The Guilty

The Guilty
Prologue

They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

I disagree.

I've lost before. I lost the affection of my parents before

I was old enough to know that the world looked upon an estranged child with sad eyes. I lost my first love because

I was too cowardly to protect her. I nearly lost my life due to circumstances beyond my control. All of those losses created holes in my life. Holes I've attempted to patch up, to cover, but they'll always be there, even if they don't leave a mark on the surface.

Doesn't mean I can't try to forget. Through life. Through work.

Through Amanda.

If she wasn't here, lying next to me in our bed, her head inches from mine, I wouldn't be here at all. It's not that I'd be back in Oregon, paying my dues at the news desk of the

Bend Bulletin, skiing at Mount Bachelor, thirsting through thirteen inches of annual rainfall, and paying two hundred bucks a month in rent.

If she wasn't here, I would either be rotting in the ground Jason Pinter somewhere or in a jail trying to stay alive while cursing a simple twist of fate.

Her soft brown hair cascading down her back, eyes so bright and big I get lost in them.

One year ago I was running for my life. A total stranger saved me. Without her, everything would have been lost.

And God help me I can't lose her, because I don't have the strength to patch that kind of hole.

So as I lie here, watching Amanda's chest rise and fall, all

I can do is hope I'm here to witness every last breath of her life. And hope that, finally, the stories I report won't be my own.