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.
