2/22/2012
Again, the Numerology in this day astounds and the plethora of 2’s is a good omen. Yesterday I spoke with someone, who had spoken with someone else and so on…and they had much to stay in between the words they spoke. Just like the mathematic values hidden within the date, the hidden values in the escalating numbers on my readership is of a curious nature of late as well. Why? Because there has been an interesting spike in the last two months. Not that the numbers weren’t impressive before, but now? Now it amazes that this case has caught so much fire. People from everywhere now follow the twists and turns of this case, but my interest lies a bit closer to home.
So how many Valdostans now read about the sultry past of their fair burg and am wont to make the connections between the descriptions of the players to the players themselves? How many notes have been taken and names and associations been bantered about in the many café’s and grocery stores that dot the tree lined streets and shady hot spots of your little town? How many eyes follow you and ask, “Are you the one? Are you one of the 4 in flannel? How much do you know? How much do you hide?”
They ask questions behind your back. “Are the impressions for real, Grim? How do you hide the scar beneath your left eye? Make-up…glass rims? What tale did you tell to cover for its arrival?”
Or Mr. Einstein… how about you? “Where are your rubber boots?” We know your moniker is just a sham. The real Mr. Einstein was a brilliant man, so how do you hide your lack of intelligence, but not betray your passion for the perverse? It’s tricky isn’t it? To be normal, when your sense of the norm is so far outside of the envelope that it cannot be found.
Or how about you; the farmer in the dell? How do you look into the eyes of your loved ones and not see the eyes of Charley’s widow and his children starring back at yours- burning a hole in your truth? How do you look at your prodigy and not know that you have squandered his integrity by betraying your own?
Do these things not haunt you all?
And what of street signs and amusement parks that border your world? Nothing more to laugh about there is there now? So sad… how all the places that once held sweet memories now have become all those places that cannot help but ooze the last impressions of the lives you snuffed out? Such innocuous landmarks; an intersection here or there, a country club…a hotel room and a shady shoreline or two. Nothing more than walls and windows, trees and air that hold the bounty of your secrets. Once the site of perverse titillation, now all places that you cannot abide.
But what to do? Where to hide?
Hmmmm… If you stay they will eventually put the pieces together and find you out, and if you run- they shall all suspect the same and know why.
Questions, questions…suppositions, suppositions.
Who knew you could learn so much from the dead? Now that is a question I would have proffered over the last two years and not had a problem with answering with positive concurrence. But lately? It is the living that has the more interesting tale to tell. That’s right Grim. I no longer have to chase for the occasional interview… now they come to me to ask the questions- offer their answers. You see this has become the great hunt- like “Where’s Waldo” they now read the clues over and over… map the city, trace the details and move the pawns back and forth across the board of your debauchery- convinced they know the who’s and the why’s of this case.
I must confess, I have been a bit loose with some information here and there, but such is the art of fishing. You chum the waters with the scent of a victim’s blood-toss out the evidentiary bait and then reel in the line nice and real slow… tempting and torturing those who know more to want more and inch by inch they follow the bait back to the boat.
So let’s see… what do I have in my tackle box for today? Some kind of lure that will attract, but not betray.
Hmmmm…
R likes to run and sometimes when she runs she is shown things. Things like someone being boxed into a corner. Someone who knows what I know and now has no idea what I don’t and that freaks him out. He tries to hold his tongue, but his ego overrides his brain. Where is she? What does she know? Why won’t she let this go?
He fidgets in his chair. He paces in his window. When will they come again? It eats at his constitution. He is someone who has played the game too long and no longer writes the rules. Some one whose security blanket passed away a year or two ago. Someone who now has no immunity to fall back on. Someone who thinks that toilet paper and his shirt sleeve are one in the same… as if Charley could not tell the difference. He is foolish enough and mortal enough to think that you can wipe away a victim’s blood and escape its taint as long as you change your clothes and your demeanor.
Think it can be done? Ask the shooter- Mr. Russian roulette.
Do you know how he is spending his eternity? He stands at the water and dips his hands in and out- vomiting and cursing that no matter how many times he washes his hands- the blood reappears and he can never get clean. Again and again he dips his fingers in the water and when he pulls them out, the water that drips from his boney digits runs red and this drives him to madness. Every pool… every river… every lake he submerges his hands in produces the same effect and he can do nothing but wail in his agony. There is no forgiveness for what he has done.
Don’t believe in Hell, Grim? It is a real place. Ask the shooter to show you where it is…for it follows him everywhere and now he is following you. Can you feel the flames? You may want to check on the others… somebody’s feeling a bit squeamish. Somebody’s ready to spill the beans and I’m not talking about the MOT. The MOT has his own agenda and his day is coming soon too.
2012 is not the end of the whole world, Grim…just yours.
Have a nice day!
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