There are no heroes in life. The monsters win. (George R.R. Martin)

The first thing I saw when I woke up in the hospital was a card with praying hands on the front. It sat in front of a pot of flowers delivered by New Hope Community Church. They had read what had happened in the paper and I was on their prayer list. There were cards from a number of members of the congregation.

The emotional scars were lasting but I had essentially just got punched in the face. I didn’t know if I deserved all this sympathy from good people. Sure, part of me thought I deserved their pity. But part of me blamed myself for messing Nicky up, along with everyone else who had came into my life.

Senior was sitting in the room with me. He got to his feet when he saw that I was awake. I was embarrassed to explain to Senior what had happened. He handed me a paper. I was the victim; that was how I had been painted at least.

“There’s more,” he began ominously.

How could there be more than that?