The people that came to pay tribute to his father's life was astounding. Someone passing by had mentioned that, by her count, the guest book had over two hundred signatures. Two hundred, that number was staggering to Shaddon. If he thought real hard, the college student - a junior - could barely count a dozen people he knew close. This included his family.

Of course, his father was a prominent police officer in life. Dad was the type of officer that had the power of life and death in his hands. Well, maybe that was stretching a bit, but it wasn't too much of one. Dad was a negotiator. Many times did he enter the scene, talking someone away from the idea of jumping off a cliff, or putting a bullet in the head of their hostage. Dad was the voice of reason for a man that had little reason to live, to continue on living. Shaddon often disagreed with his Dad's line of work, after listening to their cases, some people just didn't deserve to live. Take the bastard that gunned down his father, for example.

The lunatic was on the edge. His wife in one hand, a shotgun in the other, and the negotiator, not 15 feet away, trying to give him a reason to put down that weapon when - let's face it - there was no real reason at all. The lunatic had already taken four lives in one bank robbery, and now he was about to take his wife's. Why should someone plead for him to remain alive? Then, Dad said something wrong. A comment that would otherwise be innocent and harmless to the sane man, drew the lunatic into a rage. The result of that rage ended with buckshot driven into the chest of Dad....

"Your father was a great man, Shaddon. The lives he saved puts even the greatest people to shame. You should be proud of him." Shaddon didn't know who rested their hand upon his left shoulder, he didn't care. Shaddon had always been a quiet man, only speaking when he had to, and always speaking in a precise manner if he had to. However, now it was amplified, Shaddon had no wish to talk to anyone, he only wished to sit. "If you need someone to talk to, son...do not..

I'm not your son. Was all that Shaddon said, his pale blue eyes fixed upon his father's open casket. The man pulled his hand away from the shoulder, and silently walked off. Leaving Shaddon to his thoughts again.

Death should be just, Father. Why should someone who saved lives, die trying to save one that has no right to be saved? Why can't you be here...?

The reception hall was beginning to die out. Hundreds of people had come to talk to Dad's loved ones. His wife, his daughter, Shaddon. All of them offered their condolences, and many shared a good natured laugh, as Father would want it, and eventually, all of them had left...

...but Shaddon remained. Third Row from the casket, third seat from the aisle. His pale blues eyes unnervingly fixed upon the open casket.