I hope I didn't get shot.

I hope I didn't get mauled by some demon.

I hope I didn't bleed to death in the backseat of a car while being rushed to the emergency room.

I'm sorry. This is weird, writing about my own death. I mean, it hasn't happened yet, and I hope it won't for a while. But what else are you supposed to do when you're this bored and there's no business and nothing on TV?

So I decided to write this letter and save it on my computer and hope that sometime after my death you will read it.

I hope you find it. I'm just assuming that someone will think of looking through my files after I'm gone. Probably Wesley. I mean, I'd rather you read it first, but odds are he's going to. That's okay. I won't be embarrassed if he reads what I'm saying here. He probably already knows. He's perceptive. Plus it's obvious, right? And I'll be dead, too - so who cares about shame?

I hope I didn't get vamped. It's scary just to think of that. And if I did, I hope one of you staked me.

I hope one of the gang didn't kill me while you were possessed by some evil spirit, because y'all would never forgive yourselves. I hope I didn't fall down the stairs. We fight evil, you know, and what a stupid thing to kill me - a fall down the stairs.

Most of all, I hope I didn't die before telling you how I feel.

I hope I got to kiss you, once.

I hope you know by the time you read this how much I care. How much I look up to you. Adore you. I know I must have seemed like a crazed puppy dog, at first. It wasn't that. I was just crazed. But I do love you. You're my hero. My warrior. My champion.

And I hope I got a chance to tell you.

Bye Cordy.

See you then.

- Fred


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