Money

What else have I got?

A body that works?

A family that appreciates me?

A wife who loves me?

A world that wants me?

Logan Cale

The universe may be right on schedule, but it has a cruel sense of humor. It turns out that the witness we are protecting from Mayor Steckler’s people is none other than …You guessed it! Bruno Anselmo!… my would-be assassin, the man who put me in this chair.

If I had known it was him, I would never have asked Max to bring him here. But he came into my home. He sat on my furniture. He thought I would let him stay. He checked out my place, told me what cool digs I have, then he gave me a half-assed apology for trying to kill me. He said it wasn’t personal. All liars, thieves and criminals say that. It’s just business to them. But it is personal. When you invade a person’s being, when you destroy their life, when you rip out their soul, it is personal. Of course it’s personal. He said it could have been worse. No it couldn’t. I wish he had killed me that day. I wish he had finished the job.

I watched the video of the shooting about a thousand times, today, trying to figure out why he missed. I’m walking in that video, I’m running. It feels like it happened to somebody else, but that is definitely me. That was me walking. That was me WALKING! I remember the pain of the bullet ripping into my back. I can feel it now ripping through me. I remember trying to get up and not understanding why I couldn’t. I remember wondering why my body wasn’t responding. I remember fighting the blackness trying to hold on to Sophy. I remember fighting to stay awake. I remember fighting to stay alive. I wish I had given up then. I wish I hadn’t fought so hard. I wish I understood what I would become. But I didn’t give up. I never give up. I always keep on fighting. Of course I didn’t die. I survived. I’m not dead and I have another battle to fight. And now Bruno has become one of my weapons. I am protecting him so he can testify against Mayor Steckler. I hate him, I want to kill him and I am protecting him.

I asked Max to take Bruno to a safe-house because I knew he wouldn’t survive the night here. He didn’t know it, Max didn’t know it, but I knew it. Max complained loudly about having to protect him. She can barely tolerate his presence. Well, there are also limits to what I can tolerate and I am way past my limit. I have been telling myself the same thing I told Max. I have to keep my eye on the bigger prize. I have to remember that. I will protect Bruno so that he can put Steckler away. We will get rid of Steckler. We will rid the world of one cancer. But I will still hate Bruno and Steckler and all the others like them. I will still hate them for what they did to me, for what they do to all of us. I will still be trapped in this chair. I will never have my life back.

Bling said I should scream a little. Does he think that I don’t scream, every morning, when I wake up in this broken body? Does he think that I don’t scream every night when I drag myself from my chair onto the bed? Does he think that I don’t scream, from the depths of my soul, every single time I push the wheels of this chair? Does he think that if I scream out loud that it will lessen the pain in my soul? Does he think that my silent screams will end?

You shoot me in the back

And you say

It’s not personal

You invade my soul

And you say

It’s not personal

You shred my peace

And you say

It’s not personal

You steal my security

And you say

It’s not personal

You destroy my life

And you say

It’s not personal

You leave me for dead

And you say

It’s not personal