Holy Hound On My Trail

(Theodora. I had my assistant type up the contents of the journal we found. The one we spoke about on the phone. I learned they found it in the old metal file cabinets in the basement left over from before the city bought this place, when the church ran it. I had her type it and try to preserve the spacing and sentence breaks and everything so you would really get the feel. The part I cannot convey is the handwriting. It is – like calligraphy. But it breaks down and gets sloppy in parts, then goes back. You will need to see the original to really get the feel for what this thing is like. l will show it to you when you come. I added some italics here and there to give you some of the non-written elements, but for most of that you will need to see the original when you get here. Everything else is the content of the journal word for word)

 Entry: #1 April 30th, 1965

           Watching… This is the thing that is watching. When I try to go to sleep, I can feel its eyes on me. This a thing worse than demons. Worse than devils. Eyes filled with malice. I can feel them boring into me. Tell me, do you believe in things that go bump in the night?

Ever since Doc Charles recommended to have a sleep journal, I have been avoiding it …until today. I don’t have much of an option since I’ve been hospitalized and today, he basically released his hounds to stare me down until I accomplish some writing. Geesh, this eerily reminds me of school days. I know you are going to read this, and quite frankly I won’t “hold back”, as you assumed I would. See? I’m a good human. But my dear friend and Sir, these creatures, these holy nurses, they can sleep! So, let them sleep! I understand that they have devoted themselves to help the poor and disabled of the heart and body, but they deserve some rest. Also, I’ve been truthful. You know I’m truthful. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. My partner brought me to you because my work has not been up to my usual standards. It’s only been four days that I haven’t slept. I understand that this is not healthy. I can see my red eyes, the wrinkles and blue shades that swallow up my eyes making me appear 10 years older. I can’t explain why I’ve lost weight though, because I haven’t really stopped eating, but I’m sure your pupil, the one that is working on that new drug you talked about, will have some explanation. Though I really cannot understand his ramblings about the differences of ADD and ADHD, and I cannot tolerate his pleasantries and platitudes any longer! Remind him I didn’t pursue my medical degree, so tell him to stop assuming I understand his gibberish and to start treating me like any other patient. But, even If I decided to pursue business and pleasure, I do remember some things, so please tell me what does this ADD thing have to do with my restlessness? I’m not sleeping, but I am still among the best Wall Street hounds and you know to excel you need to be focused and precise.

I hope you are happy with this, I really need to read the journals now. Oh, before I go, I know this journal is going to end up in good hands so for old times’ sake, Neon Lights! Invest!

Entry: #2 May 1st, 1965

Still here. I must admit that your nun hounds are made of strong will. I sometimes wonder if I will disappoint my maker once I leave this plane. Did I ever tell you the time I told my father that I wanted to devote myself to God? I was a proud little round-faced child full of pride and what at the time I thought was piety but was probably the formation of self-importance. I remember rushing out of my bed, sliding down the corridor as if I just won the Golden Globe, knocked on the door of his studio and awaited, yearning for his approval. Well you know him and you can imagine how it went. After letting me in quite annoyed about my early intrusion he slapped me and said: “My blood is not going to go to waste in a temple. You will pray, go to mass, and participate in all the holidays with respect and veneration, but your life must carry on our name in the futures to come!” I was seven. What a strange and marvelous world we live in.

           So, before I go back to my readings and -quite frankly- you know I’ve always been more for action than for pondering. I just wanted to ask you when do the nuns turn their shift? I keep thinking that this is the same person, but I know It can’t be. I’m always awake, but I do get engrossed in the readings. The lights are tolerable but with no window, I’m starting to lose track of time, and these cloister nuns all seem the same to me, if you could let me know their shifts I could probably keep a little more track of time.

Entry #3: May 1st, 1965 Written on a paper napkin found folded in the journal..

If I do several entries in one day, can I skip tomorrow? Of course, this one I am writing on a napkin, so no one sees it. So, I can keep it. So, it’s not… perused. I did figure time out a bit. Eggs and coffee meal must be breakfast. Followed by a sandwich, must be lunch. Hot meal must be dinner. Always brought by a nun hound. 5’4”. Aquiline nose. Scar under left eye. I am calling her Aggie. I have no idea of her name. Younger nun always takes the tray later. But the one who takes the tray, it’s always different like you would think. Like the work shifts are rotating. The one who brings the tray, is the same. All three shifts. Only the one who takes the tray is different.

Entry: #4 May 1st, 1965

           Success! I doze off. But I think It was only for a couple of minutes since the holy hound is indicating to me I need to write more. I refer to her in the singular now. Could it be the one who brings the food works a long day, every day? I must say the nuns are starting to unnerve me but it must be the lack of sleep. Though, do they have to be here even when I’m not writing? Did they take up a penance to stare at a lost scamp sheep? Maybe, I should do more than just recite my daily prayer, maybe they can tell I do it for show.

Entry #5: May 5th, 1965

           They bring me the paper every day. Most days I mark up the stock section just like I would have at work. My little predictive notations. They take the finance section and my little marginal notes once I’m done, but they leave the rest. Why? It sounds ugly out there in the world. Bunch of kids at Berkley burned their draft cards. Plane from Spain downed trying to make an emergency landing. The Pope gave his blessing for the Italian space program though. Maybe they will find God? And they launched the first split capital investment trust. I worked with Montagu and Co. on the draft of the rules for that, you know? Of course, you know. I mentioned always whether you wanted to hear it or not. I can’t believe I sort of miss your pupil’s ramblings now, they could take my mind off the world now.

(Several pages have the next few consecutive dates written, all scribbled out, with no entry following the date)

Entry #12: May 7^th, 1965

Slept.

Dreams like nothing else.

They were ever so vivid, and not like my usual dreams at all.

They found God’s body in space. Some astronauts took his brain, a big, giant brain to Earth. Put it in a fancy office with leather chairs, everything seemed made of mahogany. I could smell high quality cigars. LBJ was there. Pope Paul. And some guy I thought was John Wayne, but probably he just looked like John Wayne. Or maybe it was John Wayne. They brought in a procession of people; they all look liked professionals. I think the astronauts put them in a chair with the Pope and the other two guys watching. Things that looked like jumper cables were put on the brain. One by one the astronauts sat these people. They were doctors, professors, and some were guys I know from the trading floor. They sat them in this one big chair, and they would put the jumper cable from the brain in their hands – whoever was in the chair I mean. They would have them hold it. Then there was this another cable and they would put it in the hands of a nun. Then they – did some process on the brain. They went near it like they would touch it, but never actually did. And the people would rotate. They would change on the one side who was in the – I guess I will call it the professional chair – and also rotate who was in the nun chair. But here’s the thing. The person in the professional chair – always a new person. The nun chair, always a copy of Aggie. A xerox. My food bringer. In the last set of people – the professional was me. But not the me watching the dream. A second ‘me’.

Then was that space between being awake and asleep and there were numbers. You know the rapid eye movement phase? That is unimportant! What is important are the numbers. The numbers told me to watch and told me they leave the door open – I mean the nun hounds that is - when they bring lunch. If it’s true, I am going to go for a walk. I have been still too long, and I don’t care if it is wise or not. Being the good obedient member of the flock, just makes them stare more. So, I might as well stray. Calm my mind that all these images and numbers are just – my troubles, my stresses. This will quiet the voice that says my thoughts about the nuns and the dreams and Aggie – this voice that says I am not crazy. The something really is going bump in the night. I will walk out, see a normal facility out there. See their daily business. They will scold me, bring me back to my room. Probably make me write extra. I am going to keep this journal with me though. But this notion that… something really is off will be gone. And if... if my good Sir… it’s not just in my head. I don’t know what that means for me. Or for you.

(No further entries. After about 30 blank pages there are ledger columns of numbers but with no context. On the last page is what looks like inked fingerprints. You can see that yourself when you come.)