And somewhere in the vault of dreams is a slim book with this entry:

So... I am sitting in the new building, breathing in the scent mix of pine and paint fumes, thinking to myself: What a lucky bastard I am.

Maybe that doesn't make sense. I mean... I did the first part of my life right, keeping that part my parents were uncomfortable with out of sight and in the cold dark- once I realized they didn't much care for it. I went to school got good grades, never too popular, never the odd man out. And the only person I confided to in that time is dead. Win win?

But then I didn't want my sister to die. Not really. I suppose if Zoe had confided her own demons to me I might have been able to help her, yet I don't feel much regret about her suicide any more. She doesn't haunt me like she used to when I first came to this city. Now I only think of her in the quiet times, usually when I have one too many-which is why I don't drink much.

My folks? They're just fine. They like to keep things quiet so I don't visit much any more. My mother is of the opinion that I need to let Jesus into my life. I told her I didn't barricade him out, and any time he wanted to drop by for a pint I'd be glad to shoot a game of pool with him. Maybe he could explain to me how three people didn't have any idea that a family member was starving herself slowly to death and cutting herself up. That usually works. They both have this idea that I am under a bad influence, but really it's like saying that a wolf only kills because he just doesn't understand that Bambi and Thumper have a right to breathe air too. I made a mask for them to love without having to face the actual monster, but all masks slip eventually.

Molly was a blessing in disguise- completely out of the blue. I left the building to have a smoke, and there she was, better than finding a hundred on the ground. She was the one that initially got us wrapped in the things we do now. A series of happy accidents that one. The best was still her coming to me telling me that for what ever reason she did, she had offered a service to Uncle Bob. Hearing what he'd done to the last failure, I had to help her. I don't have much in the way of feelings any more, but there is something left when it comes to Mollie.

That was how I came to be in the company of Uncle Bob. Now mind you; I never say I KNEW the man. He confided very little personal information to me, though I like to think he knew I could be trusted in the ways that really count. In him I saw what I had been looking for, what I wasn't finding working in the DEFD. I saw a man that was true to his code. He was a low down criminal, and he didn't pretend to be anything else. Words are bullshit, so I judge on actions. His provoked a sense of respect that has rarely manifested in my life. It was like having a very, VERY eccentric uncle. I felt the need for him to be proud of me. I still do.

I guess to sum it up, the whole metamorphosis idea works in my life. I was trapped in tiny walls, with tiny ideas and very little room to move. Those around me trying to meet the same ideals instilled with me that failed? They might still be doing the bribes, the cheating, the skimming of the top. I don't have to do that. I was apparently born bad. I tried to fit, and like all bad relationships, it just didn't work out. Now I sit back, business owner with the best friends one could ask for and the sexiest, craziest wife in the city... and the sky is the limit.

Here's looking to the future.