of course March 10, 2009
March 10, 1997
I woke up and I noticed something strange.
I knew Kamil had shot me from passenger seat of the Impala but since I had not felt anything I was not really expecting anything. On the other hand, I still had the bullet-hole stigmata from the shots to my upper arms at the Mullholand Dog Park so I should have thought otherwise. Maybe I should back it up a bit.
The night before, I was aware there was a big party happening at the Pedersen Automotive Museum at Fairfax and Wilshire. I was not invited but there was significantly more activity and traffic than normal.
That night, as I was walking back to my apartment, having just turned the corner from Wilshire onto Burnside I heard gunfire that sounded nearby. It sounded to me it happened a mile or two away. Living just south of Park La Brea and other tall buildings I might have expected more echos if it occurred close by. However, as I paused my stride I heard a very loud voice in my head say, "Turn Around." Part of me did not want to, but I felt compelled to do so and see what might be there.
I was about 15 feet from the Impala, Kamil was in the passenger seat wearing a baby blue suit and bow tie. As strange as it might seem, I did not comprehend what had just happened. My first thought was "This is a bit early for Junior Prom." But immediately after that it really did hit me. "The baby" I had orphaned while I was in high school, Reaper Jesus' first "holy hit," had made it all the way here, practically to my doorstep, to even the score. I understand honor. I truly believe that if our situation had been reversed I would want to kill the man responsible for killing my parents when I was just a baby. I now know he was not aware of all the facts. I did not own a gun. I went to sleep on that night in my bed in Beverly Hills and woke up there the next morning.
The thought that there was a couple in Philadelphia that was going to train all their sons to kill me was horrific, but I did not expect God would use me as a weapon and kill them. Maybe if they knew God stopped Ruhollah Khomeini's plot in 1977 they would have reconsidered. But God authorizes what He will. I was horrified to learn Mr. and Mrs. Beale were dead. When Jon Tuteltaub told me "I don't know how you did it but, you showed up in your pajamas and killed them. They're dead." my first reaction was "What makes you think MORE people aren't going to try to kill me?" There is a difference between intent and attempt.
Jon then tells me I have to kill the rest of the family in the same manner. I refuse. A few days later he tells me I have to kill the youngest. I refuse, "He's just a baby!" I tell him. "He hasn't done anything wrong." Around this time E.T., my time traveling descendant from the future is found somewhere.
I was warned in high school and again in the Mulholland Dog Park this shooting would happen. You might wonder why I would even go out that night. In retrospect, it seems foolish. All I can say is I wanted to get something to eat and never really felt I should hide from trouble, no matter how often it finds me. On some level I believed if I could explain things to Kamil he would know what people wanted him to do was wrong and he would understand.
So soon after I turn around, I think as I looked at him, "What did you just do?" I return the same sour look he gives me. I noticed smoke in the Impala and the confused look on his brother's face behind the steering wheel. This moment seems to last an hour. Eventually, they drive off.
The next morning I notice I have three large blemishes, so large I find it difficult to sit in the chair in the apartment manager's office. One is on my spine right between my shoulder blades. Another is lower and a few inches off center and the third is on my butt cheek.
The building manager, Shawn Eswari, notices my discomfort and asks me to show him these things. They look like mosquito bites. I show him the first two; dropping my pants seems inappropriate. A bit later two LAPD officers show up and Shawn calls me back to his office. The officers ask me to describe what I saw. I tell them everything: no more, no less. I show them the two wounds. By this time I know that Chris Wallace has been killed. They ask me if I saw a gun. I tell them I did not because I had not.
I assumed enough people saw them two thirds of a mile west of my building and I expected to be called to testify at a trial. Maybe be questioned in a more formal manner with an attorney present. Kamil was taken into police custody soon thereafter, but the trial never takes place. What else was I supposed to do?