What the Hell...

Well, I suppose everyone's read Lizzie's little...post, I guess is the proper way of putting it.

I'm seriously considering bringing the shrink in. This is outside my area of expertise.

Maybe once it's all over. Last time I dragged someone into our personal business the guy went missing a week after.

I just don't know...

“Angel of death.” That keeps getting thrown around over and over. But I remember the angel of death from Bible studies, and this doesn't seem like it. The angel of death was sent down by God to punish the sinners and pave the way for the true believers, or some shit like that. Sodom and Gomorrah, the Final Plague, all that. Each time the angel was used it was to make some sort of religious point.

There's no religious point here. People are getting taken for...what? Some sick game...or something worse?

Alright, think, Zeke, think. There's gotta be something else there, something you're missing...

Well...hypothetically, if there IS a Slender Man...he's no angel of death. Maybe he can be viewed as that, but from what I've gathered from the Marble Hornets videos, he doesn't seem to have a specific goal. He just fucks with people and takes them.

I don't think it's for a purpose.

I think he just does it because that's all he knows how to do.

The last couple of days, he's been creeping into my mind, and as much as I hate the idea of it...there's something going on here that I can't explain, and I've run out of rational possibilities. This whole case has just been one mind trip after another, and Conaghan can't be responsible for everything...

I still don't believe. Not fully. But the logical solutions are getting fewer and fewer, and the paranormal ideas are growing.

And if by some random, unholy possibility that it IS him...can one little stick figure with a gun be enough to stop him?

I don't have much time.

My part in all of this is almost over.

And then Zeke will be all alone.

Conaghan's just the pawn.

I'm just the bait.

HE doesn't care about either of us.

HE has been after Zeke for a long time.

HE gave up once Zeke wasn't afraid anymore.

But HE is coming back now.

Once I'm gone, HE will go after Zeke.

Conaghan can be killed.

But that may not be best.

Because once he's gone, then there is nothing standing between Zeke and HIM.

Listen, my friends...after I am gone, help Zeke.

He will need help after I am dead.

He will need to know there are people with him.

People who can help him.

Eric is still alive.

Find Conaghan and you find Eric.

It's all in the same place.

Open the door, and you will find them.

The warehouse...that is where it will happen.

That is where it will all end.

I will go first.

Help him, please.

Don't let the angel of death come for him.

He's the only one who has ever protected me.

The only one who ever loved me.

Don't let him share my fate.








































I don't want to die...

Thought I saw something moving around outside last night. When I went to go check, there was nothing. Must've just been an animal or something.

Sure scared Lizzie, though. She started panicking and screaming, and it took everything to hold her down long enough to calm her.

I checked again this morning. Didn't look like any signs of a person around. No footprints or anything. Must've been a raccoon or a coyote or something. Pretty big animal, if I could see it from the window.

I don't know, that's pretty much the only thing of importance. Life's boring out here. Sleep's been hard...I hate living out here. I can't wait until she feels better so I can fall asleep to the sounds of cars and horns again.

Mr. Armeen

Chief called back. Said that Lizzie's dad hasn't been anywhere near here in a long time. After his probation was done (nowhere near long enough as it should have been) he moved out west and hasn't even made an attempt to check in with his daughter. Not much of a surprise; he didn't care before, he's not going to care now.

By now I'm sure you're all sick of hearing about her dad. I'm not a huge fan, as it has been blatantly obvious to see. But that kind of thing gets me mad, and for it to happen to Lizzie of all people...it's just...

Listen- Lizzie's mom died when she was two. Suicide. I'm guessing she had spent too much time living with the bastard and couldn't stand another minute of it. There weren't any other relatives living nearby, so that meant that Mr. Armeen was left to take of Lizzie all by himself.

Personally, I'm amazed she's still alive.

It wasn't just physical abuse. It was mental. Emotional. Whenever she tried to pick herself up, he would tear her down. She didn't ride a two-wheeled bike until she was thirteen because of the things her dad was saying to her. She never tried out for plays or did sports or anything like that because she had it in her head that she “wasn't good enough”. He would call her every discouraging thing in the book: “no good”, “worthless”, “useless”, all that shit. It got to a point where she barely functioned.

Yeah, I know: Lizzie, not working excessively, not bubbly and not an annoying ray of sunshine? Perish the thought.

And of course, she saw the back of his hand a few times. Armeen was unemployed due to a disability on the work site, so they got by on welfare and Lizzie working since she turned twelve. As such, he would loaf around the majority of the day and expect her to do the housework and chores, and if they weren't done the way HE wanted it, guess who had to pay for it. Dishes not clean enough? Back of his hand. Trash not thrown out? One smack with the belt, IF she was lucky. Most nights she wasn't.

And the drinking. Because what story would an abusive father be without drinking, right? Not much, and not every night, but when he did drink, God help her if she was near him or got him angry. She wore more make-up just to cover black eyes, bruises, and split lips than she did to make herself look good.

By the time she was in college, though, she began to pick herself up. She made some friends, she participated in the Criminal Justice club, and eventually completed her major in CJ. She got into the academy, working two jobs to pay for it, and eventually made her way to the detective department, the greatest achievement she had accomplished so far in her life.

Her deadbeat dad didn't even bother showing up to her own ceremony.

She made a name for herself, got friendly with a lot of the detectives working there, became legendary for putting everything she had into every case she worked. If she proved herself there, then it made up for all the years of shithole abuse, she figured. She wanted to be the best, for once in her life. She wanted to be in control.

Cut to a few years later, when I joined the department. I was your typical rookie from the city; cocky, arrogant, thinking I had the answers to everything. Of course, I'm STILL like that, the only difference being that I really DO have the answers to everything. But boy, was I one gung-ho motherfucker. I believe Eric used to call me “Billy the Kid”, because talk was that I would probably shoot first, be a detective later. This was before I had made a reputation for myself, so all I could really do was talk big and make empty promises to rough up anyone who was talking about me behind my back.

They put me with Lizzie coming right into the office. And I have to say, I HATED it at first. I didn't know her, she didn't know me, she's a workaholic, I wanted to get out onto the streets and play Savior. We fought all the time, the kinds of fights like the one we had a few weeks ago. I swear to God, I must've requested a different partner at least three times those first couple of months. I could not stand that girl. Sure, she was hot in her own “I'm-six-years-older-than-you-but-I-act-like-I'm-seven” kind of way, but after two days- two freaking days- of working the desk with her, I was ready to kill myself. She was the most schizophrenic woman ever- works to the death, yet still acts like a child. She still does, though that's the part I love about her now instead of hate about her.

I don't think I could ever forget the night I met her dad. It was one of those nights that redefines everything you think you know about a person. Up until this point, I knew nothing about her family life, or even her personal life, and then afterwards, everything changed.

I had been working with her for about five months, and we had kind of lightened up on each other. Kind of. We had gone out with a couple of the guys from work, and then she was driving me home when her phone rings. It's her dad; he's waiting up on her. She talks to him for a couple of minutes, and I could tell this was not the conversation a parent and child should be having, but I kept my tongue bitten for once as she hung up and told me we were making a pit stop.

So she goes in, and I'm sitting in her car, waiting for her to get back. I must have been in there for fifteen, twenty minutes, and I start to get impatient and I'm about to call her when all of a sudden I hear a loud shout and something crashing against the wall. There's more yelling, and before I know it, I'm out of the car and bursting into the house, with my gun drawn, just as I hear a loud smack!

The sight in the kitchen was one that was burned into my mind. Lizzie was on the ground, her hand over her already stinging-red cheek, her nose trickling some blood, while her drunk-as-a-skunk father stood over, his fists balled. The breaking sound was a beer bottle being chucked against the wall. He took a step towards her, and that was the first time I ever saw her cringe in fear, and the sight of that just...something hit me deep inside.

That was the first time since I was a kid that I completely lost it. I tossed my gun to the side- why satisfy my rage with a gun?- and grabbed Armeen's arm, twisted him around, and punched him right in the face. I could pretty much feel his nose break against my knuckles as he fell backwards. Before he could retaliate I practically jumped on him, slammed his head against the counter twice, then just proceeded to beat the shit out of it, just like I did to Conaghan. Punch here, kick there, throw him against the wall at one point. I could barely comprehend anything, me punching him, Lizzie screaming for me to stop, Armeen trying to fight back but having no luck whatsoever and I just kept...wailing on him until Lizzie finally grabbed my arm and pulled me off of him.

That snapped me out of it. I just looked at the bloody hulk that was her father on the ground, the blood on my knuckles, and the stunned look on her face to know that I had blacked out for the first time in a long time. That was the start of my reputation; guys at the office knew that I really COULD kick their asses, and the talking behind my back ceased.

Mr. Armeen got five years probation and a restraining order stating that he could not come within fifty yards of his daughter. Like I mentioned above, he had moved out of state, and except for one or two drunken phone calls, he rarely ever pays her much attention. Not that she minds it. In fact, it was like freeing her from enslavement.

As for the two of us, I took her home after the cops took her dad away, and we talked. Really talked. And from that point on, we were pretty much always together. We worked together, hung out, went to restaurants and movies on our days off. I learned what she liked and didn't like and little ways to cheer her up, and she knew what ticked me off and how to defuse me if she felt I was going to get out of control. After a few months, the sex started up; we were wasted the first time and did it for fun, the second time was sober and just to experiment, and from there it was as regular as going to the store for food. But at the office, we were just Zeke and Lizzie, a mismatched pair, but a really good working force.

Rule Number One of our job: You always protect your partner, no matter what. I designated myself her “savior” since that night, and I've been doing a damn good job of it so far. I'm not about to let her down now.

She'd probably kill me if I posted this, but hey, she gave me the blog to get everything out, so here I go. Besides, you probably already figured most of this out for yourselves, so what's the harm in the full story.

Nothing else has really changed. I'm trying to ease up on the questions. I know her; she'll tell me when she wants to. I'm going to go and pop a movie in for her. Maybe that'll calm her down a little.

May post again tomorrow. Not sure yet. Stay tuned.

Caretaker

I've pretty much locked this house down so that no one gets in or out without me knowing it. Still don't feel too safe. It feels like age-old paranoia is coursing through my veins again, and it's very unwelcoming at this time.

Lizzie just lays in bed all day. I bring her food and try to talk to her as much as I can, but it doesn't do much good. She barely eats, and barely speaks. She's just so un-Lizzie and it's frightening.

I'm trying to figure out the drawing, but it doesn't really make much sense. I mean, it's a bunch of stick figures, so trying to pick an identity out by myself is difficult as anything else. I'll try to bring it by her.

I gotta say, if she did draw Slender Man, the guy pointing the gun at him's got some serious balls. Does anyone knows if that actually works, shooting him? I've always wondered why Alex or Jay never had a gun when they went up against those guys. One shot to the head, boom, they're down. Problem solved.

I called the chief to let him know what was going on. He seemed annoyed, but he agreed that I should stay with her, and said he'd get help over to us whenever he could. Lizzie doesn't want it, but I insist. She's got a pretty big house, and I can't stand guard all by myself.

Every time I see her, I feel like just crawling into a hole and staying there until it's all over. The last time I saw her like this was when her dad finally got taken away; not that he didn't deserve it, but it's never fun when your parent gets taken away.

Alright, well, I've got to go check on her. I'll update when I can, internet is not the most reliable out here, but I'll keep posting. Amazing how something I utterly despised is probably the only thing keeping me sane right now.

Just don't let that get to your heads or anything.

Okay, so, I don't know how many of you saw the comment I posted on the last entry, but I'm at Lizzie's house now and I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to be doing.

She called me the other night and told me to get over to her house right away. She sounded terrified, like someone had just broken in. She didn't even need to tell me twice, I was already in the car and on my way by the time I hung up.

I hate going to Lizzie's house in the middle of the night. Number one, it's pitch black out there, and number two, she lives pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Every time I'm there it's like I'm ten years old at my old house again, which is half the reason I never go. Nevertheless, there I was at ten o'clock at night, pounding on her door until she finally opens.

Lemme tell ya now, she has never looked worse. Her skin's almost completely white, her eyes are all bloodshot, her nose was raw from all the tissues and she looked so...helpless. That was what scared me the most. No matter how bad things always got, she was always the rock among the two of us, always looking for ways to solve any problem. To see her looking like this, like a prisoner awaiting a death sentence, scared the piss out of me.

“Lizzie, what's wrong?” I asked her.

She didn't respond. She just moved out of the way to let me in. I stepped into the house and...

I've told you before that the girl brings her work home with her. Well, this time she went overboard. All over her walls were those fucking drawings, some from Krell, some from Ford, and then...I don't know, there were some that looked new. This looked like it took weeks to put up. I had to wonder how long this had been going on for.

One drawing in particular still scares the piss out of me. It's a drawing of the Suit, only he's got eight arms again. There's a woman laying on the ground in a pool of blood with cuts all over her face like someone took a knife and went Michael Myers on her. There's another guy with his back against the wall, his hand over his gut like he's been shot. And then there's another guy- probably the only normal human still standing- pointing a gun at the creature, with a speech bubble pointing from his head that says, “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE”.

“Lizzie...what is this?” I asked her. “Are these...did you draw this?”

“Some of those are from the case,” she replied, and her voice sounded as bad as she looked. “Some of them...are mine.”

I turn back to her. She had started to cry; tears were streaking down her face, adding dirty red to an otherwise pale face.

“He's real, Zeke. He's real. And...He wants me too...”

She collapses against my chest, sobbing. I just wrap my arms around her, unsure of what to say, looking around at the craziness we had been surrounded with since day 1 of the case and which was now threatening to consume my partner.

I'm going to stay here for a little while to make sure she's safe. I'd rather be at my house, but she says it doesn't matter where she is, “He” will find her. So I'm basically going to fortify this house as best I can, in case someone does decide to show up and he's not friendly.

I know I'm usually the man of stone, but I gotta say, I'm pretty scared right now. Something's wrong with her, and I don't know what to do. All of her patterns match the victims from the case...but it doesn't make any sense.

If Conaghan's in jail...then who is doing this?

Interrogation Part 3

(I storm back into the room, slam the door shut, grab the chair I had been sitting in, and slam it under the door knob to ensure that no one else was coming in. I knew I was going to get in a shitload of trouble, but by now I was seething; rational thinking had gone far out the window. I slam the report I had just rapidly filled out onto the table to make sure he saw it.)

S: See that, Al? That's a fucking legal form giving me permission to do whatever I want in here, and it has your name on it. You want to get your name taken off it, you start talking to me, okay? Now- (I slam a paper on the table) What's with the drawing? (I slam another one down) What's with the symbol? Who else do you have working with you?

C: This is a waste of time, Mr. Strahm-

S: Where the hell are the kids? Clock's ticking, you'd better start answering before we throw you behind bars for good this time.

C: (laughs) You have nothing to take me on-

S: Obstruction of justice. Stalking. Kidnapping. Rape. Conspirator to commit terrorism. Conspirator to murder. Now start talking. Where are they?

C: I told you, He has taken them-

S: (slamming my fist down on the table) Cut the shit! Where are they?

C: If you don't start listening to me, you'll never find them.

(Right about then, I finally punch him. Right in the face. Knocked him right off his chair. Hey, I did say the slip gave me permission to do anything I wanted)

S: If you don't start talking to me, you're going to need to eat through a straw the rest of your life. Where are the kids?

C: He has them.

S: WHO HAS THEM?!

C: I told you already-

(I kick him in the gut. As hard as I can.)

S: Getting REAL fucking tired of you ducking me, man. Now I'm not going to ask you again. Who is he? What does he want? Where is he? How do we stop him?

C: (laughs) You can't stop him. He wants all of us...especially you...

(I grab him by his collar and proceed to just beat the shit out of him. At this point, I'm in a blind rage. I know it's hard to tell through text, but if you heard the guy's voice and how he's talking to me you'd get angry too. I punch until my knuckles feel like glass, and then I drop him and deliver a few kicks to the stomach. I told you I get pissed; this is what happens when it goes past that point.)

S: WHERE ARE THEY?

C: Not long now-

S: (kick) WHERE ARE THEY?!

C: -until He comes for you-

S: (kick) WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY?!

(At this point, the chief and two officers finally get the door open after ramming every heavy object they can against it. Guarantee that broken knob is coming out of my paycheck. The officers pull me off the bleeding hulk that is Albert Conaghan and force me back long enough for me to get my cool together. Conaghan crawls behind the table and leans against the wall; he's still got that smile on his face and it takes everything I have to keep my cool.)

S: Put him back in the cell. Don't let me see him again until he's ready to talk.

(As I turn to leave, he takes one more jab at me:)

C: If I were you, Mr. Strahm, I would be less concerned with me and more concerned for your partner, Ms. Armeen. He has taken quite an interest to her too...

(Before the chief can say a word, I push myself past the two officers, flip the table over so that there's nothing between him and me, grab him by the neck, lift him up, and slam him against the wall with my arm spread across his neck to pin him there. I imagine my eyes have turned to a reddish color, I've never felt so angry in my entire life. The words that come out feel like some demon's speaking through me.)

S: If you so much as lay a finger on her, I will kill you where you stand.

(I hold it long enough to make sure the point gets across, then I drop him and storm out of the room without looking back.)



And that's how it went down. Needless to say, I'm in the doghouse. Big time. Chief's furious. I'm pretty sure the only reason I haven't been suspended is that I'm the only one working the case right now and I need to fill in the paperwork.

My office has never felt more lonely without Lizzie making jokes and cute faces at her desk, or Eric hard at work on something at his.

Yeah, Lizzie's still on sick leave. I've managed to keep contact with her this past week or so, after the interrogation. I swear, I must call on the hour, every hour, just to make sure she's okay. She keeps insisting she is, though she sounds more like shit with every call. I don't think she's been sick a day in ten years; maybe it's all coming back to haunt her now.

I'm not even going to try and make sense of everything Conaghan said. The guy is just gone. I don't know what the hell he's been smoking, but something in him has snapped. He's got something programmed in his mind that the rest of us don't.

I don't know. I don't fucking know. He still won't give up Eric's location, or drop a hint as to the fate of the kids. He must have someone else helping him, but apparently this person must be a close acquaintance, because he's not giving him up either.

I need to go home and rest. I'll post more later.

Interrogation Part 2

S: Why don't we start from the beginning. Victoria Krell. When did you start stalking her? Why did you start stalking her? You just see her walking home one day and decided she was vulnerable and insecure enough that she was worth your time?

C: I had nothing to do with Victoria Krell's disappearance.

S: Yeah, and I'm the king of Siam. Just because I say it doesn't mean it's true. Now we can sit here and do this dance until we both have blisters covering every square inch of our feet but one way or another you're going to tell me why you did it.

C: Again, her disappearance was not my business.

S: ...Alright...was this your business, then?

(I throw down a picture onto the table. The picture's an old crime photo from eleven years ago; a girl, fifteen, laying face up with her throat slit, a trickle of blood running from her mouth, a look of terror and helplessness on her face. Her dress was torn and her legs show scratches just under where the dress ends.)

S: You remember her? You remember what you did to her?

C: I remember her. I remember how horrible the trial was, but I also remember that I was cleared of that charge. They proved I didn't do it.

S: They proved you were good at bribing the judicial.

C: Mr. Strahm-

S: Your prints were all over that corpse. The tire tracks that led away from the scene came from your car. The blade that cut her throat, ALSO had your prints on it. Semen traced back to you, skin tissue under her fingernails matched quite well with the scratches on the back of your neck. Now are you going to keep telling me you didn't do it when I know you did, are we going to keep dancing around it?

C:...They proved me innocent.

(Fifteen second pause)

S: Fine. You want to hear another story, then?

C: Humor me.

(Twenty-three second pause)

S: Her name was Ashley Silvia. She went to my high school, she was in my class. We were freshman then. I was supposed to go on a date with her that night. Our first one. I thought she had stood me up, but imagine my shock the next morning when my mother showed me the papers with her picture on the front. Ruined dating for me for my entire time in high school. Is that enough of a story for you, or should I continue?

(Thirty second pause)

S: So I'll ask again. What did you do to Victoria Krell?

(Ten second pause. He shifted a little bit; squirming, I hoped.)

C: I just provided the message that He was coming for her.

(There was that “He” business again. But the way he said it was different from the way Sam said it; he wasn't afraid, or if he was, he kept it well hidden.)

S: Oh, come on, not this bullshit again...

C: I trust Mr. Ford has already told you about Him-

S: No, he just said “HIM” over and over again as though I was supposed to know what he was talking about. If you're going to do it too, then excuse me while I go and get some more coffee because I am in no mood to play that game again.

C: Do you believe in the angel of death, Mr. Strahm?

S:...What?

C: I only want you to listen while I talk. The information I have for you is crucial. It will help you to survive Him, but only if you listen.

S:...Alright, Mr. Conaghan (sits down) let's hear it.

(What follows next is probably the most well-thought out tale of fiction I've heard in a long time. Also probably the most ridiculous. But I got to give him points for creativity at least.)

C: Maybe in the past...I did some things for a...recreational purpose. Maybe I went about it with no strategic goal or thought processes of what my actions would cause to the outside world. But things...things have changed since then.

It was six months ago, when He first came to me. I was in my apartment, preparing myself for bed, and as I stared out the window I saw Him standing there staring up at me. I thought maybe someone was spying on me...but then I heard His voice in my head...calling for me to be his disciple. I didn't understand at first, but then He showed me things...wonderful, horrible things.

For three days, He came to me. And each time, He showed me more beautiful images, and through these images I learned of his goal. From where he comes from, there is a need for humans. For food, for play...for supply.

After that, I understood. There is a greater purpose to life, and that is Him. We all go about our lives, thinking we have control over what happens to us. We are disillusioned. Only He has control. And when it is our time, He will take us. And He has entrusted people like myself with the mission of telling people when it is their time. Their time to be taken, to go to his world...to see the horrors that the universe has that cannot be found on this earth.

So you see, Mr. Strahm, what you assume is wrong. These people are not disappearing. What we assume about our reality is a lie, we have neither the brainpower, nor the courage, to see-

S: (banging my fists on the table) Oh, cut the shit! What the hell are you babbling about?

C: I'm telling you what you wanted to know-

S: No, you said you wanted to talk, you said you wanted me to listen, you're talking, but you're not SAYING anything! Say something! Don't give me a story about how God told you to kidnap people for some sick fucking game!

C: God? (laughs) There is no God. But this... (serious again) it is something you should know. He has called for you specifically.

S: Who?

C: The angel of death, of course.

S:...Okay, now I'm pissed off. You're making no sense, you're going Jehova's witness on me, and if you don't start anwering my questions in the next five seconds, I can't be held responsible for what I do to you.

(Twelve second pause)

S: Where is Eric?

C:...He is in a safe place.

S: With the others?

C: No. It is not quite his time yet.

S: Where?

C: I cannot reveal his location...just yet.

(Thirty second pause)

S: That's it. You want to play hardball? I'll play some fucking hardball.

(I leave the room at this point...but I'm not quite done yet)

Interrogation Part 1

Hey, sorry again for the delay...shit's been kind of nuts around here.

So...I interrogated him on Sunday...and the conversation was just...I don't know.

I went in alone this time. Lizzie took a sick day. Probably the only sick day she's ever taken without me coaxing her, but hey, if she gets to rest I'm not complaining. The chief gave me a quick rundown of what to say and what not to say, but we both knew I wasn't going to stick to that too well. Once I'm in that room, it's just me and Conaghan, and in my narcissistic mind, that meant free reign.

Maybe I wasn't exactly expecting him to come forth and admit everything...but I sure wasn't expecting this either.

I'm going to split the entire interrogation into three different entries, just because it went on for hours. A lot of it doesn't make any sense, but...well, just read.


(I went in and found him sitting at the table with his arms folded. Unless it was to take a sip from the water cup in front of him, he rarely left this position the entire time I was in there.)

S: Morning, Mr. Conaghan, I'm-

C: I know who you are, Detective Strahm. I was hoping to meet you today.

(He sips his water while I take my coat off.)

C: Having a good day, I hope?

S: Now that you're here, I am. We've been looking for you for a little while now.

C: (laughs) But am I really that important? I hardly think so...

S: Oh, I think you're important enough. Even if you don't want to admit it.

(Ten-second pause)

S: So where have you been? We've had your face all over town for the last month. You didn't return my calls, you didn't write. I was heartbroken. I thought we had something.

C: (laughing) So sorry, dear boy. I've been quite busy.

S: Yeah, I'll bet you have.

C: Well, not what you're thinking. I'm a busy man, Mr. Strahm. I have a lot of ventures to run. I run a very intricate operation-

S: Buying and selling goods across the globe, I know. And I know how you spend your free time. And that's why we're here today.

(Seventeen-second pause)

S: “He says more”. Care to shed any light on that?

C: On what, exactly? What exactly is it you're attempting to get me for?

S: Well, for starters, how about what these pictures from the crime scenes are doing in your apartment.

(I throw down the drawings we gathered from Conaghan's apartment, particularly the ones of the Mystery Man and the crossed-out circle.)

S: “He says more”. That's the message you sent me, right? You were asking for me. Well, now I have to ask... (I lean forward, looking him straight in the eye.) Do you see me now?

(I chuckle here; I crack myself up sometimes. But he never loses that smile.)

C: (referring to the drawings) These drawings are things I've done on my own time. I fail to see the relevance.

S: By themselves there is none. Put them with the same drawings we found in Victoria Krell's room, in Jessica Albright's journal, and on Sam Ford's walls, and it puts you as a likely suspect. Not to mention the connection you have with Sam Ford's father.

C: That is an entirely different business, and I hardly see a connection-

S: And I hardly see what a respectful businessman like you would want with three teenagers and a detective. But I can hardly see what business you have taking innocent kids from their homes, raping them, killing them, and thinking you can just wave some cash around and make everyone forget it happened.

(Thirty-second pause)

S: See this? (I place a vial of blood on the table) It's from the latest crime scene. You got careless with this one, Al. Those compounds you usually put in weren't here this time. You know what it is?

C: Other than blood, I can't imagine-

S: It's the same blood type as you. B positive. Though I imagine it's hard to be positive when the news is so negative.

C: (laughs) This is purely circumstantial, the blood could have come from anyone-

S: And yet it still tightens the noose around your neck, Al. So what was it, hmm? Were you tired of giving us the run around, you felt guilty, and you slipped up on purpose so we could find you? That's what I'm thinking right now.

C: You seem to think a lot, Mr. Strahm.

S: You know what else I think? I think the reason you didn't put up a fight when they apprehended you was because you had no intention to fight us. You wanted us to bring you in. Isn't that right, Mr. Conaghan?

(Twenty-two second pause.)

S: If that is the case, then why? You had a good strategy going. You covered up your tracks well. Untraceable blood, EMP on the station's electronics to grab Sam Ford, no one seeing you as you pick them all off one by one. So what did you do? Stalk them until they were at their most vulnerable, then grab them once they had gone past the point of no return? Did you grab a couple of buddies and decide to have some fun with some underage girls? And maybe a boy for that one friend who's so far in the closet he flew right past the turn to Narnia?

C: (chuckling, shaking his head) You think you have it all figured out, don't you?

S: Don't I?

C: No, you don't. You don't have a clue. You're only scratching the surface of what's really happening here. There are greater things at work than just you and me, and you can't even begin to imagine it.

S: Well then...why don't you try me?


I'm going to end it off here. I'll post part 2 whenever I can.