The light breaks warmly over Spartanburg this morning. Ichabod rises from his hotel bed and greets the morning sun with a grim look. The entire feel of today is wrong, as if he knows bad things are going to happen. He'd finished up watching WOW TV last night when Cheapshots had went off-air, and then went to bed.
Ichabod finishes off a cup of coffee he had been drinking and then lights up a Newport. He grabs his bag of gear and exits the hotel room. At checkout, he feels a little sick. He walks outside and the warmth of the morning already foreshadows a choking day of heat. Tossing the butt aside, Ichabod climbs into the monster truck and heads out on the street. He drives toward Greenville on his way to the airport. Yesterday, he had recieved a ticket from Cheapshots and a letter requesting for Ichabod to meet him in Canada. On his way to the airport, Ichabod takes the 101 exit and stops in at a Waffle House.
Ichabod orders a double bacon quarter with cheese plate, scattered, smothered, double covered, double chunked. As he sits, he lights himself another Newbie and smokes while thinking of the past week. Going to see Steve, the general thought would be that things would be ok after what Steve had said. But seeing him in that condition, seeing him broken, still bloody, and trying to look as strong as ever, something had broken inside Ichabod. Not will, not strength, just something. And the way Team IC had made light of the situation and still called him SAM, it didn't make for a very good disposition. They had failed to see the gravity and the seriousness of SAM, just like they all had two years ago, turning SAM into what he was now. It was in essence, partly their fault that this happened to Ichabod. If they had just acknowledged the stupid bastard, he wouldn't have felt the need to exact his revenge by... by taking over Ichabod's mind and body. And if it weren't for people like Smoke Dawg, who never give credit where credit is due, Steve would still be standing, and so would the facility.
The waitress brings the food over, and one look at it makes Ichabod sick, literally sick. He rushes to the bathroom and vomits. Ichabod wipes his mouth and stares into the mirror. Looking at his face, he knows that he cannot push all of the blame on Smoke Dawg, no matter how much he deserved it. Ichabod was in with that crowd that forgot about SAM. It was as much his fault that Steve was in the hospital as it was Smokeys. But Smokey still hasn't learned to repent of his sins.
We all sin. This week, we've all pushed to show how each person was wrong, how each person has done this and done that, earning them the hate and rivalry that his competitors hold for him. Each of us have gone the distance with our words to prove we are the most innocent.
Ichabod gets a look of disgust on his face.
There are no innocents. In this business... in this world, all people are wrong. We are all ugly in the eyes of the pure. No one can point fingers without first examining himself. A man so obese from overeating, a disgusting man who can barely stand up, a man who if you saw him walking down the street, you would point him out to your friends so that they might join you in mocking him, a man who if you were to see him while eating, you would not be able to finish your meal. A lawyer, a man who dedicates his life to making money to lying with every breath he could muster in order to keep rapists and murderers on the street. A woman who is so ugly on the inside that she takes her life because she can't go on living unless she is beautiful on the outside. A drug dealing pedarast, a disease spreading whore, a man who will kill due to his envy. Only in a world this shitty can you call people innocent and keep a straight face. But thats the point, we see sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it because its common, because its trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. And we six, the very symbols of the entertainment industry, are fine examples of this.
Some men are on the brink of snapping, and you three, you "team" of "professionals," poke fun at and nag people like me who have severe mental strain due to recent tragic events. You invite anger and hate and wrath and you expect yourselves to stay on top always. You are only even alive because I allow you to be. What's to stop me from walking into that arena and putting a bullet between the eyes of any Skid Mark or any Shadow Monkey I so choose? A life in prison? Big deal, at least I'd be away from moral criminals like yourselves who disgust me.
No, I'm not threatening you, I'm not going to bring a gun into the arena. But think about that when you open your mouth every time, making light of my ordeals and personal demons. You know not the effect this has had on me, but you are putting yourself in God's hands by tempting a desperate man.
Ichabod walks out of the bathroom and to his table. Frowning at his untouched food, he leaves two twenties on the table and walks out. He climbs into his truck slowly and turns on the engine, heading back onto the interstate.
A plane soars overhead as Ichabod pulls into the long-term parking area of the Greenville Spartanburg International Airport. Ichabod gets out and locks up the truck. He puts his hand against the truck and lowers his head. He watches the ground as he tries to gather himself up. Ichabod finally steps away from the truck and enters the terminal pulling out his ticket.
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