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            This is it, the end. How can this be the end? How can thirty years of suffering and four of freedom, discovery, and more suffering end like this, out here in the dark, kneeling in a creek, by a shotgun in the hands of a white supremacist? How can this be the end?

            I’ve failed. I haven’t found all my answers. I’m still separated from people who love me. I’ve failed. Failed? No, not failed. I’ve lived. I’ve helped people. I’ve saved lives, saved families, given others what I’ve never had. I haven’t failed.

            Our Father, who art in heaven…

 Or, on the other hand...

            The moment Luke volunteered to kill him, Jarod knew the truth, astonished that he hadn’t seen it before. But he hadn’t tried to become Luke. He’d become a white supremacist, fanatical, loyal, stupid, not questioning the leader. The man had been perfect.

            The moment between Luke’s offer and Bartlett’s acceptance stretched unbearably long. Neither could show his fear, or his relief. But then Luke was so realistic as he dragged Jarod out to the creek. The moment of kneeling in the water, with the man and his shotgun behind him, was suddenly full of fear. What if he’d been wrong?












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