Tuesday, 6 March 2012

A promise

I promised you,
whoever you all are,
that I would type up this letter.

I... I have been lax about it.

Salome has been tougher,
she tries to act like she did,
but when she thinks I am not looking...

She has forbidden me from killing myself,
but that just means when I lie awake at night
and she thinks I am asleep,
sometimes I hear her crying.

But this... This is not about Salome.
This is about a letter I received.

I am sorry.
It is difficult to think straight.

Too tired.

"Dear Ember Fay, and by extension, Mother.

First of all, allow me to apologize for the three months it has taken to gain any kind of new information. I am used to being pressed for certain facts, but this "Father" figure is new to me and the two or so men I can trust since the deaths of both Fairy Fay and John Smith. Being an officer does not help matters.

I told you about the other death in a previous correspondence. A supposed seamstress once more, found torn asunder. People's lips loosen at the thought of a monster at their door.

I suppose one would have assumed that being a lawman would make it difficult to gain information from hardened criminals, but one must simply find those criminals who are willing to talk.

Or better, those who's sin is not yet a crime.

I met a man named Mordecai, though I do doubt that is his real name, for he is Chinese and made his life in the country through the import of opium. He runs his own den in one of the more well off areas of London.

The time I first walked into the den, I was hit by the sweet, pungent smell of the smoke. We had corresponded once or twice but this was the first time we had met. He spoke good English and when I began to speak in French. He had a good grasp. He is intelligent enough to know a good deal, and that he should not ask too many questions.

I questioned him about this "Father" I keep hearing about, and he said he heard of them. Very occasionally, a man would come in, they would look pallid, stretched thin, as if butter scraped over too much bread. When he talked to them, they would just say nothing. After partaking, however. One of them became emotional about his daughter, how she had gone missing, that she had joined them. He claimed he had been disowned as a father.

He gave me the fellow's name and address. I shall not give you the names lest this correspondence become intercepted by another party. I have encouraged him to keep listening about a "father" and to ask around his own contacts.

I shall interview him tomorrow, for right now it is late and I have a full day of work ahead of me due to this poor woman's murder.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité.

Jules Chénier"

Note to self:
I must remember to correct 
his last name in the other letters.
This is the first time it was truly legible.

I shall do it when I have time.

I have such little time.

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