Episode One

Gone Insane

"Gone insane," I think.

"Gone insane," I say. And I say it again, "I’ve gone insane … and I love it!"

Humble laughter hits from across the room as Hammond, my butler, addresses his employer in a characteristically familiar way, "Joe, I should say so."

I like how he calls me Joe. Most don’t call me what I want; they say it makes them feel uncomfortable or is it unprofessional; I forget. It’s always, "Sir;" or "Mr. Buckmiller;" or "You with the money, sign here." But with good, old Hammond, it’s always, ‘Joe.’ Then again, I guess it could be that he raised me and always called me Joe. Or maybe it’s because, when I was five, I told him so.

"Do you want this here?" Hammond asks.

I turn to my loyal servant and spin, my finger guiding the way, "Here."

"Of course. Do you think many will watch?"

"Watch? Are you kidding? Since the beginning of time, this is what people have yearned for. Everyone will watch. It’s like passing by a really juicy car accident in progress. The more bending metal amidst the birth of fire, flame and red stuff, the longer that rubber neck stretches and the more congested the circuit of stripped tar becomes. Besides, we have the bandwidth to accommodate."

"Poetic. I guess you’re probably right," Hammond puts another camera in place and asks, "When do we go live?"

"I don’t know, now?" I’m feeling inspired … ready.

I will uncover for the world what it wants to witness – live death. I know my life has not meant a thing until this night, so I figure I’ll at least go out with a bang. I’m not too concerned with the ratings … I don’t get emotional about those kinds of things. I’m just happy I’ll fill a need before this night draws my life to a close.

I’m just glad I’ll be able to give someone a taste of immortality – live suicide on the Internet. What could be more shocking, gripping, entertaining and therefore memorable? Everyone will talk about where they were the night they saw live death. Hell, you’ll be talking about this now that you’ve had a taste. I can hear you now, asking yourself, "How can someone even think the thought?"

Oh. I see it. I see the future. I see the stories of little children, bragging that their grandfather had actually seen the broadcast and how the others will call them a liar because their grandfather’s grandfather was not yet a baby upon this night. On and on my fame with burn this moment into forever.

I smile and turn to the old man, "Yes. I think we will go live, now."

"Of course. I’ll get everything connected. The signal will be live in, … five, four, three, two ..." Hammond points to me as though God were listening.

"Hello everyone," I pause with the thought the world is watching; then again, maybe only the really weird ones can stomach this. Suddenly I feel alone again. The joy of this night disappears by reason of interruption.

"I’ve gone insane," I say and realize it is actually true.

I mean, have you ever heard of anyone doing something as crazy as broadcasting their suicide live on the Internet? Does it get further out there than this? I don’t know anymore, can you tell me?

The truth of this moment enters me. I feel the eyes. They whisper to me my state of being – not a great diagnosis. I feel every ounce of flesh wanting to claim its own direction of escape. Even the basis of my being wants the lights and cameras to disappear. I am embarrassed by my boldness.

The frozen look upon my face finally melts as I turn to my audience with the thought, "Hell, they’re no better than me," and then I say, "Good evening. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can move on to the main event. You will all see what you’ve come for: the live, one time only demonstration of a suicide with proper form.

"For all of you out there that have tried and obviously failed, I am here to give you a demonstration of proper technique. Unfortunately, I will not be available for comments and questions afterward as I said I will be performing proper technique.

"Now," I’ve finally let the fear flee; I’m going to be dead in a few minutes anyway, so why worry about being embarrassed or anything; I find myself comfortable in my place again and continue, "I want to talk to those failures out there and discuss some do’s and don’ts. I’ll let you in on why you just don’t do certain things.

"But before we get started, I must warn you about over doing the process. There have been attempts in the past that desired success so deeply they simply over did it. I’m sure you’ve heard about that chick in New York … the one that tried and tried but the guy lived? You know … the guy … the pizza guy? But anyway, you still might be asking yourself, how can you over do suicide? You can’t, unless you don’t plan, resulting in certain measures counteracting the other.

"For instance, taking sleeping pills and cutting your wrists are two ways that have proven successful. But done together insures failure. You see, the pills slow the heart, minimizing and sometimes restricting blood flow. Chances are you wake up in your local hospital’s Psych. Ward. Think people.

"Now down to the nitty-gritty. First. Poison. No. Not a good idea. I want to be clear on this. I’m not only talking about cyanide or any bottle labeled with the proverbial skull and cross bones. I’m talking about every pill, drink, drug, shot, snort, suck or hit … any form of any ingestion of any kind. Got it. Folks listen. It’s a whole lot o’ pain. I mean lots. It’ll kill ya. Think about it. You don’t want to go out like that; relying only on the passive act of input will do nothing but torment your body.

"Plus, many times this won’t get you across the threshold. You’ll end up crippled for life; kidney dialysis machines do not exactly enhance a personality. Poison may seem like an easy, one step method, but might I remind you that it takes tons of research to find the stuff that’ll really do the job. Most times, most poisons will really just be torture.

"Proper technique includes the idea of dignity and grace … not to mention style. Pain is a no, no. Flailing bodies and constant regurgitation does not do much for one’s reputation. And might I remind all of you, your death is your final statement to the world as to who you were. I am a man of precision, thought and planning. And of course, a teacher; a teacher of proper technique.

"So, lets move on to guns. I have a mixed relationship with this method. You will not see any focus on guns tonight, but some will be featured in the middle of the sequence. NRA fanatics keep you eyes open; their will be a lovely smattering of verities, doing the job.

"Let’s talk about the pros of guns. They are capable of doing the trick – very important. They do it quickly – another plus. They leave no time for turning back … another plus but also a minus as this step is overly absolute and therefore many are unable to take it.

"But there are other charms this piece of weaponry possesses: it is classic; it can be stylish if done in the right company and under the right circumstances; as far as I know and unless a mistake is made, it is painless; and last if not least, it is accessible and affordable.

"A subset of guns is using other people with guns: oh, say like policemen, battered spouses, neighbors or mailmen … they still carry guns don’t they? Anyway this is a good option for many. It’s affordable, accessible and highly stylish if, again, done under the right circumstances: oh, say a good old fashion hostage crisis at a top-secret lab in Los Alamos.

"Under these conditions, success is guaranteed. We all know that when we pose a threat to national security, we will be eliminated with prejudice. Believe me, when they poison you, it won’t hurt so much. Remember, they get stuff we can’t … well you can’t as I’m sure I could but again, I believe in the statement of style. Points are awarded people and poisons don’t score points. As a finishing step for you wimps, minimum reductions are incurred.

"But there are many drawbacks to guns. Misfires. Freak occurrences. Bad choice in caliber or velocity. 24 gauge shotguns, .22’s and bb guns. And worst of all, leaving a vegetable instead of dead man. That is why some choose to target the heart; but I warn all of you, do not shoot yourself too low … say in the stomach for instance. It takes days to die and it’s very painful.

"If a gun is all you’ve got, shoot yourself before you fall off the bridge directly over the deepest part of the river the second you swallow the poison. That way you’ve got the fall, the water and the poison to finish the job if the gun botches it up. If you do not have the proper tools, insure success through redundancy. This isn’t overkill if you plan. Personally, I don’t rely on guns.

"There is one more category I want to mention before we get in to the really good ways. It isn’t hanging yourself. I don’t even want to go there. I have but this to say about those who hang themselves: if you don’t know how to tie the proper thirteen knotted noose and give yourself a drop of at least fifteen feet with an additional clearance of eight, then don’t try. Give up the whole field and find something more suitable. Listen, you’ll just look real stupid as you choke to death.

"And other attempts at asphyxiation for any of you still thinking about it, just stop. Relying strictly upon drowning yourself has the style of roadkill. Once again, I must remind you suicide is a concert of multiple acts; not one.

"No. This last category has nothing good about it. I just want to mention it so any of you out there who may still have it in mind, will drop it. Stylistically, it is nominal to moderate. If done in the right crowd, maybe. But mostly, this is the way out for all those who don’t want to go. This method is strictly for those whining wantabes who really just crave the attention of: ‘look at me … look at how pathetic I am.’

"No. Unless used in concert with other techniques, jumping from heights is not something I recommend. Many times people don’t have the guts to fall in such away so as to insure death: either head first or lock those knees kids. Don’t pancake. It’ll just brutally rupture your insides. Again, the possibility of taking days to die exists, especially if your not at least fifteen floors up; sure twelve will do from a fancy place with high ceilings, but in that state of mind, how will you be sure? Breaking and entering will only get you put in jail.

"Everyone, please listen: if you want to kill yourself, don’t jump off a cliff or a building. Please have some respect for the act itself. Have some style and insure you’ll succeed or just stop the lie, get therapy and give up the whole idea … you make the rest of us look bad. Do you have any idea what all those frivolous attempts do to insurance premiums? Please here’s a phone card; call someone who cares.

"But for those like me – who have no meaning in life; who cannot love themselves let alone anyone else; who do not sleep or get out of bed; yet, who are free from the conflicts of others as I will do this strictly for myself and not to extract revenge or guilt from some other person because no one, not even I, knows where I’ll soon be nor what that revenge might do to my coming eternity; therefore I have done my best to lie down a metaphorically soft footprint in this act but don’t worry actions fans, it’ll be spectacular … lots of guns, explosions … drugs … everything … only I will be the sole target of my own hate, anger and frustration at life’s dismal failure to entertain me more than these few decades; and last, if you too are one who has become a pathetic parasite and only wishes to do the world a favor by removing this walking cancer called me – I have some advice.

"Tonight you will see the correct way to do the deed. First off. Unless you’ve got some grudge or just want to make someone feel guilty – which I recommend only if you hate them sufficiently because if there is a God, you’re going to need a reason and I suggest a really good one at that – do not do this with anyone’s knowledge.

"I mean, come on. It’s a sign you’re not serious about success. If you tell anyone, it’ll only make it more difficult. They’ll be in your face with all sorts of reasons why life is so great. Well, we all know life sucks! And there’s nothing anyone can do to change it so if you’re truly looking for an exit, don’t tell anyone once you’ve seen the sign above the door … just open it and take the step.

"So why do I tell you … here … now? Because I’m not, here and now. I’m on the Internet – safe within a rotating URL inside a phantom ISP ID; not to mention the encrypted protocol I’m using to broadcast this to the tens of thousands of cloned sites, multiplying across the Internet as you are logging on as we speak … or at least as I speak to you. Wow … there are a lot of you. But I am far from your passive screens and distant from your senses yet I am here, with you. The only thing you see is what I show you. You cannot stop me but have instead come to join me.

"So let’s move to the show," I walk to a chair and take a seat; Hammond hooks up the IV.

"First off, I recommend an IV of morphine. It takes the edge off … that’s it … oh ..."

After a moment to adjust I continue, "Now that I’m feeling great, I have no fear of this button here. This button is set on a timer. I don’t know how much time it’s set for but I know it’s less than four minutes but longer than thirty seconds. And that’s the trick. I don’t know when it’ll happen so I just sit back and smoke my last cigarette; I have timed it such that I won’t finish before I’m dead.

"Now to the technique I’ll be demonstrating tonight. Because I am very wealthy and have access to all the materials I need, I don’t expect any of you to be able to have all the ingredients save one: a bomb powerful enough to do the job.

"Countless events, exploited by the media, have proven that bombs are readily available and easy to make. From the garden variety of a large fertilizer bomb to C4, all that matters is there is sufficient power to incinerate.

"I am here in my guest house and will leave the whole thing in ruins. It is far enough away from civilization so no one else will be affected. I don’t know about you, but if there is a God, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot when I cross over. So, I stress the safety of others. Remember where you’re going.

"Because I believe in style – personal style is all a man has in this world – I am providing helpful advice as well as taking another human off of this over-populated planet. So I do this one live, tonight for all you to see and enjoy.

"After I push this button, on your screen will appear a window where you can enter a guess. Prizes will be given to the winners. Did I say prizes, I meant inheritances. After you input your guess, the option to see the correct time will appear so you’ll have the opportunity to know when I’m going even though I don’t.

"When the time arrives, these four high-powered rifles, one at each corner of the room, will fire a burst of three laser-sighted bullets to my head and lower neck’s current positions. Upon impact, the C4, set in a spherical pattern around my chair will ignite and the blast will center on me. I will vaporize. Success is guaranteed as I accepted no less.

"We have twelve super-high-speed cameras to catch the moment for instant replay at super-slow motion. These cameras come with catastrophe resistant housing that should allow for the full detonation and debris-storm to be caught on digital quality broadcast. I’ve done some testing and am pleased with the results … I’m sure you will be too.

"My butler, Hammond, will now take the safeties off the C4 blasting caps and leave us … Hammond," I point him to the task.

"While he finishes, I’ll answer the question on all of your minds: if I told you not to let anyone know, then why is my butler here. Well, I think it’s a good question too. Maybe we should ask the source.

"Hammond. Are you finished?"

"Yes Joe."

"See everyone … see how he calls me Joe. Do you know how hard it is to get help in this market that’ll call you what you want … it’s always, ‘Sir,’ or ‘Mr. Buckmiller’ or ‘Major Money-Bags;’ my dad was Mr. Buckmiller. I’m just Joe. I tell ya, it’s as if the dollar is its own military institution, complete with lingo and rank. It’s as if they don’t see me as a person but as the all mighty dollar’s commander and chief. I am, by virtue of my wealth, a god in their eyes. They will not address me in a personal way as no one speaks to a deity without the proper respect. Thank God I’ve got one real friend.

"Hammond. And he knows this … he’s great and will be available for work tomorrow. So if any of you ..." Hammond makes the trip over to me and stands. I decide it’s time to ask him the question.

"So Hammond. Why do you help me tonight? Everyone is dying to know. How come you don’t try to stop me like any sane person would. Have you gone insane too? By the way, why don’t you sit next to me?"

He sits and pauses before he says, "I don’t know Joe. All I know is what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen you in a lot of pain. These past few days have been the only time I’ve seen you smile since you were very young … you always smiled as a child."

I cut him off, "You’ve told me that a thousand times. Why don’t I remember it?"

"You had an accident. But that’s not the reason. I do this because you’re actually happy. I don’t know if it’s the finality of suicide or that you’re finally doing something … you’ve finally got something in that mind of yours to accomplish. You’ve got direction … a goal. It’s been a very long time since you’ve had a goal more lofty then getting to the toilet before the toilet gets to you. I don’t see it as stopping you or judging your actions. It’s your life. All I see is happy Joe, not sad. I’m tired of sad Joe.

"I love this Joe … the frightfully happy man that sits beside me. I support this Joe … even if it is for only a few more seconds. I want this Joe to be the one who lives for something … even if it is your own end.

"Whatever you want or do until the day we can do no more, I will support you. But the reason I support you now is because I support who you are in this moment of joy … this moment of freedom. However long it lasts, I’m just thankful to see it … even for a few more sacred seconds. I will not stop you because I will not interrupt who you’ve become with my selfish desire for your life to continue."

"Your selfish desire? You desire my life?"

"Of course … especially now … most especially now."

"Really?"

"I want you to be happy or at least to rest in peace. Joe?"

"Yes."

"You don’t have to do this. Just because you’ve found meaning in life by your death, you don’t have to push the button. You can simply find more things that give you this much delight. Okay. Great. Check death off the list and start a new one – one filled with every other focus for all that wonderful energy you’ve yet to imagine."

"Like what? I’ve seen and done it all."

"I don’t know … skiing sand dunes."

"Done that."

"Roller-Blading a rock face."

"You where there … you don’t remember last spring?"

"I figured you’d forgotten … seeing how drunk you were. What about walking on the sole of the sun while watching the earth float by … with Pink Floyd playing live on a cloud-top?"

"Okay … that sounds like something I’ve yet to do … not that I couldn’t because I could. I have more money hidden away than God’s Accountant. I can do anything … but that’s just it: I don’t want to do anything except push this button and turn off this station … this station that plays nothing but the same cartoon … you know the one: the one where the guy falls of the cliff and makes a splat, producing a small puff of dust. Ya we laugh. But. That’s me. That’s you. That’s everyone. It’s all pointless!"

"The fall is not all. There’s more to us than the cloud of dust we leave at the end of this road."

"Really? What?"

"The sound of freedom we share with the others that fall along side … and that’s not all."

"More?"

"Yes. More. We don’t even have to fall. We can learn to fly."

"Fly? That sounds wonderful."

"Without living wings, I don’t think you can fly … you can’t feel that freedom unless you’re alive."

"I see. You may be … who’s that!" I see someone has entered this secure facility and breached my trust. Maybe an adoring fan has found the path and wishes to join me. Boy I really thought my setup was hacker-proof. I guess nothing is hacker-proof.

"Doctor?" Hammond gets up and approaches the stranger. "Dr. Daily?" Hammond takes the woman’s arm and attempts to escort her out.

"You let go of me. You’re in as much trouble as he is. Hammond, you must listen to me, this can’t happen."

"Oh. Miss Daily. Won’t you join my audience? Please sit with me on the couch to nowhere," I yell at her.

"Mr. Buckmiller," Dr. Miriam Daily starts; but I won’t let her say another word without addressing me properly.

"It’s Joe."

"Fine. Joseph."

"No. Just Joe."

"Okay, Joe," she makes some progress towards me, "Joe. Listen to my voice. I need you to tell Mr. Welsh to end this … now!"

"His name is Hammond and he’s my butler."

"Exactly. He’s you’re butler. Now I need you to instruct your butler to disarm this contraption and end this broadcast," Ms Daily sure has a way with words in these kinds of circumstances … don’t you think? Sounds so good, you’d think it came right out of a book somewhere. I almost felt a hint of practiced compassion among those commanding phases. Wait. Is she telling me what to do?

"Are you telling me what to do?"

"No. Of course not. I am helping you resolve a dangerous situation in the interest of your future."

Hammond steps in, "Please. Dr. Daily. This may not be Oregon, but the laws are virtually the same. There is nothing wrong with his course of action. It is his life and he does have a choice. Please honor his wishes and leave. You are overstepping your bounds."

"Thank you Hammond. But I’ll take it from here. Misssss Daily. This is my house and you are trespassing. Everyone has seen it and now you must die."

"NO! It’s against the law to murder your doctor!" I think her words define her fear at this point. I’ve got her.

"Will you leave now?" Hammond, playing the good cop, asks.

"I will call the police," she starts for the door.

"Not before I get to the button," I challenge.

Then the old man does something quite unexpected, especially for his age. My faithful butler tackles Ms Daily and holds her in some kind of oriental-fighting position. Spectacular.

"Hammond?"

"Yes Joe?"

"Do you have any qualms about joining me in the journey to the other side and giving up a great new job you’ll surely get tomorrow as everyone sees what a loyal butler you are … will you hold her while I finish this and we’ll all take the ride?"

"Of course Joe."

"Thank you. I knew it. See everyone? Do you see what a great guy my Hammond is?" I take a moment and imagine the adoration the world must have for my beautiful butler.

"Okay. It’s time," I announce as if the new book is being opened by the new author and the first word of the new language will be written and read aloud, simultaneously.

"NO! Hammond let me go!"

"Shut up hag. You are interrupting my performance," my moment is being compromised by the opposition; I am frustrated.

"Your performance? What about your advice about not involving others in your act? I saw. Do you not practice what you preach? Are you a hypocrite? Do you not see you’ve involving a great man and a wonderful doctor? Are you ready to answer for that?"

"To who? You?"

"To the world … the universe … God."

"Oh, you so conveniently bring up God at a time like this. Why? You don’t believe in God."

"You might. You even said you might."

I laugh and say, "Bye-bye doctor no-good."

I sit down, pick up the button and commence, "Okay. Sorry about that interruption. I suspect there will be no more … right Hammond?" he’s just gagged her.

"Right Joe."

"Anyone still watching that doesn’t actually want to see my death should disconnect now. For the rest of you, prepare to be dazzled."

I hear the doctor spit out the rag amidst more struggle and say, "Dazzled? Have you gone insane? You’re doing this for fun?"

"Of course for fun," I get up and run right into her face, "This is the only fun I’ve ever had. Don’t you get it? You did nothing for me. You could care less about me. All you care about is losing a client … or as you say, ‘a patient.’ But what is a patient? A milk cow? A nursing station for modern day quackery? Tell me one person you’ve ever given joy."

"Joy? Well I’ve healed many … what do you mean by joy?"

"This ..." I spring away from her, jump around and laugh a lot, "This is what I mean. This is joy!"

"Mania is the term we use."

"Mania? Well if that means I’m a man insane with life, you’ve got it."

"Life? You’re going to kill yourself along with two innocent people."

"No body is innocent … we all eat … we all consume. We all exploit. Don’t tell me you’re innocent."

"What about Hammond; surely he’s innocent."

"Of what?"

"Of being condemned to die based upon your selfishness."

"No Dr. Daily. It is my choice," Hammond inputs.

"Thank you Hammond. You see, it’s his choice. Case closed. And as for you, well let’s just say you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. You should’ve waited a half hour and none of this would’ve mattered.

"In fact, you’re killing Hammond. Knowing I was about to blow this house up, you chose to come here. You didn’t have to. I know you watched. You said it yourself, ‘I might believe in God.’ Well you chose to put yourself in harm’s way and therefore are liable. Case closed. Plus, if it wasn’t for the fact that Hammond has to hold you down right now, he’d never been asked."

"No Joe. I’m actually happy you ask me to join you. I just can’t see another day of sad Joe anymore than I can see another day of no Joe. I’m with you. I still hope you call this off, but I’m here as you need me."

A pesky tear falls from my face. I wipe it away as that sewage bucket spews her trash, "You’re both insane!"

"Lost a good medical term for what’s happening here … huh doctor?" I love it! She’s really lost it. I mean, I thinks she’s having some kind of breakdown. All I can do is taunt her with wild, mocking laughter.

"No. Don’t. Please don’t. You can’t do this. I have family … a child. Don’t take me from her … please Joe listen to me ..." her tears and blubbering have caused the rest of her words to lose meaning. Then she just starts screaming hysterically as I raise the button-box and start my finger towards the final act. Oh the rapture of taunting thy fallen enemy.

She spastically wiggles her way out of Hammond’s grasp. It’s amazing what the need to live can do to a person’s abilities even when they are outmatched. She steps my way. But when she realizes when I push the button, the closer she is to me the more dead she is, she backs off.

"You two can go to hell for all I care. I’ll leave if you give me the chance."

"Better run. Run rabbit run!" I dance and sing as fervently as she cried. She’s gone. I turn to look at the cameras as tears form and my tune changes into gulps of sorrow.

Thank God Hammond got my signal and put an end to the broadcast. After I rip up the device and Hammond deactivates the equipment, I fall into some serious emotion.

"Joe?"

"Oh Hammond. I’m not going to do it. Not because of that witch-doctor; not because of the audience seeing me breakdown … hell, they’re no better than me; and it’s not because I’m scared or anything like that."

"Of course," Hammond’s words glitter a prickly fuzz, fluttering around my mind and energizing my head with comfort.

"I do it because of you. Because I’m thankful to have a friend like you and I don’t want to lose you if I don’t have to. Who knows what happens after death ..."

"Joe?"

"It’s true. If I do this, there’s a chance it’ll separate me from everything, including you. I just can’t guarantee I’ll still be able to have you as my friend even if we both die at the exact same time in the exact same place.

"Nothing’s guaranteed. You see, what if there is nothing? What if there is no God? What if I kill us both and then we just don’t exist? Then I’ll have nothing.

"Or worst, what if I have to do it all over again … what if there is a God and God makes me return to mortality … what if I’m born again? If that’s true, I might as well keep what I’ve got. I might as well take the friend I have and my current situation … I mean, I could always come back poor … or in some third world country somewhere … or worst yet, I could come back as a real asshole who has no friends at all. What if reincarnation is real? Well I just can’t do it yet.

"I want to have a friend. I’ve never had a friend. I’m not too sure I’ll get a friend next time around, if there is a next time. There still may be nothing. I’d hate to be conscious of nothing … and more nothing … endless emptiness, like falling, like drowning, like being crushed by a vacuum of vastness; what could be worst?"

Hammond smiles, "You’ve always had a friend."

"No. You’ve always been a friend. I’ve always been the guy who tells you what to do. You’ve never been my friend … or I mean I’ve never been a friend to you."

"You’ve ..."

"Please just listen. I may not be happy Joe anymore. I may not be the same sad Joe either. But I’m sure it’ll be something in between and more than that, it’ll be Authentic Joe. With your help, maybe the happy will win out the sad more times than not. All I know is you’ll have your Joe because that’s my choice … I choose to give you me. I choose to be a friend and give, not take."

As I begin to cry again, Hammond walks to me and pats me on the back and neck a couple of times. Our family or household has never been physically affectionate. For most of you out their, imagine he’s just come up and given me a big, long, sloppy hug. That’ll give you some idea of the emotional support he’s just shown.

"Do you want a really stiff JD, heavy on the rocks?"

I can only shake my head with a childlike sigh of relief among my outpouring of sadness … no, I’ve just moved beyond sadness; I’m into pure release now.

"Okay. I’ll be back. I’ve got to get the good stuff from next door. Don’t leave without me."

Words come to me this time, "I won’t. I promise." I actually look him in the eyes as he leaves.

I really am finding something like love for Hammond. Not the kind of sissy fag love those male-bonding self-help groups are all about. No. This is the kind of love football players have for each other. Not fags. I’m not a fag. But I don’t hate fags either. Hell, I don’t even beat ‘em up anymore. Ever since that AIDS scare, I’ve left the bleeders to the more bold.

Okay. I bet you’re thinking I’m a good for nothing racist, fag-hater or whatever. The truth is I’ve gone through phases. I’ll be honest. But just because I don’t hate on ‘em anymore, don’t think I like ‘em or something. I’m no fag.

Okay. Fine. I had an Uncle. He did something; I think. Enough said. I guess I hate them because I hate him. I don’t like men. I like women. I guess I hated fags – sorry, homosexuals – because of what one did to me. But, like Hammond once said, my uncle wasn’t gay, he was a child molester. Either way, I guess I’ve been used and abused most of my life … like the rest of you out there.

Sex has always been a big thing for me. It’s given me the greatest pleasures and most interest. It turns on more buttons in my brain than any other drug. That’s why I felt I had to destroy any possibility of the most minute inkling that even a speck could be in me. I figure if I beat ‘em then how could I be ‘em.

A steady stream of beaten-down boy-lovers do wonders for newspapers and public opinion polls. Which of course gets mayors, sheriffs and other such gun-toting fools interested in a little bit of fun. I mean, what’s the damage? A few stitches? I’ve never killed any of ‘em … I think.

So anyway, I had to quit. I refuse to be some big-man’s prison-bitch, spread across the bed of karmic returns, or sucking pre-shit through a straw at a buck ‘o five, nothing but bones and a few dripping tubes to keep me alive. A little fun is never worth jail time or an honorary ICU membership.

But then it got worse. That time with my Uncle began haunting since I couldn’t beat the pain into someone else’s soul. I admit I actually thought I could be leaning the wrong way. That’s until the day I faced my fears: I took a naked picture of a man and a woman, set them side by side and observed as to which one attracted my sexuality. Ever since then, I know I’m straight as an arrow and the need to hunt them is gone. I’ll still kick their ass if they get in the way like any other idiot. But I don’t go looking for a fight.

Oh, but why am I thinking about this now? Is it only because I want you to know how I feel about Hammond or is there something more to it? Is the question resurfacing? Do I have to take the test again? Damn. What if I fail this time?

Shut up! There’s no point second guessing myself. If I can’t trust my own perceptions, I might as well have pushed the button. I know who I am. There’s no need to question that. The only question is: why did it come up?

I think about the fact that I’m still alive and have no immediate plans to change this as I’ll be a friend to Hammond as long as I can. That’s when I realize I must be thinking about this because of what I’ve done to those men … what I’ve done to myself. How close I came to the other side must be telling me something. If there is no God then nothing; but if there is, then what? Will I have to pay for what I’ve done? Is it just about them, or is it about all the people I’ve hated upon and attempted to destroy in one way or another.

Oh God. Why did the gate open? Fags are only the surface … the least of my dilemmas. Now that the truth is seen, I’m exposed to the wrong I’ve done. No one will praise this night with memory but me. Only faint laughter accompanies the sad few who admit to witnessing this debacle.

There was one or two moments where I actually considered setting up the equipment. But that’s when I hear Hammond putting ice into the glasses or closing a door. Damn his presence. Each time it shoves its way into my being with an innocent sound of this or that, I am reminded of this night’s conclusion. I know I will live.

Finally I decide that if I die I’ll face all of this stuff anyway so I might as well try to do it now. I still remember my joy. I plan on getting back to it as soon as I figure out how. I may not know but I do know it lies behind this tsunami of guilt I’m ingesting. My eyes cannot stay open. The sound of the people I’ve hurt overwhelm the sounds of reality. The dream of personal and public retribution washes over my consciousness and sweeps me away into repentance.

"Joe? Joe, are you awake?" Hammond asks and then mumbles, "Oh well, I guess I’ll drink ‘em both. Goodnight Happy Joe."

Episode 2

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