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Daily wordcount: 1,767
Total wordcount: 17,174
On/off target: -9,498
The last box was just as boring until halfway through, then it suddenly got much, much more interesting. Tucked into one of the folders on duct cleaning bills (also an oddly pricey endeavor) was an envelope of photographs. Photographs that, before the advent of digital photography and home printers, would almost certainly have been Polaroids. And while I expected, based on the rumors Jess had just recounted to me about Evan and Melody, to see the two of them in the pictures. What I hadn't honestly expected was to also see Jess in them. And as much as I knew she did some yoga, I hadn't expected her to be quite that flexible. It was very impressive, if some of the other things in the photo were a little... okay, I'm not one to kink-shame, I'm not, but there are some things I would rather not do. If you're into whatever, and doing it with other consenting adults, fine, but I don't have to think it's sexy or want to do it myself. That's all I'm saying.
Would I be able to look at Jess the same ever again? Doubtful. I think we often pigeonhole people into parts of our lives and can't imagine them having a role outside of it. Like running into an elementary school teacher as a child at the grocery store. In your head, they pop into existence in the classroom before class, then disappear at the end of the school day until the next morning. They don't have regular, normal lives. And even as you get older, and obviously realize that of course they do, you still try to keep people in a little bit of a box. It's sometimes why it's so hard to recognize people when you see them out of context. And those pictures were defiantly out of context.
Then I started thinking, if I couldn't imagine Evan killing Melody in such a vicious, horrific way, could I imagine Jess doing it? She had a wicked temper and was very used to getting her way. Half an hour ago I would have said she'd not have done anything to spray that much blood around, being a fastidiously neat and tidy person, but those pictures proved that bodily fluids didn't bother her as much as I would have thought. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I absolutely could imagine her doing it. But then what was her game in getting me to go after Evan? None of this was without reason, she never just winged it. There was an underlying plan, I just had to out-think a brilliant legal (and very twisted) mind and figure out what it was. While looking like I knew nothing and suspected nothing. That would be easy. Maybe actually going on that trip would be the best idea if I didn't want to end up like Melody.
I hurriedly emptied the rest of the box, finding one more item of interest. It was a diary, and the handwriting looked very similar to some of the copied pages Evan had left behind. It was a thick book and completely filled, and I didn't have time to read it now, so I tucked it (and the pictures, unfortunately) into my satchel of research and tossed the last of the paperwork into the fire. Then I realized it would never burn itself out before I was supposed to leave, and began to panic. Why I had I not thought this through?
I was just calculating the damage that I'd do to my floors by tossing an entire bucked of water into my fireplace (in retrospect, shoveling out the coals into a pan, then taking the coals out o the back patio to be doused with water would have been a perfectly acceptable course of action, but I never said I think well under pressure) when my cell phone chirped. It was an email from Evan's lawyer. A new packet had arrived, and they'd scanned everything in and attached the copies. I opened the first attachment and was flooded with relief. This was the perfect excuse to one, not leave today, and two, call Jess and tell her I wasn't leaving today. It also gave me time to make plans about where I was leaving to and when, as international travel seemed a bit too expensive (and I still lacked a passport), but I did feel the need to get out of town. Maybe I would get a passport and at least head to Canada. There was a great outlet yarn shop there... and if I was traveling, anyway, I could hit up an in-person passport center, right? Didn't they have those? One of the 'get it quicker' places? I really needed to look these things up. Right after I called Jess back.
Of course she didn't answer her phone, she was too busy and important for that. I left her a message giving her all the details, but I figured she'd call me back. I was surprised how quickly she called me back, though. She could barely have listened to my entire message when my phone rang.
"Hello?" I said nonchalantly, as if I didn't know who was calling. Images from the photos just kept flashing in my brain and I repressed a shudder. I would need to keep it together, though hopefully any oddness in my voice she'd put down to excitement at the new clues, or frustration at not being able to put together said clues.
"What do you think this new information means?" She asked without preamble.
"Other than me having to change my flight?" I heaved a sigh and tried to sound put out. "I'm not sure yet. I think this one is a pretty big jump, though. Maybe even out of Europe. Some of the journal pages mention shrines, and that makes me think Japan, but they're not specific enough. They definitely talk about a long journey, so it wouldn't be someplace you could have reached quickly. I wish I knew exactly when these entries were, because 'long' has definitely changed in even the last 100 years."
"There's not been a date on any of them?" She sounded surprised.
"No, there hasn't. And it's hard to tell from a photocopy if a page is truly old or just not well cared for, hell, it could have just had coffee spilled on it and be from ten years ago. Maybe it was kept someplace that got mold and damp and it's not even a year old. If we had more, context clues might help, but he sends back such scant information and so few pages that there's not much to go on. I feel like it's old, but that could be a combination of fanciful thinking and making the assumption that an antiques dealer would be interested in something old."
"It's likely they're old, though," she said slowly. "So from central Europe to Japan wouldn't have been a long trip, it would have been an enormously long trip."
"Like I said, Japan just came to my mind because I most associate it with shrines. I'm probably wrong, I only gave the message one quick read through before I realized at best I should cancel my flight. Yay trip insurance," I said. Maybe I was laying it on a little thick, maybe it only sounded hollow and like an absolute lie to me because I knew that it was an absolute lie.
"I see," she sounded pensive. "When do you think you'll decide where you're going?"
This was getting odder and odder. She sounded very stressed, and very concerned. Not like herself at all, and I knew something was definitely up.
"Well, I'm going to take a look over the pages again, maybe I can formulate a plan tonight, but I'll need to wait until tomorrow to see about getting a new visa if I change where I'm going," I said. I almost smacked my head in frustration, this is what I get for knowing nothing about travelling abroad. Could I even have gotten a visa that quickly in the first place? I was rubbish at this subterfuge. On the plus side, this was not the kind of detail a high-powered lawyer such as herself ever took care of. She had assistants for that sort of work, so it's likely she knew as little as I did. At least I hoped she knew as little as I did.
"Oh, right, right. And it may not be that quick, even, depending on where you're going. Someplace like Germany is easy. Other places, not so much." She was already sounding bored and distracted, which I took as a good sign.
"I'll keep you updated," I said, and she took that as a sign and hung up on me.
I sighed and settled back on the sofa, watching the fire burn down. Since I was staying at least the night, I tossed another log on it and settled in to read the diary I'd found. I still had a few hours before Steve could make an appearance, and I was uncomfortable with how happy that idea made me. It was nice having someone to bounce ideas off of, and I was really enjoying talking to him. Was I forming an unhealthy attachment to a demon? I fingered the charm around my neck. Maybe it hadn't worked and I was already possessed or under some sort of spell. Or maybe I was just that lonely that even a demon's company was welcome. That was a profoundly sad thought. Or was it? Sure, he was a demon, but he'd not done anything bad to me, or even said anything bad (if you don't count some overly exuberant shushing during movies). He was polite, neat, helpful, and great company. Who wouldn't be enjoying his company? He was better than a lot of people I knew.
And my intestines were still safely tucked inside my abdomen, unlike Melody's. So which was worse, consorting with demons, or people? Okay, fine, my immortal soul and all that, if you believe in that, but... I sighed to myself and tried to force the thoughts out of my head. It was too much, I was too tired to think about it. I turned my focus to the journal and very quickly realized why none of the snippets of the journals had seemed to make sense. They were not journals at all, not in the sense that they were recording a person's life. This was a hand-written story, something between religious allegory and fantasy.
Total wordcount: 17,174
On/off target: -9,498
The last box was just as boring until halfway through, then it suddenly got much, much more interesting. Tucked into one of the folders on duct cleaning bills (also an oddly pricey endeavor) was an envelope of photographs. Photographs that, before the advent of digital photography and home printers, would almost certainly have been Polaroids. And while I expected, based on the rumors Jess had just recounted to me about Evan and Melody, to see the two of them in the pictures. What I hadn't honestly expected was to also see Jess in them. And as much as I knew she did some yoga, I hadn't expected her to be quite that flexible. It was very impressive, if some of the other things in the photo were a little... okay, I'm not one to kink-shame, I'm not, but there are some things I would rather not do. If you're into whatever, and doing it with other consenting adults, fine, but I don't have to think it's sexy or want to do it myself. That's all I'm saying.
Would I be able to look at Jess the same ever again? Doubtful. I think we often pigeonhole people into parts of our lives and can't imagine them having a role outside of it. Like running into an elementary school teacher as a child at the grocery store. In your head, they pop into existence in the classroom before class, then disappear at the end of the school day until the next morning. They don't have regular, normal lives. And even as you get older, and obviously realize that of course they do, you still try to keep people in a little bit of a box. It's sometimes why it's so hard to recognize people when you see them out of context. And those pictures were defiantly out of context.
Then I started thinking, if I couldn't imagine Evan killing Melody in such a vicious, horrific way, could I imagine Jess doing it? She had a wicked temper and was very used to getting her way. Half an hour ago I would have said she'd not have done anything to spray that much blood around, being a fastidiously neat and tidy person, but those pictures proved that bodily fluids didn't bother her as much as I would have thought. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I absolutely could imagine her doing it. But then what was her game in getting me to go after Evan? None of this was without reason, she never just winged it. There was an underlying plan, I just had to out-think a brilliant legal (and very twisted) mind and figure out what it was. While looking like I knew nothing and suspected nothing. That would be easy. Maybe actually going on that trip would be the best idea if I didn't want to end up like Melody.
I hurriedly emptied the rest of the box, finding one more item of interest. It was a diary, and the handwriting looked very similar to some of the copied pages Evan had left behind. It was a thick book and completely filled, and I didn't have time to read it now, so I tucked it (and the pictures, unfortunately) into my satchel of research and tossed the last of the paperwork into the fire. Then I realized it would never burn itself out before I was supposed to leave, and began to panic. Why I had I not thought this through?
I was just calculating the damage that I'd do to my floors by tossing an entire bucked of water into my fireplace (in retrospect, shoveling out the coals into a pan, then taking the coals out o the back patio to be doused with water would have been a perfectly acceptable course of action, but I never said I think well under pressure) when my cell phone chirped. It was an email from Evan's lawyer. A new packet had arrived, and they'd scanned everything in and attached the copies. I opened the first attachment and was flooded with relief. This was the perfect excuse to one, not leave today, and two, call Jess and tell her I wasn't leaving today. It also gave me time to make plans about where I was leaving to and when, as international travel seemed a bit too expensive (and I still lacked a passport), but I did feel the need to get out of town. Maybe I would get a passport and at least head to Canada. There was a great outlet yarn shop there... and if I was traveling, anyway, I could hit up an in-person passport center, right? Didn't they have those? One of the 'get it quicker' places? I really needed to look these things up. Right after I called Jess back.
Of course she didn't answer her phone, she was too busy and important for that. I left her a message giving her all the details, but I figured she'd call me back. I was surprised how quickly she called me back, though. She could barely have listened to my entire message when my phone rang.
"Hello?" I said nonchalantly, as if I didn't know who was calling. Images from the photos just kept flashing in my brain and I repressed a shudder. I would need to keep it together, though hopefully any oddness in my voice she'd put down to excitement at the new clues, or frustration at not being able to put together said clues.
"What do you think this new information means?" She asked without preamble.
"Other than me having to change my flight?" I heaved a sigh and tried to sound put out. "I'm not sure yet. I think this one is a pretty big jump, though. Maybe even out of Europe. Some of the journal pages mention shrines, and that makes me think Japan, but they're not specific enough. They definitely talk about a long journey, so it wouldn't be someplace you could have reached quickly. I wish I knew exactly when these entries were, because 'long' has definitely changed in even the last 100 years."
"There's not been a date on any of them?" She sounded surprised.
"No, there hasn't. And it's hard to tell from a photocopy if a page is truly old or just not well cared for, hell, it could have just had coffee spilled on it and be from ten years ago. Maybe it was kept someplace that got mold and damp and it's not even a year old. If we had more, context clues might help, but he sends back such scant information and so few pages that there's not much to go on. I feel like it's old, but that could be a combination of fanciful thinking and making the assumption that an antiques dealer would be interested in something old."
"It's likely they're old, though," she said slowly. "So from central Europe to Japan wouldn't have been a long trip, it would have been an enormously long trip."
"Like I said, Japan just came to my mind because I most associate it with shrines. I'm probably wrong, I only gave the message one quick read through before I realized at best I should cancel my flight. Yay trip insurance," I said. Maybe I was laying it on a little thick, maybe it only sounded hollow and like an absolute lie to me because I knew that it was an absolute lie.
"I see," she sounded pensive. "When do you think you'll decide where you're going?"
This was getting odder and odder. She sounded very stressed, and very concerned. Not like herself at all, and I knew something was definitely up.
"Well, I'm going to take a look over the pages again, maybe I can formulate a plan tonight, but I'll need to wait until tomorrow to see about getting a new visa if I change where I'm going," I said. I almost smacked my head in frustration, this is what I get for knowing nothing about travelling abroad. Could I even have gotten a visa that quickly in the first place? I was rubbish at this subterfuge. On the plus side, this was not the kind of detail a high-powered lawyer such as herself ever took care of. She had assistants for that sort of work, so it's likely she knew as little as I did. At least I hoped she knew as little as I did.
"Oh, right, right. And it may not be that quick, even, depending on where you're going. Someplace like Germany is easy. Other places, not so much." She was already sounding bored and distracted, which I took as a good sign.
"I'll keep you updated," I said, and she took that as a sign and hung up on me.
I sighed and settled back on the sofa, watching the fire burn down. Since I was staying at least the night, I tossed another log on it and settled in to read the diary I'd found. I still had a few hours before Steve could make an appearance, and I was uncomfortable with how happy that idea made me. It was nice having someone to bounce ideas off of, and I was really enjoying talking to him. Was I forming an unhealthy attachment to a demon? I fingered the charm around my neck. Maybe it hadn't worked and I was already possessed or under some sort of spell. Or maybe I was just that lonely that even a demon's company was welcome. That was a profoundly sad thought. Or was it? Sure, he was a demon, but he'd not done anything bad to me, or even said anything bad (if you don't count some overly exuberant shushing during movies). He was polite, neat, helpful, and great company. Who wouldn't be enjoying his company? He was better than a lot of people I knew.
And my intestines were still safely tucked inside my abdomen, unlike Melody's. So which was worse, consorting with demons, or people? Okay, fine, my immortal soul and all that, if you believe in that, but... I sighed to myself and tried to force the thoughts out of my head. It was too much, I was too tired to think about it. I turned my focus to the journal and very quickly realized why none of the snippets of the journals had seemed to make sense. They were not journals at all, not in the sense that they were recording a person's life. This was a hand-written story, something between religious allegory and fantasy.
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