Title: "Revelations: Part 8 of 14"        

         Around the time that Erica had been applying the gauze to Matt's wounds, the Balmore brothers, Theodore and Patrick, were sitting up in Theodore's special hotel room for the night. They had since dropped Karl off back at his house, in which he quickly passed out. They heard a loud thud as they closed the door. Karl had passed out on the floor.

         JJ had been rather quiet for the drive back. Theodore had tried to joke or kid with him, but JJ just couldn't get excited. JJ had gone back to his house when they dropped Karl off.

         Patrick, beginning to sober what drunkenness he had, had driven Theodore to the hotels, where they had both went up to discuss what had just happened. Patrick was still fuming from his older brother's direct order to stop what was an already decisive victory fight.

         "Why didn't we fight? We could have taken them. They were nothing more than a prick, dick, and bitch! I can't understand how you would even let that guy punk you out like that." Patrick was still going on.

         Theodore had just passed the first few rounds off, but he was sleepy, exhausted, and ready for bed. He had had enough of it. After hanging up a jacket, Theodore turned back to Patrick, who was sitting in a backward chair beside the bed. Theodore took a deep breath, raised a hand in the air, and half-shouted. "Patrick, will you shut up for a minute? No doubt, I had my reasons. His day is coming, as well as anything you'd like to do to that kid who took your girl." He turned his hand in a "what do you think about that" fashion.

         Patrick, furious earlier from Erica's sharp break up, was quick to let Theodore know where he stood with her, though. "Man, I don't want her no more. Plenty more who want some of Patrick Balmore."

         A sly grin cracked across Theodore's face, encompassing his cheeks. "Plenty more who wouldn't dare dump you, no doubt."

         Just the fact that she dumped him. That was what had kept Patrick so angry. Now his older brother, a brother who he respected more than life itself, was rubbing it in on him in a typical sibling fashion. "Man, shut up! I was about to do it to her, anyway. I swear she was no fun. No excitement."

         Throwing a pair of dress shoes out beside the bed, Theodore turned back to Patrick. "And that's why you attacked her new man?"

         Of course it was. Patrick didn't let things like that slide with people. He was a cookie cutter image of his brother. "Man... nobody but nobody can think they got the best of me. That loser wouldn't be accepted even at the reject table from back in high school. To think, the nerve of him now." Patrick smacked a fist into his open palm.

         Taking off his shirt, button by button, Theodore remarked back to Patrick. "Remember what I said. You'll get your day when what's coming for him ultimately happens."

         But Patrick was still caught in fighter's mode. He could still take a group of cavalry, dismantling them five at a time. "But why not tonight?"

         Throwing on a casual white T-shirt and getting ready for bed, Theodore sat down atop the bed and looked at Patrick. "Because... I have a big day tomorrow. There's a reputation to upkeep. It's hard trying to be the town hero in front of so many people, but these are the things you must always think of when you're in a position such as mine, no doubt.

         "To get into a brawl in public view, especially with a chance of someone seeing me face, and seeing me actually throw a punch at someone, without solid proof that they started it, would not be good. Things of this proportion always have to be handled carefully, no doubt. Time, and time again."

         Leaning the chair back, it all suddenly made sense to Patrick. Theodore wasn't backing down from a fight. He was just making sure it was only under his own terms, with no surprises. "I think I'm understanding. Man, you have so much to teach me, it's unreal."

         Putting a hand on Patrick's shoulder, Theodore reassured him. "Relax. All in due time. Right now, though, sleep is of the essence, as tomorrow this town is going to recognize my excellence while I grew up here. It'll be a spectacle to remember, no doubt." Theodore clicked his mouth and winked his eye at Patrick. Theodore was especially proud of what the mayor of Berkeley, Mayor Clemson, had promised him.

         Patrick had no idea what it was, but he rested assured that whatever it was, if it was something his brother would like, he knew he would like it as well. "It'll be a blast."

         "No doubt!" Theodore went to lie down onto the bed, before realizing he still had a few things left to unpack. He reached under the bed and grabbed a suitcase, and was about to unload onto his bed when he got up from it. He walked over to the pants that he had thrown down, and removed a pair of thin black gloves from them. He tossed them onto the dresser, and then walked back to the bed.

         Neither said anything about it, as the brothers continued to make small talk until Patrick left to go back home.

* * * * *

         The lights were all out in apartment 13 of the Gilman apartments. Zero laid in his bed, rolling over to his left, then to his right, constantly trying to get into a comfortable position to get some rest. But his mind was racing too quickly for it to happen. Well, not that it was racing. More like, it was slowly dragging down, and dragging Zero's whole body down with it. It would be hard to sleep that night.

         The re-emergence of Theodore shook Zero. Childhood memories, especially bad ones, were always a source of stress. But it was not only that. The fight and beat down of Matt had been uncalled for. And what was worse, it was done in front of a woman. Matt's new interest, or at least Zero assumed that was what it was now, Erica.

         Yes. That was something else on his mind. Where did Erica play into the picture? He could not even look into her eyes without having to turn away earlier in the night. She was like Karen. Zero knew that much. At least he thought she was. He wasn't sure. Whichever it was, there was something about her. Zero felt a need to protect her as much as he felt he needed to of Matt now. But at the same time, did not know how close he should become to her. If she always caused memories of Karen to rise up in his head, then he wouldn't be able to. But if he could just put Karen behind him, and focus on the future. What was the future, though? Erica? Wait, no.

         He rolled over again in his bed, flicking an overhead light on. There was only one thing he could do at that moment. He stepped out of bed, and put on some shorts and a T-shirt. He found a pair of sandals lying beside his bed and put those on as well. Then, he walked past his bed, over to the wall. Fingering around with the wall structure for a moment, he finally pealed back the wood, and stuck his hand inside of the opening. Pulling it back, he pulled a bound notebook out. He looked at it. On the top, the word "Journal" was scribbled onto it. It had been a while since his last visit to it, but he felt it was needed at this moment.

         Grabbing a pen and some matches, along with his pack of cigarettes from off the dresser, he walked out, down the hall, and into the living room. Grabbing his trash from out of the connecting kitchen, he walked to the front door, opened, and stepped back out into the cool spring air. Where was his destination? The Gilman alley.

* * * * *

         Lighting the bag of trash, Zero dropped it down inside of the garbage can that rested in the center of the alley opening. Zero dropped the journal down beside a sheet and walked over to some busted wooden crates. Taking a few pieces from it, he tossed them into the fire as well, just so it wouldn't burn out until he was finished. He had some mind exploring to do.

         Walking over to the sheet, he sat down on it, propping his back against the brick wall. Pulling the cigarettes from his pocket, he used the remaining match that he had to light up a cigarette. Feeling comfortable, he reached over and picked up his journal.

         My, it had been a while. The last entry was dating back to December, around three or so months prior. He had been keeping too many things in, and not releasing them through the power of the pen. Inhaling a deep initial drag on his cigarette, Zero thought for just a moment, before he lowered the pen to the paper, and began writing.

* * * * *

                  Personal Journal Entry
                  March 15, 2000

         I return to this journal. Many things have happened in the last twenty-four hours. Too much for me to just be able to roll over and count if off as just another day in my life. Whether it is external problems with people coming in, problems with strong memories, or personal confusion, it has all accumulated in this day. Where should I even begin?

         I guess the first thing I need to ask myself is what is the meaning of "Zero." This has been weighing on my mind for quite a while now, but now that Theodore has returned to Berkeley, I ask myself the question even harder. Is there still a reason for my name? Lint Douglas died many years ago. Of that I am sure of. But is Zero still around? Is the true essence of my name still strong enough to exist? Was what just happened earlier tonight an example of why Zero is? Was it like a reenactment, playing Patrick as Theodore, and Matt as myself? If so, then what purpose is this name that I now carry? It was never intended to go no further than Theodore and myself. But how was I to know of Matt, now nearly ten years later?

         I've been thinking about the origin of it. Did I, and am I, letting someone mandate who I am? Did someone else decide my future claims for me? Is Theodore still winning this game that he has obviously refused to quit? Am I who I am simply because of him? What if he changes? Must I change as well? For my life, it seems, has always stemmed from a direct retaliation of what he always said in reference to me. This must stop. Innocent people are getting hurt during the process of a seemingly re-emergence of the war that started between Theodore and myself many years ago. If the name of "Zero" must cease to exist, then, I hate to write this as a visual to myself later on, but so be it. If that is what it takes to end this. But if so, who am I? It's an identity crisis, I am sure. I am sure many others have gone through this. But I question to what extent they have comparatively speaking to this that I am in.

         And now, what has became of Matt? I must put some positive note in here, just to help rest my body for some sort of sleep tonight, but how can I? Sure, Matt is lying in his bed right now, sleeping peacefully, but not without his trials earlier in the night. What is to become of this? I will stand by the kid if he's faced in a situation that I, as well as he, know he cannot escape from. I do not want it to come to that, though. I only hope that what happened tonight was a one-time thing, something that stemmed from just one particular problem, and not an extension of what Theodore and I am. If so, the only problem I see for Matt, then, is that the situation he's faced with has two gleaming eyes and a bright smile.

         She is the center of all of this. She said it was all her fault, but I told her it wasn't. When in actuality, it was. Sure, she did not purposely mean for this to happen. I don't think the girl is capable of setting something like that up. She seems too nice, sweet, innocent. But by random chance and "luck," she's the center of this. Not the center of Theodore and I, but the rehashing of it. Can I call it a rehashing? Or was it not related? How many times can I ask myself that same question in the same journal entry?

         I will give all the encouragement that I can to Matt on his future endeavors with Erica, but if it runs at the risk of many more encounters like what tonight was, I question how severely important she might need to be in his life. But actually, that is the Lint Douglas speaking out in me. Zero would not care. If that is what he wants, then he may have all of the strength to pursue it, and finalize his dreams. The only problem is, who is Zero anymore in all of this? Erica said she felt strange calling me any different. This journal entry could turn into a book if I continue to repeat the same questions in my head... and entry... over and over.

         Something new that needs to be added to this entry, though, is Erica. I drove her home tonight, but could barely look into her eyes. They were very beautiful eyes, but it took me only moments before I realized what it was. She had that same look in them that I always saw out of Karen when she and I were together. It was so strange. The way Erica looked at me, the way that she talked to me... well, Karen never seemed to get as excited as Erica tends to do. But the other signs showed towards a younger version of Karen. Is this a good thing? May Matt only hope to see if it is. I would not wish what happened to me, onto him or anyone else. It is too much. But if not... then I wish him all of the luck. That being, of course, that she doesn't cause his doom through future related incidents such as tonight. Then, Karen or no Karen, despite how wonderful and beautiful Erica appears, it would not be worth it. I only hope it does not come to that.

         If not, then yes, Matt is lucky. I want him to be lucky. I only hope that I am wrong about Erica. Maybe I am not completely over Karen, and I just see her in every woman I meet now. I hope that is it. For I want Matt to be happy. He deserves someone like Erica.

         It is extremely late. I feel more able to sleep now after getting some of these things off of my mind. Hopefully I can get some rest tonight before the sun reappears. And now, the fire is almost burnt down. It is a sign. So ends the latest installment of my journal.

                  March 15, 2000

* * * * *

         As Zero walked out of the alley, an eerie feeling came over him. A natural sixth sense. He looked over his shoulder, back into the alley. It was empty as far into it as he could see. He looked around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But still, he had the weird feeling that he was being watched.

         He walked slowly back down the curb to his apartment stairs. He threw a look back over his shoulder, but it was more of the same. Perhaps he was just tired. He didn't know. He just couldn't shake that feeling of being watched, though.

         Walking up the stairs, and coming to the door of his apartment, he stopped, and looked back over Gilman Street. All of the lights were off. He was just tired. He convinced, or to the best of his ability at least, himself of that, before he unlocked the door, and went inside to bed.