Cynthia: Magus

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DOCUMENT: CYNTHIA: MAGUS


He is coming. We heard a noise and Detective Ward went downstairs to see, though I begged him not to. There are footsteps now, coming back up the stairs. Detective Ward? Detective? Gar###


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It is his body. Detective Ward's pistol has been forced down his throat with only the very tip of the hand grip showing. Oh, God. Another good man. How many? Oh, God. I see you in the hallway, Garrett. The lights are out but I recognize your silhouette. Come in, Garrett. Come in. I know that you are not the Magician. Yes, that's right. My, you have changed. What a great, big smile you have. Do stand aside, Garrett, and let your master in. Now, you. Magician. The Great Gagasti. Come and stand before me, monster. Did you believe I would beg? Did you imagine I would ever surrender to you? I am made of sterner stuff, as is my son. I do thank you for one thing: before this I never knew for certain if Joshua had the same cold iron running through his veins. Now I know, and I die knowing that he will destroy you utterly. Do not lurk out in the hall, Magician. Come to me. Come sit by me as you have so many times before, Jeffrey. Leopold really did do his best. The paintings were a spirited attempt. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues, and how you must have laughed. Was it merely to taunt us, or does the date have more meaning? How you grinned when you recommended a new tea set for the dining room. Gorham silver, how you insisted upon it. Gorham silver, founded in eighteen thirty-one. How you must have enjoyed offering me the use of your apartment after I was attacked by your minion, knowing that I would refuse but mentioning that I might find your pet beagle irritating should I actually accept. In eighteen thirty-one, Charles Darwin embarked on his historic voyage to the Galapagos Islands aboard the HMS Beagle. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues. You were such a magnificent actor. Your one slip was your expression when you shot your minion. You should have looked horrified, but instead you appeared only annoyed. But it was the only blemish on an otherwise virtuoso performance. Did you insure that Independence First would send a parade of dunces to me before you swept in, guaranteeing that I would select you to be my caregiver? You were wonderful, Jeffrey. I believed in you. I###


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I am not grieving for myself. These tears are for you, Jeffrey. Not for the Great Gagasti or whatever you call yourself. These tears are for Jeffrey. I grieve for the good, kind, intelligent, educated man I knew. I pity you, Magician. You are far less than your own artifice. You have nothing to say? Very well. Sit a minute. I do appreciate you allowing me this, despite it all. Joshua, Mary... I know you will defeat him. I have not the slightest doubt. In truth, I never planned on continuing to live once I had my revenge for Scott. Oh, Scott, at least now I can be with you once again. No one made me laugh like you, my love. Mary, look after my son, now. He is rising from his chair. Very well, Jeffrey. No time to edit what I have written? Now that is cruel, you know how I prefer to have every "T" crossed and every "I" he is staring at me. His eyes are so dark. They are dark as... they are black. Even in this darkened room they are like twin ebon fires burning. The darkness... such Stygian hate, such malevolence... how could a thing such as you ever even pretend to know love? It moved. From the corner of my eye I saw it. It did it again. My finger. My index finger moved. I could not feel it but I saw it. Again. My hand twitched. My God, I can move my###


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The fingers of my hand are moving. They are... they are pulling. My hand is... dragging itself. My own right hand is pulling itself up to my face. Stop it. Make it stop. My hand is clawing, pulling at my robe up my chest. Burn in Hell. Burn in Hell, monster. My fingers are pawing at my chin, trying to climb up on my face and into my###


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He smiles that smile. Damn you forever. Kill him. Kill him. My own hand crawling###


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Fingers in my mouth. I###


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I###


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Cynthia: Sodalitas

Detective Ward and I shared a quiet dinner tonight while Garrett lurked about somewhere downstairs, and despite the fact that there is a reasonable chance that one of the two men is, in actuality, the Magician, I have grown so accustomed to the possibility or even probability of my own demise by his hand, that I was able to block the thought out completely and enjoy myself. Since Jeffrey's incarceration I must confess that I have been dreadfully starved for pleasant company, much less an actual, well-considered conversation.

I continue to employ a security guard to watch over my home despite the fact that I have no illusions as to his ability to actually protect me from our foes, and I suppose I do so merely to keep Garrett in check in the event that he proves himself to be nothing more than a brute, and not the Magician. Women in my condition have been known to be abused and worse under the supposed "care" of their own assistants, and the thought of being victimized by a perfectly ordinary and commonplace thug whilst all around us our supremely powerful enemies plot against us is particularly mortifying.

Regardless, as Sun-Tsu once remarked, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer".


It was very, very good to read that you both reached Japan safely. As an aside, I have wondered lately if perhaps the "G.G." on the knife's hilt could in fact refer to two people? Perhaps two individuals serve to carry out the duties of the Magician? Inquire as to the first names of Yoshida's uncles next time it is convenient just to be certain.

Cynthia: Fortuna

All is well here. My efforts these past few days have been spent on attempting to place legal pressure on the Department of Homeland Security to release Jeffrey from his detention, and I believe I may be making some headway, though only time will tell. It is my opinion that the incoming regime change in the Presidency has made them more hesitant to invoke powers they may soon no longer possess.

I also decided that while my experiments to determine whether or not my caretaker Garrett is in fact the Magician have come to naught, there is yet another man with a "G" name here in Milwaukee- Detective Gary Ward- whom I at the very least wished to look in the eye to determine if any information could be gleaned from mere contact.

Under the pretence of desiring to discuss pertinent details of the Walentowicz murder, I invited Detective Ward to my home and offered him some tea while we discussed the case. While the investigation has been taken out of his hands by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, it was obvious that the grisly nature of the killing had affected him deeply, and it appeared to me that he wanted to talk about it just to unburden himself of the awful memories.

Detective Ward reminded me a little of poor Agent Pierce, a dogged investigator, world-weary and in over his head. Is he the Magician in disguise? After spending the better part of an hour conversing with the man, I must confess that I still have no idea. I have invited him back tomorrow night just for tea. If he is the Magician, he can kill me at any time anyway, it seems. If he is not, then I will enjoy the pleasure of his company, resigned to whatever fate has in store.

Mary: Two Days To Kyoto

November 22nd, 2008:

Our sunshine is finally gone, covered over by a high, thin layer of gray clouds. It's growin*g colder as well, and our days of tanning on the deck appear over. Still, only two more days and we'll be arriving in Kyoto.

The whale watching has been phenomenal. Gazing at these majestic creatures as they cruise gracefully below the surface, you can't help but feel awed. And before you mention it, Yoshida, there is no harpoon on board. Bastard.

Mrs. Howland, is there any word on how Jeff is doing? Has Garrett been treating you decently? It's been a couple of days since we've heard from you and I'm becoming concer*ned.

One problem with our shipboard life has been this hum that the engine's been making. Mochizuki and Riku have been looking at it for the better part of an hour, but have yet to come up with a solution. After our encounter back on Wardang Island, I don't have to tell you how petrified I am of a breakdown and floating dead in the water.

Cynthia: Ligatio

The agents of Homeland Security were unimpressed with my counterfeit act of compliance. Jeffrey remains incarcerated. I do not know what else I can do to free him, and feel more helpless than ever on the matter.

With all of the events pointing firmly towards Japan, I am considering hiring a private jet and flying there to join you despite the obvious risks. I simply feel that whatever resolution is going to come will come there, and soon.

Cynthia: Despero

They took Jeffrey.

Agents from the Department of Homeland Security entered my home today and essentially abducted Jeffrey, saying they were detaining him on matters of national security. Apparently since Agent Pierce's passing his superiors took a harder look at his investigations and discovered Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida's work in adapting the Rabbit Calicivirus to affect humans. While it would appear to be patently obvious to even the most rudimentary student of forensics that Jeffrey shot the intruder and saved my life, these new agents are intimating that Jeffrey murdered Agent Pierce then used his gun to kill the other man.

It is my impression that they are using Jeffrey to force me to giveaway Joshua's whereabouts, informing on him for what they believe to be his involvement with the gruesome events in Atlanta. As I will never do this, I fear greatly for Jeffrey's safety and future. As he was dragged away in handcuffs, Jeffrey told me not to worry and put on his bravest face, which for me made the situation all the worse. Better if he had cursed my name and told the agents everything, though I suppose as the interrogations drag on he may yet do so.

I would hire the finest lawyers for him, but he has not been charged with a crime. I would pay any bail, but none has been set. He is merely being "detained", and they can keep him for months or years without recourse.

At the very least the agents realized that I could not reasonably be left without a caretaker, so Independence First immediately dispatched a new assistant. As there was no time to go through an interview process I was forced to accept their selection, a man named Garrett whom I find utterly distasteful. He is a surly, brick-shaped brute who makes no attempt to disguise his view that I am merely a slab of meat to be maintained and nothing else. When I call for him I see nothing but contempt for me in his eyes.

How much else can be taken from me? How much more must I be forced to endure? It is not in my nature to surrender, but dear God, how much more?

Cynthia: Tutela

Following the assault upon my home, I have procured the services of a security firm and have hopefully been forthcoming enough regarding the extreme danger their guards will be in while in my presence. I debated granting access to this archive to the men assigned to me, but have decided against it, hoping that the fact that an agent of Homeland Security was murdered in my very bedroom will serve as warning enough as to the severity of the peril they face.

Thus far their staff has performed admirably, working in eight hour shifts and rotating different guards in and out. Frankly, other than the original introductions to the individual security personnel, I have no contact with them whatsoever.

I offered to allow Jeffrey some well-earned time away, but even after our horrific ordeal of the other night he refused. I must say that while I would not have blamed him for taking a leave, his loss would have been most keenly felt. Even before he saved my life by shooting the intruder Jeffrey felt like family to me, and with Joshua unable to come home the thought of interacting with another caregiver was a lonely one indeed.

My physician on call, Doctor Godsby, paid a visit after the attack, examining my body thoroughly for any injuries received during the incident. Apparently my sternum is deeply bruised from where the smiling gentleman leaned on my chest, but there is no structural damage and the only advantage of being paralyzed from the neck down is that any minor bodily injuries are easily ignored. While I would not question the Doctor's competence I do find him to be cold and generally disagreeable, and I have instructed Jeffrey to begin making inquiries as to a suitable replacement for him.

Miss Stroud, I do hope that you and Joshua act with the utmost care while overseas. If the Liberator is indeed headed for Wardang Island you must assume that the entire area is now or soon will be under surveillance by the enemy.

Cynthia: Incursus

Under normal circumstances upon reading the previous post, I would recommend that our collective energy be focused on deciphering every clue and parcel of information contained within it, but tonight there was an incident at the house. Just before midnight as I was in the process of powering down my computer in preparation for a fitful night's slumber a terrible crash came from downstairs.

I yelled for Jeffrey and Agent Pierce, whom I thankfully had requested stay as my guest while he was in Milwaukee. True to their characters, Agent Pierce began to run toward the grand staircase to the lower level to face whatever danger approached while Jeffrey sprinted to my side to ascertain my condition. Within moments Agent Pierce was backing up into my room, pointing his gun at a dark figure proceeding toward us through the doorway. Agent Pierce identified himself as a federal officer, warned the assailant that he would open fire if he did not cease his advance, then when his words went unheeded he shot the man in the stomach.

Shockingly, the intruder seemed unaffected by the injury and lunged forward. Once in the light I could see that he was black, with untamed hair and a wide, white smile. He reached out with both hands, grasped the sides of Agent Pierce's head and turned it completely around with a sickening crack until his stunned face stared at me over his back, his neck broken, eyes wide open in instant death.

As Agent Pierce's corpse slumped to the carpet, I could see the murderer's dark eyes search the room and lock in on me. His smile never wavered as he slowly stepped up to the foot of my bed and placed a hand between my unfeeling feet, beginning to crawl up the mattress towards me. Jeffrey remained at my side until I said as calmly as I could, "Jeffrey, go now. It is alright. I refuse to die knowing that I have your death on my conscience as well." He hesitated, and again I insisted. "You are relieved, Jeffrey. Thank you." The dark, smiling man crawled up the bed over my body, his grinning face now crossing over my waist, his hand on my sternum.

Finally Jeffrey backed away from my bedside and made a wide circuit toward the bedroom door. "Tell Joshua everything. Tell him... just tell him-" I could say no more as the smiling man's hands slowly closed around my neck and squeezed, his legs straddling my paralyzed torso. I saw stars and the edges of my vision turned black, the sensation of pressure in my head pounding like a hammer. Finally the darkness around the edges of my sight closed in until I could only peer through what appeared to me to be a tiny pinhole, the last thing I imagined I would ever see being my murderer's nightmarish smile.

I heard a pop which I assumed was a blood vessel or some vital part of my anatomy snapping, but then the iron grip on my neck abated and I felt the agony of a fresh breath rattle through my damaged windpipe. The blood rushed back to my head and everything I saw was tinged with red, which I assumed was a side-effect of the near death experience until Jeffrey ran up and began pawing at my face with a towel. The smiling man lay upon me, a golf ball sized hole in his forehead and his blood and brains splattered on my face and the wall behind me.

Knowing Jeffrey's pacifist leanings I confess I half-expected him to come apart after committing such an act of violence, but to his credit he looked more annoyed than anything else as he rolled the body off the bed and wiped me clear of debris, finally dialing 911 only once he was satisfied that I was made sufficiently comfortable.

After firing he had dropped Agent Pierce's gun back down by his body, and for a moment I debated whether he should wipe it down, but in the final analysis all Jeffrey had really done was shoot an intruder who was attempting to murder me, hardly a punishable offense.

The police have come and gone now, taking with them the body of poor Agent Pierce. It is a sad thing that the rest of you never had the opportunity to meet him in the flesh, as he was an intelligent, capable and free-thinking man who-while he admittedly used questionable tactics-was legitimately devoted to seeking justice. Frankly and personally, he and I struck up an extremely warm friendship these past few days, and his sudden, shocking loss is deeply appalling to me on a number of levels.

We have lost two of our number in as many days (no matter what one thought of the demise of Mister Tate, he was ostensibly working on our behalf) and while in the past when we have been laid low by our enemy I have taken it upon myself to exercise my will to bolster our spirits, now I profess that I cannot find the strength. If I had not pressed my desire for justice-or perhaps vengeance-would all these people still be alive today? Would not my son be safe in his home, free of the calumny that now dogs him? In my quest for the truth, have I only visited more violence and evil upon the world?

As I ponder these horrid questions, the practical needs of the moment press down upon me. I had put off hiring security as I was loathe to bring anyone else into a position of danger and also because I doubted that our enemy would see a paralyzed old woman as worth taking the time and effort to kill, but it appears I must take action to protect myself. Jeffrey sweetly volunteered to have me moved to his personal apartment, but he also conceded that his pet beagle's constant barking and face-licking would not assist in easing my mind. First thing in the morning I will hire a professional whose sole function is to protect this house and those dwelling within.

Upon waking we can discuss the many items of interest brought to light in the previous post. I feel we have been granted an astonishing glimpse into the world of our enemy, and imagine we will be dissecting the information it contains for quite some time.

And before I forget, Taras' comments on the conquerors of Kiev spurred me to once again scrutinize the pages of history and find another discrepancy. The book reports that the Roman Empire fell in 476 A.D., and this is incorrect. It met its demise in 477 A.D. I imagine that there are insufficient records available for Doctor Tanaka to perform a thorough accounting of the date's veracity, but once again it is not a number I would ever fail to remember.

Yoshida: 13

I said I'm busy.

I believe I remember you. You're the agent who failed so utterly to find my father's killer. I'm pleased you finally at least found some worthy adversaries: a crippled old woman and her nursemaid.

Don't bother me again.

Cyntha: Insania

I have been loathe to introduce a facet of my own existence to this journal of events as I was not only highly skeptical of its relevance but also was reluctant to expose what I perceived as psychological instability at best and utter madness at worst. Understand that while on these specific points obviously my opinion is open to scrutiny or even ridicule, but overall my psyche is intact, my mind is sound and my will endures. Based on the night's events and the undeniable fact that there are phenomena occurring beyond our capacity to comprehend, I can no longer justify withholding recent personal experiences despite the wound to pride or ego.

Two instances in your post on the most recent encounter with Mr. Hollis struck me as being relevant to some unnerving shifts in my memory. Firstly, the song he was whistling, and secondly his virtually incomprehensible screed on slavery, where he proclaimed:

"Why be beholden to the history of the industry when history could not have less meaning?"

This struck a chord with me, as I have been having tremendous difficulty of late with two separate dates in world events. Understand, throughout my entire classical education, the study of history was stressed most highly, and specifically on the timeline of world events. More modern teaching methods deemphasizing the committing of dates to memory have been put in play in recent years in the field of history, but in my formative years the stress was placed on memorization rather than the recounting of anecdotes. As Joshua can attest, my retention of information on this subject has been beyond reproach, at least until now.

If you remember back to the unfortunate interrogation of Miss Stroud, where I questioned her at some great length regarding history and world events, I was seeking to discover if a "layperson", if you will, would be confounded in a similar way with either the happenings I was concerned with or others I had not yet uncovered. She was not. Miss Stroud's thoughts were clear and her recollections accurate, at least as far as the reference material could verify.

The problem is- from my admittedly limited perspective- is that the reference material is wrong. Every online resource, every encyclopedia, every book on the subject says that Genghis Khan began his conquest of Asia in 1206 A.D. He did not. This is one of the most important dates in world history, and one that shaped the modern East as we know it. It is not I date I would ever forget. Temuchin took the title of Khan and begin his subjugation of the Eastern world in the year 1207 A.D.

Similarly, another date is incorrect, this one even more relevant to the modern world. The French Emperor Napoleon's domination of Europe rolled unabated until his eventual downfall at the hands of the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo. As any avid student of the past well knows, his defeat occurred in the year 1818 A.D., yet even cursory research into the matter reveals that every compendium of historical data nonsensically reveals the date of the Emperor's defeat to be 1815 A.D. Go now- if you doubt it- look it up and you will see the incorrect date on every web site; on every page of every tome regarded as the standards for historical fact.

I cannot comprehend how or why this was done, but cannot believe that Mr. Hollis' casual references were entirely coincidental to these events. I also am incapable of fathoming what possible use this information I've shared could have, but seeing as how even some of the most trivial matters have ballooned into larger developments, I felt I had to unburden myself. Also, though the thought is utterly terrifying to me, there is the distinct possibility that I am going mad. I have suffered the loss of both my husband and, essentially, myself. I understand that in such cases dementia can set in, and since my mind is all I have left obviously even the slightest chance that I may lose that as well is wholly agonizing.

I confided these thoughts to Jeffrey at the time I was having them, and he assures me that with the exception of the shifting dates he finds nothing else out of order as concerns my mental health. He has also assisted me in scouring the pages of history for other anomalies, and thus far we have found none. He assures me that should my thoughts or behaviour grow erratic that he will not hold back, communicating to me at once any issues.

Again, I cannot imagine what possible use this revelation could be to you, but as I began this endeavor and wish to see it continued to whatever end, I felt an obligation to report it.

Cynthia: Incorruptus

His post title was- as Jeffrey informs me- a quote from a film I have never seen, nor in all likelihood would I ever wish to. That is my son. Get him, Miss Stroud.

Welcome back, Joshua.

Cynthia: Pecunia

As I had commented in one of my previous missives, my husband and I entered into our union each with considerable wealth. As such, we collectively made the decision early on to maintain our finances separately as it was simply not necessary to pool them for the sake of our lifestyle. Therefore, at no point was I privy to Scott's expenditures nor was he to mine.

Locating my husband's bank-book took some doing on Jeffrey's part as I had neglected to have Scott's possessions properly organized since his passing, but after a somewhat arduous search the item was discovered.

The check you mentioned is made out to Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida for the amount of three million dollars. There is no further notation.

Mary: Doctor Yoshida

Upon waking this morning to some much-needed sunshine, I spent the first few hours of my day touching base with various clients and contacts back in Madison, assuring them that I was still alive and still in business. I spent most of my time giving referrals, as it seemed clear that the case here in Milwaukee was just getting started.

I had hoped that Mrs. Howland would be feeling better today, but once again I saw that her room was decorated with opened, leather-bound books. Jeff was holding a book up for her to read, and when I shot him a quizzical look he just shook his head, silently indicating that no progress had been made.

Retreating to the office, I once again settled in and dialed, hoping Doctor Yoshida would be more helpful than Doctor Liddel had suggested. After eight rings I had just about given up hope, but finally a young-sounding male voice said, "Konichiwa."

"Uh, hello. Pardon me, do you speak English?"

His voice came back with only a slight accent. "Yes. Continue."

"Is this Doctor Yoshida?" I asked, skeptical based on his apparent youth.

"This is Doctor Yoshida. Who are you and what do you want?" he snapped, his patience evidently having reached its limits early.

"My name is Mary Stroud, and I'm calling from the United States of America. I would like some assistance in seeing if you can identify where a rabbit infected with Rabbit Calcivirus Disease is from. Just roughly, even if it could be narrowed down to a continent, it would help-"

His response was equal parts bored and annoyed. "I believe I understand. You are trying to reach Doctor Shigekazu Yoshida. I am Kisho Yoshida, his son."

"I see. Could you please tell me how to get in touch with your-"

His voice was cold and flat. "He died last year. Is that all?"

I took a deep breath, not wanting to continue the conversation but knowing that we needed some way to get the rabbit's foot tested. "I am so sorry. My condolences. I don't want to keep you, but is there anyone you could recommend who could identify-"

"No."

Wondering if I was going to get to finish a single sentence during the telephone call, I hastily added, "My client is wealthy and would pay well. It is very important."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and after a few seconds I wondered if he had hung up and I just didn't hear the click. Finally he asked, "How much?"

I invented a number and hoped Mrs. Howland would back me on it. "Ten thousand American dollars."

He came right back. "Fifty."

"Twenty."

"Forty firm. Plus expenses. If that isn't suitable then simply hang up and stop wasting my time."

He sounded like he meant it, and based on what Mrs. Howland was paying on this case already I didn't think a difference of twenty thousand dollars would stop her. "I have to clear it with my employer, but I think she will agree. If I can overnight the sample to you, how long until you could identify a strain?"

There was another, longer pause. "I cannot give a time estimate. I will say that I will work on nothing else, and that if I cannot determine where the sample is from then you owe me nothing beyond expenses. Do we have a deal?"

"That sounds fair." I was dying to pry into what his father had been doing since the end of his time on Wardang Island. As a private investigator, I knew well that there was a thin line between professional curiosity and just plain nosiness, but since I was about to hand him forty thousand dollars, I decided to cross it. "Pardon my asking, but did your father continue his research into RCD after his time with the Wardang Island Project?"

Doctor Yoshida sighed, clearly displeased that he was being forced to continue the conversation. "No. After the project ended he had no interest. Send the sample to this address." He gave me the necessary information, then received my e-mail address and phone number in return. There was another pause, then he said a touch awkwardly, "I may need some notes... from my father. They are there in America. One of the expenses will be to have them shipped from a storage locker there to my home in Japan."

"Not a problem." I thought a moment, then asked, "Your father... he died in America?"

"Yes. Last year. The car he was driving was blindsided by a semi-truck. Will there be anything else?"

All the blood drained from my face, and I distantly felt my phone drop down on my lap. I fumbled for the receiver and placed it back to my ear with a hand that shook slightly. My voice came out in a husky whisper. "What did you say?"

"Hit-and-run. I believe that is the term for it in English. He was killed instantly." His voice took on a harder edge, saying, "Now if that is all, I have some studies to return-"

"No. No, that is definitely not all." It felt good to interrupt him for a change. "We need to talk. I have a story to tell you about the woman I'm working for, and what happened to her. Get comfortable, Doctor, you're going to want to hear this."

Mary: Pop Quiz

I awoke early this morning mercifully unable to remember my dreams, the steady rain of the night before replaced by a cold, gray drizzle. After putting on one of my brand-new business suits, I began creeping downstairs before seeing a light from underneath Mrs. Howland's door and hearing voices from within. I knocked and entered, nearly tripping over a hard-bound volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Books were strewn all over the bedroom, most of them open. Jeff was sitting next to Mrs. Howland, holding a book open for her to view. They both looked absolutely exhausted.

If I had felt that my education was inadequate after previous meetings with Mrs. Howland and Jeff before, this morning's events were so emotionally grueling that I wanted to sue the University of Wisconsin for my money back. Mrs. Howland bade me sit down and immediately proceeded to essentially give me a pop-quiz on events in world history. After years out of college, it's amazing how much general knowledge slips through your fingers. As we went along, Mrs. Howland's mood became darker, her questions more terse. Knowing that I was letting her down (whatever the reason) was agonizing, and after fifteen minutes I was sweating and on the verge of tears. After what seemed like a lifetime, Jeff returned with a fresh pot of coffee and our usual breakfast of homemade waffles, and the test was finally done.

I never challenged why I was being made to answer questions that had nothing to do with the case I was working. I didn't ask myself why I felt so terrible at my lack of retention of dates and events that never interested me. The fact is, no matter the reason, there are simply some people you meet in life that you feel you cannot disappoint. If you have spent any time with Mrs. Howland (and I don't see how it's possible that you haven't, if you're reading this at all), then I'm sure you understand.

My hand shook as I reached out for my coffee cup. I picked it up, immediately spilled some and put it back down on the china saucer without taking a drink. "Mrs. Howland, I'm just so sorry I let you down. I wish I knew more-"

Mrs. Howland's severe expression shifted, the scowl softening to a look of concern I hadn't seen before. "Oh, my dear. No, you performed admirably. This... I believe I am struggling with my medication. Jeffrey has called the doctor, and he will be along presently. Please go about your business of the day and forget that this ever occurred."

Jeff walked me out and escorted me to the kitchen, where he poured some of the fresh coffee into a thermos. Handing it to me he said softly, "In cases such as these, where a loved one is suddenly killed and you are permanently, seriously disabled, there are consequences beyond the physical. Mrs. Howland would like to believe that she is beyond such things, but..." he trailed off, giving a wan smile. "She needs time. That's all. Don't be overly concerned." As we walked together to the front door, he added with a chuckle, "And don't worry about not knowing the precise year Genghis Khan began his conquest of Asia. I doubt very much it will come up in today's investigation." (The Khan, at right)

It was meant to soothe me, but it just made me more exasperated with myself. "But she knows it. For God's sake, you know it, and you're-"

"-I clean adult diapers for a living," he finished, and my cheeks flushed. That wasn't what I meant to say, but I'm ashamed to say that it was probably what I meant, whether I knew it or not. Thankfully, he didn't take it personally, his smile never wavering. He put a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, "She went through a dozen interviews or more before she found me. She chose me because she wanted something more than just a surrogate of her own body, she needed someone who could be a companion for her mind." Jeff helped me on with my coat and added, "What you went through this morning probably wasn't fair. It isn't what you were hired for." He laughed, "It would be like asking me to dust for a print." He wished me good luck, and I shuffled out into the mist, clutching my thermos, emotionally drained before my day had even really begun.

I slipped into my luxurious rental car and ran some errands, mainly killing time before I went back into the St. Francis police department to see Detective Ward. I was hoping the coroner would have more information, but so little time had passed that I knew it wasn't likely. While shopping for sundries I called Detective Ward twice before he assured me that he would call me as soon as he knew anything else. By 4:00PM I got the call, and rushed to St. Francis.

The front desk officer was getting to know me and waved me past toward Detective Ward's cubicle with a grunt. Ward remained seated, ran a hand through his gray hair and said, "Just got some blood work back. Not sure if it's important, but it is unusual."

"Did they find drugs in her system? Was something wrong with her?"

He shook his head. "Not her. The rabbit." He opened one of the ubiquitous Manila file folders and handed me a sheet. It was filled with medical jargon and utterly incomprehensible to me, but Ward gave me the highlights. "They found evidence of rabbit hemorrhagic disease virus, or RHDV. It's a virus that's deadly to rabbits, and though there have been a few minor outbreaks in the U.S., it's since been totally eradicated."

It was more than a little odd to be essentially doing an autopsy on a bunny, but every piece of information might help, so I went with it. "So the rabbit isn't native? Where is it from?"

Ward shrugged. "I talked with a zoology professor at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee this afternoon, and he didn't exactly pinpoint it. Apparently this virus began in China back in 1984. It spread pretty fast to Europe. He said Australia had a massive outbreak of the virus in the mid-nineties and it wiped out something like 95% of their rabbit population." He shook his head and chuckled, "So we've narrowed it down to more than half the world. Wish I had more for you."

I thanked him and rose to go, then remembered Josh's questions about the blood on the floor and the order of events. Ward told me that based on the blood spatter, the rabbit's foot was cut off first, then the killer went to work on Mrs. Walentowicz. He also said that the rabbit's foot was pushed into her brain before the incision was made in her abdomen.

Also remembering Mrs. Howland's wishes to potentially include him in our little cabal, I asked if he would be open to coming by the house for a visit. He agreed and said he would be by before 11:00 tomorrow morning.

Josh: That's It, I'm Giving Up Poker

Well, you bluffed me. Fair enough.

Mary just dropped me off at my apartment (near Marquette University downtown, for any newcomers). I'm going to hang out, drink a spot of green tea, reminisce about the murder scene I saw earlier today and throw up for a while.

Mary is heading back to the St. Francis Police Department to pester Detective Ward a bit more for any other crumbs of info.

Mom, I remember what you said about this being more of a journal than a log, and I feel like I do need to write out some of the things that I'm feeling about what's happening, so this is that. Forgive the naval-gazing, but I've got to get this stuff out.

When the accident-grr... I mean ATTACK-happened, I was just stunned that my Dad was dead and that my Mom was injured so badly. I would have liked to have actually done something then, just to get my mind off of it, but even being almost entirely paralyzed, my Mom was issuing orders and making arrangements from the Intensive Care Unit. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she didn't curl up into a ball and give up, but for a moment there I thought that for once in my life I was actually going to take care of her for a change. It turns out that if anything her paralysis has made her even more capable, or at least gave her a greater focus.

Anyway, even though I feel totally out of my depth and entirely wigged out by what I saw today, I have to say that I still feel pretty good. I'm helping, and that's not something I've been able to say much in my life. Granted, at this point I kind've wish I had a degree in criminal science instead of Philosophy, but this is hardly the first time a Philosophy grad regretted their choice of majors. Still, at least I can swing by the house for visits and debate the merits of Hegel (below, looking like a barrel of laughs) with Jeff (Jeff's down with Hegel, I'm more on the side of Schopenhauer who called Hegel's work: "...A monument to German stupidity." Look out! Philosopher slap-fight!!!)

Shockingly, I appear to have veered off on a tangent.

I'm going to take a nap.

Cynthia: Quiesco

Joshua and Mary have just departed after practically smashing down my front door and waking me from the first sound slumber I have enjoyed since the crash. I gave Jeffrey explicit orders that when I am sleeping he is to turn the ringer off on the telephone. I am perfectly all right, old injuries notwithstanding. At Jeffrey's suggestion he has double-checked the locks on all the doors and windows, set the security alarm and even contacted the alarm company and alerted them that we are concerned for our safety.

Now that I am fully informed as to the staggeringly horrific news of the day I am certain I appear just as stunned as Joshua and Miss Stroud. Yet it is at times such as this when our focus must be sharpest and our reserve most stout.

The monster that ruined my life and inflicted such utterly vile acts upon poor Mrs. Walentowicz has committed an enormous error. Before today, I possessed merely a powerful suspicion that the crime perpetrated against me was premeditated in nature. I was determined to find the culprit, though if the truth be told I was motivated more as an incentive to continue this banal and unpleasant existence to which I've been condemned; the desire to see justice done was frankly secondary.

Now, with the menace we truly face coming into sharp relief, my sense of purpose is absolute. Before, we were chasing shadows, with the possibility that once we apprehended my attacker and dragged him out into the light of day he might merely be revealed to be a drunken, terrified trucker who made a mistake and panicked. Now, we know without question that we are pursuing a foe worthy of our attention. We know that our quarry is cunning, ruthless and utterly evil. We go forward from this point with the understanding that our time spent is not wasted, and the sooner we apprehend this madman the world will be a far safer and better place.

To the task at hand: Joshua, I will take it upon your word that Officer Randazzo is incompetent and speak to his commanding officer about having him replaced. The detective in charge of my case needs to be someone we may rely on, as the stakes have grown exponentially.

Miss Stroud, is it possible that my case and the case of Mrs. Walentowicz's murder will be rolled into a single investigation? Will they see them as being perpetrated by the same person, and act accordingly?

Also, Miss Stroud, on the chance that our Enemy may have followed you here and witnessed you enter the security code, I am having it changed. I will have the security company call you with the new number.

Next, I want you to touch base daily (or with even more frequency, if he is receptive) with this Detective Ward. The bulk of any new information should come through him, and he has appeared supportive thus far.

I have asked Jeffrey if he would allow me to purchase a firearm and register him to carry it for his own protection, but unsurprisingly he respectfully refused. He is studying to be a nurse, after all, and-like me-abhors violence, so I knew my request was a touch out-of-bounds. I am considering hiring a security guard to stay at the house full-time, and will inquire as to the practicality of it later today.

On the same note, Joshua, I want you to enroll in a firearm safety course and apply for a handgun permit. I realize that I never allowed a gun in the house when you were growing up, but I do not doubt that your life may be in danger and I wish to take every precaution. I will not be argued with on this point.

We all must assume that the Enemy knows who we are and where we live. I do not know whether or not the attack on my husband and I was random to begin with, but I do know that there is nothing random about his actions now. By placing the photograph of the truck at the murder scene in the manner he did, he has shown us that he wants us to know who he is. Either he somehow desires to be caught, or he wishes to toy with us as a cat with a mouse. If it is the former, we shall oblige him. If it is the latter, we shall make him pay for his hubris.

Cynthia: Mens Mentis Medicus

During my various charity efforts on behalf of the AHCA, I have acquired a detailed list of some of the finest practitioners of medicine in the country. While nothing immediately springs to mind in the field of psychiatry, I have no doubt whatsoever that I can obtain the name of someone exceptional within the hour, Miss Stroud. I shall have Jeffrey leave the necessary information on the table in the foyer.

As this is the second time he has been mentioned, I should introduce my personal care worker, Jeffrey Werth. A personal care worker is not a nurse, but someone capable of carrying out the sundry, oftentimes repulsive duties required to keep a quadriplegic alive. Again, through my contacts in the American Health Care Association I was introduced to an organization called Independence First, an institute devoted to assisting disabled individuals in attaining as much personal freedom as possible. Independence First provided the resumes of personal care workers, and I interviewed and rejected almost a dozen of them before I hired Jeffrey.

Jeffrey is working toward his nursing degree at the University of Marquette (while Marquette is most renowned for their post-graduate work in the theology and bio-medical fields, their Nursing program is not far behind in terms of prestige). He is perhaps the hardest working person I have ever met, and seems to have no difficulty at all with what I consider to be the almost intolerably odious tasks necessary to keeping a paralyzed human body alive.

Of paramount import to me, however, is that my personal care worker actually be capable of conversing on subjects beyond my mere survival. I realized early on that whomever I employed would become the central figure in my existence, and though some may call it snobbish, I had no desire to spend my remaining days being attended to by some dullard. When not tending to my basic needs, Jeffrey spends our mornings reading Hegel aloud to me and making invaluable suggestions on precisely which Gorham silver service to purchase for the dining room I no longer have a use for. (Below: Gorham tea set. Absolutely magnificent patternwork.)

Should you require anything here at the house, consider Jeffrey to be acting on my behalf and trust him as you would me.

Also, though I am loathe to discuss the details of my personal situation, I should inform you as to how I am typing this at all. I use Dragon NaturallySpeaking Preferred software to transform my speech into type, and I find that the company's claim of ninety-nine percent accuracy is for the most part valid. To navigate web pages I utilize a mouth-manipulated joystick.

On another note: Joshua, with Miss Stroud's permission perhaps you could accompany her on her visit to Mrs. Walentowicz's home tomorrow. Miss Stroud's reaction to Mrs. Walentowicz's mental state is most intriguing, and perhaps you can provide a fresh perspective.

Mary: Getting Started

Hello, my name is Mary Stroud. I have to say this isn't how I would typically provide case reports to my employer, but given the unusual circumstances I'm happy to oblige.

First just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am for your loss, Mrs. Howland. I cannot begin to imagine the horror of what you have been through. I just want to assure you that I will do absolutely everything in my power within the law to bring your attacker to justice.

And just so we're clear, Mrs. Howland was attacked. I believe that the crash was intentional, and if I at any point refer to it in future as an "accident", please correct me. Also, frankly, based on your rare wealth and social status in a mostly blue-collar city like Milwaukee, I think it is entirely plausible that you were targeted specifically, though for what purpose, I don't know. I will be proceeding in this case with the assumption that I am hunting not someone who made a terrible mistake and ran from their crime, but a murderer.

Thank you as well for opening your home to me, Mrs. Howland. For anyone coming in later, it's more of a small mansion than a home, and right on Lake drive on the east side overlooking Lake Michigan. I can tell you that it's far more relaxing to hear the waves lapping up on the shore outside my window than the bustle of a college town like Madison. If there is anything I can do while I'm your guest, either for you or for Jeff, please just let me know.

A little about me, I became a fully licensed private investigator in 2000, though I acted as a process server for five years prior. I worked my way though college doing that, and never had this profession in mind, but it came easily to me so I just stuck with it and took it to another level. Due to a lot of books and TV movies there's a common misconception that P.I.'s get in gunfights and car chases and whatnot, and I have to say that's entirely fiction. I do occasionally carry a firearm, but I've never had to pull it much less shoot it. If you have to use a gun while giving someone a subpoena, you are seriously screwing up. I mostly do process serving along with insurance work, which is probably why Mrs. Howland (I feel like I should be addressing this to you directly? But I know there will be others reading it as we go along. Forgive the inconsistency while I get the hang of this) hired me as this investigation is, at least to start, similar to what I normally do.

To business: I'm going to begin by knocking on every door in the neighborhood and speaking with absolutely everyone. In a case like this, the police will do the best job they can, but they've categorized this as a hit-and-run accident, not a murder, so they won't be able to dig as deep as I can. I also might be able to get a few people talking who otherwise might be more reluctant when questioned by someone more official.

Mrs. Howland has provided me with a brand new Blackberry, so I can post while I'm out and about. I'll keep you as updated as I can.

Thank you again for your generosity and hospitality.