Friday
Possession
Shilken Bay has been kind. Working as a free agent has become somewhat easier, no doubt due to word of mouth from a few satisfied clients.
I happened to pick up a newspaper yesterday and was moderately surprised to find that the killing spree of yet another of Big City's homicidal maniacs had come to an end. I didn't have to read the article to know that BCPD's finest had somehow been involved. There were a couple of quotes from Breen, but I didn't bother getting the entire scoop. The weather forecasts are more my style. It's not the past that interests me.
Of course, without knowing and embracing our pasts, we're doomed to repeat history. I remember one of the matrons at the orphanage saying that.
During the day, it's easy to forget a lot of things. At night it's a battle to hold the demons at bay.
Last night, as I lie in bed, Charlie's face entered my mind like a fluid reflection in the calm waters of a pond. Unfamiliar hands caressed the backs of my legs, molding the curves of my body to their will, bombarding me with visions I cared nothing about. I fought to hold onto his image in my head. It filled me with a sorrow so sharp, it felt like a knife piercing my heart. And there it twisted. I remembered our last meeting. Everything I received from him seemed so vague, and yet urgent. Fatal. Fatalistic. But I did not find much relief in the reality of my premonition.
The image dissolved as my body was invaded by a foreign predator determined to monopolize my mind, sending bits and pieces of information tripping along my neurons and synapses. Like a motion picture from a tiny projector, I watched this stranger's life spread out before me. But in a shadowy corner, I could feel - more than see - the past creeping up on me. They were all there. All reaching, their fingers stretching into long tentacles that wrapped around my arms, my legs, pulling, twisting, spreading me apart until all I could do was scream.
Buried in my sheets, my body slick with sweat, I awoke to an empty bed and a neat pile of cash atop the pillow next to mine. There was a note, as well, which warmly relived the highest moments from a night I could not readily recall. The only memories still lingering vividly in the recesses of my mind were those of D'yen, Forray, Johnson, Pickens. Manzetti.
They all wanted something.
But what?
Thursday
Time Flies
Did you ever wonder exactly what that phrase means? Time flies. Where is it going and what does it do once it arrives?
Money is starting to become an issue. Magdalene didn't exactly allow us savings accounts. What little I was able to put away is dwindling. While I was in Thrombis, I was able to raise some funds the old fashioned way - singing for my supper. But the call of Shilken Bay proved too strong to resist.
I've been here for almost two weeks now. I've spent my days lounging by the water, while my nights have been infinitely more...busy.
Once a hooker, always a hooker, right? It pays the bills. I'm beginning to wonder whether Magdalene was right or not. Do I yearn for the spotlight? Do I crave the attention? The desire? The things that invariably come after?
While sunning myself the other afternoon, I was approached by a rather handsome young man. I don't think he realized my profession at the time - after all, it's not as if I've been openly advertising. We negotiated a deal - I suppose you'd say he asked me out - and that was that. It was nice to feel wanted again. And this time as a free agent.
There's an irony to the story in that, as it turned out, he didn't know how to respond to a professional and I didn't know how to respond to a man who was genuinely interested in me. Nevertheless, we made due.
It was not the beginning of a beautiful relationship. It could have been, perhaps, had I not seen the things I saw. He wasn't a bad guy, not really, but an unfortunate addiction to Anticipation will be leading to his downfall in the near future.
I didn't tell him.
He hasn't been the only one. I don't know if it's the contact I crave or the visions. Ever since Joseph's death, I've been trying to test the boundaries of my sight. Until now, everything has been flashes and impressions. Over the years I've learned how to fill in the blanks and read between the proverbial lines. But everything shifted around in my head when I met that infuriating half-breed detective. And then the boy. Math Talker. What does it mean?
The images in my head have become clearer, less blurry around the edges. I've begun testing my ability to see what I want, to use the visions, to control them. Past. Present. Future.
Maybe I'm only trying to lose myself in these new visions in order to block out those I don't want to recall. They're all associated with Manzetti somehow. Just as I am. Connected.
Wednesday
Quiet
At night, the temperature drops and the shadows are so pervasive that you could almost begin to believe that you've awaken on the dark side of the moon.
In its own way, loneliness is beautiful.
It's so different here, with no one else around. There's nothing here but me. No dreams, no visions, no haunting voices whispering the Fates' desires. Here, surrounded by bleak nothingness, I do not hold the answers. I answer only to myself.
Still, the silence is deafening. I've considered heading toward Shilken Bay for a few good nights and some sun-bathing. If I'm on the run, I might as well do it in style, right? But for now I'm lingering along the outer edges of Thrombis. Some might call it an oasis in the midst of a barren wasteland, but it's afforded me some anonymity. I wouldn't call it a fun-fulled vacation, but during the days I've managed to make a few contacts who could become useful.
It is night which holds me in its spell. Away from the town, removed from Big City, I could almost feel...free. It's as if I am the only being, the first, proceeded and followed by none.
I've decided to make myself useful. Though I continue to keep my distance, I have no other choice but to learn more about this veritable force in my life: Manzetti. Who is he and what does he ultimately want?
It's strange. I feel as if there is something I should know about him, but that it's buried far beneath anything else in my memory. It's intangible and very elusive.
Tuesday
One Way Trip
To hear it told, death is always accompanied by the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. What they don't tell you is that these so-called stages don't always occur in this order.
I never knew my parents. I was raised in an orphanage. Sometimes I wonder whether my parents died in some freak accident just after my birth...or whether they simply didn't want me. Now I find myself contemplating a third scenario: that if they died, perhaps it wasn't an accident at all.
I'm not used to being on the run. I yearn for the days of blind oblivion. The days before I recognized the name Nick Manzetti.
How foolish I was, cloaking myself from the truth as if I could hide. Now, when I close my eyes, I can feel him surrounding me. Like some sort of rat in a maze, every path I choose is blocked until the only place left to turn...is to him.
I keep coming back to this place. Why? Why not leave it behind forever? Last night I hovered in the shadows of the alley across from the police department. I remembered Charlie telling me that Smiles or Stack could protect me from Manzetti. But then I remembered what he'd said next. They could use me to find him. Use me. Find him.
I don't want to find him. For the first time in my life, I'm afraid of what the future holds.
I took the first bus out to the Scion valley, and here I'll stay for a few days. When you're running, the first rule is that you can't sit still for too long. It's ironic, really. I always wanted to travel.
I don't want to sit still anyway. That invariably leads to thinking, which leads to the past. And you can't change the past.
I lost myself the day I ran into Charlie Pickens. I was angry at first. And then in denial. Surely I couldn't be important to a man like Manzetti. But I accepted it...and then thought about bargaining with him to get my life back. I suppose now I've slipped into depression. Because no matter what I do, I can't see what's ahead of me.
I can't see how this ends.
Sunday
It All Fades Away
My name is Kalista Danae. Friends call me Kali. But I no longer have many of those.
A year ago I was a star attraction at the premiere brothel in Big City's red-light district: Magdalene's. Singer. Seductress. Psychic. I had many roles, and I was a master of all. That is, until I predicted a client's death and found myself persona non grata with the Big City Police Force.
Now I'm little more than a fugitive in my own city. Although no longer a murder suspect, I'm on the run from a force more powerful than Sergeants Adam Forray and John D'yen. I have seen what the future holds for them, and I fear the hand I may play if found.
The funny thing about "the Sight" is that the Seer can't often see what lies in store for her. I've only recently come to realize that the path of my life has been guided by an unseen hand.
Manzetti.
The name means so much to me, and yet so little. From my childhood in the orphanage, I can remember the generous, but enigmatic, benefactor. The pieces are only now beginning to fall into place. The puzzle is still unclear. What use could he have for me?
I'm not certain I want to know. For now, I will continue to hide myself from prying eyes. This will be my record, in case I meet an untimely end. I can only hope that if it is ever found, it will be by the right person.
