Good afternoon, dears. My apologies for not writing recently. I’ve been quite busy. The first level of the basement is nearly complete, thanks to some rather enthusiastic work by myself and a few new guests. More on them later. You see, after my last little update I returned at long last to my former apartment in New York. Or attempted to, rather. You see, I found that traffic in the city was even worse than usual, due to a mass of protestors on the Brooklyn Bridge and in the financial district. I tried to walk it…and that, dear readers, is when my day took a turn for the worse. I was arrested. I must say, the officer doing it wasn’t particularly nice either. He was rough, used uncouth language, and took my sunglasses (which effectively blinded me in the sunlight). I was shoved into the back of a transport vehicle with several other arrestees, and we were all taken to a police precinct. Several hours of waiting later, I was FINALLY interviewed by a detective.
Quite the amusing man, really.
His name was John Munch. He looked rather tired, but something in his manner told me he ALWAYS seemed this way. He also seemed slightly out of place, as if this wasn’t his usual work location. Thankfully, he had no file in front of him, meaning the local authorities were not aware of my past identity. I’d given them my name upon arrest, of course, but I had remained silent since then. Thankfully the interview room was dim, so I was able to think.
Detective Munch: (calm, seeming slightly bored) Are you a spy, Miss Harrington?
Me: (amused) Not hardly, dear. Why do you ask?
DM: Your fingerprints are a mess, as if you’d taken them off at some point. Only two kinds of people I know of who do that: psychos and spies.
Me: (still amused) It’s interesting that you’d assume I’m a spy before you’d assume I’m a psychopath.
DM: (small chuckle, wry tone) I’ve worked with plenty of psychos. You aren’t one. For one thing, you’re not trying to play games with me. For another, my partner out there saw you when you were brought in. Even HE thinks you don’t seem like a criminal. That’s pretty big.
Me: (small smile) Well, good. I WOULD like to know why I’ve been arrested, though.
DM: Well, your intake form says you were arrested at the site of a violent protest. Personally, I dunno. It seems like the guys down there are snapping up anyone who walks past. I don’t usually work this division, so I’m kinda flying blind. What happened that got you dragged in here?
Me: (he seemed to like me, and it was becoming obvious that everyone was overworked, so I decided to be as nice as possible.) Well, traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge was stalled, so I got out of my car and attempted to walk down the side of the road. As soon as I got near the protest I was grabbed, arrested, and thrown in a transport.
DM: (he nodded slightly at this, muttering, obviously not intending for me to hear) Government oppression at its finest…
Me: (calm, perfectly audible) Well…I wouldn’t call it OPPRESSION, but it does seem rather overzealous.
DM: (surprised look) You sound like you know what you’re talking about.
Me: (smiles) Oh, I do, dear.
We proceeded to have quite the nice chat about conspiracy theories and shady government operations. I believe I added a great deal to his store of knowledge, and when I was finally released I left him my address and an invitation to visit should he find the time. He seemed appreciative, and the quick once-over he gave me as I left did not go unnoticed. I was finally free at this point to proceed to my old apartment, which I did after Detective Munch’s partner (a rather dour-seeming man named Tutuola) gave me a ride back to my car.
I knew for a fact that the apartment had not been disturbed, since I was still paying its rent and had installed a rather impressive security system when I moved in. The air inside was quite musty, with a faintly unpleasant undertone. I had come for a specific reason, so I proceeded to the bedroom, effortlessly tearing up the floorboards I’d hammered into place months ago to reveal Christine’s remains. To my surprise she had mummified, making my task somewhat easier. I gathered up the pieces, quickly loading them into the trunk of my Miata. I know it isn’t much, and is a drop in the ocean compared to all the evil I’ve caused, but in my mind giving Christine a proper burial is something I need to do. This was my sole reason for coming to New York, to retrieve her remains. I managed to exit the city without further incident, aside from one attempted carjacking which was thwarted when I broke the man’s arm, tossed his gun into the East River, and gave his unconscious body to a nearby police patrol.
I’m home now. Christine’s remains are currently in their own room, awaiting the arrival of the other person who needs to be here for the burial. I have to wonder, dears…is ANYTHING I can do good enough? Is redemption even a possibility for me? I will keep trying regardless of the answer, but the thought has occurred to me that I may be beyond saving.
I promised you news about our new houseguests. There are only two, unfortunately, but at least someone is accepting my offer. The first is a teenage girl who refuses to respond to anything other than Wild Child. She is a Proxy, I believe, but seems more scared and tired than “evil” in any sense of the word. The other is a boy who insists on calling himself Twitch. He is…maybe a year younger than Wild Child, and I neither know nor care about his alignment. Both are eager to assist in housework in any way they can, and seem like they’re appreciating the chance to rest and feel secure. I now have enough dormitory space for 15 people, as well as a small armory and a large storeroom. More expansions shall follow, I’m sure.
I’m sorry, dears, but I need to go. There’s someone at the door. Ta ta for now.