[identity profile] halfaustere.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] thedirtyverse
[Just before Robert's final coma, while he's already becoming largely catatonic. 2002.]

Robert's handwriting (dried tears underneath it, not above it) was almost entirely unintelligible, words barely pressed into the page, ink spilled everywhere as it seemed his hands had been shaking so he was unable to make anything but a mess – a mess of his mind spilled everywhere as much as the ink.

Tuesday, 26 March
Volume MMII

I fear this may be the last thing I ever write. I wish I could say "for some time" but I do not know if there is much worth in my ever beginning again. I am also not sure if it is really a fear. I am no longer sure of anything, I cannot understand myself.

Cyrus is dead and Sully had cared for her so, she was a patient important to him and then to me, and we had no idea what had been wrong with her, and Eirene was certain she knew, Eirene claimed she loved her, Eirene had adopted her. She lost her mind & Eirene wanted to protect her from her mind

Sully didn't know, it was not his fault he wrote those notes, if not for those notes we would not have known anything and he still does not know and it is not his fault but that was his note February 16th of two-thousand and one that let me know that I must speak to her and she begged me so to care for the beautiful little girl her friend Damian had found I had not spoken to Sully in many years it was Dawn's wish to be stubborn and I hate myself for not trying to find them again, I loved them both so, dear friend and family and I needed them and they me and Dawn's accusations

I digress.

things grow bleaker every moment and I find myself scarcely able to breathe. Eirene, poor child, she threatened me and I find little reason to go against what she desires ... desired ... I do not know, she knows I know, she does not want me of this world any longer, she is threatening a family that is falling apart

I taught her everything but that does not matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. I killed and I cannot bear it and I find no comfort at home when I have lost everything. I have lost my Alice for whom I have lived and will die. I do not know what happened to Eirene and I no longer care because what I truly do not know is what happened to Alice.

I am trying to forgive myself to live for my family but my family is distant. It isn't Fabian's fault I do wish I could tell him something anything but I do not want to soil his mind like this.

I am tired and old and now I have killed an innocent party who heard something wrong, who did something that someone did not want her to know about and I ache, and it has long since been time, and so Eirene is right and I can keep this secret. It would not suit my family to know. They do not need this any more than they ever have. And Alice has her someone else now. I hate this thought more than any but it is a thought I must voice to myself as I do not want her to ever know how deeply sure I am how much I know

For weeks these calls have been coming and I hope whoever he is he makes her happy. She's distant and she doesn't eat. I cannot hold her most days. If I only could confide in her my pain –! but no, I would never burden her even were she waiting by my side to hear my thoughts every moment. Sometimes she holds me. I do not speak, I am afraid.

We are only ever fighting it seems.

I wish someday I could find out who took her from me.

I am certain I will not last to discover it.

I was almost ready to discuss this with her; almost ready to discuss my tiredness, my desire to rest if not to stay away, and now I cannot and will not and must not as I have nothing to return to. I ask her questions and she reacts poorly, she yells she is angry I yell as I am angry too and it would have been all right I could have left things with our child and remained with my love, but she has such life in her, has always had such life in her, a thing I could never take away

and she will be all right, for she does not need me, and no one would need a killer anyhow, and I

am tired.

She is keeping secrets and she is dead and he is away and they are gone but not forgotten and the voice in my head is telling me to go and I am very, very tired.


A mirror of the words stained the blank page on the other side of the journal.

Robert had slammed it shut so fast, so unable to look at what he had written, he hadn't had a care for it.

(The last thing he ever really wrote was on the cover of the journal, in a neat and careful hand, only hours before his body began to turn to ice: Please destroy on the event of my untimely death.)

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