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Daily wordcount: 1,319
Total wordcount: 18,493
On/off target: -11,513
Okay, seriously, this is where I start to question if it's worth continuing, it's so off the rails and it makes no sense and why even bother?
“What are you reading?” Steve asked as he popped in, standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen. “You look very engrossed. That good?”
“It’s hard to explain, I’m trying to figure out what it is,” I said. “I found it in some work papers, along with something… disturbing.”
I gestured to the folder of pictures on the table, and he walked over and picked them up. His eyebrows arched as he flipped through them, though he didn’t really look shocked. I’m guessing he’d seen far worse.
“Are these people you know?” He asked, setting them back down and heading back into the kitchen to start dinner. I was really getting spoiled, and was going to miss him when (if?) he left.
“The blond is my boss, the guy is the guy I was supposed to track down to get to sign the contract, and the other girl was just found murdered.” I told him about the phone call from Jess. “Now I’m a little concerned they think I have this, and it certainly gives one or both of them motive, and I don’t know what to do. At least I bought myself some time to figure out what I’m going to do, which was just made more confusing by this book I also found.”
“Ah, yes, the story that had you so engrossed,” he said.
“And that’s just it, when you see more than a partial page at a time it becomes very clear that it is a story, and nothing more. This is written by one of the same people who wrote the ‘diary entries’ Evan’s been chasing around the world, so he claims. Except he can’t be, unless he’s such an utter and complete moron he somehow thinks this is the truth?”
“Is it possible it’s in some code he’s deciphering? Like, someone who wasn’t able to record the truth without retribution found a way to note it without getting caught?”
“I would say that’s possible, except the fact of the matter is, this book smells like coffee,” I said, and he stared at me blankly. “It’s not old. It’s stained with coffee to look old. And what’s more, I think I know what it is, and that makes it definitely not old. I mean, if you consider, what, the 70s old, sure, but probably not even that.”
“How can you be sure it’s no older than the 70s?” He asked.
“It’s the notes of a very diligent, very creative, and very into immersive gameplay Dungeons and Dragons player. My guess is the other journals made up part of a set and they were a group on a campaign and they all took notes like this. I admire their dedication and I think they would be an amazingly fun group to play with, but to give this any more significance is just silly.”
“How are you so sure about that? Could is still not be veiled as that instead of a story?”
That gave me pause. He had an excellent point, just because it wasn’t a simple story didn’t mean it couldn’t also have hidden meaning. I was so jazzed about discovering what I thought was the reason behind it, I didn’t question it further. But like onions and ogres, this book could have layers. And if you were really trying to hid something, burying it under more than one layer of subterfuge would be the smart move.
“You make a good point,” I said. “There’s nothing to say it still couldn’t be… in fact, in some ways, this would make it easier to hide some information in code. Great, now I’m the utter and complete moron for not thinking one step further.”
“You’d have gotten there eventually. You’re not an utter and complete moron, and who knows what else he had to go on? A lot of codes require keys to decipher them, so it might be that he found that first and already knew what the books were before he read them. Or they really could be just gaming journals.”
“What they can’t be is as old as he’s claiming,” I said. “So there’s at least that lie he’s telling. And, yes, maybe they are just gaming journals and he’d using them as an excuse or justification to get out of the country while someone was being murdered, giving him the perfect alibi.”
“And if no one ever saw the entire journals, no one would ever know! But… wouldn’t a vacation have served the same purpose? I mean, if they point is to prove you’re out of the country, you’d be better served being very public, and very in touch. Photos posted of you at landmarks, fellow travelers vouching that you really were on that tour of the Greek ruins on the night in question… the disappearing act has the exact opposite effect. It makes you question if he’s even out of the country. Not a very cast-iron alibi!”
“Oh my… goodness, this is going to sound really crazy and out there, but what if… what if that was the point?”
“You’ve lost me.”
“What if it was someone else who was feeding him the information, giving him snippets to follow? What if secrecy was a condition of getting more information?”
“You mean,” he said thoughtfully, “that he doesn’t have access to the journals, and is only getting the partial pages as well? And whoever is giving them to him wants him to look shady and suspicious?”
“Exactly. Because now what kind of alibi does he really have? He could have snuck back into the country, or never really left, or any number of things. And he doesn’t know that he needs to have an alibi, and if he’s not creating or keeping any sort of paper trail, well, how can he prove he didn’t kill Melody? I mean, I admit, that seems like a lot of work, and it’s pretty farfetched, but it is possible.”
“That would actually be rather brilliant in a twisted way. But who would do it? Jess?”
“She seems the logical choice. She has a connection, a reason she might want both of them out of the way, right? And this journal was in the company’s storage boxes, as were the pictures. But that doesn’t feel quite right. If she wanted to hide something, she’d keep it at her house, in a safe, anywhere but in an unsecured box in the office. A box tangentially related to a still open case, nonetheless! If I were going to hid something in that store room, there are boxes older and far, far, far less likely to ever be cracked open again.” I chewed on my lip in thought. “This is… I can’t brain anymore right now. What’s for dinner? You know you don’t have to cook every night!”
“Chicken Paprikash, and I know, but I told you I enjoy it. I really don’t mind. But I agree, this is a very complex case, and since dinner is ready, maybe we should table the discussion and let it simmer in our minds while we eat. We can rehash our thoughts after dinner and a movie. What do you feel like this evening?”
“I don’t care, you pick,” I said.
“Action Adventure flick. Fast and the Furious?” He asked, bringing two plates of food into the living room and going back for glasses of wine.
“Sure, but in release order or chorological order? The whole Tokyo Drift one really throws things off. This smells wonderful!” I dug into my food with relish. He was an amazing cook.
“Release order. I think we should wallow in the weirdness and confusion of the timeline just like the people who saw them when they were first released did.”
“Confusion it is,” I said as I queued up the movies, and we were both silent as we ate and watched people drive fast and blow up.
Total wordcount: 18,493
On/off target: -11,513
Okay, seriously, this is where I start to question if it's worth continuing, it's so off the rails and it makes no sense and why even bother?
“What are you reading?” Steve asked as he popped in, standing halfway between the living room and the kitchen. “You look very engrossed. That good?”
“It’s hard to explain, I’m trying to figure out what it is,” I said. “I found it in some work papers, along with something… disturbing.”
I gestured to the folder of pictures on the table, and he walked over and picked them up. His eyebrows arched as he flipped through them, though he didn’t really look shocked. I’m guessing he’d seen far worse.
“Are these people you know?” He asked, setting them back down and heading back into the kitchen to start dinner. I was really getting spoiled, and was going to miss him when (if?) he left.
“The blond is my boss, the guy is the guy I was supposed to track down to get to sign the contract, and the other girl was just found murdered.” I told him about the phone call from Jess. “Now I’m a little concerned they think I have this, and it certainly gives one or both of them motive, and I don’t know what to do. At least I bought myself some time to figure out what I’m going to do, which was just made more confusing by this book I also found.”
“Ah, yes, the story that had you so engrossed,” he said.
“And that’s just it, when you see more than a partial page at a time it becomes very clear that it is a story, and nothing more. This is written by one of the same people who wrote the ‘diary entries’ Evan’s been chasing around the world, so he claims. Except he can’t be, unless he’s such an utter and complete moron he somehow thinks this is the truth?”
“Is it possible it’s in some code he’s deciphering? Like, someone who wasn’t able to record the truth without retribution found a way to note it without getting caught?”
“I would say that’s possible, except the fact of the matter is, this book smells like coffee,” I said, and he stared at me blankly. “It’s not old. It’s stained with coffee to look old. And what’s more, I think I know what it is, and that makes it definitely not old. I mean, if you consider, what, the 70s old, sure, but probably not even that.”
“How can you be sure it’s no older than the 70s?” He asked.
“It’s the notes of a very diligent, very creative, and very into immersive gameplay Dungeons and Dragons player. My guess is the other journals made up part of a set and they were a group on a campaign and they all took notes like this. I admire their dedication and I think they would be an amazingly fun group to play with, but to give this any more significance is just silly.”
“How are you so sure about that? Could is still not be veiled as that instead of a story?”
That gave me pause. He had an excellent point, just because it wasn’t a simple story didn’t mean it couldn’t also have hidden meaning. I was so jazzed about discovering what I thought was the reason behind it, I didn’t question it further. But like onions and ogres, this book could have layers. And if you were really trying to hid something, burying it under more than one layer of subterfuge would be the smart move.
“You make a good point,” I said. “There’s nothing to say it still couldn’t be… in fact, in some ways, this would make it easier to hide some information in code. Great, now I’m the utter and complete moron for not thinking one step further.”
“You’d have gotten there eventually. You’re not an utter and complete moron, and who knows what else he had to go on? A lot of codes require keys to decipher them, so it might be that he found that first and already knew what the books were before he read them. Or they really could be just gaming journals.”
“What they can’t be is as old as he’s claiming,” I said. “So there’s at least that lie he’s telling. And, yes, maybe they are just gaming journals and he’d using them as an excuse or justification to get out of the country while someone was being murdered, giving him the perfect alibi.”
“And if no one ever saw the entire journals, no one would ever know! But… wouldn’t a vacation have served the same purpose? I mean, if they point is to prove you’re out of the country, you’d be better served being very public, and very in touch. Photos posted of you at landmarks, fellow travelers vouching that you really were on that tour of the Greek ruins on the night in question… the disappearing act has the exact opposite effect. It makes you question if he’s even out of the country. Not a very cast-iron alibi!”
“Oh my… goodness, this is going to sound really crazy and out there, but what if… what if that was the point?”
“You’ve lost me.”
“What if it was someone else who was feeding him the information, giving him snippets to follow? What if secrecy was a condition of getting more information?”
“You mean,” he said thoughtfully, “that he doesn’t have access to the journals, and is only getting the partial pages as well? And whoever is giving them to him wants him to look shady and suspicious?”
“Exactly. Because now what kind of alibi does he really have? He could have snuck back into the country, or never really left, or any number of things. And he doesn’t know that he needs to have an alibi, and if he’s not creating or keeping any sort of paper trail, well, how can he prove he didn’t kill Melody? I mean, I admit, that seems like a lot of work, and it’s pretty farfetched, but it is possible.”
“That would actually be rather brilliant in a twisted way. But who would do it? Jess?”
“She seems the logical choice. She has a connection, a reason she might want both of them out of the way, right? And this journal was in the company’s storage boxes, as were the pictures. But that doesn’t feel quite right. If she wanted to hide something, she’d keep it at her house, in a safe, anywhere but in an unsecured box in the office. A box tangentially related to a still open case, nonetheless! If I were going to hid something in that store room, there are boxes older and far, far, far less likely to ever be cracked open again.” I chewed on my lip in thought. “This is… I can’t brain anymore right now. What’s for dinner? You know you don’t have to cook every night!”
“Chicken Paprikash, and I know, but I told you I enjoy it. I really don’t mind. But I agree, this is a very complex case, and since dinner is ready, maybe we should table the discussion and let it simmer in our minds while we eat. We can rehash our thoughts after dinner and a movie. What do you feel like this evening?”
“I don’t care, you pick,” I said.
“Action Adventure flick. Fast and the Furious?” He asked, bringing two plates of food into the living room and going back for glasses of wine.
“Sure, but in release order or chorological order? The whole Tokyo Drift one really throws things off. This smells wonderful!” I dug into my food with relish. He was an amazing cook.
“Release order. I think we should wallow in the weirdness and confusion of the timeline just like the people who saw them when they were first released did.”
“Confusion it is,” I said as I queued up the movies, and we were both silent as we ate and watched people drive fast and blow up.
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