Personal log.
Sounds like something out of Star Trek. I wonder what the star date is? Not that it matters. All I know is that it's 3:57 in the am, and I can't sleep. Why else would I be sitting up at my computer, fingers on the keys and writing to someone who isn't even here?
Actually, the truth is, I can sleep, but I can't take the nightmares. And who knew blood really was that colour? I mean, I did. I've seen it before. But not coming out of someone I thought was a friend once. My best friend.
I saw it happen. This time, I was there, and I saw it happen in front of my eyes. One minute Bryce was alive, the next he wasn't.
Does it make a difference? Actually witnessing his death? Because I'd been told he was dead before, Casey more than happy to admit he pulled the trigger, but …
Is he dead now? Will that be him in the casket this time? Is he likely, maybe a few months down the proverbial road, to come back into my strange and disordered life to play havoc again?
To play havoc with my relationship with Sarah? Not, I have to admit, that it's been exactly plain sailing. Even my little buddy Morgan would have to admit that. God, when I think of what he did during the wedding, getting Jeff and Lester to … okay, now I'm digressing even on the screen.
I am so tired. Something about having the new … you know what … in my head seems to take it out of me. Won't say it. Can't. Casey'd kill me. Except he came to my rescue because I called. Maybe this is the start of a beautiful friendship after all … Yeah, right. Last time I suggested that I ended up in the bushes. It took me days to get all the prickles out of my skin.
Honestly, right now, all that's keeping me going is knowing that Ellie and Awesome are at this moment enjoying their honeymoon. Okay, maybe that mental image is something I'll try to forget. Must be the exhaustion.
I still keep seeing Bryce, though. Out of the corner of my eye, standing looking at me as I marked up that textbook, a football in his hands, about to speak and change my life forever. Before the CIA, before Jill, before … everything. Only he's got blood on his shirt, and he's telling me that Fulcrum is only the beginning.
Should I write that? I mean, this is just a stream of consciousness, and I'm not going to keep it. And I checked for Trojans before I started.
What the hell. Casey can only shoot me once. Or twice. Or maybe a few more times since he knows where not to hit anything vital. And since both the doctors I know closely are out of town … Maybe Sarah will protect me.
Sarah … Her picture's on the desk, looking at me as I type. Sarah … If I could write poetry I would, but for the life of me I can't think of anything that rhymes with her name. Although since it isn't even real, maybe … Okay, enough of that, Bartowski. Everyone knows how you go around following her like a love-sick puppy.
Only puppies grow up. Maybe that's what I need to do. Stop being a puppy and start being a man. Put away childish things and … except Call of Duty are putting out a new version. So maybe not all childish things.
It's starting to get light. It'll be time to put on my one decent suit, brush my hair into something less like animal shapes, and go to the cemetery. And wonder if it's really Bryce.
Swings and roundabouts. Yin and yang. Find a father, lose a friend. And it looks like it's going to be a nice day. Somehow, funerals should only take place when it's raining.
Only one more thing to do now. The one thing that, if I was in a philosophical frame of mind, we all end up doing, no exceptions.
Hit delete.