Chapter 12
The Journal
Dear Reader,
I don’t know who you are. Maybe you’re someone special to me. You’re not family. I know that much. They’ve all gone now. Maybe you are someone who knows me, but it’s unlikely. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’re a stranger.
I think it’s better that we don’t know each other. I have a tale to tell. And by the end of this you will understand everything.
But not yet.
Not all at once.
I need you to understand what I’ve done. This record is not for me, not really. It’s for you. A written record of everything I did, and why I did it.
So far, no one knows about this diary. I’m keeping it hidden from everyone. Especially Patrick.
I think it helps, putting it all in writing.
It helps keep my head straight. It reminds me that I am not who they think I am.
It keeps me sharp. Focused. When you tell lies all day, it’s easy to get lost in them.
Sometimes, but just sometimes, I feel like I’m disappearing into the role I’m playing.
I think it must be the same for actors sometimes.
Method actors who just stay in character even after the director yells cut.
They become the person they are playing for months, right up until the last day of shooting.
I sort of know how they must feel. Just occasionally, I get lost too.
This diary is my map back to me. And your map to the truth.
It may be complete, or not. I don’t know how long I can do this without them finding out. I hope it’s for long enough to find the truth. If not, you will have to use what’s here to piece together the rest of it. If I haven’t finished this, I’m sorry. But there’s probably a good reason for that.
Because there’s a good chance that if you’re reading this diary I have failed.
And I’m dead.
Not just passed on after a long and happy life, but murdered.
You might grieve for me. You might not. I’m no innocent. Not any more. I have lied and cheated to get close to him.
Close enough to destroy him.
I understand that revenge is a dangerous path. I think of it sometimes like I’m trying to catch a wild animal, like a tiger that has become a man-killer. You have to get close enough so that it falls into your trap. But how close? Close enough that its claws might tear your flesh.
Close enough that it might just kill you.
I have accepted the risk. You should know that.
If I am murdered, I need you to understand that I am not the first person Patrick has killed.
And I probably won’t be the last.