{"id":329,"date":"1925-01-15T09:00:50","date_gmt":"1925-01-15T09:00:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/?p=329"},"modified":"2024-07-24T02:27:35","modified_gmt":"2024-07-24T02:27:35","slug":"into-the-abyss","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/?p=329","title":{"rendered":"Into the Abyss"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Journal of Robert Olmsted
January 15th, 1925. New York<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Until tonight, I had no idea why I kept in contact with Father Molokai, Zeke, Mencken, and Luigi over the last seven months. We\u2019re an unlikely band of brothers, forged by a shared enemy\u2014the Calafiore. Some of us stood against the syndicate by choice, others were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Father Molokai had been making the rounds, keeping us connected. We must seem a sort of lost flock to the Father. Compared to him, we\u2019re all lost to one vice or another, and a few of us well acquainted with several.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mencken received a call from Jackson Elias. The call was short, but the desperation was clear. \u201cThey\u201d were after him, closing in like wolves on a wounded deer. \u201cThey\u201d would find him soon. Fear dripped from his voice, pooling on the receiver. Elias holed up in the Chelsea Hotel, room 410.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We piled into the Rolls Royce, Timmy\u2019s foot heavy on the gas, while Zeke and Mencken weaved through traffic in the Packard. Parallel lines converging on the same point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside the Chelsea, I took the stairs. My bum leg is always stiff for the first flight. Lifts are like coffins, I\u2019ll only going in one after I\u2019m dead. On the fourth floor, we met up again, me more winded than the others. As we stepped down the hall, our hearts pounding in sync. The hallway stretched before us, a dimly lit corridor leading to room 410. The air tasted of copper\u2014sweet, metallic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door was cracked open, revealing Jackson Elias sprawled on the floor. But it wasn\u2019t just a body; it was a nightmare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve never seen so much blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve seen plenty of bodies mangled and dashed during the war. I killed two men, that I know of, when our squad came under fire. I\u2019ve watched men trapped in a train car, their eyes wild with fear and lungs releasing a sound that should not be of this earth, as the dark waters of the L\u2019ignon swallowed them. I even beat one of the Calafiore\u2019s bagmen to death with my bare hands. But I\u2019ve never seen anything like this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood pooled around him, a crimson halo. Jackson Elias\u2019 ribs were cracked open, bones jutting out like the teeth of an upturned rake. What was left of the body was torn and sundered. Had something been pulled out of him? Pieces of Elias had\u2014 come off\u2014 in the struggle. My mind almost rejected the image, as if it culd not possibly be real. I don\u2019t even think blades or tools had been used, just raw violence. What kind of strength could rend a man like that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

And then, a glimpse beyond the window. It was so brief and fleeting, it might have been a trick of the mind. A figure. Not human, at least not entirely. It could not be human. The figure beyond the window slid resistlessly into the night. Then there was only empty air left where it had been. That is, if anything had ever even been there. The room held its breath, and so did we. Jackson Elias was gone, but the horror remained\u2014an indelible stain on our souls. Whatever hunted down Elias was gone now, but it was still out there somewhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I clenched my fists as something deep inside me awakened. There was fear and terror, and confusion. Those were, of course, the first things I felt when my knees weakened. But there was another, deeper feeling, growing stronger by the second. Something I hadn\u2019t felt in a long time. A feeling I thought had been killed in me a long time ago. I hadn\u2019t even fully seen the thing, but even so, I felt a peculiar sense of purpose. The destruction of this\u2014 thing\u2014 now seemed almost a duty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the others were going to take up the trail, and follow to settle what happened to Jackson Elias. I felt duty bound to help, and lay this\u2014 thing\u2014 to rest. I felt sure such things should not exist. We\u2019d find answers. We broken, damned, and desperate. I\u2019d welcome the priest along for the hunt too, because for all I knew the thing I just saw was a demon. I don\u2019t believe in god, not after the things I\u2019ve seen. Can\u2019t bring myself to believe in god, not after the things I\u2019ve done. But the thing that slipped into the night, out the window on the fourth floor, as easily as a man might step off a curb, was real enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So then, why am I now grinning with new resolve? It sounds blasphemous, but I feel alive again beside the carnage that had been Jackson Elias.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I like this feeling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ll fight, and stare into the abyss until it blinks first.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Journal of Robert OlmstedJanuary 15th, 1925. New York Until tonight, I had no idea why I kept in contact with Father Molokai, Zeke, Mencken, and Luigi over the last seven months. We\u2019re an unlikely band of brothers, forged by a … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[57,7],"tags":[63],"newspaper_articles":[66],"class_list":["post-329","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-investigator-journal","category-journal-entry","tag-robert-olmsted","newspaper_articles-handouts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/329"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/8"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=329"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/329\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":348,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/329\/revisions\/348"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=329"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=329"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=329"},{"taxonomy":"newspaper_articles","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masks.wilmann.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fnewspaper_articles&post=329"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}