My name is Dane Nathaniel Thomas. And tonight I will be murdered. And though I know how, and when... I can do nothing to change the fact that I need to die. The lives I've taken, the damage I've done to the world, the plague that gave the fear of my name birth... these things have all contributed to my infamous reputation. The packs beyond my own call me the Child of Death, Saint Dane... and for a while... I liked it.

But then came my son. Out from the past, a scrapping little runt who survived one of the worse environments I could imagine. And he did so, unscathed, making me proud. He was just a lonely human boy, just trying to survive his once beautiful mother... I guess her hatred for me ran deeper than my blood...

I always wondered how having a son would be, even if his mother wasn't around. But then I'd just wave it off, telling myself that no one would ever want my touch ever again for what I did, what I'd become. Even though the plague in me had died long ago... people never change...

Surprised at the scent of him when I returned home from killing the only contact I had too my son, my anxiety overwhelmed me. I'd been so cruel, as to threaten the life of my own son, just too scare away Claire. Her and her hatred for me... like every other woman in my life. Melissa, Claire, Nicole... They all hated me after my little war was over... but there was nothing I could do about that now.

Now, I had a son. I wasn't worried about anything other than him, and his safety. And when he'd told me about this witch who was driving him insane at that God-forsaken camp, I lost it. I was ready too kill that man. I wanted to shove his head into his neck, and push it through his chest for even thinking about pulling that gun out. And just as I went too, Michael surprised me. That compassion he had... I mistook it for fear when I first saw it in him. But after protecting a man who wanted him dead... Changed everything.

He was spastic, energetic, and always dove head first into what ever came his way, when he was a kid. And in the ten years I'd known him... nothing changed. Every little thing he did, buying a jet ski, getting a job without me asking... even his little affair with the Fairbanks girl, took me by surprise. And just thinking about it, made me laugh. Too bad it'd be my last.

My son and his mate both took off about an hour ago, and I made sure to tell them both I loved them. The look on my son's face was priceless, like he'd never heard it before, and Angela gave me a hug. It's subtle things like that, that make me regret the life I'd lived. The past I'd left behind, so that those I loved would live on. I guess it is my fault, that I'll die here tonight.

With Nick and Emily going trick-or-treating with them, I hadn't anything to worry about. Derrick and my brother now getting drunk at the docks with Derrick's co-workers. And I was sure they weren't going to be home for quite some time. Everyone was gone, and everyone was safe.

I took a long, drought of the Bourbon I'd poured myself after everyone was gone. I stirred a little Coke Cola with it, and sat back in my Sun Room. It truly was my favorite room. Filled to the brim with the books I'd read over and over during my time here on earth. I read here, I sometimes slept here, and this was where Michael was conceived. This room was everything to me, and I might as well die in it.

Tonight's selection for my final read, was a small journal I'd kept during the war. Some might have said it was my greatest accomplishment. I thought it the exact opposite. Death wasn't an accomplishment, as Michael had taught me. It was a tragedy. And scribbled across this little book, were the words, "God, Forgive Me..."

It's thin, red binding wrapped around the book loosely now, like a blanket for it's cover and spine. The pages were yellow and grey from age, and the handwriting was a little blurry. I wasn't sure whether or not it was because of my drinking, or because of the easily spreadable lead I'd used to write in it. Neither would have surprised me.

As I flipped through the pages looking for my favorite quote, I heard the front door slide open slowly. Footsteps drew nearer and nearer to the door and my heart began to beat faster and faster. My fingers slid through the pages like the legs of an Olympic Runner. Pages flew as my murderer sniffed out my scent and tracked me to the room beyond the kitchen.

Page thirty-six finally revealed itself as the page I'd been looking for, and as I heard him enter the room, I read it aloud.

"War is hell."

The barrel fixated itself to the back of my head, "And what's wrong with hell?" He said.

The trigger reeled back.

My fear became cloaked with euphoria.

The shell primed...

And then there was black. No sights, no sounds... just black...