by Mark Allen
“I love you, too... Grandpa.”
He smiled at her, his face conveying the purest love.
And then, he was gone. Disappeared in a blur, a wraith, a spectral tendril, as if he had never been there, indeed as if he had never really existed at all.
Journal entry, Wednesday, April 15
It has been a while since I wrote a journal entry. The reason for my negligence is a happy one. I have been spending more time with my family. Lot-Lot and I have had several happy discussions late into the evening regarding my past, my plans to elope with Danae.
How those plans were derailed.
She understands why I made the choice I did, to become what I am. And she understands the nature of my promise to Danae regarding non-interference. But she also feels the burden of that promise can be lifted now without dishonor since Danae has been passed on for forty years now.
So in keeping with my newfound familial ties (and to make up for lost time), I bought my Lot-Lot a house. I figured it was the least I could do, seeing as I had a heavy hand in ruining the one she lived in before. Naturally, she had been resistant to so lavish a thing, until I disclosed to her my true net worth, accumulated over the span of my existence.
She felt better about it after that.
When one has a net worth like mine, buying a vintage three-bedroom craftsman two blocks down from where you live seems a small thing. So we found one she liked, I forked over the cash, made sure her name was on the deed, and let the realtor hand her the keys. I visit often, several times a month, and we have a lovely time.
I never truly understood until recently how being with family fills one’s heart and feeds one’s soul.
Reginald is doing fine. He got a medal and a big promotion at work. He is a Lieutenant now. He actually insisted that the ceremony be held during evening hours so I could attend. Such a wonderful man my great-great grandson is! Now if he could only meet a nice girl...
In the weeks following the destruction of the drug smuggling empire Reginald had infiltrated, much else has transpired. Captain Horn, who was awarded a medal during the same ceremony as Reginald, put in his papers and retired from the force. He still lives quietly and alone in that tiny apartment. But at my continued urging, he has reached out to his children. They are supposed to meet for coffee next week. I hope all goes well for them.
Coulter was formally indicted, arraigned, and held without bond. Because he was a cop, they put him into the Protective Custody Unit. He was found with his throat slit like a hog the very next morning. So much for Protective Custody. As far as I am concerned, it could not have happened to a more deserving fellow. I hope he suffered greatly.
As for me, life goes on. I wake up. I work. I make money. I eat. I occasionally go out and hunt. It’s much the same, night after night, like my life is on a permanent loop.
But I get to visit my Lot-Lot. And I get to see my Reginald. I have gained a peace and a sense of kinship that I have never felt since I was a young boy living in that terrible tenement in Hoboken.
I must complete this entry with dispatch. I am having the guys over for horror movie night. Reginald is coming over, so is Horn. Nick Castle too. We do this quite a bit. We sit and watch movies most of the night. They eat pizza, popcorn, and drink beer, all that stuff. We all have a great time. They especially love it when I laugh uproariously at the vampire movies.
Hollywood never gets it right.
