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  • Drunk, foolish, in a profound amount of grief...when we got home I was supposed to go to bed, but I didn't. I knelt at the toilet, jammed a finger down my throat until I emptied my stomach, brushed my teeth and walked out the door.

    People were everywhere. They were staring at me, whispering, talking. A few were too stupid to realize what condition I was in and asked me what happened, clawing at me - trying to stop me. Pushing past them was easy, not saying anything was easy. Being a fucking idiot was easy.

    I walked into Tenant R's apartment (the door was open). There were no Police, just a few individuals...more were in the back, in his room. I kept moving until I saw his father (I'd met him before). We looked at each other. His eyes were red, swollen.

    "Why did my son do this?" He asked me, moving close, waving a piece of paper. "He said he asked you for help and you couldn't help! You found him, why did he do this!"

    People in the room moved to him, held him. He was now angry, angry at me for not saving his son. He wanted answers I didn't have. Tears began filling his eyes.


    I tried not to weave back and forth. The room was tilting and I was still drunk and very stupid.

    "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help him."

    He broke and I left.

    Tenant R haunted me after that. I saw him regularly, standing pale at the foot of my bed, in crowds. I could feel him, cold and angry, even if I couldn't see him. He smiled approvingly as I stood on my bed screaming, wife crying a few feet away as I grabbed my hair and jerked my head...trying to break my neck. I saw him there as I fell and went unconscious.

    He haunted me after we moved. No one believed me. I simply thought it was just me being crazy until my daughter started to see him and my brother started to see Tenant R's "tantrums" during a visit.

    He haunted me as I wrote a letter apologizing and asking him to leave me alone. I read it to him while he stood at the foot of my bed. I was freezing and crying.

    After that I didn't see him very often. The letter seemed to appease him somewhat. Now I only see him in glimpses. Sometimes friends will ask me about him. If I have Tarot readings he usually rolls through the deck.

    It's many years later and I realize much. This event was the culmination of many things, and it broke me. It created a fascination with death that I still haven't quite shaken. I fell deep, hard and completely...then I re-built and triumphed.

    Then I fell again...harder, more completely. I didn't get up. I lay there and bled.
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