Recent Events.

I feel it’s time I said the things I have kept to myself, for fear of making things worse; a foolish idea, really, because losing Blair is the worst that could have happened to us.

Every night, She comes to me with taunts, showing me the past and – I assume – the future, as it may have been had Blair survived.

I watch him endure, every night, the most mind-breaking of torture, Her glimpses of ‘what may have been’ sharp and cruel contrasts.

In the interest of full disclosure (Blair had no secrets but one) I will confess, some of the things She chooses to show me are not chaste. Images of Blair pressing me down to the mattress, Alyssa behind xim, her hands sliding over his shoulders – and then it flashes back to the torture, jarring, and I’m allowed to wake.

Every night for the first few days, She asks if I wish to know for certain whether or not Blair gave in to her and became a Scion; then, She let me see with certainty that xe did not.

I cannot say this comes as a comfort.

If Blair had become a Scion, maybe xe would not have died.

Alongside the sleepless nights, I – like Alyssa – am being continuously left tokens, things that belonged to Blair or that remind me of xim. Sometimes, instead, I am brought stems, and I know they must belong to Daisy Chain; I’ve burned every single one.

We compared, and Alyssa is not being brought those; instead, she keeps finding little tears or strips of red cloth.

I have been neglecting Windmill’s care; this morning I made sure to rectify this, but the horse nearly kicked me.

With bladed hooves, that would have no doubt been lethal. I managed to move faster than I thought myself capable of.

Windmill huffs and snorts, paws at the ground, continuously restless – I am sure that he knows Blair is gone.

Lastly, on the front of the hostel, it appears as though it’s becoming a busier place, whether it’s due to people dropping in for a night or two or because we can feel the presence of PREs and/or their proxies just outside.

With all these scraps and tokens being brought to Alyssa and to myself, she believes the PRE known as the ‘Black Dog’ – the PRE who tormented Blair for years – has set its’ sights on the two of us, to begin with.

Ruby Tuesday is always lurking out there, it seems, and we are all aware that she has designs on this place…just as we are all aware that she has taken Sheryl’s presence as some sort of personal offence (Sheryl has yet to entirely recover, incidentally).

Daisy Chain ran off, but we are certain she will return. We would run, but we haven’t the first clue where to go, and I have been running myself ragged in an attempt to make up for my extended period of uselessness; as it is, I still feel I’m drifting.

Besides, I can’t bear the thought of running from her; I would much rather take her head off her shoulders and string it up using those goddamn stems.

My Silence.

I apologize for my prolonged silence.

Words have been difficult to muster.

I

I’ve especially had difficulty speaking to Alyssa, or looking her in the eye, after all that happened; knowing the feelings she was developing for Blair, knowing that she knew about mine, and I am entirely certain that we are both still wishing that we’d been the one to die in Blair’s stead.

I can’t look her in the face now, either, also knowing how ashamed we both are.

I had not left this room in days; a very predictable target. The door and windows have already been breached repeatedly, items belonging to Blair being left at the foot of my bed – including things we burned with xim.

It should have come as no surprise that Daisy Chain managed to find a way inside.

I knew it was her despite never having seen her before. Stiff, taut skin that looked wooden to the touch – and felt that way, nearly, it was akin to touching a marionette – and without a single hair on her body.

No eyelashes, no eyebrows, and when she removed her hat, there wasn’t a single hair on her head. When she removed her long coat, there wasn’t a hair anywhere else, either.

Her smile. Lips painted a too-bright shade of pink, green pasted on her eyelids.

She had a string of stems, tied together into a thin, breakable rope; it should have been breakable, I should rectify that statement. She looped it around my neck and pulled me forward, with a girlish giggle that made my stomach turn.

“You’ve waited a long time for a lady’s touch, haven’t you?” her voice was too high. It sounded forced. “Or for It to touch you. I went and ruined that, didn’t I?”

I couldn’t speak to her.

“You don’t belong here. You belong on our side. So what if you left the Archive? You’re still a Proxy. You’re just like me, and Ruby.”

She kissed me. I couldn’t even pull away. I didn’t have the strength.

“Ruby wouldn’t mind meeting you, too!” she giggled, and it sounded like a screech. “Would you like that? Boys like you don’t get chances like this, do they?”

The door burst open.

What happened next is…unclear to me. Alyssa is still bleeding from the nose, and the window has been destroyed; she tells me that I fought Daisy Chain off, and when she turned on Alyssa, I grabbed her and threw her out the window.

I followed, it seems, but Daisy Chain fled. I had to go back to the front doors and request that John let me back in.

I’ve given my word that I will repair the window and help fortify the hostel.

Now that Daisy Chain has found us, I don’t know what good it will do.

7.1; She's in my dreams now

I’ve been running around this hostel like crazy, trying to keep myself distracted and keep from being angry and the whole fucking time, Curtis was useless. He’d just sit, stare at nothing, drift – he’d do things if I physically forced him, but for the most part, he might as well have been chained to the bed. Then there’s Sheryl – I can’t even care that she’s still got some of ‘herself’ alive, in there, she’s still a piece of the thing that turned me into this.

I’m getting edgier every day and I can’t fucking bear it. I thought I caught the doctor looking at me, yesterday, and I nearly shoved my tongue down her throat. I was this close to giving into the temptation just out of spite. I know on every other level that it’s not her fault that Blair is dead and that if we’d been faster to find hir, or if we had forced Blair into making a different decision – that was hir sacrifice, s/he chose that horrific death just to spare us and…

The Vision has been coming to me. I know it’s Her… I’ve memorized everything Blair ever said about Her in hir posts, and there’s no doubt that it’s her. When I sleep, she doesn’t do anything other than show me the things Daisy Chain did, and I wish to go it was all just a regular nightmare because…it’s made me vomit three times, now, and Blair lived it.

The part I don’t know for sure whether or not is true is

Hold on. Hear something in Curtis’s room

6.1; Sheryl had a seizure

Sheryl just had a seizure. She was leaving for something or other, stopped by to check in Curtis and me, and she just went rigid and shaky. I didn’t even recognize what was going on until she fell over and Curtis finally did something. He got everything out of the way, protected her head, did whatever else that I wasn’t even really noticing. The first thing he’s said in days was, “Alcoholics sometimes experience seizures when going through withdrawal.”

And he hasn’t spoken since, again. We got Sheryl set up with Ivory and let her keep that Doll with her, even though it disgusts us both. I mean, I can’t tell so much, anymore, what Curtis thinks…but we both can tell it’s twisted. And it doesn’t take someone new to see what’s going on with Sheryl.

She’s not Marked, she’s a Vessel. That fucking mucus is inside her, repairing its Vessel to attract more so it can spread, either through a Mark or by getting inside other Vessels.

We can’t trust her now. I mean, the most I was able to trust her before was actually going to sleep around her, I still haven’t even told her my name. But it’s because of her that I bled, I’m positive, and if she thinks I’m going to be one of hers she can go to hell.

Blair’s funeral is tonight. Sal managed to figure out how we could cremate hir without smuggling us into a crematorium; I get the feeling he’s had to do this kind of thing before.

I don’t know if I’m still angry. On the one hand I almost snapped Curtis’s neck today for being so fucking still and silent like he’s gone all numb and he’s avoiding the pain when I have to deal with it, we can’t all just fucking shut down because what am I supposed to do without him now if he doesn’t fucking pull himself together? How the FUCK am I expected to figure out where to go next and deal with KNOWING that Blair’s body has been touched and things taken off her body like the scarf and then someone RIPPED IT like, actually tore through the scarf and it’s starting to unravel and I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT and what the fuck was the fucking point of that to begin with?! I know what that scarf meant, I know who it was a gift from and Blair TREASURED it and now some FUCKER has torn it apart and left me the scraps like they’re taunting me

I had to stop typing. I just nearly broke through a window… I didn’t, I’ll point out, but it woke me up to the fact that I had to just cool down for a second. Talked at Curtis, since he doesn’t talk back. Just about…anything. Like, weather, and this hostel, and…just, nothing really personal. I can’t get into personal right now. I blow up.

I’ve got to be stronger than this – I don’t even know how I’m going to deal with saying goodbye for good.

Dispute Against Madness

5.1; Rage

Curtis just doesn’t speak, and if it weren’t for the whole ‘earn your keep’ aspect to this place I know he wouldn’t even be getting out of bed, and me, I’m just

Most of what I do around here is repairing my own damage, and I know I can’t let this get the better of me. Things feed off rage and Windmill can pick up on it, whenever I get close, but fuck, that horse is the ONLY THING that calms me down now.

I just finished putting the door to my room back on its hinges after it was ripped down, and Sal keeps giving me these looks, like he knows I did it. But that one, I didn’t do. Something just tore the door off its hinges and…it left me Blair’s scarf.

I don’t know what pissed me off more. The fact that someone disturbed Blair’s body when we haven’t even cremated her remains or that someone could have taken other things off hir. If I catch who did it I’ll murder them.

I Wish I'd Died.

“Do you wish I’d died, instead?”

“No.”

“…I wish I’d died, instead.”

“What about you? Do you wish I’d died?”

“…No.”

Those have been the only words we’ve said to each other.

I don’t feel.

I don’t feel anything.

On some level, I know the doctor did her best.

On every other level, I don’t care.

I want to forget.

I so badly wish I could just forget, everything.

The way Blair was calling out names, ‘Ambrose’ and ‘Clara’, as though mistaking everyone in his sleep for the people he missed most.

Except for Alyssa, and me.

Xe called for us, too.

In the surgery.

I’ve never lost anyone before.

Have I?

How is anyone supposed to bear it?

Am I supposed to move on? How could I possibly?

I think I loved xim.

I know Alyssa did.

Or, was starting to.

It seems a foolish thought, but I don’t know how to tell Windmill. He’s a clever horse.

Would he understand?

Blair is gone.

Blair is gone.

Blair is dead.

What am I supposed to do

4.1; Reached the hostel

At least I was right. I was absolutely sure that there was a safe haven for people like us in Colorado, and I was right. At least there’s that. So there’s a medic, and there’s a chance, a good chance I think.

They were cautious about us, at first, when we first got in looking like freaks. Sheryl’s never looked better, but Curtis and me look like victims and Blair looks like death. They didn’t need to ask questions, they knew from the get-go what was up. Maybe not the specifics but they didn’t ask questions about it, they let us inside and Sheryl tethered Windmill and I was so caught up believed that I was right, there is a haven, that I almost didn’t hear their medic say that she couldn’t do it. She didn’t think Blair could be saved, she said things like, “Irreparable damage” and “miraculous anyone could have survived this long”.

I persuaded her to try. Or insisted. I was this close to giving her the wrong incentive and threatening her, but I kept my cool as much as I could.

I’m trying to be hopeful. But I can’t be hopeful. If we lose

If we lose Blair

Blair was just so much better than us I can’t deal with it, thinking that I might never see hir again and I just can’t

I wish they’d asked questions, people deserve to know the kind of hell Blair went through. If Blair dies I don’t want anyone to think of hir as weak. S/he was is the strongest person I’ve ever known.

I’m scared and… I actually wish Blair would have just given in. Become a Scion for the Vision or whatever it took to be just a little stronger, but Blair never would.

Unless

Maybe that was how s/he regained consciousness…

No.

Blair would never give in.

S/he isn’t the type.

Defying The Things I Know.

There is so little I remember, but sometimes, I feel there is so much that I know, hiding in the recesses of my woefully blank brain.

Blair defies the things I know.

Xe regained consciousness – just barely – as we left the motel. I have…no words to describe what it was like.

I don’t understand how xe even managed to survive, much less awaken. Xe was remarkably lucid…there were only a couple of times where xe seemed confused, or needed to be gently reminded or corrected over xir surroundings.

Windmill was clearly thrilled – I hadn’t been aware an animal could emote so much. Canines, perhaps, but not horses. He whickered and seemed unable to keep still – not restless, just energetic.

It took a great deal of effort to calm him down. Xe was able to do so with far more ease than either Alyssa or I could ever have managed.

Unfortunately, xe could only fight to stay awake for so long. Blair drew both Alyssa and me forward (though in truth, we were probably both hovering so much it could have driven xim mad) and kissed us both.

I think xe had been about to say something…but xe couldn’t keep xir eyes open any longer.

We found somewhere to rest, for now. Alyssa thinks she has an idea, as to where we can go, and is busy charting a route. If we move fast, she thinks Blair could be given medical attention by someone ‘aware’ – there are places Runners can go, where they will not need to come up with elaborate lies.

I can only hope we get there in time.

3.1; Anyone have a place to crash?

Blair only seems alive when s/he’s having nightmares, and Curtis’s ‘theoretical medical knowledge’ has kept hir alive but won’t cut it anymore. Meanwhile, Sheryl is looking…different. A lot more awake for one thing. Either she’s laying off the booze, getting more sleep, or…it’s that freaking Doll.

Curtis says we should be rational about it being our only clue, but I want to burn the little fucker. I don’t trust it.

I just don’t know what to do. We need a hospital, but how the hell would we explain this? Plus, hospitals are hit and miss when it comes to safety. What if we deliver Blair right into the hands of an Oathbreaker or something? We could be passing hir around from one Fear to another. This is practically crueler than letting Blair be tortured, because it seems like all we can do is trade one form of it for another. Maybe.

What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be stronger than this. The old me would have slit Blair’s throat, knowing death is better. And Curtis? Would have killed him from the get-go. Rogue or not, he’s an Archivist.

Yes, I know. By that logic I should have killed myself too, right? What do you think I got into hunting for – not the health benefits, that’s for fucking sure.

My head is just…spinning. This is all too much to take, and I think Sheryl said we’re down to our last dollar again. If we’re on the street, in the cold, the chill will do Blair in, too.

And now I have to go deal with Windmill trying to physically break into our room again. Curtis thought it would be smart to bring some of Blair’s clothing out to him, sort of to let him know that s/he’s back, you know? The horse flipped. We can hardly keep him tethered out there, anymore, and at this rate someone’s going to call the cops.

That last part? Sarcasm. They already have called them once, and we had to awkwardly explain shit away and promise to provide papers on Windmill to prove that we own him legally. They gave us twenty-four hours to do so, and they have some of my ID as collateral. Fake ID, obviously.

So, yeah. That’s just one more pressing thing on our minds. We need to get out of here within the next few hours, with a game plan, and we have to do it without killing Blair.

Just fucking fantastic.

Dispute Against Madness

The Screaming.

-           Lips sewn together crudely, budding flower stems growing through the lips; upon removing the stitches, we found that xir mouth had been deeply packed with soil, in which the weeds had begun to take root.

-           Heavy mutilation to the genitalia and chest. Wounds were ‘bandaged’ and packed with salt.

-           The removal of several fingernails.

-           Already-existing scars cut open and widened. These, too, look to have been packed with either soil or salt.

-           Deep scratches all along the scalp, which appears to be either a very crude scalping attempt or xir head having been forcibly shaven. Perhaps both.

-           Three broken fingers, fractured wrist, both on the right hand.

-           Deep bite marks on the leg.

Blair has yet to regain consciousness, since we found xim.

Perhaps it would be more apt to say, since xe was brought to us.

To expand upon what happened last night, I must first confess that, despite the accuracies to Alyssa’s reading, I remained entirely skeptical.

I was not alone in this, in a sense; Sheryl had deep misgivings, a sense of failure.

By failing in our attempt to locate the Tower…we found the Tower. To succeed, failure was first required. As Alyssa said, ‘freaking riddles’.

I opened the door to go check on Windmill one more time before we turned in for the night, only to find that the hallway had been replaced by a winding sort of path.

The Tower loomed in the distance, and even from where we stood, we could hear the screaming.

For a moment, both Alyssa and I lost our heads. We were entirely prepared to charge the Tower with our weapons drawn; Sheryl acted as a voice of reason, reminding us that we required something considerably better thought-out.

Despite the cards’ warnings regarding self-sacrifice, Alyssa seemed to feel that the most effective (or, at the very least, the quickest) way to Blair and Daisy Chain would be to act as bait. It was a subject of much debate, as we drew closer, only halted whenever we were given indication of a Doll’s approach.

Sheryl’s Zephyr Doll was certainly useful, in that regard. It seemed to know…and, in turn, Sheryl seemed to be made aware, also. That kept us as safe as we possibly could be.

We had made it quite close to the Tower – the screaming was deafening – when we heard another sort of uproar.

Growls, yells, a great calamity coming from just within; a great Hound, a shady beast of ragged flesh, was dragging a figure out, jaws clamped around the victim’s leg.

It was Blair.

The Hound was pulling Blair like a wolf hauling limp prey – the jaws released, leaving Blair in a bleeding heap, and the beast charged at the Dolls in pursuit. Every one of them, weeping, crying out – they were not like Daisy Chain. Unwilling slaves, put on the front lines of the Hound’s assault like fodder.

We were quick; we took Blair, and we ran. The Door was still there, at the end of the trail.

Alyssa and I have yet to rest. We spent all night tending to the wounds. We cannot be certain whether or not Blair will pull through.

If xe dies here, it was all for nothing. I can’t decide if that would be for the better.

Please.

I don’t understand how it worked.

If there’s a God, I don’t know whether to thank Him, or curse Him.

Just…please.

What do we do now? What can we do?

2.1; Tarot reading

I went through the reading and got these results:

1. Fuck that shit. At first glance, it seems to be endorsing ‘let Blair go’ – time of turbulence, indeed, but the emphasis is learning to move on. Giving up. Now, standing alone, I’d take that as a direct message from the bitch, herself, but I have to keep in mind how it meshes with the other cards.

2. Now, that’s just plain interesting. I know from reading Blair’s blog that hir primary foe was the Hanging Man, and Daisy Chain has a real yin for the guy. I could practically ignore everything else the card stands for based on that, alone, but going on: this is what’s blocking my progress, Well, no shit. And ‘positive self-sacrifice’; that’s Blair all over, and it’s got to mean something in terms of getting to the Tower. It clashes with card #1 – ‘don’t give up’. Unless it means that I have to give up to succeed, or something. This is already getting confusing.

3. The best that I can achieve is failure? Another strong message from this Doll. ‘Stabbed in the back’, ‘end of the line’, ‘you’re out on this one’. The situation is over. Yeah, well, I’m not buying that. Okay, considering what that means with the other cards…

4. The Tower. I was waiting for it. At least that makes me absolutely sure this isn’t coincidental. The past provides a key to the future.

5. Skip this one. It’s not relevant.

6. The road I’m on, ‘the authority of cold logic’. So this one is about Curtis. From what I can tell, it’s basically advising me to let Curtis’s logic and ideas counter/play off mine. Isn’t that what I’m doing now? But I’m guessing the emphasis is on letting his fact-based theories come into play. Path to success is lined with listening to what he has to say. At the very least, I think it means I can’t do this without him.

7. Furthers point six. The card that represents me – ‘Things have become bigger than you alone’? Tell me something I don’t know. The rest of it, though…going on about a group and a partnership? That has to mean me, in relation to Blair, doesn’t it? Or maybe me, in relation to Curtis and Sheryl. Maybe all four of us.

I didn’t do any bleeding, which I can’t honestly say I’m that disappointed about.

What I’m primarily understanding is, to find the Tower, there has to be…failure.

I freaking hate riddles. The bitch is just taunting us.

Dispute Against Madness

An Outlandish Theory.

Alyssa is a smart young woman; she has proven it several times over, and while there is perfect validity to the choice words she had for me – condensed, the gist was, “You’ve seen abominations attack, had your memory wiped by an Eldritch horror, and you believe in that – how can you be so skeptical about magic?” – I still have very strong doubts.

It began when she was hunting down the television show, ‘Play Time…With Mikey!’. She has found two episodes now, in total, and in the one she just finished studying, she claims that the children on the show (or one of them, anyway) was drawing pictures similar to what is seen on tarot cards.

I was previously unaware that Alyssa has a strong belief in occult drawings on card stock, but as it turns out, she very much does.

She is theorizing that, by using the Doll and tarot, we may be able to track the location of the Tower.

My attempts at arguing have proved fruitless, so instead, I shall just do my best to work with what I’ve been given.

As we lack physical cards, Alyssa has located an online source; I had suggested we place the cards around the Doll, but apparently that is both improper positioning as well as being impossible for the moment. Instead, I have laid the Doll across the keyboard, which is resting upon a map; we are running the episode in question in the background.

It all strikes me as being very impractical and a long-shot by far, but my hope is this:

Alyssa will do the Reading, and the Doll will guide the cards.

From there, Alyssa can (hopefully) interpret.

We have realized that there is some link between the Red Cap (Alyssa’s nosebleeds) and the Wooden Doll (the Doll stalking Sheryl). We are also theorizing that the way she bled the other day was due to the Doll – she claims that being in the presence of other people stir the Mark, but not to the degree where she nearly bleeds to death. I have guessed the Doll is somehow involved, being a third previously uninvolved element.

If any blood lands on the map, we will see if it forms any sort of trail, or an ‘x to mark the spot’, if you will.

It’s a weak idea, I believe, but it’s the best one we have.

1.1; Here's my confession

I don’t think anyone on the Internet gives a damn, in reality, but some part of me is paranoid that things won’t be clear to the right people. If they ever find what was documented last night, I mean, obviously. Besides, now that Curtis got nosy but justifiably so, I won’t wait for someone to out me.

So here goes:

Q: What do you get when you cross a Blood Vessel with a sixteen year old prostitute?

A: A Mark.

I did what I had to do to keep myself from being homeless. I was just a kid and I didn’t know these things existed. Don’t anyone ever freaking think that I bear this Mark with pride like some of those sick fucks do.

I’m one of the ones who have this Mark in me with no say. I don’t want it, never have, it disgusts me to the core and yes, I am ashamed. Anyone with any fucking sense would be. I quit all interaction with people to keep it from being the driving force in my life. If I hadn’t started getting chills, I would have KEPT avoiding people – little boy blue targets people in seclusion, right?

So reaching out to people online, that seemed safe. Ha fucking ha.

Knew it was a matter of time, and last night I almost broke. It won’t happen again.

Also, yes, I’m aware that wanting every proxy on earth to die bloody and in pain makes me a hypocrite.

Be fair. When did I ever say I wasn’t one?

There you go, Curt – I already told you all that, but if you wind up reading this, I came clean and now Blair might see this. If s/he does, somehow – Blair, I’m sorry for not telling you. And I’ll tell you whatever else you want to know, when we get you out of the Tower.

Sheryl, if you read this, I’m sorry for not telling you, either. But I’m not like them, and I’m still going to help with this business regarding that Doll and your daughter. If I can fight one relapse, I can fight them all.

I think that’s everything. The only thing that could make this more pathetic is if I closed with some angsty one-liner.

Dispute Against Madness

A Bloody Kiss.

I’m unsure what to think.

I will recount the events that just transpired, but I must confess that I don’t understand them in the least; the only thing I can say with certainty is that Alyssa has her own weakness, something I hadn’t previously surmised.

Perhaps that was foolish of me; I realize I inadvertently treat her, as I did Blair, as though they were invulnerable… Look where that got us, for far.

Alyssa woke up in the night due to a sharp pain in her nose, which she attempted to be dismissive of until it began bleeding.

She spent the entire day being dismissive of it, despite that the flow would not stop. Blood was streaked all down her face, it was on her clothes; she must have been getting dizzy, I’m sure, and she was getting weak on her feet.

Eventually she seemed to reach a decision and told Sheryl that she needed to deal with the problem, though she would require my help to do so.

We stopped at a gas station, and the proprietor had no reservations about lending us the key to the washroom. Sheryl remained outside the store to tend to Windmill (it is still difficult to explain away his presence; our standby is now that he is a retiring racehorse being kept in shape to instead be put to work pulling carriages, for tourism purposes).

Once we were in there… Alyssa seemed to be having a crisis, of sorts. She tossed aside the bloodied towels, pressed her palms to my shoulders, and held me back against the wall – I had never seen her lay hands on anyone she wasn’t attacking. She was shaking badly.

To my shock, she began to cry.

“Don’t want to do this,” she was mumbling. “It makes me sick… Makes me so fucking sick-… I won’t. Won’t… I’ve been clean for ages…”

I told her to take deep breaths, to calm down. She wasn’t making sense, continuing to mutter and tremble. I was too uncertain to initiate any contact in return – everything I knew, and do know, of her, has led me to believe that being touched draws hostility from her.

“I knew this would happen. Being around people. Once they get you, it never stops. I didn’t want it in the first place…!”

She drew back. I thought she was beginning to feel better.

She wiped the blood away from her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, and then kissed me.

It should come as no surprise that I have no memory of ever being kissed, before. I think I was too stunned to respond.

When I could finally piece together two thoughts, I pried her off and pushed her away. I’m absolutely certain she isn’t… Well. I had been given the impression, once or twice, that she doesn’t even particularly like men. If she did, I’m sure she wouldn’t like me; I seem to annoy her, I think.

I told her so. I didn’t expect her reaction to be so…violent.

She threw herself towards the wall. She appeared shaken, but almost… I hesitate to say…grateful.

“Leave me, for a bit… I can fight it… I can get through it… Just go.”

At first, I told her I wouldn’t. Her response was to shove her bag towards me.

“I’ll be fine! Moment of weakness…that was all…” she was taking deep breaths, ragged ones. “Knew it would come to this. Just forgot how to prepare myself – I’m fine. It’ll be fine. Go.”

I was reluctant…but I left her in there. I stayed within the gas station, just in case. Almost half an hour later, Alyssa emerged, much calmer – her nosebleed had stopped, and while she was still disturbingly pale, that spark was back; she was forcing herself strong, I could see it.

She had changed her shirt to a clean one, wearing blue again.

“I thought you didn’t like to wear blue anymore, in case of mosquitoes?”

“It’s getting colder, I’ll take the risk.”

I didn’t press for any more of an explanation; we simply rejoined Sheryl, outside.

I chose not to question Sheryl’s odd expression, either. She seemed distracted – I wonder, perhaps, if she took the opportunity while we were inside to have a drink or two. While I value any ally, sometimes she seems off. Is it the alcoholism?

Our situation is too dire for us to risk that sort of behaviour, but I haven’t a clue how to bring that up gently – not to mention, I feel it is best if we stay out of each other’s private lives as much as possible…

Although it’s becoming difficult for me to tell where our ‘private lives’ end, and business begins.

Ten

Damn it damn it damn it fucking damn it I especially hoped Blair would be back by this point. I can’t get through it damn it fucking damn it

Ugh the nosebleeds have started and won’t stop. Curtis and Sheryl keep bringing me napkins and tissues and whatever else but goddamn it, it isn’t enough. Why the hell can’t I run from this, everything else you can run away from even if it just puts off the inevitable

Fuck it feels like there are blades beneath my face and in my blood. It’s getting everywhere shit shit shit shit shit

Got to make it stop

Got to stop for a while

I’ll explain to Sheryl later

Curtis will do.

Nine point five

‘Playtime with Mikey, is very, very fun!’ Bull-freaking-crap.

‘Mikey’ is this sad-sack looking Australian monkey that gestures too much and surrounds himself with a bunch of kids with these wide eyes and smiles that quiver. I know those smiles. This show is fucked, just like Candle Cove was. It’s just off, and the worst part is, you wouldn’t know unless you were looking for it.

I didn’t get enough of it recorded, but what I did manage to get, I’m going over again and again and looking for any trace of a Tower. I don’t think we’d be that lucky, but if I don’t do something I’ll go fucking crazy.

It’s just so goddamn frustrating. I can’t concentrate on anything with this pain in my nose and this irritating theme tune and it’s hard to watch this when I know these kids are probably on Missing Children posters somewhere in the world.

I’ve got such a bitching headache that I might have to go out and kill something just to make myself feeling like I’m putting the pain to good use.

If anyone who reads this sees any trace of this show, let us know. I can’t do this on my own.

Curtis just sees static. Thank god Sheryl seems to be focusing better and can watch the damn show, otherwise I’d give up on this altogether.

… I don’t mean that. I can’t give up on Blair. S/he wouldn’t give up on me, if our positions were switched. Which I actually wish they were.

Dispute Against Madness