**Someone’s been watching over Tom for some time. Just ask anyone who’s crossed his path since he started walking. They’ll tell you the same. **

**It’s 3 AM, and he’s a fucking mess. He’s behind the wheel, careening directly toward the house at the center of the cul-de-sac.**

**He’s full tilt high with a Johnny Walker bookend, and the car is picking up speed. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, he nods off for a second as the cigarette falls into his lap.**

**“Oh shit!” he says, lifting his ass from the seat, searching for the cigarette. **

**Tom is looking everywhere but the road, but the car stays surprisingly straight as if it had autopilot.**

**Then, only 50 yards from impact, he snaps to like a soldier responding to a drill sergeant. Somehow, he manages—Except for a momentary screech of rubber against the road, like a stagecoach driver easy his horse team to an abrupt but gentle stop. He shifts to park, douses the lights, and slumps over the wheel, releasing a big breath of relief.**

**The outside of his car is adorned with the beginnings and ends of numerous open-ended stories—events that would be damn near impossible to figure out without his help. Most of it doesn’t make sense until it does.**

**It’s a typical middle-class neighborhood. Repleat with white picket fences, immaculate lawns, two car garages. Someone's utopia **

****

**Tom fumbles for the door handle. The windows are laden with dirt and humidity. As the door opens, he braces himself and falls out onto the driveway. He pulls himself away from the driver’s seat on two hands, doing a hand over hand crawl. Once clear, he’s face-down in the driveway. He takes a deep breath and pulls himself to his feet, swaying back and forth like a tree in the wind.**

**He stumbles over to the garage door keypad, making a half-dozen futile attempts to punch in the right numbers with no success.**

**“Shit,” he mumbles.**

**Defeated, Tom makes his way to the front door. Fumbling for his keys, he tries to insert his best guess into the lock, but it doesn’t work.**

**With a heavy sigh, he leans his head against his forearm resting on the doorframe. He starts a slow, meek knock. The next attempt starts the same and gradually builds into a more aggressive, consistent pace. **

****

**Lifting his head while still knocking, he looks around for any signs of activity. The knocking turns into pounding with his palm, the force noticeably increasing.**

**“Open the fucking door!” he yells.**

**Lights come on in the adjacent houses. Shadowy figures peek out from behind curtains, silhouettes of those who don’t want to get involved.**

**Tom is still banging on the door when a light flicks on inside the house. A woman’s voice calls to him through the door.**

**“Tom, stop it. I told you it’s over. You’re not welcome here anymore. If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”**

**This isn’t the first time he’s done this. But it may be the last.**

**“Come on!” he grunts.**

**“It’s over,” she pleads. “It’s too much. Too many times, too many promises. Please, get help. Do it for yourself, but you’re just not welcome here.”**

**In a moment of frustration and anger, Tom bangs feverishly on the door, rapid-fire palm strikes. One of the neighbors, now standing on his front stoop, yells out.**

**“For fuck’s sake, Tom! It’s 3 AM! This can’t be a surprise to you. We’ve all been putting up with this shit for years. Just go, would ya? The only one who can help you is you. Can’t ya see that?”**

**“Fuck off, Frank. Get back in your house or I’ll come over there and punch you right in the mouth, you nosy prick!” Tom yells. “In fact, I’ll do even better if I have to say it again!”**

**Tom reaches behind his back and pulls out a pistol, using it to scratch his temple as he sways, catching his footing. He looks back at the neighbor, who is now retreating inside.**

**“That’s right! Get back in there!” Tom screams. “You don’t know! You’re no expert! You just don’t know!” he says sadly, as the neighbor slams the door.**

**Tom, breathing rapidly, takes a deep breath as he bends over, clenching his fists, and lets out a deep, bellowing scream.**

**“If only they’d let me back in the house, we wouldn’t have this problem!” he yells again at Frank’s house.**

**Tom reaches for the handle one more time. Same result. He starts to cry, then sob. It’s pitiful. **

**“I love you! I hope you know that. No matter what you see. No matter what I’ve done. I’ve tried! I just can’t. It’s too much. You just don’t know what happened! What they did. I tried but how the hell is a man supposed to talk about that kind of thing?” he moans.**

**Sirens in the distance catch Tom’s ear. He scoffs. **

**“why not. Come join the party.” he says sarcastically. Forms a slight Grin just before tears pour down his face.**

**“Honey, I think I have a solution. A solution everyone will be happy with. You, the baby, and even Frank next door. Just open the door, please. Let me tell you what it is. Let me show you. It’ll be quick. I’m not gonna stay long. Just open the—”**

**The light inside the house goes out.**

**As the sirens grow louder, Tom looks over his shoulder and sees the red and blue lights cresting the road a couple of blocks away.**

**He turns back to the house and looks up.**

**“I love you,” he says quietly. “I just never learned how to love myself. It's not your fault. I just can’t be who wanted me to be. Who I should wanna be.”**

**He rears back with his foot as if to kick the door in but pauses in mid-stride. He puts the gun to his temple.**

**“I’m sorry,” he whispers.**

**He pauses briefly. The night crickets are singing their song, when suddenly, they Full silent giving way to the crack of a gunshot.**

**You can barely see the silhouette tom slumped over. Not a single light in the neighborhood breaks the darkness. **