Confessions and Prayers
Several years ago I went to visit Jerusalem, because I need to getXXXXXXXXX from him. He said the day before that I could pick it up in the evening that day, so I did, and that’s why I’m here. For some reason, I feel like he’s lying to me. There was something heavy about the atmosphere when I stepped into that back alley and entered the old warehouse where he sometimes lives to find him. Something is wrong. I can hear the protest of my conscience, but I don’t listen. I never do. If I did I could be with Reene forever and never have to worry about her XXXXXXXXXX, but you don’t need to know that.
Noises. At first it sounds like wheezing. Someone is panting in a mixture of pain and despair. A noise I am all too familiar with for comfort. I can hear the creaks of chains and the disgusting gush of blood oozing out of skin as it’s been pierced. I hate the sound of knives. If I were to die, I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to be XXXXXXX, I’d rather be XXXXXXXXX instead. But that’s not for me to decide, now is it?
The noises begin to get closer as my footsteps creak up the stairs. “He told me yesterday that I could pick it up in the evening today, right?” So he wouldn’t possibly be doing anything keeping him busy knowing that, right? He just wouldn’t, right?
Still, I hear the sounds coming from behind a wall. I see shapes moving in a dark room beyond a window to one of the building’s offices. I ignore it. Maybe he’s watching TV or something. Christ I sure hope so. It sounds like something out of a horror flick. Then again, my whole life sounds like a horror flick. Fuck me. I don’t want to open this door. I don’t want to. If I do I’ll XXXX What a fucking stupid thought, huh?
“Jerusalem, are you there? D’you have that thing I asked you
* Excursus: after this the writing becomes muddled and chaotic. The letters are closed together and appear to have been written some time later.
By then I wish I had kept my fucking mouth shut before I had ever thought of opening the door. Maybe it’s because I’ve been away for so long that I didn’t call the signs, but I could still recognize the stench of death and sex from a mile away, and this room reeked of it.
Blood, all over the bed that I’m sure was never there before so it must’ve been put there by somebody somebody with a sense to use it(?). Put there for this occasion, maybe(?). Does that make this a preemptive murXXXr(?). Shit no. Jerusalem wouldn’t do that. He sXsssaXXd me! But there she is, still breathing, but not for long, with blood flowing out of the many holes punctured into her chest, her stomach, her inner thighs, like the bastard who did this to her was getting one hell of a kick out of doing this to her. She was curled up in fetal position, her limbs limp like a doll and she reminds me of a doll cause her hair is in pretty blonde curls and makes me think of this raggedy anne my mother used to have and then I see that bastard lurched over her with a knife in hand
* Excursus: the next 2 pages have been torn out.
Jerusalem throws me down the stairway. Next thing I know, I’m in the alley, getting pummeled to a bloody pulp(?). I’m weak, too weak to fight back, too weak to have helped her, whoever she was. I can’t even remember what all had happened. It’s all a blur. All I’m trying to do is block myself from the blows but they only delay the inevitable and suddenly I know I know he’s going to kill me. I don’t know why because I tell him that I’ll never tell anyone, but that doesn’t seem to be the point. The point is, he tells me, is that he’s sick of me. He’s sick of me lying to him. Everything he does, he says, he’s done for me, and that he’s babysat me for too long. But that’s stupid, I tell myself. We were friends! All of us.
FriendX...(?) Did I ever evXXXXave any? Judging by the way Jerusalem’s talking I can’t say I’m too sure. Now I’m starting to question everything. How much of my life did I live lying to myself that I could ever actually make it out here if it weren’t for Jerusalem Kavar? How much of these past two years did I spend wanting to turn my back on the one thing that saXXd me so that I could XXXXXXXXXeene? How much was I willing to give up and for who? FUCK JUST FUCKING KILL ME!!!
But between the excruciating blows and I think a newly broken nose, I could still hear him clearly. I shouldn’t have. But I could. Christ and he sounded angry and I don’t know why what did I see(?). “XXXXXXXthe rats of the city. XXXXXX the evils, the supreme, the fallen kings of our sand nation. Crown me with your shaXe. KnigXX me with your animosity. WXX me to your hate, let us cherish ouXXXXXtial on the edge of smoke and mortar as I sweep away your everything! You admire me, you admonish me, you bask me in your terror and betray me! I bring a one-man army to your world and you will be one of many to fall, you will ask me! You will ask me who I am, and I will tell you!
“I AM THE FUCKING MONSTER IN YOU.”
Those words bring a chill to me and I think that’s why I remember them even more. In that moment, Jerusalem is ready to break my neck. His hands are on my face, and starting to twist.
That’s when I am able to take his gun.
* Excursus: the next page is blank.
BANG!
* Excursus: the next page has been scribbled on completely, but no signs of any writing on it is apparent. The next few pages are written in a very sloppy, unorganized manner. The pages after that also make little sense.
There’s a hole in my memory. The Link in my brain is shattered and I don’t know why. I can’t hear or see Jerusalem anywhere anymore. He is far away now. Maybe underground. Maybe high above. I’ve attempted to make the Link whole again but all I get something that looks like a FUCKING ASSHOLE:
•
Nothing makes sense anymore. * Excursus (attempts to scribble out the rest of the paragraph is evident): I am lying in a garbage heap, baXXXXXere I started. AloXXXXXXXXXld. Although I still recall the XXXXk eyes of a coXXXX staring up at XXXXXXXr pulling that trigXer, because if I didn’t I would have XXXXX(if I deserved to have XXXXX in the first place). There is bloXXXXll over me. I hold my head. I try to make sense of everything. But all that’s left is static.
* Excursus: investigation of the banning of legal Links necessary? Who was Wolfgang Linked to?
And why? And who is Jerusalem?
Part Two: Prayer
“Now I lay me down to sleep....”
* Excursus: ♠ The writing in this entry starts off very neat and orderly, but degresses fast. Some text even starts to slip off the page. ♥ The first few pages have been torn out. There is no sign of a date, but it is obvious that this pertains to the night of Reene Kuan’s murder. ♣ The page is dribbled with blood spatters. DNA matches to that of Wolfgang. (Signs of struggle?)
I could hardly contain myself anymore-I’ve started crying. Naked and sitting on the floor, my back pressed to the foot of the bed with my hands clasped together and pressed to my forehead, I cried for the girl sleeping soundlessly above me. I’m so pitiful. It took me all this time to figure out that I don’t deserve this. I never did. After everything I’ve done, I...I don’t deserve this. Should have walked away so I’d never have met her, and she’d have never known me. But she’s the last thing I have, and while I can’t afford to lose her, I...can’t bring myself to give her up.
God forgive me, I am a selfish bastard and I am not worthy of this. She could be happier, far away from here. That way she would have hopes of living to see the sun tomorrow. Why did she come to me? Reene...my sweet Reene...who practically glows in the light of day, in that shower of golden rays and blue flowers you hardly see anymore except for in the core of a memory.
But when she told me-her amber eyes so firm and I was too fucking weak to argue-that she would not abandon me...her loyalty would be the death of her. And knowing this, it hurts even more. No one had ever face death for me. No one should. All that’s left for me is to sit, wait, and pray.
* Excursus (scribbled all over the side of the page, repeatedly): Why? (♦Signs of guilt?)
Come morning, the apartment will likely be a flood of gunfire and blood. Jerusalem Kavar knows where I am, and he will come for me, and anyone who is with me. * Excursus (attempts to scribble out the rest of the paragraph is evident): Why dXXXXXXXe stay? XXXXhad no reason toXXXXl I had to do was XXXX her and she would sufXXXXXXXXXre. No longer would IXXXXXXXXXXXXXXwhat Jerusalem would do to her. No. He wouldXXXXnothing. He would XXXX her. No. NoXXXXXXno!
“Alex?” I hear her stirring from the bed. I am afraid, because I want her to sleep as much as possible. If she were to die asleep, I could go peacefully. If she were to die without pain, I could go peacefully. If she were to XXXX me, I could go peacefully. Jesus Christ, I am not worth saving at all. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m praying.”
“Praying?” The word is a mystery to her, because she is not familiar with it. I tell her how I used to pray every day for my mother until the day she died. She asked me why I had stopped. I tell her I don’t know, and she tells me that my faith is a leash, keeping me from release. Before I can ask what she means, I feel her hands touching my hair, entangling her fingers in its strands. I feel her lips kissing the top of my head. I feel her breath on my skin and her touch that is now so cold, cold as death, making me shiver. I feel her lack of fear for the looming hours of death that she faces with me, knowing that I had told her to go, to live, and yet she embraces me without a care. I feel her love, her infatuation, drift into my frozen bloodstream and fill me with desire. I feel XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX hush now, don’t weep XXXXXXXXXXXXX shhhh XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX hhhhhh XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX haaahhhh XXXXX issing her XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX maXXXXXve onXXXXXXXXime XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX You don’t need to know any of this. I’m sorry. God help me I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m still sorry.
* Excursus (on a single page): The third angel sounded his trumpet, and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky....
I remember hearing her words so clearly, breathing into my ear, a cold dread that sends shivers down my spine and I tell myself to XXXX her.
“I will die, Alex, and I will gladly face death knowing that it’s you who kills me.”
Kill me. No! XXXX me. NO! Kill me! I CAN’T!
This is all so fucked.
So I dXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX holding her down with my hands wrapped around her precious little throat. At first she struggles, but now she doesn’t. Her face contorts in agony, her lips apart as they gasp for the air that I have denied her. Her hands are pressed over mine as she chokes and dies. Ah, sweet Reene, for her memory is my eternal sanction.
* Excursus (on a single page):
Now I lay me down to sleep
Pray the LORD my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
Pray the LORD my soul to take
XXXXXXXXXXXX the lilies of the field XXXXXXXXX
God, forgive me, what have I done?
My hands are bloody and red....
I only wanted to save her
From the madman I’ve become.
* Excursus: This journal entry written by Wolfgang is a written confession to the murder of Reene Kuan nine years ago. Until his death, Leonard Mageau had been the prime suspect. A full investigation has been issued on the arrest of Wolfgang. So far his whereabouts are unknown.
Addendum: Jerusalem Kavar, age 32, said to have died 34 years ago - Wolfgang’s alter ego?
Wolfgang wrote an article (obituary?) on Kavar shortly before his disappearance. Relevant?