Three

The apartment felt small tonight. I don't normally write so soon after having written, but I got a call earlier. They said Parks is dead. Been dead three years. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that my parents' killer may not even be around anymore to bring to justice. He will stand before God one day, to be sure. But it just doesn't feel good enough right now. Then the question remains - have I even been going for the right man? My target has changed so many times, it seems, that I wonder who it is that I'm searching for. Maybe it's me. Maybe my hope is to find a piece of the past, my past, and somehow recall who I am.

My gut tells me that the man is still out there. Somewhere. Running free, when he should be hung for taking two innocent lives... make that three.

I don't know where this road is leading me. But be it lonely or stormy or raging with fury, I will find my man... and my past. And now I need to find a stick of gum.

Streets

Back out on the street. Well, to an apartment, really. Never did really get settled there in the first place so I'll still be sleeping on an air mattress, surrounded by boxes. At least I'm no longer on guard. Not that I minded it. I think I'm gonna miss hanging out with Scott. But praise be, he has been released and is free. Free in body, at least. I wonder about his mind sometimes - there is still a lot of crap he's got to wade through. But now he can get back to work and start feeling like a man again. Me, I guess I've got to rediscover my niche back at the desk. If I could afford time off to pursue my own venture I would, but as it sits, I am still engrossed in nighttime visits to old records and files that have so far led down a trillion and one dead end streets.

Fading

My friend is fading. Not physically. Not mentally. Perhaps it is emotionally.

I see his body stronger, though notice he will never be the same. I see his mind healing, though I notice that will never be the same either. He's been dealt an injustice. No one can say why. Surely good will come of it sometime, but I wish we could see it now. I burn with an anger nothing can snuff out, but the thought of bringing justice and demanding from those, that which they took from my friend.

Improvements come everyday. I should notice - I'm here 24/7. On guard, on duty, but weary. We get along well, but I'm sorry we're in this state. I want this to be over - how must he feel? I can't imagine. He is eating. He is strengthening. But his eyes are gray... they see beyond the rain-streaked window to a horizon just out of his reach. Will it always be out of his reach?

Don't give up, Scott. It's not over yet.