Dead to Me

23

As expected, the Inspectre was disturbed by our find at Tome, Sweet Tome, but both he and Director Wesker seemed quite pleased to add the Black Stacks to their list of departmental acquisitions. Representatives from every division showed up, especially a large contingent of archivists from the Gauntlet. I spied one of their rank-and-file members, Godfrey Candella, grinning from ear to ear, despite the abominations that had happened there. He and several other agents chased a few eager-to-escape books around, scooping them into fishing nets.

At that point, there wasn’t much for me to do. Using my psychic ability over and over to track Cyrus had exhausted me, and I no longer felt of any use. I’d offered to try to use my power on one of the clay pots once it came back, but Connor’s face had gone white. “I would not recommend that, kid,” he said, stricken. “You might not come back.” Since there was no update from Shadower on Cyrus’s whereabouts and I had little expertise in dealing with a roomful of ectoplasmic nose-candy junkies, I quietly dismissed myself from the store and let those better equipped to do so work the scene.

I made my way back to the Lovecraft, but stopped by my desk only long enough to grab Jane’s journal. I didn’t want to do this, but the stakes were getting higher and higher. Maybe the journal would give me some insight into the Sectarian involvement in all this. I walked out to the coffee shop after deciding to forgo the office environment entirely for the comfort of an enormous puffy chair. The steaming hiss of the espresso machine did little to relax me while I waited for a coffee. I stared at the unopened book. Its cover was gilded with astrological signs. Tension mounted thick across my shoulders.

Hadn’t this exact sinister act, reading someone else’s journal, been the very thing Tamara had accused me of? The guilt was consuming. Was I really going to learn enough about Jane from what she might have written to help the investigation? Was I in a state of mind to deal with what I read? And why was I reading it here? Was I hiding away from the office environment as well as avoiding my apartment now?

I knew why I brought Jane’s notebook to the office, though. If Irene suddenly reappeared in my apartment, I feared how she would react to seeing me nose deep in another woman’s personal thoughts in her newly unstable state. I told myself I was doing the heroic thing.

I took a tentative sip of my newly arrived drink, and opened the book. I flipped through it, starting at the back and watching the blank pages slip on by until I caught the first sign of words, and I sought out her entry from last night.

Dear Diary,

Subject: Simon Canderous—Surveillance

Next time, definitely no thong on a stakeout. Stakeouts require prolonged periods of squatting. Had Faisal not sent me out in such haste, I totally would have worn something more sensible…or at least something that didn’t feel like it was trying to cut me in half lengthwise!

It is a lonely dance I do here among the secrecy of the rooftops.

Manhattan is simply breathtaking at night, the sparkle of a million light flicking on and off across the cityscape like the fireflies back home.

Fireflies? Did I just compare Manhattan to fireflies??? Geesh. A bit of the small-town girl coming through, I suppose. Up here, I can see the individual lives carrying on around me. Here are all the stories of the city, tucked snugly into skyscraper-shaped containers. Through one window I can see a man playing joyfully with a child who can’t be any more than three years old. I can’t make out if it is a boy or a girl, just that the child seemed to be giggling madly as the father bounces him or her up and down…

Incoming call vibrating away. BRB, Dear Diary!!

Faisal AGAIN! I’m a little tired of his grumpiness. I hope that I didn’t come off sounding too eager to please. I’ve been working on my professional tone lately, aiming for what the Sectarians call “sinister amiability.” Don’t think I’ve got it down yet. Practice, practice, practice!

He sounded agitated, especially when I told him I just got here. What can I say? I got a little lost! Up here, everything looks the same without storefronts or street numbers. Thanks to resourceful me, Dear Diary, I used the lit-up spire of the Empire State Building as a guide to get back on track. Yay me!

I am now settled in across from Simon Canderous’s place to write to you, my Dearest Diary.

The curtains are drawn but I can see in through the cracks here and there. It’s two stories down and only allows for a partial view into Simon’s apartment. I looked over the edge just now, and a slight bout of vertigo hit me. Ick! A sudden gust of wind and I could imagine myself going over. Bad news, Dear Diary!

OMG! From what little I can see, Simon’s place is absolutely GORGEOUS. It looks totally swank and fabulous in an old-world way. It sure beats my tiny Chelsea place. Does the Department of Extraordinary Affairs pay their underlings well enough to live like this? Maybe I need to trade up!

Diary, what am I to make of this Simon fellow? He was a defensive meanie the other night over the departmental dinner we had.

I know I mustn’t rush to judgment on assessing him or this situation, even though Faisal and the Sectarians have convinced me how dangerous these D.E.A. members are. But how can someone that cute be dangerous? I can make up my own mind. I’m a City Girl now. Girl Power!

I hope first impressions don’t mean anything. When we first met, I think I came off as a bitch, but he was the one brandishing a bat at me! Back to work…BRB, Dear Diary!

I checked the safety on my gun just now and released it. Push aside the feelings, Janey. Don’t think. That’s not what the Sectarians pay you for. Just obedience.

I sure hope I don’t have to shoot anyone. I’d feel bad about that. Just like I feel bad about you—my truest of friends—that I’m already going to have to edit you down for Faisal’s report. Sorry!

Dear Diary, damn this thong! Something this invasive usually buys me a drink first!

Be right back…

I closed the book. I knew what happened next, of course. Director Wesker would answer for cutting her lifeline.

This was not the journal of someone committed to evil and the dark arts. A wave of optimism washed over me. This was the journal of a small-town girl transported to the Big City, a girl who seemed to be crushing on me. She could be turned to our side, a hot, perky version of Darth Vader.

I felt more ashamed than ever for having read the diary, but at least I hadn’t taken off my gloves and “read” it. I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to do that—and that meant something. Maybe I didn’t want to know Jane on a psychometric level because…she was someone I was actually interested in, and I didn’t want to fuck things up preemptively.

I didn’t recall my walk home from the Lovecraft Café that night. I was far too wrapped up in what I had read to think of much else. But why was that old nervous feeling at the pit of my stomach working its way to the top again?