It wasn’t like he was born into this.

Jesus, it wasn’t like his DNA spelled out criminal or something.

No.

No, no, this was a choice. Because success had to be created…you had to make it for yourself. And he had always believed that completely. He‘d always picked his battles and then fought them with fervor. Just like any other man he would do whatever he could to make his point…to pitch his own qualities and abilities to whoever would listen.

He was just like any other man.

It was just that he had made this choice, and once he’d made it he sort of had to stand by it…he had to take hold of it and run without looking back because things in life would just go on without you…things would take control of you, if you let them. But he wouldn’t let them. He would own this decision, he would own his success…he would take back control.

And, he reasoned, his intention wasn’t to harm anybody…it wasn’t like he was some crazed lunatic. His intention was simply to make a gesture…to prove a point and grab hold of the reins so that things could go back to normal. He really didn’t understand why the women kept crying and the men threw angry fists at him…he really didn’t understand why they were pleading for their lives as if he were a gun wielding maniac. In fact it was a little bit insulting.

Come on! Jesus, he was cultured! He’d been educated! These people were acting like he’d been raised by cavemen or possessed by the devil.

And when they acted like that, like when they begged to be returned to their families or when they looked up at him with tear-stained faces and spat profanity at him, he would just calmly explain it to them again.

It wasn’t like he was born into this.

He was just like any other man. It was just that he’d made this choice…he wanted to make this point…

And they were going to help him out, that was all. They were going to give him a hand.

And they were going to do it nice and quiet…and they were going to smile.

They were going to do it with a smile.

This room beneath the parking lot…this sort of hidden bomb shelter…it was the perfect space for them. It had a little bathroom and some respectable lighting. It had a floor and a ceiling…walls…whatever. They would survive, for Christ’s sake.

The only thing was that it was cold, so he kept having to bring them blankets. It wasn’t like he was trying to harm anybody…so he kept bringing them blankets. And food, of course. And water.

But this time when he tried to open the door to hand them these things…these gifts…privileges, really, one of the men came bounding at him…rudely. Fists swinging. And so he’d had to pull out the knife he sometimes brought. The one he hadn’t ever really meant to use.

And Jesus, they were standing there in a kind of a stare down, him with his knife and the guy with these clenched angry fists, when this cat came running down the dirt tunnel that led to the shelter. This white cat. Like a sign or something. Like a promise. It made him smile because it seemed like somewhere a greater power was reassuring him, telling him that things would turn out right, that this was what men did. To prove a point.

And then…

Then it was like…he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing because right then the receptionist came following after the cat. She just walked right up to him and her eyes took in the scene and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Because she knew him. She’d smiled at him…laughed at his jokes…given him compliments in the past. She was kind and she knew him. She would be able to see the amount of success he really deserved. God, she was perfect. And, like affirmation, the words ‘Oh my God’ fell from her lips…prayer like, and he knew it was fate.

Jesus, it was like fate.

Success. He smiled and gestured with the hand gripping the knife, pointing into the room where the eight others sat with tear stained faces, and he just politely asked her if she would join them. He just wondered if she might join them.

And of course she nodded because, really, as a woman who sort of knew him, what choice did she have?

She was the first out of all of them to walk into the shelter willingly...to offer herself up to this cause of his. 

Jesus...it was like...he closed the door and let out a laugh of disbelief.  She'd gone in so quietly and he just knew that she wouldn't swear at him or spit at him when he returned with another blanket or with bread and water.  No, she would smile.  She would believe in him.  Maybe she would thank him.

But, still, he secured the rust covered bolt because he'd learned that the other eight just couldn't be trusted.