Transcription Part 2:

((There's a natural break in the notes I kept, it seems like a good idea to pause there. Something happened... someone's posting on this blog right now.))


TD: 4:01:3729

Holmes and Watson (that's what I've nicknamed the two spooks who showed up at Ruya's place almost a quarter ago) allowed me little more than a few hours of rest. I can't believe what I saw yesterday. “Don't you want to meet yourself?” he said... what a fucking jackass. So there is another me out there.. or rather out here. Another me and another Sean. Maybe their parents weren't constantly high, verbally abusive and stupid enough to lose their keys for weeks on end. Maybe they had happy childhoods and each moved into the big city and blah blah blah. Maybe. If I believe in anything, I believe in the multiverse theory, so anything is possible.

Then again, maybe not .

The air is different here. I thought at first it was their anger and frustration at my outbursts yesterday, but then they've never really cared before. No one has come since breakfast but I've been left various books and maps to study. Trying to get a hold on learning about a world that is not your own is absolutely daunting. Then again, I never studied my world's history properly. Your world.

How is it that I'm posting on the internet on this world and it is making it to yours (struck out...) mine? Maybe that's what they mean by Apparent Universal Intelligence... something is sending my words elsewhere so that they cannot be read by the people here.

Wait, if that's the case, how did the spooks see what Ruya and I wrote?

---

TD: 4:03:3729

(Struck out)Something bizarre is happening.

Something even more bizarre than usual is happening. I've been in here since 4:01:3729. I've once a day for what is now the third time and no one has come to explain what is going on or allow me to the showers. If it weren't for a toilet/sink combo in the corner (it really is like being in jail) I would be in bad shape. Trust me, your modesty is gone pretty fast when you're used to being locked up. I've been having nightmares about Ruya and me, but not Me-me. The other me. They're not particularly pretty so I'll keep them to myself but it's getting to the point where I haven't slept much.

I haven't seen a human face for nine hours now and the sound from the rest of the compound doesn't reach here. I'm almost more sure that we're underground, now.

The thing is, either it was part of my nightmare, or the room was shaking the last time I woke up. I'm not sure if it's desperation or bland hope, but I've started reading the material they left for me. I think they hoped to turn me into one of them a lot quicker, to convince me they were good guys despite holding me hostage. It's not working and I can't make myself turn off the part of my brain that says nameless spooks are never my friends. I've dealt with the nameless and the faceless before. I don't just mean the Tall Fucker, either. Sometimes when it seems really interested in people other people show up.

I don't know whether they're doing something it wishes of them or if it has a will that could be understood by anyone. Maybe they're simply drawn to something about those it is drawn to. One thing they have in common is that they're either insane or running from it. The latter don't particularly have intent to find others like them, at least not often. The former are so rarely capable of or willing to engage in speech that I could not tell you their motivations for sure. Often those who are running from it simply keep running, or at least very few believed they were able to stop and stay at the commune that I lived in. I was after all, as referenced before, The Commune Voice. (Though how they knew about that, how the spooks know about The Commune Voice is beyond me. Same way they got the posts from the blog that only goes to my world, I guess.)

The madmen are typically heralded by signs of their appearances (break-ins, stalking, destroyed property) and eventually get violent. Though, the ones who took people from the Commune were so strange. They behaved almost rationally, though their actions and abilities were inexplicable. That's all so far behind me now... now I just want to get back.

I haven't admitted that before... I want anything to be back on my world.

Then again... Ruya.

But about this morning

((Here the paper has been torn to off, about a page is missing, taken by the spooks.) )

---

TD: 4:05:3729

Today, friends, I am angry.

They burst into the cell last night. I know they were part of the spooks' organization but I've never seen any of them. They wouldn't attack me, but they were yelling. Talking about “death and destruction.” They took my notes away and stole some. I think it was just the part where I was theorizing on the shaking I felt a couple days ago. That makes me think I may've been right with one of my guesses. I'm going to go out on a limb and say the fact that they don't want me to have that information is important.

They spent almost an hour yelling at me. They sounded scared.

Something's got to give.

---

TD: 4:08:3729

I've got a hell of a story to write.

Yesterday the spooks I'm used to took me out of the compound. They told me we had work to do but given the contingent of suits (I was wearing mine... I am still wearing mine. I will probably never see the clothes I came to this world in again.) that escorted me from my cell to the garage, I think it was for my protection from the other spooks. They did not try to sedate me and they had not offered me food. Which given that I had been barely eating, was not good. My sorry ass was settled into the back seats and strapped in. When the van started I heard the radio flare and for almost five whole seconds I was treated to a news report about some kind of natural disaster.

Looking back, my stomach should have dropped out then. I should have known what was going on, they'd hinted more than enough. Now I get it, though. I also know what they meant by AUI (Apparent Universal Intelligence) and I know, or at least theorize so much more than I did this time yesterday. I almost didn't want to start writing but I received some rather peculiar encouragement. Now I know that I need to keep going or nothing will get written down.

We rode in that van for hours in silence. They didn't want me to hear that radio and after they shut it off there seemed to be a bit more tension. Given what happened on the fourth I didn't really want to risk pissing off anyone else who I was at the mercy of. Protocols or no, for all I knew they were mad enough to end me. I started to recognize the beginnings of a large city (well, large for this world) after a while and eventually I guessed we were going back to the city where I saw the Other me and the Other Sean.

I got up the courage to ask why we were there but they made it clear I wasn't going to get any answers. That's when the idea came. I was scared and I was mad and I was in a big city.

This was probably my only chance to be free.

There was some natural hesitation. I did not know what they might do to Ruya but something told me very little. I was the only thing that really concerned them. I found myself wondering if they believed anything about the Irdi Field or Ruya's supposed ability to use it to know just about anything. (I wish she had gone looking for the spooks instead of the Tall Fucker, but once I told her what it was, everything I remembered about it, she just got a look in her eyes, an idea in her head and that was it, it was over. You do not argue with a determined Ruyani.)

I started with asking them if we could roll down a window, something simple that I knew they would wave off and ignore. Each time I asked it was with an eye on as many faces as I could look at at the time. I wanted to be sure no one was reaching their breaking points. If they were going to ignore my requests, though, I was going to be persistent. Finally I turned toward the two who came to my ((struck out)) Ruya's house and addressed Watson (the shorter, slightly rounder suit) directly. “I have barely eaten in almost a week,” I forgot that the phrase “week” has no meaning in this world... “and I haven't showered in as long, I haven't been able to use the bathroom in private and I'm starting to forget what it looks like to be outside. I'm starting to forget what I have to lose by not cooperating. For God's sake, let's just stop somewhere for food.”

At first, I thought I overplayed my hand. Not a damn person responded to me. Upon reflection, the bit about forgetting what I have to lose was what did it. Holmes tapped the driver on the shoulder and gave him instructions, street names that mean nothing to me, mostly. I thought, perhaps, they were taking me to a restaurant after all. They probably should have. They would have had a lot less trouble keeping me under control somewhere inside. After a few minutes of complete silence, the van pulled to a stop. Sitting as I was, back against the front passenger's seat, I really couldn't see out of the windshield, but the side windows were telling a story.

I was seeing a lot of roadblocks, a lot of rubble and a lot of construction. I figured when we stopped they would just roll down the windows, but Watson was unhooking my harness and there was a look on his face I had never seen before. Emotion. More specifically, rage. Holmes went first out of the side door and Watson shoved me insistently out behind him. I was not restrained, I was not even being held physically.

The minute I hit the dirt I was rooted to the spot. It looked like a war zone. The rubble I saw earlier was a combination of cement, road and buildings. The construction crews were not building anything, they were checking the few remaining buildings over, like they were trying to see if they were safe. I saw police tape everywhere and no sooner had I wondered how many bodies were pulled from what looked to be several city blocks of rubble than Holmes spoke.

“This is what you have to cooperate for. You did this and you'll do it again.”

I did not think about what happened next, I just acted.

I began to shout “Help me, he has a gun,” at the top of my lungs, both in my language and in broken Kayani. I also began to run.

Where are you, Louis?

No. Where are you? Louis it's me. I got out of there before anyone noticed I was awake.

Where are you

I'm scared.

No Breadcrumbs

There was another incident last week, where I am. I wouldn't normally be comfortable saying that except that there were a LOT of disasters across the sphere last week. Scientists are scrambling, so sayeth the news. Then again, I'm finding that all out second hand as I do not know how to speak this country's native tongue.. or even what it's called.

It is 1:39:3730. If I were to try to take the time to describe their equivalent of New Years, it would be pointless, because it was disrupted by one of a series of disasters both natural and otherwise... one that is starting to affect more than small points on the sphere.

Incoming this evening in the next post are transcriptions, dated as best I could and can. I've had less time than I expected to do this, as I, or rather we, have moved twice and are putting efforts into securing something we need... covertly. This is proving to be rather impossible, but that too is a story for another time.

Earthquakes, Riots, Rebellion

To say the very least it has been an interesting few weeks. As the prior post may tip you off to, I was momentarily recaptured. Since I was recaptured in the middle of transcribing my notes none of you have any way of knowing that, to put it plainly, the world, THIS world has gotten very tense.

Once the earthquakes began in Strudit, it became apparent how poorly prepared for the government of that particular country was. The largest cities in the country, such as the one I was hiding in, are sort of in chaos. I'm elsewhere now. Hopefully elsewhere enough that it will take some time for me to be found, especially when one considers how I got here.

That is a story for another time.

I am, in fact Here, though to try to teach you where Here was I'd need to have a scanner and a map. I lack both, but know that I am not alone... I am here with myself. I am absolutely horrible at thievery and it took me several attempts to get my hands on a device that could be used to finish telling this story.

For me, I think the story may be almost done.

Like I said earlier, suicide would not undo what has been done.

That leaves two options that I can ascertain and they're both guesses, they also rely on an independent variable which I cannot affect.

I'll continue transcription and post again soon.

In direct answer to last post:

Sorry, spooks, nothing to say to you.

Where

louis where are you

Transcriptions: Part 1

Below is a transcription of a small handwritten account of what has been happening to me, dated as best I could.

TD: 3:78:3729

It has been two days since they let me out of that tiny room. They took away Ruya's computer, finally and yesterday they did not let me out to visit her. Today, though, I woke up in my new room (which has a whole wall that is literally barred like a prison cell) to someone sliding in a tray of food. It was someone new, a woman I would gauge to be in her thirties. She was as formally dressed as anyone else I've seen in the building.

I wasn't able to get a word out of her but I ate breakfast either way.

Turns out that the meal was not without a catch.

Whatever they put in it knocked me out after, I assume five or six minutes and I woke up (with no idea of how much time had passed) in the passenger seat of a van outside of the hospital. Ruya's condition was mostly unchanged according to the nurses but somehow as I sat there I got the really bad feeling she was slipping farther away.

The suits gave me several good hours with her and then sent someone in to escort me out. I made the trip back to this place blindfolded, they offered me dinner and then sent me back to this cell.

Not a single person answered a single question I asked and I have so many.

After I scarfed down the meal they handed me what appears to be an atlas of the continent I live on and told me to start familiarizing myself with it, local areas first and then spread out.

I still have no idea where to start, I have no clue how far I am from Ruya's or what “local” even is.

But maybe if I do what they say they'll help me. I don't know, that feels too hopeful

TD: 3:80:3729

I've been staring at the map and made very little progress. I know the names of several cities around Ruya's, the name of the state (province?) that they are in and get a general feel for the landscape around there. The continent we're on has six countries (discounting a small colony on the west coast) all of which are divided into several provinces, though. I'm assuming that I'm anywhere near her but I could be hours away. I had to double check whether it had been a rotation or two since the last thing I scribbled on this pad.

They're promising me that I can see Ruya tomorrow. I might even be allowed to go by the house and pick up my own clothing instead of this suit. I meant it literally when I said they wanted me to suit up. They told me my studies are going to have to “accelerate.”

TD: 3:81:3729

Getting fairly late now I think, but the long and short of it is that I did manage to get hold of my clothing. The shirt, shoes and pants I arrived in are still holding together mostly, and I'm wearing them now. Feels a little bit like home but smells like Ruya's place. She is unchanged, though at this point, you can really tell that her usual hair color is not her natural, you can tell she has been fed nutrients through a tube and you can tell she has not been moving around. You can see the damage this has done to her.

It's damage that, as my captors remind me whenever possible, I caused.

They gave me a book to read. At least it's in a language I can understand. It's a handbook, all about procedures. I saw an acquaintance's basic training handbook after he came back from bootcamp once. It reminds me of a mixture of that and a rule book. I get this really bad feeling I'll be armed soon. Which is really bad when you're at the mercy of some faceless and nameless organization.

Guess it's not faceless after all, actually.

I've got a face.

Fuck that word, “faceless.”

And that monster. What do they have to do with him?

Final thoughts on the book: Most of the rules seem to be not to give out any information whatsoever. At all. Not even the time of day if you can swing it.

----------

TD: 3:84:3729

They have had me isolated in that fucking small room I was originally in for showing signs of mental illness. They tell me it's normal in those who have traveled. I think there is supposed to be a capital T in that. What they don't know and won't until they confiscate and read this in a few hours is that it might be a completely valid concern. Or maybe not. Two rotations ago, on the 82^nd I was being 'observed' while I 'studied.' (That's a kind way to say that they had a guard posted outside of my “Room” to make sure I didn't simply sleep the day away out of petty revenge for not being allowed to go to the hospital.)

I experienced something I haven't experienced in a long, long time and I forgot what it was like for it to be disturbing or novel.

I lost the better part of a day... but I gained something so much more rewarding.

I think it was a gift. That's insane, but it is.

Sean, my brother, he's alive. He's not happy, he's not well but he's alive and with his friends. I saw all three of them together. They look like hell, they're running from something, but they're together. I could fucking weep.

I saw home and I saw the only relative I love.

Fucking spooks can take this paper but never take that away from me.

TD: 3:86:3729

They took the page but gave it back. I'm sure they just think I'm going insane. Either way, I believe in what I saw.

TD: 3:89:3729

This quadrant is almost over and things are getting to be strange. I haven't had any more “episodes” as it were, but I have been given the option of familiarizing myself with the protocols given to me and following them or staying confined to my cell (they've let me out of the smaller room I was first kept in again.)

The vast majority of this, as I said, is simply to be quiet and let others talk. You never want to reveal any information and most importantly, under no circumstances are you to physically engage with a “Traveler.” Like me.

It explains why absolutely none of them have ever tried to physically assault me.

TD: 3:91:3729

The end of a quadrant.

The start of something else.

The usual morning came and went and I kept my head down and studied. I didn't think I had a chance in hell of getting to see Ruya today. I was right, but it still wasn't a usual day. Someone showed up about an hour after I woke up and only gave orders but no information. The concept of pure surrender is to hurry to along to shower, shave, put on makeup that “softens the lines of your face,” dress in a suit you've never seen before and get blindfolded, put into a van and injected.

(All of this without a struggle, because what would the point be?)

I was not knocked out but I was high as a kite. Apparently when someone is laughing or making jokes, not even the spooks' driver can remain a stone wall of secrecy. Not that they got most of it. I know that at one point I started screaming. “DON'T USE THE FLASHY THING ON ME, K,” directly into the face of one of the men who first visited Ruya's place. They were unamused.

Men-In-Black, man.

I made my first mistake while I was drugged up and in the back of that van, though.

It wasn't all fun and games for me, after a while I just got irrationally angry and I think in the end I asked them if they knew about the “Tall Faceless Fuck.” They didn't say anything but that of course means that they didn't say they did not. They did however give me another shot and I think that put an end to screaming or laughing or joking. We traveled for what may have been hours or a day or maybe a few minutes. That sedative was the strongest thing that has ever been in my system, even more than whatever they gave me the first time around. Why did they give me anything I wonder?

When we stopped it was the middle of the day in a busy city. The biggest on this world I've ever been to, which constitutes the biggest of three I've seen. I've noticed something that makes me curious about this world, this culture. I've never seen a building more than three stories high. If they need more space than that it is typically underground. Which, by the way, may be an explanation for why I never see windows when the spooks keep me wherever it is they keep me. I was pretty out of it on the way to the van, so I really cannot recall. As for on the way back? Well, they had to sedate me again because I think I lost it a little bit.

We sat there in dead silence for a while , like they were waiting for me to come around. At one point, the man to my left (one of the two who visited me at Ruya's home) reached over and physically slapped me. Considering I was restrained the only thing I could do was wince, but it did its job. The adrenaline made me a little more aware. Then he reached out and forcefully turned my head toward the window and held it there before speaking his only words the entirety of the trip.

“Blue jacket, red trainers.” (Sneakers.)

I looked for someone in a blue jacket and red trainers and I saw him and recognized him.

Now I know what they meant by “don't you want to meet yourself?”

The man in the red shoes and blue jacket, sipping what passes for coffee around here, was me. His hair was dark black, his skin complexion was closer to Ruya's than mine, but in every other way I might have been watching a video of myself. I was mostly in control of my self, ready to mark it down to drugs in my system making me suggestible, until I saw a boy who looked like Sean, my brother come to meet him.

Suffice it to say when I started to bang my head against the window and yell, they quickly gave me another shot and I wasn't awake until I was hanging half in and half out of my “room” with someone ordering me to walk on my own.

An interruption

This morning I was... interrupted.

I am safe now.

The promised information coming. There's a lot here. I may need to post it in parts just so you can see some instead of waiting for me to finish transcribing it, which... I don't know if I'll have time.

Can't talk about where I am, but this country does not speak my language.

A quadrant later..

I've been writing all this time, to tell you all about what has been happening but it's all been on paper.

It is late in the evening of 4:60:3729.

I have experienced, seen and learned many things. Not all of them are provable facts but those seem to be acceptable. A lot of questions have been answered for me and a lot more created for me. More than that, I've learned things that I need to tell Ruya.

If she would just wake up.

It has been the better part of a full quadrant, the cycle coming to a close. Here, the weather is getting cool, nothing like I expect it is back home, but still cool.

I considered killing myself last night but I am scared and it will not wake up Ruya and it will not bring back the dead. Tonight, I sit in this motel room, still wearing the suit. I don't know if I'm going to be arrested or left alone, but I will do my best to begin transcribing this hardcopy for you.

Update 3:76:3729

They did it simply at first, honestly.

I would step out of the house and they would be waiting.

It's not that they intimidated me that's not why I did it at all. It's sort of important to me as a person that anyone reading this believes that. I eventually had no choice is all. I kept going for about 25 days after the last post I made. I think they knew they didn't have to intimidate me, they just had to wait for me to run out of food or get tired of not knowing. I still went to the hospital daily and they tailed me daily. I have no vehicle or anything so the fact that they were trailing a person walking on foot was blatantly obvious to the world around me.

Once I made it into town people would see the big dark vehicle following along behind me and stare. Keep in mind that by that point I'd already walked what the Kayani language calls a Cret. It's about equivalent to five or six miles. That's how far out of town Ruyani lived. Fuck. She's been gone so long even I've started to call her Ruyani. Well, anyway, Ruya is still comatose. It's all more or less the same. Turns out she dyed her hair. I suppose back home it's not too surprising but her hair was the same color as everyone else's here, jet black. Apparently in her case that wasn't natural. She's a blonde. I wouldn't feel comfortable fixing it for her even if I could afford to buy hair dye.

She and I were never lovers or anything of the sort and it would feel too damn personal. I do make sure she has her things around her... or at least I used to. I've literally been in confinement since my last visit to her and just got out a few hours ago. See, we did this dance, these suits and I. A man I once knew named Quinn would have called them spooks. They're definitely spooks. Anyway, we did this dance, day in and day out. They followed me from the house, into town and eventually to the hospital. They parked out front and waited for me to leave. If I did not leave, a call would be placed anonymously when visiting hours were over and a nurse would come to chase me off.

It was on my third day without eating anything that the instinct to survive really started to kick in. Of course that, as far as I was concerned, meant going to spooks. I didn't like that idea. So my plan was, if I could make myself get out of the bed I would skip the hospital. I would not be the first beggar or the last out on those streets, the way I figured it. Unfortunately that was the day that I couldn't make it to the hospital. At least not on foot. I simply collapsed. I'm not even sure how far I got.

I woke up in the hospital and no one was asking questions about who I was or anything of the sort. They dodged any direct interaction. I ate, I hydrated, I was wheeled into Ruya's room by a nurse and I sat there all day beside her with my stomach churning and my pride wounded. There was only one reason I was at the hospital and not lying in a ditch somewhere along the roadside, after all. They brought me two more meals and when I finished the final I spent the next two hours checking that all of Ruyani's possessions were still there, none stolen. The man who left the video on this blog came in and for the first time since this all started talked straight with me.

He told me that having a choice was an illusion and that he was as tired as I was hungry.

I spent the next two weeks in a room the size of Ruya's hospital bed with paper gowns to wear and people poking and prodding me. There were any number of tests and scans that I can't really identify or describe, even if I was allowed. Most of it was psychological testing. I didn't know why I was going through any of it, I only knew I had to. I am wrong, in this world and I can walk and talk but I might as well be an infant. I know what they want now, I just don't know why.

They've promised to let me see Ruyani daily when I can but told me it might not be every day because it all depends on one thing.

I have to suit up.

I don't want to. I don't actually want answers.

I just want to see Ruya again.

I think this is my fault.  

Maybe it's time, after all.

It is the thirtieth day of the third quarter of the year 3729, for whatever that means to all who are not where I am.

Like Ruya, I can't access the blog. Thing is, maybe there's a reason for that. Only a couple of people have indicated they've read it and you all seem to be... either messing with a pair of completely insane people or from the place where I am, where video entertainment caught on over radio entertainment and didn't need to wait until the internet took over to flourish or where the language I speak (and often butcher) is called English. Maybe we can't access it because it isn't meant to be here.

A while ago we were listening to her favorite show in the middle of the night and a pair of men came by. The voice on that video on my page belongs to the younger of the two. I guess looking back they hinted that I ought to "look to" them for "help." I don't know what they mean by "millions of lives" or by the associated imagery. Wish I had a name for you, none was given.

This "meet yourself" nonsense, too, like he thinks I'm delusional, maybe. I don't like it. I don't like any of this. I spent so much time depressed and alone that I never thought I'd say this but I want to be back in my shitty little cabin, behind the gates of the "commune."

Here's the thing. I'm starting to get hungry, very literally. I think there's beginning to be some suspicion about me at the hospital because a nurse seemed to realize I haven't been eating, brought me a meal and was promptly taken off of duty as far as Ruya goes.

That's the thing, guys. Before, I lived very strangely, in a closed in community, doing what amounts to freelance work over the internet for peanuts and half living off of carefully portioned out student loan money from the last semester I completed before dropping out and running. Thing is, no matter how weird things got or how frustrated I was, I always managed to at least eek out enough for a damned meal.

I may have to go to them after all.

Tell me, though, when does going with two unnamed, suited government types who didn't identify themselves at all ever end well?

3-26-3729

On 2-74-3729 Kzra asked:
What did she try?

On 3-16-3729 Kzra said:

Fuck.

Take it things aren't going so well.

I either of you can reply, keep us updated.

Be safe.

On 3-6-3729 the last post on this blog was made on this computer. Obviously not by me and definitely not by Ruya. The day before the hospital visit she said she wanted to try something. Given what she said happened the last time she “tried something” with me, I didn't want any part in whatever it was. Psychology, parapsychology, voodoo bullshit, I don't care. I didn't want any part in it. I still did what she wanted.

She said she was going to try to find It in the Irdi Field. (By the way, I realize now that I think I heard of the concept of the field before I met her. I don't recognize the word she used for it, though.) She told me she was going to try to access it through and I quote “a sort of self-hypnotized guided meditation.” She also said she hated to do it because sometimes, just sometimes, she swears she hears and sees things when she tries to do that. She told me to come in and if anything started happening, to start taking photographs.

So I waited and waited and the next day, as she was getting ready to sleep (we do not sleep at night) she told me to give her a few minutes and then come in.

So I did.

I could hear her voice through the door when I came in and it was coming through an old tape recorder. Let's say that if I understand anything about all this it's that I don't understand anything at all about all of this. I can only assume it worked at first, to help put her under.

Then things... went very wrong.

Some sort of fit, a seizure, coughing blood, nosebleeds and it got worse from there. I sent for help and they got her to the hospital.

Technically her brain activity is lower than they would hope for... but she's not braindead. She's just comatose.


I wonder if you can imagine how hard it is to get a job when you don't have an identity... or know anything about just about anything in the world around you, or technically have no home. I mean, in reality I'm living at the hospital or Ruya's but technically there's no home.

No one's come by so if Ruya has any friends or family they don't know she's sick. I don't want to ask the doctors and arouse suspicion and anyway the guy who seems to be in charge of taking care of her doesn't speak... whatever language Ruya and I speak. I'd call it one thing, she would call it another.

Point remains. I can stay at her home for now but I cannot buy food and most of what's left in the house now is canned and even that is running low. One more can of terta seed soup and then it's just down to canned vegetables.

I've typed all of this and said nothing about the video, haven't I?

I know whose voice that is.

Mission: RECOVERY

Subjects: OCCHERMAN, RUYANI; RAILE, LOUIS

I think that it's time that you come to us.

Still Out.

2-73-3729 E.L.

She asked me to come into her room the evening before last. Said she needed help for something. I should have told her not to do it, told her not to try it. I didn't.

She still won't wake up. 

Wrong

Once upon a time I wrote a blog of my own. I lived in a place that does not exist, called Michigan on a continent that does not exist, North America.

I mostly wrote out of boredom. When you are in hiding with the same fifteen people and can't really afford to go to places with other people, then it makes a little sense to get bored.

Eight little cabins, a place that used to be a summer camp, families in about four, singles in the other four. I was one of the singles. I was a broke-ass college student (“college” is not actually a word here. They all use “university”) that dropped out and moved up state and hid away from the monster under his bed. Well, that's not true. Never really was under my bed, was it?

Thing is, before I knew I wasn't alone with seeing It, I had an excuse to write off strange behavior in others. After, I had no excuse. I should have recognized the signs in my little brother, even if they were just in my memories. I should have gone to see him long before I did. I should have done all of these things differently. My brother was into another guy, my douchebag parents threw him out. About the long and short of things.

Except its not.

The same nightmare I was in, he was too.

I think I saw him once, I think we were huddled together on cold stone, a ragged, nasty blanket, open sky overhead. I think he said something.

I don't know.

Everyone I talked about in the commune voice, the ones vanishing... I became one.

Thing is, I don't remember much after the door to my cabin got kicked in.

Stone, dirt, cold, outside.

My brother's face, a stranger's face, the blonde's face, the no face.

The metal music, the light, the dark, the cold, the wet.

Not knowing, not wanting to know, lost and confused.

Ruya stomping back into the den yelling at me, why didn't I hear her? Why didn't I help?

All of that.

Then this. Then now, then who I am.

And of course everything I remember... none of it's real... or none of this is real.

Right?  

In Response to A Question

I realize now that I missed responding to a comment I was notified via e-mail about. Since I cannot actually access the blog itself, still, I only can really respond this way. The comment in question read:

"Where is this taking place? What time are you in? It may be possible that this boy can manipulate the Idri Field, the same as you."

Well, to answer the most concerning point first, no one can manipulate the field. If you're lucky, innately talented or dedicated you may learn to read it, but it is what it is despite you. No one can influence it, except, perhaps through simply existing.

I live in the city of Matee, in Orwell. The date, at least as of writing this is 2-53-3729 E.L.

If Louis is not insane, however, I fear that that means absolutely nothing to you.

Visitors

We've had visitors. Well, we've been having a visitor every night for weeks now. I can almost feel him peeking in our window, but Louis swears he never notices anything. That is alright. Most nights we sleep in the living room together, an interior room. To say that we sleep is a bit misleading, rather we both sit up in front of the radio until whatever it is that keeps us awake loses its grip and sleep regains its own.

There were three of them. The first two were disconcerting, but not in the way that the last one was. They wore dark, pressed suits.

Not in the way the last one did.

The first two came in the early hours of the morning. I thought perhaps I was about to get news that they knew who Louis was and all of this oddness would be explained if not ended. We were still listening to a Kayani soap opera (it's all we can find on at that hour, Louis is starting to understand the language too, perhaps out of sheer necessity) when they knocked. Of course, at three in the morning we were both rather on edge and talked to them through the door until we were satisfied they weren't would-be thieves.

I wish they had been.

It was innocent at first. The men, normal looking and nondescript sat down and accepted tea, they nursed their drinks almost gratefully for a minute and then they asked questions. We informed them that, no, Louis really didn't remember anything else. That was because everything he told me he remembered made absolutely no sense, it all smacked of madness. We had long since agreed not to be forthcoming on this point. What really began to worry us was when they started to ask very leading questions.

“Why have you stopped going into work?”

“Are you finding yourself with any new or unusual hobbies?”

“Have you been the target of any crimes lately?”

Though there were others very disturbing, perhaps the one that I found the least comforting was, “Have you been sleeping well?”

Then again, one look at us would tell them that we lied.

They promised to keep in contact, neglected to tell us their names or precisely who sent them and they left. The conversation felt like it might have taken an hour but when I checked the time, it seems they were in and out in all of five minutes.

A couple of hours later I heard a noise from roughly the direction of my bedroom. Louis did not, he simply stared at the floor as he often does while trying to concentrate on the Kayani language. I don't know why he didn't hear it, why he never notices any of the oddness going on but since I can't offer an explanation I try not to dwell on it.

That, at least, was my stance until I got up and went to my bedroom.

I stopped in the hallway leading up to it, cold bare feet on tile floor and all.

I've never seen a man so tall in my life.

Then again, I've never seen a man without eyes, a nose or a mouth, either.

Louis didn't hear me scream.  

It's been almost a full day since I was left standing in the hall way, feeling like an imbecile, but I still don't believe what I saw was fake or imagined. Mostly because of the reaction Louis gave when I described him. 

Perhaps that's a story for another time. I need to see if I can convince him to eat. 

A response to a reply...

I received notification of a comment on my last post. It heartened me to get anything. I know someone, somewhere is reading this.

The reply read: "its spelled america.its south of canada and north of mexico"

I wanted to reply directly to the commenter, but that does not appear to be an option available from the interface.

So I made a new post to tell you something. I have to wonder if it surprises you or it does not, but here it goes:

None of those places exist, but the name 'canada' is similar to a word from one of the larger languages in my country. 'Canad.' In my language it translates to 'north' so I thought that was rather interesting. I could be the victim of a joke right now but I'm not willing to rule out that maybe someone who understands Louis is reading this. 

He writes things down now, when he remembers them. Sometimes they make little sense and sometimes he tears the paper he wrote them on and keeps it for himself. Sometimes he gives it to me. They can be rather interesting, sometimes but often he doesn't entirely understand what it means when he's done. He says he has forgotten how to remember or something of the sort. 

Here are a few of his interesting scribblings that remain unexplained. I can provide no other information for anyone reading or for myself right now. They're in haphazard lists of half thoughts, so I'll bullet point them for you. 

• My brother is alive. 
• ache of sleeping on cement 
• ropes of night flesh
• he has forgotten himself and them
• she is sick but he could help but doesn't know
• the footprints stop why do they stop
• It is not a mask, there is nothing
• It may not always be that way
• many victims found a home, all yanked away
• i am the mystery now
• i am the voice of the commune
• he and she were at their funeral? why? only for me. 
• a broken heart and not much else

 

When I first found Louis, I was disconcerted that someone who didn't know themselves wasn't known by the field. While he cannot decipher his writings and neither can I, their nature is somehow wrong. Now, I am becoming more than disconcerted.

I am having problems sleeping and so is he. 

Something moves outside my window but nothing is there. 

I hope it is not him, I want to trust him. 

I want to understand him. 

I have to. 

The Blog Has Problems

I know it has been rather a long silence. That is alright. Sometimes long pauses are simply the vehicle for deep thought. This was not exactly the case, this time. See, the longstanding problem with my blog has yet to be fixed. There has also been the matter of tending to my new roommate. He has not had much luck in recovering his memories and the two times that I have attempted a guided meditation or hypnotic technique he has had adverse reactions. The first time I simply tried a visual of opening a book and attempting to read it, retrieve what it says inside. The result was a long period of him doubting whether this would work. Well, there is no way to meditate when you're busy doubting the worth of it.

So I did indeed put him under.

When I tried to recall the memories that time, I still tried a guided imagery technique but he simply began to babble nonsense words and shake. Looking back now, I believe it was out of fear. That was disturbing enough, he was not well for a couple of days after. It was the second attempt, when I used a more direct, forceful approach that truly scared me. I have never seen him show much irritation or any signs of violence but after several minutes of directly questioning him about his past, trying to push him to remember, he rose from his seat and struck me. It was only one hit but it was enough that, I'm afraid to say, I did not want to continue. He held no memory of the attack after I snapped him out of it. Indeed as soon as he punched me he simply sat back down and looked the other direction as if nothing had happened.

I'm all for the consideration that the genders are equal, but all the same I recognize that I am a small woman and he is, while not very large, a larger man. The one hit took the wind out of me. He apologizes profusely for it and has taken to cleaning the house or having lunch ready by the time I come home from work. I have forgiven it but he has not.

As for the issue with the blog it is a bit complicated.

I can access the interface to write my post and make it. I can even edit prior posts through it, alter its appearance. Yet, when I go to the address to read it, click on a link in the interface to go to the page, anything of the sort, it does not exist. It is not there. The company has no explanation for me, but I know that the account is out there and it is getting views. What is very odd is that the sites it lists as sources for these views do not exist.

So I am wondering if it is not some sort of error... I have to ask, is there anybody out there?

Perhaps someone who knows who Louis is, what it means to be 'googled' or what Amarika is? It is the only fact about himself he has recovered so far. He is from a place he calls Amarika. I have tried to find such a place on a map but it doesn't exist. It forces me to confront the old worry that I am living with a mad man.  

When I found him.

It occurs to me to get this recollection down while details remain mostly solid in my mind.

It was early morning at the time and I was out of bed and uncharacteristically awake for such an early rise. While I was readying for my day, unnaturally colored light came in through my bedroom window. I will not pretend that my first concern was not for my privacy, however when I covered up and looked out of the window, he was lying in the grass behind my home. I could not focus on him properly at first. I opened the window to try to speak to him, scare him off, threaten to call the authorities.

That was when I heard, faintly, voices, hundreds of them, as if a group of people were standing beside him, whispering. Strange music that I have never heard before, just as faintly, seemed to hang in the air. It passed very quickly and as it did I could see him more clearly. I dressed quickly and hurried out onto the frosted lawn, across it and into the field behind my home, barefoot because I was not thinking clearly. I heard no voices, no music and he was not moving. For a moment I think he may not have been breathing, but the moment I laid a hand upon him to check for a pulse, he gasped.

There is little to say about what followed. I managed to get him inside and I waited for him to wake up. I chose not to go to work... and I have not since. He slept for a very long time and woke up unsure of who he was and unreasonably hungry.  I suppose he is, sad to say, exceptionally small for his height, which is about three inches taller than I am. 

Introducing "Louis"

I have not written again in a short time. That is to say, I have had more pressing concerns. The chief of these being the unknown person now sharing my home with me. He attempted to allow himself to be taken elsewhere originally, but had some… difficulties.

Speaking of difficulties…there are some difficulties with the blog. They are truly baffling and asking around has revealed no answer the problem. I’ve e-mailed the company itself, but no response quite yet.

More importantly, on the off chance that someone out there knows of someone missing, I thought I would introduce him. When all I have to tell you is his name (and for some reason he does not want me to say his last name, he is afraid of being “googled” and is unable to explain what that means or why it scares him) and a physical description it is not necessarily very much of an introduction.

However, this blog was created in response to him, a mystery. I hope, that in time, he will write here too and perhaps help unravel this mystery. I suppose I would have to explain the Irdi Field to him first… but not many people believe in it, he might simply think me mad.

Either way, he says his name is Louis. I had to have him spell that for me, I’ve never met anyone with that name. When I first saw him I assumed he was in his mid to late teens but the more opportunity I have to observe him, I would actually guess older. He has not remembered yet and seems a little confused when I ask.

His hair is a very light shade of brown and eyes an unusual though not unheard of color, blue. He is rather pale… actually very pale. Being about the same myself I recognize it for what it is, a sign of being inside often. There are other signs I recognize in him… though they are more in his behaviors and actions and are indicative of isolation. I toyed with the idea that he may be mentally unstable, surely all the signs are there with words that I occasionally cannot understand there is a reason to consider it, but even so it does not explain why I cannot find him within the field.

He is often very withdrawn and has gone for hours without speaking or moving, he is slow, as if scared or unable to act quickly or take initiative. This does seem to suggest some sort of issue partially in his mind. I do not know how to help.

For now I have a house guest I cannot entirely understand and yet find myself unable to turn out. 

Arrival

It has been 39 hours since I found the boy in my yard.

He has strange clothes and the only thing he says he remembers is his name. It is a very strange name, foreign. I don't know where it is from. We speak the same language, at least. Equally strange-and the reason I've started writing about this-is that a few hours after I found him and the police determined that they did not know who he was I decided to try to find out for myself. 

I went into the library that the field takes the form of in my meditations and I searched for his name. I can meet someone for the first time and they can tell me about a friend that I have never met and that very evening I can 'walk' into that same library and find out anything and everything about that friend. I need a notion, a connection within my own mind. Having a name or a face, or much less both should make it easier.

He was not there.

For those who are having trouble understanding why this is strange, I ask you this. If you could look into the mind of your deity for information on a person you met and yet it was not there, can you imagine the discontent you might feel after?

He is asleep on my couch now and he remains as much a mystery to me as anything I have ever encountered.

When he wakes, I am going to try to lead him through a meditation to see if he can remember anything. It may simply fail, not many people I know have the needed discipline. Then again, if his cup is truly empty perhaps it will not be able to spill.

If my grandfather were still alive, I wonder what he would think of a boy who the field does not know.

The Irdi Field

The Irdi (pronounced: ear-dye) Records or Irdi Field is a phrase from the realm of metaphysics. The word Irdi comes from the kayen word for divinity. In theory it is an energy field which vibrates with all of the knowledge of what was, is and will be in the universe as we know it. Most people cannot begin to fathom such a thing but thirty-three years ago (about twenty-five years after it was first theorized to exist) a man claimed to be able to access it through self-guided meditation using a tape recorder and also in his sleep. What he described was a mix of lucid dreaming and essence projection.

Most people believe he was insane but I know better.

He was my grandfather.