War Willow would have stopped that massacre. He would have saved that Amish congregation.
That's what I thought later, when I'd become addicted to TV. Addicted to Weeping Willows reruns, specifically.
War Willow would have battled the maniac gunman with his Sendodansu'dinegaan fighting skills. Would have disabled him in a heartbeat, stripped him of his weapons, and hauled him off to jail.
There would not have been so much blood in that church. So many corpses.
No bullet-riddled mother and father and brothers. No blood-soaked bride-to-be. No lifeless friends or neighbors or elders or minister. No dead gunman who'd blown his own head off after killing everyone else.
War Willow would have saved them all.
What he would not have done is gotten arrested for beating his girlfriend's boyfriend the night before. He would not have been away when his presence could have changed things, when he could have been the one to trip up the killer.
And he would not have brought God's wrath upon his people for his sinful ways.
I became more and more convinced of this as I watched and rewatched every episode of Weeping Willows on DVD. As I sat in the apartment paid for by sympathetic well-wishers from around the world.
As I slowly lost my mind.
The guilt I felt for drawing God's wrath and not being there when it struck was too much to bear. I sank deeper and deeper into fantasy worlds in which the massacre never happened...I'd never gone astray...and the Willows were real.
I even pretended to be War Willow. Put myself through grueling workouts and martial arts training, paid for by the well-wishers' gifts. Drove myself harder and harder each day to become someone new and better, someone worthy.
Someone who did not remember...or failing that, someone who died trying to forget.
Because from the start, I'd wished I'd died with the others in that church. It should have been me that suffered God's wrath for what I'd done. At least I should have been there with them.
Again and again, I wished I could bring myself to end the nightmare and die. I wished I could just wipe myself out as if I'd never existed.
One day, I got my wish.
I was working out in front of the TV, watching Weeping Willows again, when something shifted in my head. One minute, I was Amos Bracken, sole survivor of the Amish church massacre.
And the next minute, I was War Willow. I had a family and a mission. Life was finally, truly simple.
And I would never turn back.
Until now.
Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico
My name is Amos Bracken. I know that now. I remember everything.
And I am dying.
Quincy straddles my chest, his knees on my arms, and is choking the life out of me. I feel light-headed, and I know I don't have long to go.
"Wait." I rasp out the word through my strangled windpipe. "P-please."
Quincy shakes his head and goes right on crushing.
I can't blame him, after everything I've done...but I need to stop him. There's something he doesn't know.
Something that will kill him.
"Bomb." I can barely force out the word. "Dead man's...switch."
Quincy scowls. "What dead man's switch?"
This is what he doesn't know. The handheld remote control was a dummy device. A decoy. It could never set off the bomb.
The true trigger has always been the dead man's switch on my wrist. A little something I picked up on the Internet. Disguised as a wristwatch, it monitors my pulse. If my pulse stops, the watch will send a wireless signal to a receiver on the bomb.
And boom.
"If I die...the bomb blows." It's getting harder to speak. "We...both...die."
"Nice try." Quincy tightens his grip. "You're full of shit, War."
"Not...War," I tell him. "Amos."
"So now you're Amos, huh? And everything's peachy-keen? Well, guess what my bullshit detector says?" Quincy laughs. "It says bullshit!"
"You're...wrong." My own words sound like they're coming from a million miles away. "What I told you...is true."
Quincy shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. I don't care."
"Why?"
"I killed my brother." Quincy snarls the words in my face. "You and I both deserve to die!"
"Deserve...forgiveness." As the words leave my mouth, I suddenly realize they're the last words I'll ever say.
Because it's then, with a howl of rage, that Quincy tightens his grip one final time and crushes my windpipe.