8:00 pm

I’ve been thinking about the transfer today, about what I did wrong. How I could have done things differently. If there was any way I could have anticipated the leak or if I could have better protected Lauren and Sophy. I’ve been replaying those days leading up to the shooting in my head, looking for a clue as to why this happened, why they died while in my care.

The phone has been ringing incessantly. The calls started coming in yesterday afternoon. Everyone is calling, family, acquaintances, informants, and reporters. I knew they would catch up to me eventually, but I just can’t face them with their condolences and best wishes. I barely know most of these people. To them, I am just Logan Cale, the rich boy journalist who somehow got himself involved in a sensational shoot-out. To others, I am the link to Eyes Only. The assistant who gets their information through to the only one who can help them. And to my family, I’m the black sheep, the one who is bound to bring them trouble and shame.

Uncle Jonas and Aunt Margo have been asking to visit. I don’t know why they are so insistent. They don’t care about me. I am the family fool, the loser, the one who won’t conform. I don’t want to see the looks in their eyes, the condescension, pity, disapproval and disgust. I don’t need them to tell me that I should hate myself. I already do. They came by the hospital last week, Aunt Margo sweeping in with cards and flowers and false affection. They were only there for five minutes before Bling ushered them out. He could sense my discomfort at having them there. That something was not right between us. He has been shielding me from them ever since. He didn’t tell anyone when we were going home so I could have a day or two of peace, but now they have found me. They have all found me.

Bling has been encouraging me to take some of the calls, to talk to my ‘friends’. What he doesn’t know is that I have no friends. I have family and I have informants, but neither of them are my friends. There are a few people, like Matt Sung, whom I respect, but they are the ones I want to talk to least of all. What would I tell him? That my family is right? That I am a spoiled, rich kid who was playing at saving the world? That I am responsible for the deaths of four people, including a beautiful child? That I am the failure my family always knew I was?

It’s ironic that the ones I was supposed to protect are dead and I am alive. I deserve this wheelchair that I’m in, and all the pain that goes with it. The pain in my back is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. It’s nothing compared to the guilt that I feel. I would gladly accept all the physical pain in the world if it could somehow remove the knife that is cutting through my soul right now. Why was I so arrogant? Why did I encourage Lauren to trust me? Why did she allow me to put her and her daughter in danger? I should have known that some day something would go sideways. I should never have trusted witness protection. I should have known that anyone can be bought. I should have known that there would be a leak. I should have taken greater precautions. I should have chosen a different time and place. I should have run faster. I should have fought harder. I should have done it all differently. I should have died with them.

A bullet in the back

An insufficient price

For failure

A child’s smile

Gone forever

A knife in my soul

I’ve been sitting here watching the rain for hours, hoping that the phone will stop ringing. That all these people will eventually forget about me. Hoping that if I wait here long enough, I can disappear from this world. That the damage I have done will disappear with me. That the rain will wash away the blood that I have spilled.

When I look at the rain, it seems to me that the heavens are crying for us, pouring out the sorrows of our broken world like so many tears on my windowpanes. Tears for those who have died and for those of us who are still living. Tears that I don’t have the strength to shed.

Rain falling

On a broken world

Tears for the living

And the dead