"If I could only make it to the door, I thought.

The distance from the middle of the room to the doorway seemed like a thousand miles and I honestly felt that each step I took might be my last. The constant pounding on the wall and the pitiful screams that filled the small seedy motel room seemed to extend far beyond any measurable sound as they roared like angry thunder inside my head, spreading out like poison tentacles throughout every part of my body.

I had to get out.

Once I stepped into the hot, sultry Georgia night, I drew a deep breath, only to discover that the very act of breathing made me even sicker. My illness wasn't physical however—that was poor Teresa's department. She was the one suffering pain that I could neither share nor stop. I had promised to take good care of her. I had given her my solemn oath that no matter what happened, I would continue to be that brave rescuer, that dashing Knight who had ridden in on a white horse and saved her from the low-down, red-necked Dragon seven years before.

Yeah well—some brave hero I turned out to be.

I was now helpless and worse yet, without hope of any kind. All the encouraging words I'd given her, all the up-and-at 'em speeches I'd made, all the times I'd solemnly assured her that everything would be all right, that old Gary could fix anything; all of it was lost in the agony of finally realizing that it was all over."

"As I closed the door behind me, I leaned forward to rest my head against the facing door, as though the simple crossing of a room had sapped what little strength I had left. I could still hear the terrible pounding of Teresa's head as she butted it against the wall time and time again, trying to lessen the agony of her indescribable pain. That disturbing sound was punctuated by the cries of my four-year old daughter, Dawn, all of which seeped through the thin walls separating me from the two people who meant more to me at the time than anyone else on earth.

For a long time, I stood like a zombie by the door of the cheap dilapidated motel on the underbelly side of Atlanta.

'Is this what we've come to, Teresa," I half whispered. "Is this the mansion I promised you? Where is the good life we planned for? Is this it? Where's the money? Where are the damn good times? Where is that golden promise of a great tomorrow?' "

All gone.

"Now, she was sinking fast. She knew, and I knew. Worst of all, Dawn knew. I wished then I could just let loose and cry, but for some reason I was denied that release as well. So I stood, dry-eyed and powerless, in the almost empty parking lot and tried not to think about all the fine and grandiose plans that had gone down the drain, all the dreams we never got to live, and all the love we had promised to share forever. Now, even forever had come and gone and we were left with only the sad residue of burned bridges, broken dreams and roads not taken.

"I failed you, Teresa... and worse yet, I'm failing Dawn."

I could see Dawn's beautiful little face in front of me, a small replica of her mother's, with those big blue eyes and rosy cheeks framed by a mass of light brown hair. The wide smile and the childish laughter however, had long been replaced by a countenance of horrible dread and continuing terror, born of the childlike perception that she was in real danger of losing her mother to some unknown assailant. Even though the word 'death' meant little to a four-year old, she had heard it, and she recognized all the signs of its ghastly approach.

"Poor baby..." I said aloud, as I smashed the half-smoked cigarette into the littered pavement. I didn't know if I was referring to Dawn or Teresa, or both of them.

Truth told, I could have even been referring to myself."