Session 15 - Marcus's Journal

Session 15 - Marcus's Journal

My Dreams have steadily gotten worse, I am still unclear as to how I escaped the jungle.  Sloane and I had made it out, no sign of Rick Luke, the porters, Guillermo, anyone.

I am in New York, I know that, I look out the window to a somewhat strange view of the city scape, the familiar shapes offering me the only comfort my mind can afford.  The white robes and gowns that now adorn me offer little relief, I was in a Sanatorium, not quite as terrible as Savannah, but I can only imagine the difference.

Carter is here somewhere too, I have seen him in the halls, his face even more sunken than usual.  Despite everything I have seen and experienced, my mind still drifted to his wellbeing.

James, the big nurse who attends me, pills, food, assistance, he is a good man, even though it is his job to show some form of care, I cannot stop thinking that he is one of the people here who has a genuine concern for those within.  Discussing theology to great lengths with him has been fruitful, my beliefs, if not rattles recently, have never left me.  My bible, the book I had carried with me every day for the past fifteen years was now lost to me, somewhere in the jungle, the heathens within no doubt burning it on site.  One of the main comforts I have found in this place has been James, providing me with a new bible, and giving my time to read and study.  I have been so caught up in the events of the previous months, God seemed to almost be a stranger to me, his help and guidance now, like a firm hand on my shoulder, aiding me through this nightmare.

The nightmares, that being, that deity, what I can only explain as a being greater than man, yet I refuse to believe it is greater than my Lord God.  It spoke to me, it spoke to Carter, surely a being such as this, only feeding off its worshippers, if a god ad all, would not speak to a man like me, a man with no faith in it at all.  It was Carter’s mention of Glaaki that captured its attention, otherwise, I’m sure by now I would be nothing more than dust.  Is it in the nature of this deity to require the worldly services of mere mortals?  In the scriptures, God has tested many men, trials and judgement, yet to encourage this form of battle, with another deity, this cannot be the will of a god.  As Satan is to be battled by the servants of the Living God, through one’s actions and the way in which life is lived, this form of combat is something beyond the hands of man, hat was I to do against such a monster.

This place, the white tiles, the white ceiling, the occasional flicker of the yellowing lights, nothing about this place creates calm, only frustration.  Cigarettes are provided, one small mercy.  I am afraid now to close my eyes, I see them everywhere, the eyes of the demon, the eyes of the monster.  I even struggle to look patients, Sloane and James in the eye at times, all I see is the gaze that pierced my soul in that God forsaken Jungle.  My dreams, frequent, more than I can remember ever experiencing in my life.  After the war, all I saw when I closed my eyes was death, blood and gore.  Now, that has all been replaced by the images I have seen of such devastating events.  The Mouths, biting and knowing, the corpse of Del La Luz, her head in pieces across the bed.  Sloane, covered in blood of the Russian’s head that he had caved in with his bare hands, most of all however, the eyes, the eyes of the demon, I see them everywhere, awake or asleep, I do not know anymore, as I dreaming, am I waking, the eyes, those eyes.  Walker, that man, that wolf in a man’s skin, he has pained me, I still see the photographs of my house, my wife, my friend, only now when I close my eyes, they are not only pictures, but I am watching the events unfold, all participants stopping occasionally to stare at me, their eyes, that of the demon.

I am a man of God, so why do I wish vengeance and death upon this man, this Captain, this Walker.

Sitting at a table in the common room, this puzzle had troubled me, I had been working on it now for hours, the edges were done, a portion of the centre and top left corner were done, however a piece in the centre, it seemed to fit, yet it didn’t the gaps were wrong, the lines somewhat blurred, something was just not sitting right.   I woke to James knocking on my door, my arms and legs were numb, I couldn’t move, James helped me into my chair as he usually did, the wheels squeaking as I sat lazily, my head rocking as James moved me into position.  He announced I had a visitor.  Somewhat encouraged, I was hoping that Janet had come to allow my return to the world outside these walls.  Wheeling me into the visiting room, sitting at one of the tables, there he was, Walker, Captain Walker.  My feet slid from the rests they were positioned on by James, my grip tightened around the arms of my chair.  I tried to call to James to stop but I could not, coming to rest across the table from this monstrosity of a man.  James walked away as Walker began to speak, talking about Mexico, the Yucatan, all of it, he showed me again the picture of my daughter’s bedroom door closed, he confessed he had now opened it.  He ushered my gaze to the far side of the room, there was my daughter, Chloe, holding hands with another familiar face, John Smith, the suit wearing, smug faced individual from Savannah.  Chloe was wearing bright and bold sunglasses, pink and taking up half her face.  As she approached, I could see tears rolling down her cheeks from beneath the frames.  Walker continued to talk, much to my shock, I only heard him speak of opening the door I did not want him to open, I thought only of Sloane’s friend Dunn, had he failed so miserably at hiding my family.  Without Warning, Walker removed Chloe’s sunglasses.  I recoiled in my chair, her eyes, she had no eyes, only mouths, mouths with teeth glistening with the nectar that rolled down her cheeks as the tears I had falsely seen.

James was knocking on my door, the doctor had requested to see me.  I threw myself out of bed, dressing myself as best I could given my wide selection of white pyjamas and robes to wear.  I walked steadily towards the doctors office to find Sloane already seated inside,  he was calm, much calmer than I had seen him in previous weeks.  The doctor, Dr Franklin had decided to do group therapy with the two of us.  He found it strange that we both suffered memory loss of the same destinations, people and timeframe.

After an hour in the office of listening to Carter spill all the information possible regarding what had transpired in the Yucatan, I had listened to enough, knowing that to any listener, this was madness, we were never going to get out of here.  The only ray of hope being that Dr Franklin said he would look into us talking to Janet on the phone.  Both Carter and I had been found walking the main road into the town we had once set out from on our expedition.  Frank Kearns had found us after searching for us for three days, no sign of Rick Luke or any other members of our party.  We were stripped of all belongings, our clothes, the only thing left on us.

Dr Franklin was keen to hear about what happened to our party, my only thoughts were that he imagined we had killed them or participated in their disappearance.  Carter had told the Doctor all about Guillermo, the bandits, everything.  We were doomed in here.

A few hours after our therapy session, Janet was available on the phone.  I listened to Carter, his please to get out of this hospital, his mind clearly still showing signs of torment.  After a few minutes, I took the phone, Janet wanted my opinion, I expressed my concerns about what Carter was saying to the doctors, he was telling the whole story, enough for someone to maybe look into the story, someone who we didn’t want looking into it.  Janet explained she had already been working on a contingency for the investigation to continue, this seemed shocking as to my knowledge, Carter and I were the contingency from her Father Walter.  I expressed that we needed to get out, not only for ourselves, but to protect the work we had been doing, Janet’s only response was to see what she could do.

Two weeks past before the word came through that Frank Kearns was coming to pick us up.  Two more weeks of bad dreams, bad food and boredom.  My only time of sanity, when James and I would engage in theological discussion.

Our arrival to the penthouse was welcome, to be in familiar surroundings again, a breath of fresh air.  Frank lead the way up the elevator, Carter, still looking dishevelled, myself, back in my usual religious attire, the doorman and bellboys all greeting us with a warm reception, our absence had been noticed.

Upon entering the penthouse, we were met by two strange men, could this be the contingency Janet had mentioned?

Frank Introduced us to the two gentlemen, the first, a Mr Wilberforce O’Malley, a farmer from Colorado, somewhat of an archaeologist, a family friend of Janet, his wife and Janet were apparently very close.  The second man, a lean figure, a Mr Thomas Cutway, a former investigator and journalist who had worked with Walter on his previous expeditions.

Wil had obviously spent time reading all of the journals and notes we had collected, he shook our hands immediately, his respect for the work we had been doing was somewhat clear.  After speaking with him briefly, he had done several expeditions worth of research for Walter during the early 1920’s, he was like me, a researcher, I liked him immediately.

Thomas on the other hand, this was a man that looked like trouble, very much like Sloane, his hands and knuckles well worn, his overall demeaner, troubling.  He explained he had been on the investigative team with Walter up until 1923, conveniently leaving the group prior to the events of 1924, this made Carter very suspicious, mixed with Thomas’s unwillingness to explain, he was not making a good first impression.  Janet arrived and again introduced the two men, explaining their experience, Carter was the first to throw an objection, we had been on this case for some time, who were these two to just jump on the train after it had left several stations.

After a couple of hours of discussion, our attention returned to Thomas, he was to reveal his background, or we in turn would reveal nothing.  After persuading him, he had been jailed for six years at the hands of the cult he had been investigating, this came as a result of his attempts to publish the story of the cult in his newspaper.  To my surprise, the man he described as the author of the setup, known only as the Captain.  He was framed for the murder of his fiancé, something was off about all of this.  At no point in our investigation had Walter or any of his party mentioned this man, this Thomas Cutway.  Only explained as a falling out also due to his efforts to publish their story.  Thomas did however have several details that put our minds at easy, he knew the members of the 1924 farm massacre by name, my picture and more importantly, by Douglas Henslowe’s journal entry regarding the mystery of room 225.  Thomas could reveal that this was no more than their base of operations during their time investigating the cult.

At Janet’s request, Carter and I then began regaling these two men with the story of our investigation so far, Savannah, Los Angeles, Mexico.  Everything to bring them up to speed.  They both seemed to follow with mild interest and enthusiasm.  The story of the Yucatan however is what made everyone’s eyebrows show signs of worry.  Both Janet and Frank were yet to hear this chapter, it seemed like it was obvious by the end why we had spent four weeks in the Sanatorium.

All had questions, all had dismissive comments, if not for Carter’s persistence, we might have been cast back into the wilderness.  The lost logical and strange question of all however came from Frank, what is attached to the mouths?

We didn’t know, something, perhaps nothing.

Wil seemed to stay focused on the topic for longer, his mind clearly racing regarding all of the evidence we had discovered, the archaeological meanings behind the totems we had seen, the markers we had crossed, for a man with no experience, he seemed the most willing to believe.  Thomas on the other hand, although tougher to convince, somehow accepted our story.  It was at the conclusion to the chapter regarding our conversation with the deity regarding the deity and the Liar that Thomas spoke up, producing a book, a Tome that I had not seen before, but I had seen its likeness, something similar to what I had taken from the library of Samson Trammell.  Thomas’s explanation of how he came to possess it, just as troubling as his past, yet I paid him no mind, insisting on seeing the text.

This Tome was wet, as if constantly residing in some sort of puddle, full of woodcuts, parchment, what I can only imagine is skin that has been written on, all showing similar messages and instructions.  This Tome was amazing, instructional, in the ways of communication with what we know to be the liar.

I placed the book down, not wanting to read too deeply, I had spent the last month strengthening my faith, was I ready to cast it into the background so soon?  The knowledge this book possessed could change everything and lead us straight to answers, are they answers I want to find?

Carter continued to talk, explaining that our next stop was Bangkok, we had cleared LA, we had cleared Mexico, SS, the woman, another of the cult leaders, she was next.  Not only was she next, she seemed to be the one with the most answers, besides from George Ayers.  Africa, Wil’s desired location would have to wait.  Thomas also confirmed that he had experienced strange things in the orient, this only gave Carter and I greater resolve to go there.

Only one question remained, were these two new faces up to the task?  Did they want to come out the other side like Carter and I?

Were they prepared to risk everything for something they have known nothing about for so long, would they be of help, or merely another obstacle in our way, between us and the truth?