It's a good thing I don't, a good thing I am only what I am: scapegoat boogeyman, the car window you roll up, the door you lock, the ATM you avoid, the crime statistics you glance right by because they try to tell you I'm not what you think I am, didn't do what you thought I did.
Hell, you don't need some researcher's "statistics" to know about me. We've known each other for years. Dozens of years, hundreds of years. Remember when you denied me a job, then called me a thief? Remember when you blew up my school then called me ignorant? Remember when you killed my father, then complained I was filled with rage?
No, you're right. There's no point in remembering that. Why should you remember a past that makes you uncomfortable? Why do I even "need" a past, existing as I do only within the confines of your awareness? All we have - or "need" - is the now. And in the now, Bonnie Sweeten has been exposed and she'll face the law and that's all we can really ask, isn't it? There's no point in digging deeper, no purpose served in wondering why, when she wanted to put a face to a crime, she chose mine.
