I don't think I have long. The shape and the stranger are growing restless.
I can't take it anymore. If I'm going to die, I'm going to take those things with me, and I know I'm going to die.
I've got a gun. I've got a knife. I don't expect either to work against the things I'm up against, but it's better than nothing.
Mom, Dad, Tom, I'm sorry this is how you had to find out who I really am.
If I survive this, well, cat's out of the bag.
If not...
Well. I love you. And goodbye.
