I’m just going to ignore that last post. I’m not going to read it, not going to look at it, not going to acknowledge that it’s even there.

Like an addict, I keep going back to the black chest’s contents. Even when it seems clear that its contents can’t be factual, I keep reading them.

Picked out a letter at random from the chest. The message was from Doctor Jeter, addressed to Elizabeth. He’s explaining that he’s been forced to move production on the designs she gave him to a more industrialized location, but that it should be finished within her deadline.

There’s a problem with this letter: her designs. In her diary, Elizabeth said that all the inventions and plans were the doctor’s ideas. Yet here, he’s claiming the opposite….

The journal continues its trend of oddities. For a long times, Elizabeth’s preparing for this expedition into the desert. It seems like an awfully long time for a simple trip. Ever so often, she’ll mention “it” being around, but doesn’t go into any more detail. Whatever “it” is, doesn’t seem to have done anything important since she last talked about it.

The handwriting on this entry is different than normal. Bit messier, with a few spelling errors (most of which I’ve gone ahead and corrected, to make it easier to read). It’s still Elizabeth’s words, but someone else is writing them.



10:00 PM-Fuck this time keeping shit
I hate having to skulk around Albuquerque at night like some criminal. Yes, I technically am a criminal, but still.

Dorian and I had just finished speaking with some men about hiring a guide for our expedition. All done very discrete and hush hush like. Small room, barely lit by a candle, didn’t even get the names of the people I was speaking to. Dorian assured me we could trust them, but I have my doubts.

When we stepped out into the night and saw a tall, pale figure in black waiting for us, I thought it was back. But no, nevermind, this figure had a face. Just a preacher standing outside the door. Dorian respectfully tipped his hat and greeted the priest while I walked by, ignoring whatever response he had. Was about to tell Dorian to stop chatting and get moving before whatever law enforcement was wandering around caught us, when the priest said to me, “I see that you have come under the gaze of the Pale Prince.”

…..
Alright preacher man, you got my attention, now what are you going to do with it.

Introduced himself as Pastor Gabriel. Tall and skinny guy, not quite bald, but getting close. Easy to see how I mistook him for it when I first saw him. Told us that he could help with our problem, but insisted that we walk with him to his church first. We could talk on the way, he said.

For someone who promised talking on the way, he sure was quiet. I asked him dozens of questions. How did he know about it? What did he want with us? Why did we need to go to the church? All of my questions received short, vague answers. This was getting damn suspicious. I told Dorian to be on guard, but he seemed affronted at the idea that a man of God could be working against us. Damn it, Dorian…. Walked the rest of the way to the church sullenly quiet, while Dorian and the pastor engaged in small talk.

The church was a white painted wooden building, and one of the largest buildings in the city (although that wasn’t much of an accomplishment). Pastor Gabriel went in first and lit several candles to illuminate the place. All that managed to do was throw around a lot of shadows. The pastor gestured for Dorian and I to take a seat on the pews, which we did. He spoke, in calming, gentle tones. While he had never experienced any encounters with it, his time working as a servant of God had led to him hearing rumors about the being he called “The Pale Prince”. Tales had been few, a scattered handful of hastily scribbled notes here, the mad ravings of a man who long ago lost his mind there…. It was difficult, but he managed to piece together enough of the puzzle for his understanding. And enough, he claimed, to know a way to free the two of us from its hunt.

“What way?” I asked the pastor.
He smiled, looking at both of us with fatherly eyes, then he opened his arms and said, “You must embrace the Archangel.”

The door was thrown open, causing a gust of wind to blow out most of the candles. Sheriff Frederick Baker stood in the open portal, gun drawn. I saw him pointing the gun towards Dorian, the pastor giving a slight nod, the sheriff’s finger tightening on the trigger…. I lunged, pushing Dorian aside just as the gun was fired. Pain…. Worse pain I’ve ever felt…. My vision went red…. And I was on the floor of the church, blood dripping from my hand onto the wooden planks, pieces of my shattered bones sticking out of the hole which had been torn through my palm…. Dorian was shouting, there was more gunfire, but I couldn’t see any of it, all that existed was my blood soaked hand and the vomit rising in my throat….

I can barely remember Dorian picking me up and carrying me out of the church. The bodies of the sheriff and the pastor were left behind us…. I’ve never seen anyone look so happy when they died. They must have been in horrible pain, having been shot as many times as they were…. But both bodies were smiling. Not the insane smile of a psychopath, but content, peaceful smiles.

Passed out while Dorian was getting me onto a horse so we could escape. Came to back in Los Valle, lying in my bed. Dorian and Samuel were waiting for me when my eyes opened. My hand had been bandaged, but it’s useless. I cannot stress how much I miss pain medication. Even a doctor can’t do much to help it (if there are any doctors out there who would still help me after my involvement in two prominent deaths). Samuel’s agreed to write this for me as I dictate.

This…. Is not the best thing which could happen to me. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever be able to use this hand again. And with my current medical options, I’m running the risk of infection, fever, then dying a horrible death.
Well, a slightly less horrible death than what I was probably going to experience before this, but a horrible death nonetheless.
So. I’m crippled, in bed, hunted by a monster, just went from “Robin Hood Criminal” to “Evil Murderer Criminal”, and now I’ve got to figure out what the pastor meant by “Embrace the Archangel” (know I’ve heard it before, brain gets fuzzy whenever I try to think of where). I’m guessing my plans for an expedition may need to be put on hold while I think of some new plans.

Unless I get killed in the next few days, in which case, I won’t be needing those new plans at all.



So….. I have no idea what’s going on here. At least for once, Elizabeth also seems to be out of the loop.
I’m almost at the end of what’s left of the journal…. The way things are going, I’m getting nervous about what’ll come next……..
…..
No choice but to read on and find out….

-Lisa