[IC] ms. sayre's notes, reorganized
Ms. Sayre in regards to the murderer and the crime at hand
Blood was everywhere. I could not stand it. I will continue not to stand it. Death by disembowelment is only deserved by absolute fiends.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise.
He mentioned this facility would be created a short time from now, but that is impossible.
The only thing left is to reconstruct the facility the murderer described, breed it to fruition, and then find the culprit. It's insane, but with the context in mind, I believe in what I must perform.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
Still, I am undeterred. My resolve is absolute -- this facility will be built, whether the government supports it or not.
It no longer makes sense to me; there is no child here that fits the description or mental instability of the killer. Was it all a lie? Am I going mad?
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
Ms. Sayre on this particular "camp"
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
Occasionally, I worry if this is the appropriate venue. Would it have been a better policy to simply execute all new arrivals, rather than keep them for the alloted time?
Would a small population have been easier to enforce as well? It would be more simple to properly confine the control groups, if that was the case.
And would I be justified in killing the ones that present resistance, rather than continue to tolerate their unnecessary existence at camp? Their arguments are tedious and repititive.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
The experimentations have been going well, against all reason and doubt. The control groups remain difficult to secure, but the reactions continue to be positive. I believe some of the chemical research will even be finalized by December, 2005.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
Some of these children are no longer of use to me, but their removal would bring about more complications. I need to keep them busy, somehow, and the continuation of my genetic experiments has been bothering me for some time.
Perhaps the children could help? Though some part of my shattered morality is sickened by the thought.
The amount of effort is becoming a frustration. Are these children that unable to handle the simplest of tasks? How difficult is it for this generation to think?
I find myself wanting to drown them. Shuffling them off from this plane of existence would bring me great joy, I think.
I can't let these children die. I can't. I can't. Father, there is a way.
Ms. Sayre on her past: her father, her brother, "Charles," and Stephan Debussey
Dear Diary,
I think I've fallen in love with the twit.
I'm still unsure why I was able to tolerate Stephan, much less be able to consciously admit an attraction to him that went beyond school girl fantasies, not that I continued to experience such daydreams by that age.
It's degrading, disgusting, disconcerting, and leaves me demanding for more. Juvenile though it is, I will never grow tired of the look on his face when confronted with corderoys.
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
Stephan thinks perusing my journal is hilarious. I believe I may have security remove both him and his family from the manor in revenge, diary.
How can he stand it? How is he able to look a man in the eye and go through with it, regardless of the amount of human emotion that he must surely see? Killing is reprehensible, Father. I cannot believe what you have become.
Father advises me to use my fairer sex as an advantage, but if the business world were that simple, Mother would not have had such a difficult time of it.
It's been three days. I've called Father, his sister... if Stephan lost the tickets, I may murder him before the others have the chance.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
I will never marry Charles.
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
*I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
*Once. It was one time, and it will never happen again. I do not believe murder is a solution.
"My rocket to the moon." Stephan is insane; because I tolerate him, does that make me unstable as well?
He says he loves me -- he's always said that he loves me -- but more and more I find myself trusting in those words to a powerful extent. Stephan frightens me.
I love him, I love him. I hate him, I hate him. If he quotes another terrible horror movie at me, it will be easy to reach a decision.
I haven't been sleeping. Finals are approaching at the university and I find myself unable to give a flying damn. Stephan is missing; do they not understand what this means?
I have decided to hate myself. A valiable solution, I think.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
Do you believe in miracles, diary? Neither do I.
Ms. Sayre on ...?
"For thirteen years," I was told, "you drove me to madness." Whether that was the truth will haunt me for years to come.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
The debts are rising. I am unsure where to turn. I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality, and am dragging down the others with me.
The government wishes to close the facility down.
--
Three acts of violence are mentioned in these notes: Stephan's death, an attack on one "Charles" (possibly previously engaged to Ms. Sayre at the behest of her father), and "The manor is burning to the ground and I find myself unable to care. He is dead, and I think Mother would be proud."
It is arguable that the killer murdered Mr. Debussey in order to ensure that this facility would come into existence. Ludicrous as it may be, it is plausible given the types that have appeared here. However, one can only wonder what Ms. Sayre means by "control groups." Is her experimentation related to the murder, or is it something else entirely?