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Closure is tough. Not every situation allows for it.

As one lives one's life, events occur in sequence. We separate groups of events, after the fact, into stories with beginnings and endings. If the sequence ends on an uptick, it's a happy story. If it doesn't, it's a sad story. But, inevitably, the story must end.

Perhaps if Jamie told better - or, at least, more advantageous - stories to himself, this particular story would have ended as soon as Richard died and charges were dropped. It would be an amusing complete anecdote that he could tell to others and tell to himself to help make sense of what had happened.

When I write, I delegate a lot of what's going on to my subconscious. As I've said, I sometimes find out, after the fact, that my writing features symbolism and meaning and nuance that I hadn't consciously inserted.

More than any other character in Leftover Soup, Jamie is me. He has my curiosity, my creativity, my spark. Perhaps, on some subconscious or fourth-wall-breaking level, that's why he knows that this particular story isn't actually over yet.

(Monday morning, EXT: Heaven's View Cemetery, Richard Knight's grave)

[JH is standing in silence. The gravestone has flowers and a white wreath near it.]
JH: Hey. Hey, Richard.
JH: You asshole.
JH: You know, you didn't actually hurt me that much. Not really. But I... I can't forgive you for some reason. I don't know why not.
JH: I'm sorry for that, I guess.
JH: If you wanted to reanimate as a zombie so I could shoot you in the head, I guess, that'd be really convenient.