So there you had it. The multitude of crime I'd committed. How could I blame my dad for what he did? He knew what I was and it was about time I admitted it to myself.
As I watched him weep, I had my first real unselfish thought in my life. He shouldn't have to go to jail for protecting my girls and I didn't want them to have to lose their grandfather.
There wasn't much left of me. I knew I was going fast. Even if he had a change of heart and called for an ambulance, I knew I'd be gone before they got to me. I could barely speak, but I whispered for him to get me a pen and paper. He just stood in front of me, his face one big crease as he wept.
It hurt like hell to talk, but I tried again. 'Pen, paper.'
He probably had no idea what I wanted them for, but he got them for me. It took almost everything I had left, but I scribbled as neatly as I could, 'Sorry – Joe' on it. I made sure not to get any blood on the paper. It wasn't much of a suicide note, but it would do. Besides, those two words probably made as much sense as anything I could've written.
I pointed to his gun. I mouthed the word 'gun' to him.
Maybe he thought I was going to shoot him. If he did, he didn't care because he gave his gun to me. He stood in front of me for a moment, and then staggered back, collapsing into a chair. Through his weeping, he told me over and over again that he loved me, but that he couldn't let me hurt my daughters. At that moment I wanted to love him also. More than anything I wanted to truly love my two daughters.
I put the barrel of the gun against my bullet wound. It would probably look funny committing suicide by shooting yourself twice in the stomach, but hell, let them prove otherwise.
It was a struggle holding the gun up, and an even bigger struggle trying to pull the trigger back. That's the problem with a Colt. 45; it takes some strength to fire it. As I strained to pull the trigger, I started thinking of Dan, of how he'd react when he heard I'd committed suicide. It was really kind of funny if you thought about it. After everything he had done only to end up having to go to prison when my safety deposit box was opened. As I thought about it I started laughing. I guess with the little strength that I had my laugh came out more as a wheeze. My dad probably thought I was suffering through my final convulsions. He started weeping even harder. I would've liked to have told him not to worry about me, but I didn't have the strength to say anything.
So there I was. Wheezing and straining, straining and wheezing, trying to get that damn trigger pulled back. For a second I thought I wasn't going to make it. Then I felt the trigger release. My whole body seemed to explode with the shot that followed. But I just kept thinking of Dan, and maybe of other things, and wheezing my little laugh with whatever I had left. It got so cold, but I just kept laughing. Then I didn't feel anything. I was still laughing. It seemed to grow louder, echoing throughout me. At first there was nothing but blackness. Then I could see the flames. They were far away, but I was flying downwards towards them. I was getting closer every second. And through it all I kept laughing.
What can I say?
I laughed all the way to hell.