen one or more. The ones where a pack of guys grab a prisoner and carve their face off. Alive. Eventually, they open the chest cavity up, and cut out a human heart of their victim. Its always the photo finish. To prove? The victim was alive and feeling and seeing it all happen. The human heart beats in their hand.

   These sweethearts do things like all take turns wearing the human face they just cut off and mugging for the camera. They do it, to intimidate their enemies. If you cross us? This, will happen to you. In real life, when you have assholes like this running around, what can you do? Well. Problem? Solutions exist.

   One thing you can do, is take it back to them, yourself. Not really an option, except for a rival cartel, I suppose. The next best thing? Hire plumbers to come in and handle the plumbing problem in your neck of the woods. And that? Would be… the private military contractors. You have bad monsters running around. You can't send in the boy scouts to handle it. You now have to hire good monsters, to fight the bad monsters.

   He started out, being a support specialist. They were running around documenting the "problem". He saw what happened to the poor defenseless villagers. Then, naturally the assholes doing it? Didn't like tabs kept on them. So, they attacked and chased the documentation detail around. Then, out came the checkbook again. Hey. You got any guys that… oh, you do? Well. Send them down to handle this, would you? Sure thing. As soon as your check clears.

   So. Good monsters, got sent down to handle the bad monsters. Documentation turned into a quickly escalating all out little war. No press, no worldwide attention. Like a knock down drag out no holds barred fight taking place in some dark alley somewhere? Anything goes. That's what this turned into.

   He went from support specialist, handling encrypted computerized radio communications and maintaining the electronics equipment? And slowly turned into something else, entirely. He still handled his two technology jobs just like before, but… he turned into one of the good monsters. They didn't accept him with open arms… at first. But, he got his way. He had once been trained as para-rescue. Its the Air Force's only "special forces". They mainly jump behind enemy lines. To retrieve and bring back downed pilots that survive crashes. And, to disable sensitive aircraft components you don't want the enemy finding.

   Once they accepted him? His life changed. He explained it to me, as best he could. He was already seeing the aftermath of all this going on, anyways. Now? He could become part of the solution. They tried to solve it, anyways. Normally, in a civilized country? You can just shoot a few people to get your point across. Enough? Is enough. Not places like this. In a little slice of paradise like this part of the world? You have to be willing to get down in the mud and speak their language. You have to be willing to do everything back to them, that they dish out. And? Even more. Because you have to terrify them, to even think about getting your point across.

   He said, at first? He was just doing it… what he called "professionally". When I asked what he meant? He said, oh you know. You kill them and get it over with. Then? One of two things happens. You either go to pieces living around this level of violence, or you find out you can take it. Then? One day, you've had enough. You snap.

   He started joining in, and doing it back to them.

   Apparently, you have two choices. Its no loss of face to just do it "professionally". Quick and painless as possible. When it needs done. Or… you hit your own personal breaking point. And that's it. There's no turning back. You do to them, what they're doing to helpless victims. Its the only thing an enemy like that understands.

   They went on long range reconnaissance and patrol. They found supply and training camps far back in. In his own words? They taught them what "fear of the dark" really means. The leaders thought they were safe that far back, sending out monsters to do the devil's work, preying on the helpless and innocent? They let them know they could be touched. In the middle of the night. When their main force was far away and couldn't get back to help. They wanted the enemy to know exactly who did this to them. They left their calling card. Psychological warfare. Create supernatural fear in the enemy.

   I mean, I understand on some level, military combat. People are going to shoot, stab, and blow each other up. Its the nature of a military conflict. But… torturing innocent villagers. Leaving unborn babies cut out of the mother's bellies, and left alive to bake in the equatorial sun. Setting young girls on fire, and cooking them alive. Some still alive when you find the victims. There's no call for that.

   His own breaking point? Some asshole had a young cat in a pouch he had been torturing. When he found that on him? Instead of just dispatching the man "professionally" as he had been doing? Well… that was it. He said that was the first time he… and again in his own words… took his time.

   He loves animals. In a way even people that "love animals" couldn't fathom. Young, animals had been his friends. His close friends, his only friends. That, had been his breaking point. That was his own line and they crossed it.

   So, when you see cartel violence gore video clips. He's both seen those kinds of things done, or at least the results of it. And… more than likely, done similar things himself back to them. I honestly can't fathom he doesn't have PTSD. But? He really doesn't. He doesn't see the persistent images, the hallmark of the condition. He doesn't have the weird emotional swings, another hallmark. A few nightmares here and there. About it. In his own words? The only thing that really bothers him? Is that it doesn't really bother him.

   Him and his two buddies, got out of that and came back before it completely ruined them. Honestly, the two nicest guys you'd ever meet, really. But… when dirty city cops thought they were going to bring combat to the real world. Kill innocent witnesses in their own beds. They gave them a taste of their own medicine. I watched, and even got to help.

   I'm looking down at him sleeping, and its a peaceful sleep. No nightmares. No petroleum jelly sweat on him, no weird verbal noises. No tossing and turning.

   I've learned. I wake him up, to end it. Then, he has a smoke and a coffee and gets back to sleep, and its usually just normal tossing and turning after that one's over. But… I learned to stay back when I poke him awake. The first few seconds are something else. Just for a couple seconds. The eyes, the face… its terrifying. Then? He blinks, shakes his head… and he smiles.

   This is the same guy, that talks as if to a little kid to the cats. Spoils them something fierce. Stops and takes a snake out of the middle of the road, and gently lays it in the underbrush. So it doesn't get run over in the road, sunning itself to warm up on a cold morning.

   I know I'm a little crazy. Just a touch. I was looking for my dead MP boyfriend to come back to me. Well? This, is him. The MP? He got tired of seeing people at their worst, as he put it. He got out and came back, and went back to what he had known before he left for his service tour. Computers and mathematics and electronics. He's back again. Its like its the same guy. With one exception. Instead of being an MP? He was a military contractor after he got out of the service. He saw people at worse than their worst. Then? To me, its the same exact guy sent back to me. He wanted out of that, and to come back to his world he left. Intellectual pursuits.

   I know I'm a little crazy, for believing it? But… I can't shake it. He related to me, that the seals? Drowned him. Then brought him back to life. It was their "initiation" if he was actually serious about joining their part of the team, that did what they did. So? They drowned him, and brought him back. And when I go back in rough time, to when that happened? Its just after my boyfriend got shot. I just know his soul found its way back into his body.

   With all the psychology degrees, some rational part of my brain realizes it. I wanted him to come back to me so badly? I just ran across a guy that's like a reincarnation of him. And I want to believe it, so I do. Because it makes me feel better. But another part of me? Equally as rational, mind you. Thinks its all too much coincidence.

   Hey. You either crack apart? Or you go just a little bit crazy and learn to roll with the punches and deal with it. I rolled with the punches and dealt with it. I'm happy with the results, too. He's perfect for me. We both wear masks, so people don't point and whisper. He even lives under another name. Once again? Just like me, but for a different reason. Its to make these Redwater men? Impossible to find in real life.

   I found out after meeting him and being around him. If you don't already know their real name, and you're not armed with biographical data. Like, hometown, and dates for things. You get… nothing. You get the service data. And its real, its just listed under the new name. Dates are moved slightly. They fall off the earth, for the years they were in Redwater. Then? The databases pick them up and its all normal.

   And. If you run the real name, and know the hometown and locate those real school records? Your FBI laptop squeals a warning at you. You get ordered to shut down and flush your search history. And to never search, whatever it was you were searching for? Ever again. I had to call my handler, to get the "lock" off of my laptop. My handler took calls he didn't like taking, was his phrase for it. Because an FBI laptop in his name, searched the real name of a former Redwater guy.

   My handler was former Army military intelligence, so… he understood. He told me he didn't want to even know what I was searching for? Just to never search it again, and all would be fine.

   We both have fake names. We both have fake faces. My boyfriend died in my arms? And a short time later, he dies and gets reborn. I don't care. Whether I'm a little crazy, or its just a little too real that its scary. I get my second chance now, to both love and be loved back. Accepted, for just what I am. Things most other men don't like, are the very things he likes the most about me.

   My handler summed him up once. A guy like that? They're the best friends in the world to have. They're also? The worst enemies in the world to have. Once again though, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy all over. So looking down at him? I'm glad he's getting a good night's sleep.

   I'm just up for a little bit, in between my two 4 hour sleeping shifts. I'll watch my little PTSD short video clip. My own? I'm lucky. You don't get to choose exactly which picture or video clip you receive. You get, what you get. Mine? My face is close enough I can't see his god awful rifle wound. His face? He actually smiles and shrugs. What can you do, you know? Like that… that's my short video clip I see.

   Its not scary, it warms and comforts me. I don't know I'd ever want to do without it. And really, most PTSD images are quite the opposite.

   I'm looking down again. Both cats are snuggled up between us. His cat, has its paws on him. Mine? Has his paws on me. It could just as easily be the reverse. If he would have been here when I feel asleep, I already know the position I'd be in. My arm down and around his neck. My other arm, slung over him. My leg swung over and down him. My face in his neck. Breathing into him.

   If he wakes up and I notice? I'll get into that position for the rest of the night.

   Ever since I met him, and I began to suspect that he was… well, you know. Sent back to me? Here and there, I slowly began to get the occasional emotion. Brief. Its as if, if you remember my analogy about its like having the volume on the movie turned down really low? You only hear the explosions a little. Here and there, just once in a while, though… its like having the volume bumped up just a little bit, then it goes back down.

   I'm not emotionally dead, its just like the thermostat is turned down to 50. Those brief feelings of whatever emotion pokes through? Its like having the thermostat bumped up to maybe 60, then right back down again. I'm actually torn. I've spent so many years like this, I'm almost afraid to have real emotions again like I was used to before "it" struck me. I'm not used to it.

   Also? My lack of emotions, led to my life. Able to do the kind of work I can do. The ability to do things other people probably couldn't do, because emotions would get in the way. I'm almost afraid if normal emotions came back, what would become of me. So, that's how much fun it is to be me. Half of me wishes I could wake up one day and be normal again. The other half? Is scared to.

   I can't cry, and I wish I could. To have a good solid cry? Its a purge. You deflate and feel down, but… it purges it, and you can rebound again. I don't get the purge. Its like having to burp, but you never get to.

   Oh, there's upsides to this. You miss positive emotions. But negative emotions? Hey, they go away too. Half good, half bad. Emotions can't get in the way of making a quality decision. The downside though, is only being able to appreciate "happy" from a purely logical standpoint. I'm happy right now? Because, I logically know that I should be happy. Not that I actually feel happy. I just appreciate the pleasant conditions that should make me feel happy.

   Glancing over at his side of the bed, his nightstand over there? The usual stuff. Keys, wallet, phone, gun. There's a wad of cash, looks like a couple grand. He left before dark, to go on a drive to meet someone to do a couple of performance chippings. A guy he had done one for a ways back? Brought three others to get it done. Four or five grand then, in that pile.

   The original guy? Gets a hundred bucks cash, for any others he brings him. He likely got a little something extra off of all three of his buddies he hooked up, too. Getting real cop chips, is rare. If you're not a cop? You'll basically never drive one. Lots of people can copy the cop chip, the memory chip that holds the performance program that lets the federal interceptor accelerate and shift like it does. Very sporty and throaty.

   The computer knows the chip has a VIN number, and it has to match its own VIN. What he does, is he knows exactly where in the chip, that the VIN number is stored. On top of that? Its encrypted. What he did? Was quit looking for the VIN number. He started looking for the decryption part of the computer program it runs on. He eventually found it, it took him forever. He studied it, he was a computer programmer and he has two degrees in that. He reversed that portion of the program, and uses that on a separate chip. To encode the customer's real VIN number. He burns that encrypted VIN number back into the proper place on the memory chip, and voila.

   The computer knows the VIN of the car its in. It decodes the VIN in the memory chip, and it matches. Voila. The interceptor now runs like a raped ape. Normally, if you put a cop chip into a civilian or a police auction purchased interceptor? It runs in civilian mode. Won't go over 105 MPH, won't shift and accelerate and throw you back in the seat like a sports car. Anyone that ever watched a few police chase videos knows that interceptors keep up with some really decent sports cars in power and speed.

   That's him. He just tosses four or five grand on the nightstand, and doesn't even think about it. Sometimes one of the cats will bat the wad of cash around, and its all over the next morning. We're prone to find a twenty or a fifty behind furniture or in some nook or cranny. If I mention leaving money around? He'll just shrug. Do I want some? Or should we just put it where we keep our combined nest egg. Whichever. Its honestly just pieces of green paper to him.

   Here's yet another strange thing. What good is it really, having money you're not supposed to have. I mean, let's say you work a minimum wage job. You're clearly not supposed to have money to go and buy things. A big nice house, for instance. You live in a little one room efficiency apartment. How do you explain where the money came from, when you pay cash for that big new house. Or even make payments on it.

   That's why I lived on my steakhouse waitress money in the city when I was doing that for years. I knew what it was like to have money you shouldn't have. You ideally can't touch it, or it gives the game away. Our extra money? Its the same. I mean, if it does something for you, to sit and look at the big, green stacks? Okay. You can't go buy houses and sports cars and whatever else, so… its kinda useless for the most part.

   He has his own income. He put enough years in at his private military contractor job, and Redwater paid well. GS-18 to start out, and it goes up from there. He got a bump up when he started, because he covered two technology combat support specialist jobs in one person for them. So, he got paid more. It was another bump up from that when he started going out with the good monster team. Still performing the support jobs, and now doing the combat as well. As he moved up slowly at that? His pay went with it.

   He "retired" with almost all of that money put back, and like he said. Not really anywhere to spend it in the jungle anyways. A few bucks on leave. He got a GS-18 plus retirement in the end. With both military medical and private medical insurance. He dipped into that nest egg to do the first big "run". My connections to unload it quick, allowed him to start his gun shop easily as well as replace his risked sum. Every year for a couple years? He did the yearly "run" to bigger and bigger effect.

   I get to document the cocaine trade routes the gang uses. Where they get it at. What clubhouses and turf bars they use as safe stops on the way back. Where it goes in the end. I just leave out the part in my report? That I set myself up in such a fashion.

   In addition to his GS-18 plus retirement, he's paid for his part in my operation. Being a security asset. That's something between 60 and 70 grand a year. Its covered by appearing for all intents and purposes, to come from an internet drop shipping business. Between both incomes, the GS-18 plus retirement, and the security asset gig? I won't lie, my boyfriend has a nice income. Its legitimate income, too. We really don't "live" like we make that much money. I can't touch my real paychecks, for obvious reasons. Okay, maybe we buy a little better of food when we go food shopping. And maybe we eat out a few more times than normal, or to a better place when we do it.

   The security asset pay, more or less makes his gun shop appear like he actually makes a living off of that now, I suppose. He really doesn't. He just likes having the big gun shop. He's a target shooting nut, and the guys in his group? Love having a "pet gun shop" handy. Anyone in the group gets to buy new guns pretty much at cost. I think he makes 50 bucks "profit" on each one. Its the only gun shop for over a hundred miles in any direction, and this is on the edge of the state game lands. Ammo sales are a given, as well as the occasional regular new or used gun sale. Like any gun shop, he'll buy just about any gun, and work on it and offer it for sale.

   Honestly though, he about treats it like its his own personal gun collection. He's a gun nut so go figure. He makes and sells his own ammunition, as well as buys popular hunting calibers in bulk for resale. The "profit" more or less just covers all the monthly bills. We live above the gun shop, so it basically pays us to live for free. He bought an old bank for back taxes. He wanted that big vault for the gun vault. We just happen to get the rest of the building for our house.

   The money for the first "run"? Basically paid for the renovations and all the equipment he wanted to work on guns. Gunsmith and machining equipment.

   To me? My life is a fairy tale. I have a marble racquetball court, and a couple of tanning beds. I used to be in a private racquetball club back in the city. I missed it, one of the few things I missed about the city. Now, I have my own. Its no big money maker, it just pays the heating bill. I make a few bucks off the tanning beds under the table? Again, not much. Between that and the year round small pot sales… I get by. And by get by, I mean it all looks normal to outsiders.

   He likes watching me and the girls play what he calls "full contact racquetball". Tall, strong, athletic fit girls? Really get it for him. He swears, its more fun for him than going out to a strip club. He stuck us on the internet? Going by "clicks", we're not the hottest thing going girls wise on the internet. So? Most guys must like porn more than watching female athletes go at it full tilt. He shrugs, and says that's their loss. They must have no taste.

   He honestly likes me just for me. Things I always felt were shortcomings? Are the very things he claims to like the most about me. As a six foot tall girl with muscular legs and big bones and frame? As feminine as I am or can be, I know that's not what guys like. I'm just a hair too tall, and a hair too big and strong. Him? He loves it. What other guys take away points for? He awards more. My scary face and eyes? He says its an intense, hot look. My deep voice after having my throat cut open to breathe and stay alive? He says there's nothing like a deep, rusty voice to turn him on. My throat scar, my shoulder scar? He shrugs. He's been shot and stabbed before, living the life he lived for years.

   Its those momentary flashes of emotion, that really take me by surprise. And why lie. Another thing a lot of guys don't appreciate or even downright hate? A strong personality to go with a strong girl's body. He likes it. I'm a little, okay… a lot rough in bed. Once again, go figure. He loves it.

   I honestly feel spoiled sometimes. We have anything, we would ever want or need. We spend most of our time together. Working or playing, or just being around each other and enjoying it. Being my security asset? He said its not like he wouldn't do that anyways, getting paid for it is just a bonus. The gun shop? Its really just his hobby and the range buddies think its the greatest thing ever. Buying gold under spot price, performance chips in cars, being the greens-keeper for his shooting club's private range… all just hobby to him. He said he feels spoiled. He feels like he's retired and doing well and having fun doing it.

   With all he went through young, then the private military hell for years… its not like he hasn't earned it, too. When he stares at me, holds me? I feel beautiful. I spent a couple years after my boyfriend got shot, well… lets just say I smashed a few mirrors and never went out of my way to replace them.

   I can look in the mirror again. And not just look, I can like it again. I no longer have to worry that if I forget and drop my face, that the guy will see it and run from the monster face. He likes it just fine.

   I'm getting tired again, I'm falling back asleep soon. I'm thinking and planning how our next "romantic rape" should go. Its what we call it, and yeah. Its just what it sounds like. I rape him. I like doing it, I get off on it. He likes me doing it, so? Whatever. I'll just say this. I don't blush easily. He? Blushes easily. And I love every minute of it.

   I wonder where I should go with this next one. The big bank vault? Eh. We did that one a bunch in the winter. The sunken vault, the basement under the basement here? Hmm. We do that enough. Its spring. Its been warming up more lately. Maybe out in the woods. Maybe, a little hiking trip? We both love getting exercise. And you never know. Maybe I'll tie him to a tree and have my way with him. Maybe, some sexy punishment? Maybe not. If he was awake right now? I might do what he calls the "naughty story", talking about my plans. It usually leads to something, that way. But he's asleep, let him enjoy it.

   I get wet just thinking about it. I might not be able to feel love itself. Not really. Not like it was, before "it" happened. But, the chemicals of love? I can feel that. The excitement of sex? Definitely. I'm not a real sociopath because I wasn't born with reduced or absent emotions. But, I test out to the same damn thing, after "it" struck. It took love away, along with the other emotions.

   But sex? That, I can feel. And the chemicals of love? The endorphins and hormones. That registers. Just because I logically know I "should" be happy, analyzing things? I'm the same way about love. I know I'm in love. So, even if I don't feel parts of the emotional attachment? I know I "should", so… as strange as that sounds, I guess you know what I mean.

   And sometimes, I even get a taste of a real emotion. Now and again. Its a rare treat, like when a parent gives a child a special treat of candy. It really hits the spot. I guess I treasure those moments more than the average person, simply because they're so rare.

   When I met him? I experienced some sense of… mild supernatural awe. I was working in the city. DC. Which means I was up to my neck in assholes of all kinds. I did what I always do, when everything seems too much for any one given day. I stand there, I close my eyes and think back about… him. Then I get my little treat. There's this lifelike, poster sized short movie clip, playing on repeat. That smile, that shrug. What can you do, you know?

   But, this time it was different. I asked, like a thousand times before, under my breath. Wish you could hurry up and get back here, honey. I miss you. And? Just as much of a bolt from out of the blue as when that rifle bullet struck me and him? It was that sudden and shocking. Right there in the middle of a crowded steakhouse, waiting tables. I could smell him. It was like my face was buried in his neck again. I froze. Shocked. I was afraid to open my eyes. The smell was so strong, so vivid? I could taste him on my lips.

   I had a hot flash. I was a little dizzy. I felt like I was upset in my tummy, but in a good way. My knees felt weak. I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings. I backed up a few tiny steps, and almost backed my ass up into a table in my section. I turned around, and…

   That was it. It was like it was… him. He looked like hell. Like a person on a long journey, circles around the eyes, dark ones. Tired and haggard. Yet, smiling easily instead of being cranky like normal people would in that situation. I listened. I could hear that mild sarcasm and easy going humor. I eavesdropped on that table, and the things that came out of his mouth, the way he said them? It was like him, all over again.

    He was running himself ragged, so overtired he couldn't sleep. Pushing himself, beyond any reasonable limit. Killing himself, to help out complete strangers that he never met and should mean nothing to him. And that smell? It never once went away. It was him.

   For no money, it was costing him out of his own pocket to be at the FBI Hoover building, staying here to push on his case. No career, he had given his own job up to better pursue it. He had given up his own woman a ways back, for getting in the way of not understanding he had to do this. He couldn't pass up trying to fix what was so wrong. Why couldn't she understand this, why was she so selfish about it.

   That was one of those times. A blast of emotions, momentarily turned up on almost full volume, the thermostat temporarily turned up to damn near room temperature. Then, it happened again. Later on? I got mad and jealous, and took it out on him. Anger? Jealousy? Emotions. Strong ones. Flashes of them that faded and passed, but still.

   After so many years being cold and logical, devoid of all emotion? I was getting little flashes and insights. Like flashlight beams coming through cracks in the wall. It made me feel, just for those little instants? Something almost human again. And I hadn't felt like a member of the human race, for a very long time. Years.

   It was just like he had told me, dying in front of my own eyes. Its being done for a reason. The universe? Its making you into something it needs. You don't question it, we can't know. Just let the universe make you into what it needs, you let it put you where it wants. And if you do that? I'll come back. We'll do this again, and it will be bigger and better and even more wonderful than this time. And… it really was.

   Finally. Sleepy time. Time for my second 4 hour shift with my eyes closed. I like, hell… I love my life. Even if its not really me and my life. Really strange, but hey. Par for my course.