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20 No. She at least had found something worthwhile hidden beneath the alcoholic haze. He would not; knew he would not. There had been nothing there from the beginning but a little boy who lived in a fantasy world of make-believe � and still did. He could still hear their voices, the voices of his father and mother, of his headmaster, and ultimately of himself telling him to live in the real world; feel the punishment inflicted for retreat into fantasy. He had become what he was in the first place to be a knight in shining armor, to save the world from the forces of evil that existed in it, and, quickly disillusioned when he discovered the lines between right and wrong were not so clearly drawn, had retreated into a shell of self-delusion, helped along by whatever chemical means necessary. Yet he�d thought himself beyond hoping now. Until that day in a bar a year ago when he�d thought that without even knowing he was trying - in fact, quite the opposite - he�d kissed a princess awake. Or had it been the other way around? �She found something worthwhile.� �No,� he argued. �It was just the scotch. I tasted like scotch.� The tears, once started, were impossible to check. He could barely see through the blur to the figure sitting across from him. �Then why slap you if that was all it was?� �Fulfillment of step twelve: Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, try to carry this message to alcoholics and practice these principles in all our affairs,� he recited, staring at the quilt, trying to focus. �Then why shoot you?� He glanced sharply up at it, confused, rubbing the tears from his eyes with a sniff. It smiled at him. �You can�t have it both ways. Either she�s a perfect faultless being who belongs on that impossibly tall pedestal you created for her or she�s a very human woman who was just pushed too far. Which is it? You don�t reform someone by shooting them dead.� �You forgot the third choice,� he said. �She was just a cop doing her job.� �Really? Is what she did the recommended procedure?� �I had a hostage. She wasn�t required to talk me down, just to save the hostage. Which she did.� �By shooting you an inch away from the hostage�s shoulder,� Harry observed dryly. �When she should have known any reflex action with the gun on your part could have killed him. Or that he could have moved into range himself.� �All right, you made your point, she hates me. Happy now?� What was the point, he wondered? Where did this come in with the twelve steps the thing was forcing him through?
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