By Enola Jones

"I'm a spiritual man," I told JD when we first met. "Sometimes, though, I turn to the wrong kind of spirits!"

We had laughed. It was a joke, to break the tension -- but like most funny ones, it had a grain of truth in it.

Truth is, I do tend to turn to the wrong kind of spirits. More often than I like to admit.

And every single time I do, I end up up to my chin in trouble. Mostly it happens when I'm very upset.

Like now. God, why do I torture myself like this? It's my father's fault Hanna is insane -- why do I feel so guilty?

Because I should have been there.

And Vin was right -- that is going to make me crazy.

I gotta get outta here.

Maybe I am crazy. I'm in here, doing penance for a crime I didn't commit, while the real killer is out there. And why?

Because I wanted to die.

There's no other explanation. I wanted to die. Seeing Hannah in that shape... it overwhelms me. The 'I-Should-Have's become overwhelming, and the guilt -- deserved or not -- becomes unbearable. Alone, I can't stop it and soon I want to die -- it feels like the only way to stop it.

But I keep forgetting one little detail.

I'm no longer alone.

I'm one-seventh of an entity that's larger than any one of us.

Lord forgive me. I've lost sight of that. I see it again now -- but is it too late?

No... No, I won't go there. I won't let the guilt and self- recrimination overwhelm me again.

Not this time.

I will get out of this cell. We will stop Poplar.

Before he kills again.

I have faith once more. And with faith as small as a mustard seed, mountains can be moved.

And so can iron bars.

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