Rorschach’s Journal 2:45pm, Tuesday
Sunny nice day, perfect balance between warm and cool. Made for nice wandering. Made it a point to visit Cherry Blossoms at the tidal basin, located at Jefferson Memorial, just beyond the National Mall.
The tidal basin was aglow in light pink fluffs of flowers. Lots of tourists, unfortunately, however, just tried to get lost in the beauty of it all. Sat for a while on steps of the Memorial, and looked over the water toward the Washington Monument. Sign in hand. Sometimes I didn’t feel like the End was Nigh. It was still a good cover. Now with the new threat of missiles from Iran and North Korea and sneak attacks, the End could be closer than it was back in the 80s.
Picked up my things and wandered back toward the city. Not much collected today. Even the trash was fairly plain. James enjoyed the pompoms I had brought home the other day. Now to look for anything else that may be of use. Had to be discreet. Didn’t’ want to arouse police suspicion. Found that police force a little more numerous in this city, however, not necessarily more efficient, or intelligent, for that matter.
Found an old bell. Pocketed that. Some aluminum cans. Crushed those, put in pocket. A book. Who would throw a book away? “Adventures of Tom Sawyer”. Twain. Good entertainment. Pocket. Ah! A lightly read issue of today’s New Frontiersman! Saved some money! Tucked that under arm and strolled off, happy I had my favorite newspaper.
Wandered over to my usual street corner and sat a while. Usually good donations there. For a moment watched people pass as I sat on some steps and warmed my fingers. Fingerless gloves, what was I thinking?
Suddenly a man in a suit stood before me. He had on an overcoat and carried a briefcase. “Excuse me. I wonder if you may be Walter? The art lover?” He said kindly.
I gazed at him with mistrust. “Er.”
“I’ve been wandering all over this city looking for you. This is from my client, I am her legal representative. She thanks you for your advice. And wants me to tell you a visit would be nice. She’ll be discharged Thursday.” He said as he handed me a small 6 x 8 manila envelope and excused himself.
Staring at the back of the man as he left I wondered if he just handed me a bomb of some sort. I tossed the envelope on the ground and stomped on it a moment. Nothing happened. I tore a corner off. No, I’m still in tact. Throwing caution to the wind I open the envelope. Note inside. “Walter, this is Shari. I know you said you hadn’t wanted me to give you anything, but please, I now consider you my friend and I’m very grateful to you for your kindness. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds, but it would make me very happy if you accepted this as a small token of my appreciation. And dude, come see me I’m bored stiff!”
Wrapped in plain paper was a small bundle of money. For a moment it made me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it was touching that someone thought well of me to thank me this way. I tucked the money into a pocket and hurriedly walked to an out of the way spot off the street. Didn’t want anyone to see me count it.
“20, 40, 60, 80….” I whispered to myself. “220, 240, 260, 280…” I continued. Dumbfounded. A thousand dollars total, all in crumpled up used looking 20s. Nothing new and nothing conspicuous. I couldn’t keep this. No way. NO. Thoughts of James. Thoughts of Shari. It was what she wanted. I comforted myself in knowing that I didn’t ask for this money. That it was given freely. I pocketed it and decided to hurry home. No meeting with Miss Dorian today, I needed to get my treasure home to a safe place. Perhaps I could finally get James checked out at the clinic for his wellness check. Squirrel away the rest for emergencies. And for a moment, for a fleeting moment, I felt a drop of glee. Something I hadn’t experienced in quite a while.
Arriving home safe, I stashed the money in the floor board and picked up James and sat with him a while before spreading out the newspaper and sitting down to read. Yes, it had been a nice day.
For Now, Rorschach
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Rorshach's Journal, March 30th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 2:25pm Monday
Elbow a little sore. Must have hit drug dealer at odd angle. Perhaps arthritis. No, even Rorschach can be in denial about that.
Spent the morning in a whipping wind. March weather so unpredictable. Got a few extra donations because of it. Must have looked pathetic trying to hold on to sign that was acting like a sail. Weather cleared up and sun came out at about 11:30.
Have a little money still left from the $20 yesterday. Chicken was delicious; James and I polished it off. He is growing every day. Soon he’ll not be roly poly kitten any longer. With donations today and tomorrow maybe possible to get him a collar and better quality cat food.
Today to the library. Needed computer again. Same routine as before, check sign with Miss Dorian, exchange pleasantries and then off to computer. Dorian was her smiling self and made sure she was on hand for the patrons should the need arise. Good worker.
I sat at the infernal computer, looked up Gus Sandler. Not sure how much I was going to get or if I were to get any leads. To Google first. Nothing on Simply Gus Sandler. Tried a few other key words. Found something on combination of Gus Sandler+Whitaker+art. Gus was assistant to the director of the art museum. Formerly art trader. Worked for Waterman house. Hurm, a name I’d seen before. Was that where J.S. Riley worked? Could be how he met Sandra? Photo of all three together. Looked happy. Perhaps illicit affair. Breakup of the Riley/Whitaker marriage. But what of his? Listed as married with two children.
Decided to use remaining time to create email address. Not sure how to contact Dan, but perhaps if I made an email address somehow I’d find him. Absolutely no way was I to put my name down anywhere, but what would I pick if I was to make an address that would be obvious to Dan?
I sat for a long while and then looked over to Miss Dorian. She waived and then came over to me. “Yes, Mr. K, do you have a question?”
“I’d like to create an email address. What service would you suggest?” I questioned in probably what was more than Dorian ever heard me say all at one time.
“I like Yahoo. If you type that in it ought to take you through the steps.”
“Thank you, Miss Dorian.” I said as I typed in her instructions.
“You’re quite welcome Mr. K. “She said as she turned her head. Someone was trying to get her attention. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I said, continuing to focus on the computer. www.yahoo.com. Ok. Easy enough and there is creating new account. Put in similar name. Thankfully didn’t ask for address. No one had taken the name I’d wanted. WKbeanjuice. Seemed to work. First and last initial and something from that night when I visited Dan’s apartment when the Comedian died. Tossed him the smiley button with blood on it. He asked me if the spot was Bean Juice. Really amused me.
Typed in idiotic code at bottom screen a dozen times because all the letter number combinations were so mixed up it was hard to tell what they were. I supposed they did that to make sure it was real people signing up and not a computer. Infernal computers.
With that, I’d check in a few days to see if there was anything at all coming up.
Finishing my time at the computer I stood and turned to leave. Miss Dorian smiled as she handed me my sign.
“Mr. K, are you off to Average Joes? “ She questioned.
“Er, yes.”
“I’ll walk with you, I’m just off work and I’m on my way there too.” She paused, “If that’s ok. I don’t want to impose.” She lost her smile.
“No no, it’s fine.” I said as we headed out the door.
Dorian walked next to me the short distance to the coffee shop. “You should come to the library more often. We are starting a feature table with featured books of the month. I’ll be in charge of that. Just different ideas and book suggestions.”
“True, I should read more.” I said, “Would be interesting to look through the latest News Papers. “
“Oh we have everything!” She said, enthusiastically.
“Hurm, I usually get my favorite at the new stand, but sometimes it’s sold out. Back in New York the man used to put one aside for me. But this one can’t be bothered.”
“Which one? I mean I hope we carry it.”
“New Frontiersman. “
“Oh right that’s the one with Rorschach’s Journal. Sure, we carry that, though I have to say, it’s a bit too conservative for my tastes.”
I frown. “I suppose it’s not for everyone.” I concede. “To be honest, I line the litter pan with the older ones.” I felt embarrassed to say. Miss Dorian burst into uproarious laughter.
“Oh I ‘m sorry, no offense, that just struck me as very funny. With the exception of Rorschach’s Journal some of it belongs in the litter pan.” She looked at me, slight offense on my face. “Really, Rush Limbaugh? Come on.”
“Well. You have me there.” I conceded. Don’t care for Limbaugh. Too buffoonish to be of any good.
“So you have a cat?” She questioned. Not sure why but very easy to talk to Miss Dorian. Totally non threatening.
“I do. Brown tabby. James.”
“James, interesting name.”
“After my father. Well, his middle name.” Truth was, I had no idea what my father's middle name was. I knew his first name was Charlie, but didn't want to name cat that. Figured James was a fitting dignified middle name for my father.
“I have five!” Dorian admitted, “I keep finding them! I must have sign on the door, all cats welcome.” She said. “Get this, I have a dog too.” She laughed.
“It’s hard enough to take care of one, but five?” I said as we reached the coffee shop. Conversation dropped a little as the coffee shop was quite busy. We both ordered and waited and then left. There would be no sitting on couches, watching television.
“I should get home. Nice talking to you Mr. K.” She waved as she started to leave.
“Good bye, Miss Dorian.”
I stood there a moment. Yes, this city, friendlier than the last city. Needed to be careful who to associate with. Felt comfortable that Dorian was a good person. I wondered if something should happen to me, would she take James in? I bet she would. Will keep that in mind. Write it down somewhere.
Took my coffee and wandered the streets back to my place to rest a while. Count the money. Have a cat sit on my lap.
For now, Rorschach
Elbow a little sore. Must have hit drug dealer at odd angle. Perhaps arthritis. No, even Rorschach can be in denial about that.
Spent the morning in a whipping wind. March weather so unpredictable. Got a few extra donations because of it. Must have looked pathetic trying to hold on to sign that was acting like a sail. Weather cleared up and sun came out at about 11:30.
Have a little money still left from the $20 yesterday. Chicken was delicious; James and I polished it off. He is growing every day. Soon he’ll not be roly poly kitten any longer. With donations today and tomorrow maybe possible to get him a collar and better quality cat food.
Today to the library. Needed computer again. Same routine as before, check sign with Miss Dorian, exchange pleasantries and then off to computer. Dorian was her smiling self and made sure she was on hand for the patrons should the need arise. Good worker.
I sat at the infernal computer, looked up Gus Sandler. Not sure how much I was going to get or if I were to get any leads. To Google first. Nothing on Simply Gus Sandler. Tried a few other key words. Found something on combination of Gus Sandler+Whitaker+art. Gus was assistant to the director of the art museum. Formerly art trader. Worked for Waterman house. Hurm, a name I’d seen before. Was that where J.S. Riley worked? Could be how he met Sandra? Photo of all three together. Looked happy. Perhaps illicit affair. Breakup of the Riley/Whitaker marriage. But what of his? Listed as married with two children.
Decided to use remaining time to create email address. Not sure how to contact Dan, but perhaps if I made an email address somehow I’d find him. Absolutely no way was I to put my name down anywhere, but what would I pick if I was to make an address that would be obvious to Dan?
I sat for a long while and then looked over to Miss Dorian. She waived and then came over to me. “Yes, Mr. K, do you have a question?”
“I’d like to create an email address. What service would you suggest?” I questioned in probably what was more than Dorian ever heard me say all at one time.
“I like Yahoo. If you type that in it ought to take you through the steps.”
“Thank you, Miss Dorian.” I said as I typed in her instructions.
“You’re quite welcome Mr. K. “She said as she turned her head. Someone was trying to get her attention. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I said, continuing to focus on the computer. www.yahoo.com. Ok. Easy enough and there is creating new account. Put in similar name. Thankfully didn’t ask for address. No one had taken the name I’d wanted. WKbeanjuice. Seemed to work. First and last initial and something from that night when I visited Dan’s apartment when the Comedian died. Tossed him the smiley button with blood on it. He asked me if the spot was Bean Juice. Really amused me.
Typed in idiotic code at bottom screen a dozen times because all the letter number combinations were so mixed up it was hard to tell what they were. I supposed they did that to make sure it was real people signing up and not a computer. Infernal computers.
With that, I’d check in a few days to see if there was anything at all coming up.
Finishing my time at the computer I stood and turned to leave. Miss Dorian smiled as she handed me my sign.
“Mr. K, are you off to Average Joes? “ She questioned.
“Er, yes.”
“I’ll walk with you, I’m just off work and I’m on my way there too.” She paused, “If that’s ok. I don’t want to impose.” She lost her smile.
“No no, it’s fine.” I said as we headed out the door.
Dorian walked next to me the short distance to the coffee shop. “You should come to the library more often. We are starting a feature table with featured books of the month. I’ll be in charge of that. Just different ideas and book suggestions.”
“True, I should read more.” I said, “Would be interesting to look through the latest News Papers. “
“Oh we have everything!” She said, enthusiastically.
“Hurm, I usually get my favorite at the new stand, but sometimes it’s sold out. Back in New York the man used to put one aside for me. But this one can’t be bothered.”
“Which one? I mean I hope we carry it.”
“New Frontiersman. “
“Oh right that’s the one with Rorschach’s Journal. Sure, we carry that, though I have to say, it’s a bit too conservative for my tastes.”
I frown. “I suppose it’s not for everyone.” I concede. “To be honest, I line the litter pan with the older ones.” I felt embarrassed to say. Miss Dorian burst into uproarious laughter.
“Oh I ‘m sorry, no offense, that just struck me as very funny. With the exception of Rorschach’s Journal some of it belongs in the litter pan.” She looked at me, slight offense on my face. “Really, Rush Limbaugh? Come on.”
“Well. You have me there.” I conceded. Don’t care for Limbaugh. Too buffoonish to be of any good.
“So you have a cat?” She questioned. Not sure why but very easy to talk to Miss Dorian. Totally non threatening.
“I do. Brown tabby. James.”
“James, interesting name.”
“After my father. Well, his middle name.” Truth was, I had no idea what my father's middle name was. I knew his first name was Charlie, but didn't want to name cat that. Figured James was a fitting dignified middle name for my father.
“I have five!” Dorian admitted, “I keep finding them! I must have sign on the door, all cats welcome.” She said. “Get this, I have a dog too.” She laughed.
“It’s hard enough to take care of one, but five?” I said as we reached the coffee shop. Conversation dropped a little as the coffee shop was quite busy. We both ordered and waited and then left. There would be no sitting on couches, watching television.
“I should get home. Nice talking to you Mr. K.” She waved as she started to leave.
“Good bye, Miss Dorian.”
I stood there a moment. Yes, this city, friendlier than the last city. Needed to be careful who to associate with. Felt comfortable that Dorian was a good person. I wondered if something should happen to me, would she take James in? I bet she would. Will keep that in mind. Write it down somewhere.
Took my coffee and wandered the streets back to my place to rest a while. Count the money. Have a cat sit on my lap.
For now, Rorschach
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 29th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 10:32pm, Sunday
Wandering U Street, bad part of town. Still thinking about the events of the last few days, Sandra’s selfishness, pointless murder, Shari’s gratitude. Thoughts of Dan as well. Wondered where he was. How he was doing. How his kids, my Godchildren, were. Needed to visit library Monday. Perhaps can investigate further.
Warm today, night slightly cooler, but still only in the 50s. Never a fan of warm weather. Not a fan of cold weather either. Not looking forward to melting in the Washington DC heat.
Streets empty tonight. Made for slim hunting. Hard to believe someone isn’t being attacked or not dealing tonight. Maybe spring fever. Would think Spring Fever would drive people out into the streets.
Turned corner, two shadows. This was more like it. Stepped into the shadows myself. Crept closer.
“I’ll buy whatever you have on you.”
“Is that so? I have a lot on me.”
The two bickered. One desperate for drugs, the other pressing hard for a profit, knowing he had a sucker.
“Look man just tell me what the hell you want!”
“$300 for the whole thing. Best rock in town.”
“$300, Jesus Christ! How about for half? Let’s make a deal.”
“Aw Sh*t man don’t be jerking my chain, first you want it, now you wanna bargain. You asked, I told you, now you want it or not? And I ain’t doin’ no checks either. Damn fool.”
“How about nothing for neither of you?” I stepped out of the shadows right next to both of them.
“What?” The young buyer turned, surprise on his drug worn face.
“Oh Crap!” The dealer shouted and turned to run.
I grabbed him by the collar to keep him from running as well as swept a leg around to topple over the buyer. With the buyer down and scrambling I then leaped up and came down hard on the pusher with my elbow. “No dealing tonight.” The pusher was stunned as I then turned to the buyer. “Any last requests?” I said as I reached down and picked up his ankle.
“No man, please, I’m desperate! Can’t you see, I’m stuck, I’m hooked, I’m….”
“Go to rehab, I hear they can treat your drug addiction while giving you physical therapy.” I twisted the man’s ankle sharply. He screamed. I hadn't twisted hard. He must already had been high. Vermin.
By then the pusher had gotten to his feet and started to run. Took off after him. He seemed to think he was some great athlete. Though I’m getting older, I kept in shape. Quite easy to keep up with him.
Before he could get very far, tripped him up and smashed him into the cement. Pressed knee against spine and clamped hand around back of neck. Ground his face into the pavement.
“What the hell are you! Get the F*ck off me!”
“Tell your ‘Posse’ I’ll be watching them. Next time I find you out here, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” I ground his face more, “Understand?”
“Yeah yeah, man, oh God!”
A moment later, I was off the dealer and back out into the shadows. He laid there quite a while before getting up and limping off.
The other had staggered away as well. Perhaps he wasn’t a terrible person, merely hooked by demonic drugs, however, what did it matter. Without help if I killed him or the drugs killed him either way he’d be dead. He was lucky tonight. Hopefully this changed his life somehow. If not, I’d see him again.
Wandered out of the area, hands in pocket. Yes, quiet tonight. Only one scuffle.
Managed to walk a long while uneventfully. Made it to the National Mall. Liked it there. Serene. Couldn’t resist peaking through the garbage. Tourists sometimes deposited the best gifts. Found half a pack of cigarettes. Destroyed them. They are no good to anyone. Also found a few detached pompoms from a child’s winter coat. Good cat toys. Pocketed them.
Sat on park bench, stared at Capital. Symbol of freedom. Nice spring night.
For now, Rorschach
Wandering U Street, bad part of town. Still thinking about the events of the last few days, Sandra’s selfishness, pointless murder, Shari’s gratitude. Thoughts of Dan as well. Wondered where he was. How he was doing. How his kids, my Godchildren, were. Needed to visit library Monday. Perhaps can investigate further.
Warm today, night slightly cooler, but still only in the 50s. Never a fan of warm weather. Not a fan of cold weather either. Not looking forward to melting in the Washington DC heat.
Streets empty tonight. Made for slim hunting. Hard to believe someone isn’t being attacked or not dealing tonight. Maybe spring fever. Would think Spring Fever would drive people out into the streets.
Turned corner, two shadows. This was more like it. Stepped into the shadows myself. Crept closer.
“I’ll buy whatever you have on you.”
“Is that so? I have a lot on me.”
The two bickered. One desperate for drugs, the other pressing hard for a profit, knowing he had a sucker.
“Look man just tell me what the hell you want!”
“$300 for the whole thing. Best rock in town.”
“$300, Jesus Christ! How about for half? Let’s make a deal.”
“Aw Sh*t man don’t be jerking my chain, first you want it, now you wanna bargain. You asked, I told you, now you want it or not? And I ain’t doin’ no checks either. Damn fool.”
“How about nothing for neither of you?” I stepped out of the shadows right next to both of them.
“What?” The young buyer turned, surprise on his drug worn face.
“Oh Crap!” The dealer shouted and turned to run.
I grabbed him by the collar to keep him from running as well as swept a leg around to topple over the buyer. With the buyer down and scrambling I then leaped up and came down hard on the pusher with my elbow. “No dealing tonight.” The pusher was stunned as I then turned to the buyer. “Any last requests?” I said as I reached down and picked up his ankle.
“No man, please, I’m desperate! Can’t you see, I’m stuck, I’m hooked, I’m….”
“Go to rehab, I hear they can treat your drug addiction while giving you physical therapy.” I twisted the man’s ankle sharply. He screamed. I hadn't twisted hard. He must already had been high. Vermin.
By then the pusher had gotten to his feet and started to run. Took off after him. He seemed to think he was some great athlete. Though I’m getting older, I kept in shape. Quite easy to keep up with him.
Before he could get very far, tripped him up and smashed him into the cement. Pressed knee against spine and clamped hand around back of neck. Ground his face into the pavement.
“What the hell are you! Get the F*ck off me!”
“Tell your ‘Posse’ I’ll be watching them. Next time I find you out here, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” I ground his face more, “Understand?”
“Yeah yeah, man, oh God!”
A moment later, I was off the dealer and back out into the shadows. He laid there quite a while before getting up and limping off.
The other had staggered away as well. Perhaps he wasn’t a terrible person, merely hooked by demonic drugs, however, what did it matter. Without help if I killed him or the drugs killed him either way he’d be dead. He was lucky tonight. Hopefully this changed his life somehow. If not, I’d see him again.
Wandered out of the area, hands in pocket. Yes, quiet tonight. Only one scuffle.
Managed to walk a long while uneventfully. Made it to the National Mall. Liked it there. Serene. Couldn’t resist peaking through the garbage. Tourists sometimes deposited the best gifts. Found half a pack of cigarettes. Destroyed them. They are no good to anyone. Also found a few detached pompoms from a child’s winter coat. Good cat toys. Pocketed them.
Sat on park bench, stared at Capital. Symbol of freedom. Nice spring night.
For now, Rorschach
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 28th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 2:46pm, Saturday
Spent part of the day collecting recyclables for cash. Lucky day, found 20 dollar bill in the garbage. Slightly folded. Someone must have thrown it away by mistake. Will go buy cat food and some supplies later.
Dropped signs off at apartment. Patted James a while before cleaning self up a bit. Only sink and toilet in bathroom, had to make due. Didn’t want to go to Hospital smelling bad. If they didn’t recognize my face surely they’d notice bad smell.
Left apartment, quick ride on metro. Metro does not go to Georgetown, needed to walk a while to reach hospital. Still, not too bad and the spring day, though drizzly, was a welcome change from winter time. Picked a branch of cherry blossom on the way.
Stopped at front desk. “Looking for Shari Whitaker’s room.” I questioned the overly smiley receptionist.
“Oh yes, she’s taking visitors now. Let me see…” He looked at his computer screen, “Room 215. The elevators are just over there.” He pointed to the right. I nodded my thanks and waited for an elevator.
No elevator music, thankfully. No one on elevator either. The hospital seemed a bit quiet today for a city hospital.
Elevator released me on 2nd floor. Wandered out looking for signs that pointed to room 215. For a moment was caught with a start. Large statue of Virgin Mary stood in the corner. Her soft face greeted anyone who cared to approach. I had forgotten, Georgetown was a Catholic hospital. Though largely agnostic, I still tipped a respectful nod toward the Virgin and wandered in the direction of 215.
*knock knock*
“You must not be a nurse, come on in!” a female voice called out, somewhat weakly.
I wandered in, looking around the curtain. Hopefully she would be decent. It always seems that whenever anyone visits anyone else in the hospital a bed pan was being changed.
Shari, laying slightly propped up in bed, looked up. “Oh hey!” She said as she scrambled around for the television remote to turn the idiot box off. “Walter, I’m surprised to see you!” She said as she waived her good arm for me to approach.
“You’re looking remarkably well Miss Whitaker.” I said as I walked up to the bedside. I gave her a rare faint smile along with the cherry blossom sprig.
“Walter, I’m so happy to see someone who isn’t coming at me with a needle, thermometer, or cup of pills.” She rested her head back on her pillow.
“Well, surely, you’ve seen better than the likes of a vagrant.” I paused, “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Shari sighed, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m recovering, but…..” a tear welled in her eye, “I’m still confused about what happened, why, you know? I mean, mom and I hadn’t gotten along. I was just there to pick up my stuff.”
“At 1:30 in the morning?” I questioned absentmindedly.
“How did you know it was 1:30?” she asked.
“The news.” I offered in all seriousness.
“Oh.” She thought for a moment, “I thought that if I came in late she’d be asleep and I could just get my things and go.” She wiped her tear. “And that man was there, the one with the black and white mask. The one who helped me the other night.”
I knit my brows, “Who helped you?” I questioned, to throw off suspicion.
“I don’t know, the other night, this man in this moving black and white spotted mask came in to the bar and broke some of the gang’s fingers and then that was when he pulled me out of there, after Jace slugged me.” Her face winced and she started to cry. “I don’t know what I’d have done, actually. I knew Jace was the wrong kind of people but I had no idea until that night that it was so bad.” She looked up, the redness of her eyes accenting their blue color, “Do you know who that was?”
“I’ve heard of him.” I said, succinctly, “Word of him gets around the streets, his name is Rorschach. He protects the innocent.” I paused, “Did you tell the police about him?”
“No, I was afraid he’d get in trouble. Same as the other night too. He was there. I guess he was talking to Mom about what happened. I’ve been watching on the news. She was the one who killed Jace and shot me. I just can’t believe she’d do something that drastic.”
I patted her forearm, “Drugs and alcohol make a lot of people do drastic things.”
“Yeah, but Mom was always a control freak. Must have been that guy she was seeing.”
“Guy?” I questioned.
“Gus Sandler.” She shook her head. “He’s got something to do with the museum, I think.”
“Hurm.”
“Do you suppose that mom was trying to shoot this Rorschach guy? Is he ok, you think?”
“I think he is. It’s hard to kill him.” I said, not revealing too much.
Shari cried again, “What do I do now. Walter, I’m all alone now.”
I clumsily tried to comfort her, “I met a nun the other day, when I was at the exhibit. She seemed to want to help me. I guess I looked in need. She said her name in passing, Sister Agnes. I believe. She said she was there to help. You can find her at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. I’d start there. Tell her that red haired homeless looking man from the Michelangelo Exhibit sent you. I have a feeling she’ll know who.” I paused, “Don’t tell anyone you are going there.”
“How come?” Shari’s eyebrows knit together with concern,
“Because if this Gus Sandler had anything to do with pushing your mother over the edge, he might try something with you.”
“Oh crap.” Shari looked a little frightened.
“Next, I would hire a lawyer, the best you can find. Shari you’re inheriting a massive fortune, you need to be protected and as much as I hate lawyers, they can be good for something.”
Shari perked up, “Walter let me help you.” She said, looking enthusiastic.
“No, it’s ok.”
“No I want to help you. Youv’e helped me let me help you.”
“Just get better.” I said, uncomfortable at being given money or benefits without earning them.
Shari looked at me a moment, “Thank you. You’ll visit again won’t you?” She questioned.
“I don’t know. I…..hospitals trouble me.” I said as I twirled the ring on my finger and pulled it off. I handed it to her. “I thought you might want this.”
“What….?” She took the ring.
“Your father’s ring. I found it near the museum. Pays off staring at the ground for loose change. Thought it would be good for you to have something to remember your father by.”
Shari looked up and smiled gently, “Thank you.” She said. “That means a lot to me.” She raised her good arm for a hug.
I was frozen a moment. No one ever asked for a hug before, not in all my life. No wait, I take that back, there were plenty of women who wanted something out of Rorschach, one way or another. There were a lot of, how do they put it, Fangirls, out there. It was something I found very strange. But no one ever wanted to be near Walter Kovacs before.
I leaned in and let her hug me.
“You have to promise to come back to see me.” She smiled.
“Well, I can promise I’ll try.” I said, “You should rest.”
“Tell Rorschach, if you see him around, that I’m ok, and tell him thank you. Tell him, his secret is safe.” She smiled.
I nodded, “Bye.” I waived as I exited the room. What did she mean his secret was safe? Did she know Rorschach and I were one in the same? No, not possible, she continued to tell me things to tell him and she had no deceit in her face when she said it. I left it at that and reached for my finger absently, finding no ring there. The absence of the ring on my finger was noticeable. Oddly, I missed it. I was glad it went back to it’s rightful owner, however. And I am glad I hadn’t pawned it either.”
Passing the Virgin Mary in the hallway, I nodded in her direction again. The Mother of Mercy. Hopefully the nuns will help Shari.
Leaving the hospital I stopped by the grocery store on the way home. James would eat well tonight. A roast chicken for us to share.
For now, Rorschach
Spent part of the day collecting recyclables for cash. Lucky day, found 20 dollar bill in the garbage. Slightly folded. Someone must have thrown it away by mistake. Will go buy cat food and some supplies later.
Dropped signs off at apartment. Patted James a while before cleaning self up a bit. Only sink and toilet in bathroom, had to make due. Didn’t want to go to Hospital smelling bad. If they didn’t recognize my face surely they’d notice bad smell.
Left apartment, quick ride on metro. Metro does not go to Georgetown, needed to walk a while to reach hospital. Still, not too bad and the spring day, though drizzly, was a welcome change from winter time. Picked a branch of cherry blossom on the way.
Stopped at front desk. “Looking for Shari Whitaker’s room.” I questioned the overly smiley receptionist.
“Oh yes, she’s taking visitors now. Let me see…” He looked at his computer screen, “Room 215. The elevators are just over there.” He pointed to the right. I nodded my thanks and waited for an elevator.
No elevator music, thankfully. No one on elevator either. The hospital seemed a bit quiet today for a city hospital.
Elevator released me on 2nd floor. Wandered out looking for signs that pointed to room 215. For a moment was caught with a start. Large statue of Virgin Mary stood in the corner. Her soft face greeted anyone who cared to approach. I had forgotten, Georgetown was a Catholic hospital. Though largely agnostic, I still tipped a respectful nod toward the Virgin and wandered in the direction of 215.
*knock knock*
“You must not be a nurse, come on in!” a female voice called out, somewhat weakly.
I wandered in, looking around the curtain. Hopefully she would be decent. It always seems that whenever anyone visits anyone else in the hospital a bed pan was being changed.
Shari, laying slightly propped up in bed, looked up. “Oh hey!” She said as she scrambled around for the television remote to turn the idiot box off. “Walter, I’m surprised to see you!” She said as she waived her good arm for me to approach.
“You’re looking remarkably well Miss Whitaker.” I said as I walked up to the bedside. I gave her a rare faint smile along with the cherry blossom sprig.
“Walter, I’m so happy to see someone who isn’t coming at me with a needle, thermometer, or cup of pills.” She rested her head back on her pillow.
“Well, surely, you’ve seen better than the likes of a vagrant.” I paused, “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Shari sighed, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m recovering, but…..” a tear welled in her eye, “I’m still confused about what happened, why, you know? I mean, mom and I hadn’t gotten along. I was just there to pick up my stuff.”
“At 1:30 in the morning?” I questioned absentmindedly.
“How did you know it was 1:30?” she asked.
“The news.” I offered in all seriousness.
“Oh.” She thought for a moment, “I thought that if I came in late she’d be asleep and I could just get my things and go.” She wiped her tear. “And that man was there, the one with the black and white mask. The one who helped me the other night.”
I knit my brows, “Who helped you?” I questioned, to throw off suspicion.
“I don’t know, the other night, this man in this moving black and white spotted mask came in to the bar and broke some of the gang’s fingers and then that was when he pulled me out of there, after Jace slugged me.” Her face winced and she started to cry. “I don’t know what I’d have done, actually. I knew Jace was the wrong kind of people but I had no idea until that night that it was so bad.” She looked up, the redness of her eyes accenting their blue color, “Do you know who that was?”
“I’ve heard of him.” I said, succinctly, “Word of him gets around the streets, his name is Rorschach. He protects the innocent.” I paused, “Did you tell the police about him?”
“No, I was afraid he’d get in trouble. Same as the other night too. He was there. I guess he was talking to Mom about what happened. I’ve been watching on the news. She was the one who killed Jace and shot me. I just can’t believe she’d do something that drastic.”
I patted her forearm, “Drugs and alcohol make a lot of people do drastic things.”
“Yeah, but Mom was always a control freak. Must have been that guy she was seeing.”
“Guy?” I questioned.
“Gus Sandler.” She shook her head. “He’s got something to do with the museum, I think.”
“Hurm.”
“Do you suppose that mom was trying to shoot this Rorschach guy? Is he ok, you think?”
“I think he is. It’s hard to kill him.” I said, not revealing too much.
Shari cried again, “What do I do now. Walter, I’m all alone now.”
I clumsily tried to comfort her, “I met a nun the other day, when I was at the exhibit. She seemed to want to help me. I guess I looked in need. She said her name in passing, Sister Agnes. I believe. She said she was there to help. You can find her at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. I’d start there. Tell her that red haired homeless looking man from the Michelangelo Exhibit sent you. I have a feeling she’ll know who.” I paused, “Don’t tell anyone you are going there.”
“How come?” Shari’s eyebrows knit together with concern,
“Because if this Gus Sandler had anything to do with pushing your mother over the edge, he might try something with you.”
“Oh crap.” Shari looked a little frightened.
“Next, I would hire a lawyer, the best you can find. Shari you’re inheriting a massive fortune, you need to be protected and as much as I hate lawyers, they can be good for something.”
Shari perked up, “Walter let me help you.” She said, looking enthusiastic.
“No, it’s ok.”
“No I want to help you. Youv’e helped me let me help you.”
“Just get better.” I said, uncomfortable at being given money or benefits without earning them.
Shari looked at me a moment, “Thank you. You’ll visit again won’t you?” She questioned.
“I don’t know. I…..hospitals trouble me.” I said as I twirled the ring on my finger and pulled it off. I handed it to her. “I thought you might want this.”
“What….?” She took the ring.
“Your father’s ring. I found it near the museum. Pays off staring at the ground for loose change. Thought it would be good for you to have something to remember your father by.”
Shari looked up and smiled gently, “Thank you.” She said. “That means a lot to me.” She raised her good arm for a hug.
I was frozen a moment. No one ever asked for a hug before, not in all my life. No wait, I take that back, there were plenty of women who wanted something out of Rorschach, one way or another. There were a lot of, how do they put it, Fangirls, out there. It was something I found very strange. But no one ever wanted to be near Walter Kovacs before.
I leaned in and let her hug me.
“You have to promise to come back to see me.” She smiled.
“Well, I can promise I’ll try.” I said, “You should rest.”
“Tell Rorschach, if you see him around, that I’m ok, and tell him thank you. Tell him, his secret is safe.” She smiled.
I nodded, “Bye.” I waived as I exited the room. What did she mean his secret was safe? Did she know Rorschach and I were one in the same? No, not possible, she continued to tell me things to tell him and she had no deceit in her face when she said it. I left it at that and reached for my finger absently, finding no ring there. The absence of the ring on my finger was noticeable. Oddly, I missed it. I was glad it went back to it’s rightful owner, however. And I am glad I hadn’t pawned it either.”
Passing the Virgin Mary in the hallway, I nodded in her direction again. The Mother of Mercy. Hopefully the nuns will help Shari.
Leaving the hospital I stopped by the grocery store on the way home. James would eat well tonight. A roast chicken for us to share.
For now, Rorschach
Friday, March 27, 2009
Rorschach's Journal march 27th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 3:22 pm
Had a bout with James today. He wanted to go out with me. Better not. I suppose he gets lonely when I’m out all day and out all night. Perhaps I ought to get a leash for him and take him out during the day.
Found discarded coffee gift card on street. Went to usual coffee shop, “Average Joe’s”. Turns out, $18 left on card. Had a moment of conscience, but just a moment and then bought myself a coffee. No regrets using card, it had apparently been on the street for a number of days, being run over and kicked about.
Watched television at Average Joe’s. Miss Dorian walked in again today, looking tired. Must have gotten off work. She was always so infernally cheerful at the Library; it was so different to see her this way. As she turned she caught sight of me. The smile broadened.
“Mr. K! I didn’t know you were a coffee fan!” She said as she wandered over, to-go cup in hand.
“My one addiction.” I said as I sat back, “That and comfortable chairs.” I paused, “Catching up on the news.” I pointed at the Television.
“I’ve just gotten off work.” She sat down in chair next to me. Felt a little out of place, but I managed.
“Me too.” I said and patted the sign propped up against my chair.
She laughed. “I always stop for coffee after work. My favorite drink. I went on a trip to Rome a year ago and got hooked on the stuff then. Though when I’m here I always drink it sweet with a lot of cream.”
“Rome, very nice.” I said, “Never been there, would be nice though. “ I paused, “Cream, lots of sugar.” I raised my cup.
Miss Dorian smiled as the television caught her eye. “Looks like that girl is out of critical condition.” She said, “I’d been following the Michelangelo Murders, can you believe what happened?” She shook her head, “I’d heard that that murderer woman was totally hopped up on drugs and alcohol. She must have been a very sad person. I wonder what her reason was for that?”
“Not sure, maybe someone bad in her life.” I thought back to the man at the funeral.
“Could be. I don’t know. People they interviewed though all said she was a bit of a jerk. ” Dorian looked at her watch, “I have to be getting home, come by the library sometime and visit!” She smiled.
“Will do.” I said as she got up, went to the coffee station, poured out some of her coffee and poured in quite a lot of cream.
Shari is out of critical. I sat there a moment, finishing my own coffee. I wondered if she knew, if anyone had told her anything. Then again, how could they, no one was there, but me. Rorschach couldn’t go to tell her, too many witnesses, however, Walter might be able to get in. Still couldn’t tell her firsthand account. I twirled the ring around my finger. I’d grown accustomed to wearing it. Tomorrow, I shall go visit Shari. Wonder if she’d remember me.
For now, Rorschach
Had a bout with James today. He wanted to go out with me. Better not. I suppose he gets lonely when I’m out all day and out all night. Perhaps I ought to get a leash for him and take him out during the day.
Found discarded coffee gift card on street. Went to usual coffee shop, “Average Joe’s”. Turns out, $18 left on card. Had a moment of conscience, but just a moment and then bought myself a coffee. No regrets using card, it had apparently been on the street for a number of days, being run over and kicked about.
Watched television at Average Joe’s. Miss Dorian walked in again today, looking tired. Must have gotten off work. She was always so infernally cheerful at the Library; it was so different to see her this way. As she turned she caught sight of me. The smile broadened.
“Mr. K! I didn’t know you were a coffee fan!” She said as she wandered over, to-go cup in hand.
“My one addiction.” I said as I sat back, “That and comfortable chairs.” I paused, “Catching up on the news.” I pointed at the Television.
“I’ve just gotten off work.” She sat down in chair next to me. Felt a little out of place, but I managed.
“Me too.” I said and patted the sign propped up against my chair.
She laughed. “I always stop for coffee after work. My favorite drink. I went on a trip to Rome a year ago and got hooked on the stuff then. Though when I’m here I always drink it sweet with a lot of cream.”
“Rome, very nice.” I said, “Never been there, would be nice though. “ I paused, “Cream, lots of sugar.” I raised my cup.
Miss Dorian smiled as the television caught her eye. “Looks like that girl is out of critical condition.” She said, “I’d been following the Michelangelo Murders, can you believe what happened?” She shook her head, “I’d heard that that murderer woman was totally hopped up on drugs and alcohol. She must have been a very sad person. I wonder what her reason was for that?”
“Not sure, maybe someone bad in her life.” I thought back to the man at the funeral.
“Could be. I don’t know. People they interviewed though all said she was a bit of a jerk. ” Dorian looked at her watch, “I have to be getting home, come by the library sometime and visit!” She smiled.
“Will do.” I said as she got up, went to the coffee station, poured out some of her coffee and poured in quite a lot of cream.
Shari is out of critical. I sat there a moment, finishing my own coffee. I wondered if she knew, if anyone had told her anything. Then again, how could they, no one was there, but me. Rorschach couldn’t go to tell her, too many witnesses, however, Walter might be able to get in. Still couldn’t tell her firsthand account. I twirled the ring around my finger. I’d grown accustomed to wearing it. Tomorrow, I shall go visit Shari. Wonder if she’d remember me.
For now, Rorschach
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 26th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal 4:01pm, Thursday
The day of Sandra Whitaker’s funeral. Dreary, wet, cold. Dressed as Walter Kovacs. Didn’t attend ceremony, only watched from distance, pretending to visit another grave. Winston Orem, 1898-1990. Rest in Peace, Winston.
I watched as the funeral procession pulled up, hearse at the head of the line, such as it was. Apparently funeral occurred at a local church, and now the body was being brought to the grave site. Not sure how I would have been able to attend service, not that I was all that interested in honoring the woman, however I would have been curious to see who had been there. Wondered if any of Jace’s “friends” attended at all.
Only three cars appeared with the hearse. And of course, infernal paparazzi. Looked the way of the tombstone occasionally, to keep my cover. I had not been too far away from Sandra’s ultimate resting place, wanted to hear what was being said.
Not much, actually. Some prayers, benedictions, a little crying. No one I recognized. A tall man with black hair and a fine suit. Caught him in a smile once in a while, when he thought no one was looking. Hurm. Suspicious. He was accompanied by a short blond woman and a boy child, all dressed very well.
A few other innocuous mourners threw flowers on the coffin. Short service. Mourners left.
I stayed around till the cemetery caretakers closed up the mausoleum marble front. They draped the flowers from the funeral around the front of the grave and dispersed.
Wandering passed, I stopped at the excessively expensive crypt. “Your daughter didn’t die, at least there’s that.” I said as I turned and left.
Will have to watch the news tonight, to see if there was any new news on Shari Whitaker. Suspicious of the man at the funeral. Not sure of the connection. Lover? Enemy? Will need to warn Shari to be careful….if she indeed her condition improves. Will check with hospital tomorrow.
For now, Rorschach
The day of Sandra Whitaker’s funeral. Dreary, wet, cold. Dressed as Walter Kovacs. Didn’t attend ceremony, only watched from distance, pretending to visit another grave. Winston Orem, 1898-1990. Rest in Peace, Winston.
I watched as the funeral procession pulled up, hearse at the head of the line, such as it was. Apparently funeral occurred at a local church, and now the body was being brought to the grave site. Not sure how I would have been able to attend service, not that I was all that interested in honoring the woman, however I would have been curious to see who had been there. Wondered if any of Jace’s “friends” attended at all.
Only three cars appeared with the hearse. And of course, infernal paparazzi. Looked the way of the tombstone occasionally, to keep my cover. I had not been too far away from Sandra’s ultimate resting place, wanted to hear what was being said.
Not much, actually. Some prayers, benedictions, a little crying. No one I recognized. A tall man with black hair and a fine suit. Caught him in a smile once in a while, when he thought no one was looking. Hurm. Suspicious. He was accompanied by a short blond woman and a boy child, all dressed very well.
A few other innocuous mourners threw flowers on the coffin. Short service. Mourners left.
I stayed around till the cemetery caretakers closed up the mausoleum marble front. They draped the flowers from the funeral around the front of the grave and dispersed.
Wandering passed, I stopped at the excessively expensive crypt. “Your daughter didn’t die, at least there’s that.” I said as I turned and left.
Will have to watch the news tonight, to see if there was any new news on Shari Whitaker. Suspicious of the man at the funeral. Not sure of the connection. Lover? Enemy? Will need to warn Shari to be careful….if she indeed her condition improves. Will check with hospital tomorrow.
For now, Rorschach
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 25th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 7:10 pm The days are getting longer.
Spent afternoon collecting recyclables from various trash containers. Fetched good money for aluminum. Enough for hot meal at local eatery. Nothing fancy, hamburger. Been feeling thin lately. Can’t fight crime without proper nutrition. Saved some for James.
Picked up New Frontiersman on way back to apartment. Catchy headline about Sandra Whitaker. “Michelangelo Murderer.” Eager to read it.
Home not too far away. Ate last of sugar cubes in pocket. Crunchy goodness. At least the flaming liberals hadn’t outlawed sugar in latest save the planet scheme. Not yet, at least.
Wondered how Shari Whitaker was doing, pulling through I hoped. Not sure why I was so deeply concerned, but she was a veritable innocent in this case. I had remembered back to when I was removed from my Whore Mother’s care and put into a safe house. Too bad no one removed Shari from her bad situation before she had grown up mixed up.
I paused at that for a moment before climbing up the stairs to my room.
Bumped into landlady at the top of the stairs, “Mr K. How’s the kitten coming along?” she questioned.
“Fine, fine. Good cat.” I said succinctly.
“He’s not too wild is he? All those kittens were really wild. Hard to break them of it.” She smiled, “Well be seeing you.” She said as she hauled a bag of garbage downstairs.
Breaking wild things. Breaking their spirits. Like “they” tried to break mine.
I quickly unlocked the door and entered my one room. James sat there, in the middle of the room. He made a welcoming chirping sound as he trotted over to me. I scooped him up and hugged him as he purred. “Not to worry…I’ll never break you.”
Sat in only chair, with cat in lap and perused the paper. Big paper today. Extensive article about conspiracy theories and the government. McCain’s plan to be embalmed in Pepsi, Obama transvestite scandal, Bill O’Reily’s sex scandal. “Hurm, what an embarrassment to conservatives.”
Obituaries. Sandra Whitaker’s funeral was tomorrow. 2pm at St. John’s Church downtown. I set the appointment in my mental calendar. I’d be there to watch the vultures descend, at least, from a distance.
Eureka! Another one of my old journal entries. They’d gotten as far as my visit to tell the Indestructible Man that someone is trying to kill him.
Decided to get some sleep for a few hours before an early morning stroll.
For now, Rorschach
Spent afternoon collecting recyclables from various trash containers. Fetched good money for aluminum. Enough for hot meal at local eatery. Nothing fancy, hamburger. Been feeling thin lately. Can’t fight crime without proper nutrition. Saved some for James.
Picked up New Frontiersman on way back to apartment. Catchy headline about Sandra Whitaker. “Michelangelo Murderer.” Eager to read it.
Home not too far away. Ate last of sugar cubes in pocket. Crunchy goodness. At least the flaming liberals hadn’t outlawed sugar in latest save the planet scheme. Not yet, at least.
Wondered how Shari Whitaker was doing, pulling through I hoped. Not sure why I was so deeply concerned, but she was a veritable innocent in this case. I had remembered back to when I was removed from my Whore Mother’s care and put into a safe house. Too bad no one removed Shari from her bad situation before she had grown up mixed up.
I paused at that for a moment before climbing up the stairs to my room.
Bumped into landlady at the top of the stairs, “Mr K. How’s the kitten coming along?” she questioned.
“Fine, fine. Good cat.” I said succinctly.
“He’s not too wild is he? All those kittens were really wild. Hard to break them of it.” She smiled, “Well be seeing you.” She said as she hauled a bag of garbage downstairs.
Breaking wild things. Breaking their spirits. Like “they” tried to break mine.
I quickly unlocked the door and entered my one room. James sat there, in the middle of the room. He made a welcoming chirping sound as he trotted over to me. I scooped him up and hugged him as he purred. “Not to worry…I’ll never break you.”
Sat in only chair, with cat in lap and perused the paper. Big paper today. Extensive article about conspiracy theories and the government. McCain’s plan to be embalmed in Pepsi, Obama transvestite scandal, Bill O’Reily’s sex scandal. “Hurm, what an embarrassment to conservatives.”
Obituaries. Sandra Whitaker’s funeral was tomorrow. 2pm at St. John’s Church downtown. I set the appointment in my mental calendar. I’d be there to watch the vultures descend, at least, from a distance.
Eureka! Another one of my old journal entries. They’d gotten as far as my visit to tell the Indestructible Man that someone is trying to kill him.
Decided to get some sleep for a few hours before an early morning stroll.
For now, Rorschach
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Rorshach's Journal, March 24th, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, 2:38pm, Tuesday. Fitful sleep last night after confrontation. James a comfort, when he wasn't biting my feet.
Out and about today. Not had chance to check news, not until made it to coffee house. Had enough for a small coffee and a seat in comfortable chair. Television running. Sat and watched. News.
"In local news, famous art maven Sandra Whitaker found dead in an apparent murder suicide. Sandra Whitaker, most recently sponsored large Michelangelo tour at the Smithsonian Gallery of Art, was found with stolen art work and illegal prescription drugs. Alcohol use suspected, however toxicology isn't back yet. Daughter Shari, survived the shooting, however, she is listed as critical condition at Georgetown Hospital. In other news, Larry, that was some game last night, how about George Mason surprising everyone at March Madness?"
I sipped my coffee. Murder Suicide. Well, technically that was correct. Unless there was something not forthcoming, perhaps I covered my tracks well.
I was happy to know Shari survived, however, still, critical condition sometimes didn't bode well.
Looked out window. Saw Miss Dorian pass by. She wandered in for coffee, looking tired, and wandered out again.
Finished coffee, stuffed a few sugar cubes in my pocket from creamer section, and went on my way. Needed to pick up New Frontiersmen and see what was really in the news.
For Now, Rorschach
Out and about today. Not had chance to check news, not until made it to coffee house. Had enough for a small coffee and a seat in comfortable chair. Television running. Sat and watched. News.
"In local news, famous art maven Sandra Whitaker found dead in an apparent murder suicide. Sandra Whitaker, most recently sponsored large Michelangelo tour at the Smithsonian Gallery of Art, was found with stolen art work and illegal prescription drugs. Alcohol use suspected, however toxicology isn't back yet. Daughter Shari, survived the shooting, however, she is listed as critical condition at Georgetown Hospital. In other news, Larry, that was some game last night, how about George Mason surprising everyone at March Madness?"
I sipped my coffee. Murder Suicide. Well, technically that was correct. Unless there was something not forthcoming, perhaps I covered my tracks well.
I was happy to know Shari survived, however, still, critical condition sometimes didn't bode well.
Looked out window. Saw Miss Dorian pass by. She wandered in for coffee, looking tired, and wandered out again.
Finished coffee, stuffed a few sugar cubes in my pocket from creamer section, and went on my way. Needed to pick up New Frontiersmen and see what was really in the news.
For Now, Rorschach
Monday, March 23, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 23rd, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 1:21am, Monday
Waiting in the shadows outside Sandra Whitaker house. Starting to get anxious. Want to get this confrontation going. It was apparent that no one but me wanted to right the wrong that this woman has done. No one really cares to, other than myself, and perhaps her daughter. I know very little of Shari Whitaker’s life, however, it was apparent by her reaction the other night that she loved her father.
I stood behind the house in the bushes of the dark back yard. I had been all over the backyard looking for the best access. Stupidly, the house has a trellis climbing up its brick. Barren, with nothing growing on it. It had been too cold for anything substantial to grow yet.
Small balcony on second floor. Only room in the house that emitted light. Was she laying in wait? Should I go up into a different room? And find what? It was impossible to search for traps from behind closed doors. It would have to be a surprise entry this way. Fortunately, there was no dog. It would have been barking by now.
Quietly I scaled the trellis, easily. I threw a leg around the wrought iron of the balcony rail and hopped over with nary a sound. I peaked in, able to see fairly easily through the white sheer curtains. The television was on, fairly loudly. A large overstuffed chair sat with its back to the glass balcony doors. By it an end table with a fancy lamp and a half empty glass of liquid. Looked to be alcohol of some kind. Typical. Typical washed up, has been reaction to stressors.
No one was in the room, at least by the angle I could see. A table and some chairs were in the way of the full view of the opulent looking room. I tried the door handle. Unlocked. I turned the handle and looked in as I slowly stepped forward. No one was there, except for Survivor blaring on the mind rotting television.
Gently I crept deeper into the room. Circling around the coffee table, I came upon a startling surprise. There, on the fine Persian rug laid Jace. Motionless. Face down. The rug beneath his torso was soaked in dried blood. I silently moved toward him, cautiously. I poked at his side. He was stone cold. The blood on the carpet was black as was his bloody bandaged wounds from the finger breaking the other night. It would appear that Jace had been dead for a few days, and there was a very faint rancid smell, like the smell of a carcass that had been killed on the road.
“Hey! I see you, I know you’re there!” A crazed drunken screech sounded as Sandra Whitaker leaped clumsily from an adjoining room.
I stopped and stood calmly, and took a step in her direction. “You’ve killed him. Murderers all around in here.”
“Jace told me he’d seen you two days ago.” She scowled. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but he told me you hurt a lot of people that night. And that you were looking for me. That the idiot admitted that I hired him to kill Jack.” She said as she raised a gun and pointed it in my direction.
I stopped and stood there, scanning the room with only my eyes. Fortunately she could not see that through the black and white that was my face.
“Suppose you tell me what you’ve done?” I said, my raspy voice cutting the air.
“And what, confess?’ She scoffed, “Right, confess to you? You don’t look like a cop to me, ass.” She paused, “Oh what the hell.” She said as she sidled up to the end table and took a hand off her gun. She reached for her drink and took a deep swallow. “You know, it just figures that Jack Riley would come back to screw me from the grave, such as it is.’ She laughed darkly. “All wet in death as he was in life. Now somewhere between DC and the Chesapeake bay.” She laughed.
“You had him killed?” I questioned.
“Of course! He was an idiot! Always screwing up. Living off my coat tails, off my daddy’s money. Even after the divorce!” She said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed her hand back on the gun. “I told him I wanted the Doni Tondo, and what the hell does he get for me? The stupid sketch of the 'The Libyan Sibyl'.” She spat and pointed generally at a rolled up paper on the nearby coffee table, “What the hell am I going to do with that? I have dozens of sketches.”
“You do know that’s priceless.” I added.
“Shut up!” She screamed at the top of her voice and waived the gun around, crazily. “What the hell do you know about art? Oh God, I arranged to have that worthless show here just to get that one painting, and that idiot husband of mine messed it up.” She twitched her eye, “And then that daughter of mine. Getting hooked up with that piece of trash. “ She waived the gun at the body of Jace. “Son of a bitch. I knew he’d do anything for money. Why the hell else do you think he was screwing around with my daughter?” She smiled crookedly, Sandra stumbled a little. “For the right amount of money Jace could get rid of my idiot husband after that mistake and shut Shari’s mouth at the same time. I just hadn’t counted on him coming in here and demanding more money. Bastard got cocky. Said he’d report me. So I killed him.” Her eye twitched, “And I’ve been waiting for you. Waiting, for two days for you. You didn’t’ show, you tortured me. Every little noise, every little twig out there I thought was you!” She said, frenzied.
I took a step forward. She waived the gun at me.
Truly, I could take her at any time, however, I was interested in her reasons for her actions.
She started to cry, and panned wild wide open eyes across the room, “I told that little brat to grow up and harden up, like I had to.” She said, jumping from topic to topic, “But stupid little whore wouldn’t listen. Claimed I was suffocating her. Can you imagine? Suffocating her with what, my money?” She smiled and laughed again. Deranged. “And you know what I’m going to do now, weirdo? I’m going to kill you too. What’s one more body, right?”
At this point I had had more than my fill of lunatic rambling and stepped forward briskly and reached for the gun.
“No! No you aren’t going to win this one, you son of a bitch.” She said as she backed up and pulled the gun hammer back.
I stopped just as an inner door started to open, distracting me. “NO!” I shouted as it was Shari who unexpectedly opened it.
“Mom? What the hell is going on?”
Sandra, drunk, crazy, flailed the gun at me again, but too was distracted by the sudden interruption and pulled the trigger. Shari went down in a heap. “Dammit no!” I shouted as I lunged forward and planted a fist across Sandra’s arm. Made her drop the gun. The old woman fell down to the floor in a heap as well, a sobbing slobbering mess.
For a moment I ignored her and went to Shari’s side. “Keep breathing, Shari.” I said as I held up her head. She only whispered “It’s you, you helped me. Why, why did Mom shoot me?” as she fell limp. Her shoulder was damaged badly, though she was still breathing.
“NOOOOOOOOOO” Sandra screeched from behind me. “Noooo!” She sobbed, “Oh God, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t’ mean to shoot Shari.” She screamed, her make up running off her face as she knelt, gun back in hand. “Honey, get up, get up Shari!”
I stood to my full height and took two long strides toward Sandra who then pointed the gun up and under her own chin, “Oh God, I’ve killed my baby.” She winced as she pulled the trigger before I could get to her.
There I stood. Three bodies in the living room. A spray of blood and grey matter on the wall. And none of it by my hand. A witness who could never come forward. Shari was dying by the moment, and a rage in me surged. Another child, mentally abused, now suffering, dying. It was all coming back to me, speeding toward me and running me over. But I wasn’t going to let this horrible mother have the last word. I wasn’t going to let Shari die. Who would speak for her if I couldn’t. I looked around the room, my heart racing. The rolled up Michelangelo sketch. Michelangelo would speak for Shari.
I took the sketch, unrolled it, and laid it near Sandra’s body, away from the oozing blood. The sketch, in her possession, would tell the truth. The truth that it was for this all this blood was shed. I only hoped that Shari, if she lived, would realize that I had been on her side.
Then, quickly, I picked up the phone, my leather gloves concealing my fingerprints and dialed 911. Putting the phone receiver on the table, I then looked at the room one more time before walking back through the balcony door and closing it silently behind me. Quickly down the trellis and in a moment I was away from the scene of the crime, hoping that Shari would make it, suspecting in my stomach she would not.
Much excitement for one day, almost like the old days. Yet oddly felt like failure. Must get back home to feed James.
For now, Rorschach
Waiting in the shadows outside Sandra Whitaker house. Starting to get anxious. Want to get this confrontation going. It was apparent that no one but me wanted to right the wrong that this woman has done. No one really cares to, other than myself, and perhaps her daughter. I know very little of Shari Whitaker’s life, however, it was apparent by her reaction the other night that she loved her father.
I stood behind the house in the bushes of the dark back yard. I had been all over the backyard looking for the best access. Stupidly, the house has a trellis climbing up its brick. Barren, with nothing growing on it. It had been too cold for anything substantial to grow yet.
Small balcony on second floor. Only room in the house that emitted light. Was she laying in wait? Should I go up into a different room? And find what? It was impossible to search for traps from behind closed doors. It would have to be a surprise entry this way. Fortunately, there was no dog. It would have been barking by now.
Quietly I scaled the trellis, easily. I threw a leg around the wrought iron of the balcony rail and hopped over with nary a sound. I peaked in, able to see fairly easily through the white sheer curtains. The television was on, fairly loudly. A large overstuffed chair sat with its back to the glass balcony doors. By it an end table with a fancy lamp and a half empty glass of liquid. Looked to be alcohol of some kind. Typical. Typical washed up, has been reaction to stressors.
No one was in the room, at least by the angle I could see. A table and some chairs were in the way of the full view of the opulent looking room. I tried the door handle. Unlocked. I turned the handle and looked in as I slowly stepped forward. No one was there, except for Survivor blaring on the mind rotting television.
Gently I crept deeper into the room. Circling around the coffee table, I came upon a startling surprise. There, on the fine Persian rug laid Jace. Motionless. Face down. The rug beneath his torso was soaked in dried blood. I silently moved toward him, cautiously. I poked at his side. He was stone cold. The blood on the carpet was black as was his bloody bandaged wounds from the finger breaking the other night. It would appear that Jace had been dead for a few days, and there was a very faint rancid smell, like the smell of a carcass that had been killed on the road.
“Hey! I see you, I know you’re there!” A crazed drunken screech sounded as Sandra Whitaker leaped clumsily from an adjoining room.
I stopped and stood calmly, and took a step in her direction. “You’ve killed him. Murderers all around in here.”
“Jace told me he’d seen you two days ago.” She scowled. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but he told me you hurt a lot of people that night. And that you were looking for me. That the idiot admitted that I hired him to kill Jack.” She said as she raised a gun and pointed it in my direction.
I stopped and stood there, scanning the room with only my eyes. Fortunately she could not see that through the black and white that was my face.
“Suppose you tell me what you’ve done?” I said, my raspy voice cutting the air.
“And what, confess?’ She scoffed, “Right, confess to you? You don’t look like a cop to me, ass.” She paused, “Oh what the hell.” She said as she sidled up to the end table and took a hand off her gun. She reached for her drink and took a deep swallow. “You know, it just figures that Jack Riley would come back to screw me from the grave, such as it is.’ She laughed darkly. “All wet in death as he was in life. Now somewhere between DC and the Chesapeake bay.” She laughed.
“You had him killed?” I questioned.
“Of course! He was an idiot! Always screwing up. Living off my coat tails, off my daddy’s money. Even after the divorce!” She said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed her hand back on the gun. “I told him I wanted the Doni Tondo, and what the hell does he get for me? The stupid sketch of the 'The Libyan Sibyl'.” She spat and pointed generally at a rolled up paper on the nearby coffee table, “What the hell am I going to do with that? I have dozens of sketches.”
“You do know that’s priceless.” I added.
“Shut up!” She screamed at the top of her voice and waived the gun around, crazily. “What the hell do you know about art? Oh God, I arranged to have that worthless show here just to get that one painting, and that idiot husband of mine messed it up.” She twitched her eye, “And then that daughter of mine. Getting hooked up with that piece of trash. “ She waived the gun at the body of Jace. “Son of a bitch. I knew he’d do anything for money. Why the hell else do you think he was screwing around with my daughter?” She smiled crookedly, Sandra stumbled a little. “For the right amount of money Jace could get rid of my idiot husband after that mistake and shut Shari’s mouth at the same time. I just hadn’t counted on him coming in here and demanding more money. Bastard got cocky. Said he’d report me. So I killed him.” Her eye twitched, “And I’ve been waiting for you. Waiting, for two days for you. You didn’t’ show, you tortured me. Every little noise, every little twig out there I thought was you!” She said, frenzied.
I took a step forward. She waived the gun at me.
Truly, I could take her at any time, however, I was interested in her reasons for her actions.
She started to cry, and panned wild wide open eyes across the room, “I told that little brat to grow up and harden up, like I had to.” She said, jumping from topic to topic, “But stupid little whore wouldn’t listen. Claimed I was suffocating her. Can you imagine? Suffocating her with what, my money?” She smiled and laughed again. Deranged. “And you know what I’m going to do now, weirdo? I’m going to kill you too. What’s one more body, right?”
At this point I had had more than my fill of lunatic rambling and stepped forward briskly and reached for the gun.
“No! No you aren’t going to win this one, you son of a bitch.” She said as she backed up and pulled the gun hammer back.
I stopped just as an inner door started to open, distracting me. “NO!” I shouted as it was Shari who unexpectedly opened it.
“Mom? What the hell is going on?”
Sandra, drunk, crazy, flailed the gun at me again, but too was distracted by the sudden interruption and pulled the trigger. Shari went down in a heap. “Dammit no!” I shouted as I lunged forward and planted a fist across Sandra’s arm. Made her drop the gun. The old woman fell down to the floor in a heap as well, a sobbing slobbering mess.
For a moment I ignored her and went to Shari’s side. “Keep breathing, Shari.” I said as I held up her head. She only whispered “It’s you, you helped me. Why, why did Mom shoot me?” as she fell limp. Her shoulder was damaged badly, though she was still breathing.
“NOOOOOOOOOO” Sandra screeched from behind me. “Noooo!” She sobbed, “Oh God, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t’ mean to shoot Shari.” She screamed, her make up running off her face as she knelt, gun back in hand. “Honey, get up, get up Shari!”
I stood to my full height and took two long strides toward Sandra who then pointed the gun up and under her own chin, “Oh God, I’ve killed my baby.” She winced as she pulled the trigger before I could get to her.
There I stood. Three bodies in the living room. A spray of blood and grey matter on the wall. And none of it by my hand. A witness who could never come forward. Shari was dying by the moment, and a rage in me surged. Another child, mentally abused, now suffering, dying. It was all coming back to me, speeding toward me and running me over. But I wasn’t going to let this horrible mother have the last word. I wasn’t going to let Shari die. Who would speak for her if I couldn’t. I looked around the room, my heart racing. The rolled up Michelangelo sketch. Michelangelo would speak for Shari.
I took the sketch, unrolled it, and laid it near Sandra’s body, away from the oozing blood. The sketch, in her possession, would tell the truth. The truth that it was for this all this blood was shed. I only hoped that Shari, if she lived, would realize that I had been on her side.
Then, quickly, I picked up the phone, my leather gloves concealing my fingerprints and dialed 911. Putting the phone receiver on the table, I then looked at the room one more time before walking back through the balcony door and closing it silently behind me. Quickly down the trellis and in a moment I was away from the scene of the crime, hoping that Shari would make it, suspecting in my stomach she would not.
Much excitement for one day, almost like the old days. Yet oddly felt like failure. Must get back home to feed James.
For now, Rorschach
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Rorschach's Journal march 22nd, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 10:13pm, Sunday
Managed to catch afternoon nap after day of The End is Nigh sign carrying. Found interesting soup kitchen. Got warm meal for a change. Even managed a nap. Knew I’d have long night.
Decided to give Shari an extra day away from mother. Don’t know if she went back, however, cannot wait any longer. News surely has travelled back to Sandra Whitaker that Rorschach will be looking for her. Decided to let her stew a while. Let paranoia set in. I will think again later if that had been a good idea.
Night mode in full swing now. Been jumping from shadow to shadow avoiding detection. It was far too easy in DC. The police force here isn’t as sharp as NY. Fairly easy to elude.
Sunday night in DC very dead. Good, makes for less witnessed confrontation. Arrive at Whitaker address. Stand alone house in good part of town. One Mercedes in driveway and one BMW. Scaled fence, peaked into a few windows to deduce Whitaker’s whereabouts. Concluded she was on second floor.
Readied grappling gun to bring me to second floor window. Decided to wait until this sleepy part of town got sleepier.
For Now, Rorschach.
Managed to catch afternoon nap after day of The End is Nigh sign carrying. Found interesting soup kitchen. Got warm meal for a change. Even managed a nap. Knew I’d have long night.
Decided to give Shari an extra day away from mother. Don’t know if she went back, however, cannot wait any longer. News surely has travelled back to Sandra Whitaker that Rorschach will be looking for her. Decided to let her stew a while. Let paranoia set in. I will think again later if that had been a good idea.
Night mode in full swing now. Been jumping from shadow to shadow avoiding detection. It was far too easy in DC. The police force here isn’t as sharp as NY. Fairly easy to elude.
Sunday night in DC very dead. Good, makes for less witnessed confrontation. Arrive at Whitaker address. Stand alone house in good part of town. One Mercedes in driveway and one BMW. Scaled fence, peaked into a few windows to deduce Whitaker’s whereabouts. Concluded she was on second floor.
Readied grappling gun to bring me to second floor window. Decided to wait until this sleepy part of town got sleepier.
For Now, Rorschach.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 21st, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 1:56pm, Saturday
Having learned my lesson about Libraries and Sundays, I made sure I was at the Library today rather than tomorrow. Needed to research Sandra Whitaker. Perhaps the infernal computer had her address listed somewhere. Though I was never the technical type, I found it a necessary evil to at least learn the basics of computers, since these days things depended more and more on them.
Also surprised the Library allowed me to carry my sign in. Though, most of the times had to check it at desk. I wandered in, with Walter Kovacs’ Doomsday disguise.
“Hello Mr. Nigh!” A woman shouted. She looked my way. “The computers are open.” It was friendly librarian Miss Dorian of New Jersey, smiles and customer service.
“Thanks.” I said, grimly, and signed the log in sheet.
“Oh, Mr. Kovacs is your name. Good to have a name with a face.” She smiled.
I left my sign with her and got to work with the computer. It was easy enough, just click on the link to get started and go to Google. The maze began at that point, however. People Search, White pages, Google People, Yahoo People. No, no, not personals. Argh, no not men seeking men. I planted a fist on the table.
For a moment I sat starting at the screen, frustrated.
“Erm, Mr. Kovacs, Maybe I can help. “ Miss Dorian approached. I looked up at her with a frown.
“Trying to look up someone. Need address.” I said as I scooted back in the chair.
She took over the mouse and Keyboard, “Ok, I know just the place.” She clicked twice and suddenly the screen revealed a search engine as if by magic. “Let’s see, you have a name and a city? That’s a good start.”
“Sandra Whitaker, Washington DC.” I scratched my head, “I think Washington DC.”
Dorian tapped the keyboard a few moments, “You’re not from around here, I can tell.” She said making small conversation.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re from New York. Small world huh? I’m from Atlantic City. We’re neighbors!” She laughed, “I spent a lot of time in New York, I practically consider myself a New Yorker! What brings you here?”
A question I felt uncomfortable to answer. “Long story.”
She looked at me a moment. She seemed very genuine, “Rorschach, not everyone is a deviant.” I reminded myself without speaking it out loud.
“Oh I’m sorry, you know, I’m still upset about the explosion too. Even after all these years. How awful. I remember the whole thing. All those poor people.” She said, “I’m so happy that Veidt got the punishment he deserves. Who would have thought that a simple journal in a tabloid newspaper would reveal the whole horrible plot?”
“Have you read the journal?” I questioned, allowing myself a moment of pride.
“I sure have, the day they were printed!”
“Those were printed in the 80s surely you weren’t old enough…”
“Flatterer.” She laughed, “I’m a 60s child. I wear it well.” She laughed. “Besides, everyone has read that journal!” She said as she smiled, “Brave guy, I wonder if he lived.” She clicked another button, “here she is Ms. Sandra Whitaker. You’re right, it’s a DC address.” She paused, “That name sounds familiar.”
“Eh, thank you Miss Dorian, for your help.” I wanted to distract her from figuring out that this was the art maven she’d looked up for me.
“Any time for a fellow New Yorker!” She smiled as she left me to the computer.
I was ready to leave with the address written down, but then thought a moment. I wondered if I could recreate her steps and look up other addresses. I had more time left on the computer, and I didn’t have to be anywhere until later, to confront Whitaker. Why not?
“Dan Dreiberg.” I typed, “Los Angeles, CA.” Nothing. I typed in a few other cities, however, still nothing. Probably living under assumed name. Dan had left me a way to contact him, but that was years ago and the number he had given me didn’t work any longer.
Then searched New Frontiersman online. It was printed in their paper edition that they had an online paper as well. Interesting articles. Not long enough. Doesn’t anyone these days have a decent attention span anymore?
Shrugging, I rose and turned from the computer. Visited Miss Dorian one more time to collect my sign.
“Have a good day Mr. Kovacs!” She said after me.
“You too.” I said plainly as I walked out of the library armed with sign and with information on Murderess, Sandra Whitaker. Will pay her a visit soon.
Wandering streets, wondering if Shari is in a safe place. Wondering if her mother knows where her friend lives.
For now, Rorschach
Having learned my lesson about Libraries and Sundays, I made sure I was at the Library today rather than tomorrow. Needed to research Sandra Whitaker. Perhaps the infernal computer had her address listed somewhere. Though I was never the technical type, I found it a necessary evil to at least learn the basics of computers, since these days things depended more and more on them.
Also surprised the Library allowed me to carry my sign in. Though, most of the times had to check it at desk. I wandered in, with Walter Kovacs’ Doomsday disguise.
“Hello Mr. Nigh!” A woman shouted. She looked my way. “The computers are open.” It was friendly librarian Miss Dorian of New Jersey, smiles and customer service.
“Thanks.” I said, grimly, and signed the log in sheet.
“Oh, Mr. Kovacs is your name. Good to have a name with a face.” She smiled.
I left my sign with her and got to work with the computer. It was easy enough, just click on the link to get started and go to Google. The maze began at that point, however. People Search, White pages, Google People, Yahoo People. No, no, not personals. Argh, no not men seeking men. I planted a fist on the table.
For a moment I sat starting at the screen, frustrated.
“Erm, Mr. Kovacs, Maybe I can help. “ Miss Dorian approached. I looked up at her with a frown.
“Trying to look up someone. Need address.” I said as I scooted back in the chair.
She took over the mouse and Keyboard, “Ok, I know just the place.” She clicked twice and suddenly the screen revealed a search engine as if by magic. “Let’s see, you have a name and a city? That’s a good start.”
“Sandra Whitaker, Washington DC.” I scratched my head, “I think Washington DC.”
Dorian tapped the keyboard a few moments, “You’re not from around here, I can tell.” She said making small conversation.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re from New York. Small world huh? I’m from Atlantic City. We’re neighbors!” She laughed, “I spent a lot of time in New York, I practically consider myself a New Yorker! What brings you here?”
A question I felt uncomfortable to answer. “Long story.”
She looked at me a moment. She seemed very genuine, “Rorschach, not everyone is a deviant.” I reminded myself without speaking it out loud.
“Oh I’m sorry, you know, I’m still upset about the explosion too. Even after all these years. How awful. I remember the whole thing. All those poor people.” She said, “I’m so happy that Veidt got the punishment he deserves. Who would have thought that a simple journal in a tabloid newspaper would reveal the whole horrible plot?”
“Have you read the journal?” I questioned, allowing myself a moment of pride.
“I sure have, the day they were printed!”
“Those were printed in the 80s surely you weren’t old enough…”
“Flatterer.” She laughed, “I’m a 60s child. I wear it well.” She laughed. “Besides, everyone has read that journal!” She said as she smiled, “Brave guy, I wonder if he lived.” She clicked another button, “here she is Ms. Sandra Whitaker. You’re right, it’s a DC address.” She paused, “That name sounds familiar.”
“Eh, thank you Miss Dorian, for your help.” I wanted to distract her from figuring out that this was the art maven she’d looked up for me.
“Any time for a fellow New Yorker!” She smiled as she left me to the computer.
I was ready to leave with the address written down, but then thought a moment. I wondered if I could recreate her steps and look up other addresses. I had more time left on the computer, and I didn’t have to be anywhere until later, to confront Whitaker. Why not?
“Dan Dreiberg.” I typed, “Los Angeles, CA.” Nothing. I typed in a few other cities, however, still nothing. Probably living under assumed name. Dan had left me a way to contact him, but that was years ago and the number he had given me didn’t work any longer.
Then searched New Frontiersman online. It was printed in their paper edition that they had an online paper as well. Interesting articles. Not long enough. Doesn’t anyone these days have a decent attention span anymore?
Shrugging, I rose and turned from the computer. Visited Miss Dorian one more time to collect my sign.
“Have a good day Mr. Kovacs!” She said after me.
“You too.” I said plainly as I walked out of the library armed with sign and with information on Murderess, Sandra Whitaker. Will pay her a visit soon.
Wandering streets, wondering if Shari is in a safe place. Wondering if her mother knows where her friend lives.
For now, Rorschach
Friday, March 20, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 20th 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 3:00 am.
Just arriving back at slum apartment. Leapt onto fire escape and climbed into the window.
James leapt off the small pillow I managed to find for him and threw himself at me.
“Gah, not right now James.” I said to no avail. Pulled my black and white patterned face off, allowed kitten to lick cheeks.
“Purrpurrpurr.”
“Ok, sorry. I know you are hungry.” I rummaged around, found can of cat food, produced open can to cat. Cat dove in head first.
It had been a long evening. A lot of running around. After leaving Shari, I hung back in the shadows to watch her. To make sure she would be ok standing at the corner waiting for her ride. It showed. She left. I wondered, at 22 why she seemed so helpless. Perhaps a sheltered suffocating life. Protesting the heavy hand of a controlling mother. Never allowed individuality. Rebelled by running with wrong crowd. It was almost like one of those bad teenager movies. Relationship turned ugly, girl afraid to leave.
Sat on floor and laid flat on back, exhausted.
Turned on small beat up radio to find news. Batteries running low. New reports series of attacks on U street, but only that people taken to hospital. Assailant unknown. Victims unwilling to identify. Said, couldn’t get a good look. For a moment I laugh. I gave them a very good look. They even knew Walter Kovacs. No, they were guilty of murder, of course they would not admit they were beaten up for it.
Purring cat curled up under chin. Warm. Soothing. Dozing off fast. Tomorrow, will find Sandra Whitaker. Tomorrow w..i…l..l………..
Just arriving back at slum apartment. Leapt onto fire escape and climbed into the window.
James leapt off the small pillow I managed to find for him and threw himself at me.
“Gah, not right now James.” I said to no avail. Pulled my black and white patterned face off, allowed kitten to lick cheeks.
“Purrpurrpurr.”
“Ok, sorry. I know you are hungry.” I rummaged around, found can of cat food, produced open can to cat. Cat dove in head first.
It had been a long evening. A lot of running around. After leaving Shari, I hung back in the shadows to watch her. To make sure she would be ok standing at the corner waiting for her ride. It showed. She left. I wondered, at 22 why she seemed so helpless. Perhaps a sheltered suffocating life. Protesting the heavy hand of a controlling mother. Never allowed individuality. Rebelled by running with wrong crowd. It was almost like one of those bad teenager movies. Relationship turned ugly, girl afraid to leave.
Sat on floor and laid flat on back, exhausted.
Turned on small beat up radio to find news. Batteries running low. New reports series of attacks on U street, but only that people taken to hospital. Assailant unknown. Victims unwilling to identify. Said, couldn’t get a good look. For a moment I laugh. I gave them a very good look. They even knew Walter Kovacs. No, they were guilty of murder, of course they would not admit they were beaten up for it.
Purring cat curled up under chin. Warm. Soothing. Dozing off fast. Tomorrow, will find Sandra Whitaker. Tomorrow w..i…l..l………..
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 19th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 11:30pm. News reports throughout the evening regarding Michelangelo Exhibit. Item identified as fake. New Frontiersman was right. Study for 'The Libyan Sibyl'. Apparently, easier to fake a sketch rather than oil painting or sculpture. Where was original? Where is J.S. Riley? Needed answers.
Wandering the streets of DC in true form. Most gaze confused. Some give me latitude. Others too preoccupied with selves to notice. Passed a few whores on street corner. A few proposition. I ignore. For a moment. Then turn back to talk, “Looking for Jace. “
“Dang you sound sexy under that mask!” The prostitute complimented in vain.
“Jace. Have no last name. Art lover.”
“Sure, honey, I know Jace.” Another prostitute walked up. “He usually hangs out at Benders down on U street. Got a score to settle with him? Tell him he owes me money for a BJ.” She laughed as she tried to place a hand on my lapel.
I back up sharply, “Benders on U. Good evening.” I turned, stuffed my hands in my trench coat pockets and wandered in the direction of U Street.
“Hey! Hey jerk!” The women shouted after me, but to no avail.
Didn’t take long to get to Benders. Not far from U in first place. Getting on to be about 11:50. Dark place on outside, but laughter and noise spewed forth from every open crack in building. Got to front door. Bouncer outside. Large man. Bones break just as easily as anyone else's. Quickly take him down with crack to the knee and elbow to jaw.
Throw open doors to bar. Wall of noise assaults, but for a moment shouting stops.
“What the F**k is this?” A shout as I approach a clump of men near the bar.
“Name’s Rorschach. Looking for Jace…” All laugh until one comes up too close behind me. Unprovoked I pause to break his jaw with one good swing. Then turned back. Stunned silence blanketed the room. “Still looking for Jace. If you’d like to go home intact, suggest you tell me.”
One very tall man approached, “You are one brave man, I’ll tell you that.” He smiled at me, showing a gold tooth, “But stupid. I heard your name before. Ror-schach. Walter whatever the F**K your name is. My old man talked about you a while. Thought you was bad ass up in New York City. Even after you went to Sing Sing.” He puffed his chest, “But I ain’t afraid of you. You ain’t nothin’.” He said, “Ugly son of a bitch.”
I stood, unmoving, “Flattery will get you no where. Still looking for Jace.”
“See, I spent time in lock up. I know how it works. “ he pounded his chest, “I maimed a man for jus lookin’ funny at me.” He laughed as his bravado expanded. He looked back at his friends, cocky.
I stepped forward swiftly, grabbed his right hand, violently twisted his arm and forced him down on his knees with speed. With my knee on his spine, I pulled back a finger and snapped it. The cracking sound quieted his friends. “Lock up not the same as Penitentiary. Did your father ever tell you how I escaped Penitentiary? Killed 10 men. Bare hands. How about you?” I snapped another finger.
The man screamed loudly. “Oh shit oh shit, man you broke my fingers! Let me go!” tears streamed down his face as with his other hand he waived at his gang and then flailed at me.
About 5 guns pointed at me. I looked up, and from behind my black and white patterned face coolly stated, “He has 10 fingers. When I run out, I work my way up the arm. You cannot shoot me without hitting him. So I would choose wisely.”
“Hey hey! What the hell?” Another voice came rushing up and pushed the others aside. “What? What is this?” It was Jace, with his little girlfriend, the one who took a liking to Walter. She cupped her hand over her mouth to scream.
I thew the arrogant man to the floor, “We were just having a little chat. Seems no one wanted to tell me how to find you.”
“Oh God, I….” Jace looked at me, stunned, “What the hell do you want?” He said as he helped up the crying man.
“I need to know about the stolen artwork and J.S. Riley.” I said, “I suggest you tell me.”
“I need to tell you nuthin’ I…”
“Baby, J.S. Riley, that’s my….”
“Shut up Shari.” With one motion Jace back handed his girlfriend. Shari laid sprawled on the floor holding her face, blood oozing from the corner of her lip.
With the same motion as with the other man, I too grabbed Jace’s hand and swiftly brought him to his knees. This was either almost too easy or they were just too stupid. I pulled his arm to an odd angle and grabbed his thumb. “Shouldn’t hit girlfriend, Jace. “
“Wait, wait, waiwaiwai, Ow!” His thumb snapped.
“J.S. Riley is my father. He’s been missing for the last week.” Shari stood up, crying.
“What did you do with Riley.” I demanded.
Jace started crying as well as I grabbed another finger. “I killed him, ok? God Damn!” He cried. “I’m sorry baby, but I had to.” He said to Shari.
“Oh God! You bastard!” Shari said and ran to kick Jace in the face. I held up my hand for her to stop.
“Why did you kill him?” I got no response. “The ambulance is coming soon. Unless you want to leave here in body bag rather than on that ambulance I suggest you start talking.” I readied the next finger for breaking.
“Ok ok, Sandra Whitaker, the rich bitch with that damned art show. She paid me to! Arrrrggghhh. Knew I was runnin' with her daughter and the kind of connections I had. He gave me a tube and told me to give it to her and then I kilt him. I swear, don’t break another finger, please, I’m begging you. Please!” He said, in humiliation.
I dropped the man and turned, “Thanks for your cooperation. Will be dropping in from time to time.” I then took the woman’s arm, “Come. Quickly as you can.” I dragged her.
Outside the bar I stopped, “Suggest you stay with a girlfriend tonight. Do not go back home.”
Shari collapsed to her knees, “Jace killed my dad. And mom paid him to do it.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh God, what’ll I do?”
The sound of sirens drew closer. Foolish of them to have called the police, the bar reeked of Marijuana and they all carried pistols.
“We need to leave, right now. You cannot be seen here.”
“I’m no better than any of them! Andrea I can call Andrea.” She laid down flat on her back and wailed. I stood there, suddenly feeling helpless.
“You didn’t’ know. Your mistake was associating with them, but you were not responsible. Shari, I assume your last name is Riley?”
“No, it’s same as mom’s, Whitaker.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Miss Whitaker, I cannot take you with me. You must leave on your own. You cannot be seen with me either. Go to a girlfriend’s house.” I backed away but she followed. The sirens were getting closer now. “Very well, but be very quiet.” I said as I grabbed her wrist and we sprinted down one of the back alleys and snaked around to S street. She slowed me down, considerably, but she was obedient.
“It’s ok now Mister. I’ll call Andrea now.” She said sadly as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. She continued to speak to me as she waited for the phone to ring, “You seem familiar, do I know you?” Shari said as she wiped away tears.
“No, you don’t.” I backed up when she started speaking on the phone. When she turned to look at me, I had gone.
For now, Rorschach
Wandering the streets of DC in true form. Most gaze confused. Some give me latitude. Others too preoccupied with selves to notice. Passed a few whores on street corner. A few proposition. I ignore. For a moment. Then turn back to talk, “Looking for Jace. “
“Dang you sound sexy under that mask!” The prostitute complimented in vain.
“Jace. Have no last name. Art lover.”
“Sure, honey, I know Jace.” Another prostitute walked up. “He usually hangs out at Benders down on U street. Got a score to settle with him? Tell him he owes me money for a BJ.” She laughed as she tried to place a hand on my lapel.
I back up sharply, “Benders on U. Good evening.” I turned, stuffed my hands in my trench coat pockets and wandered in the direction of U Street.
“Hey! Hey jerk!” The women shouted after me, but to no avail.
Didn’t take long to get to Benders. Not far from U in first place. Getting on to be about 11:50. Dark place on outside, but laughter and noise spewed forth from every open crack in building. Got to front door. Bouncer outside. Large man. Bones break just as easily as anyone else's. Quickly take him down with crack to the knee and elbow to jaw.
Throw open doors to bar. Wall of noise assaults, but for a moment shouting stops.
“What the F**k is this?” A shout as I approach a clump of men near the bar.
“Name’s Rorschach. Looking for Jace…” All laugh until one comes up too close behind me. Unprovoked I pause to break his jaw with one good swing. Then turned back. Stunned silence blanketed the room. “Still looking for Jace. If you’d like to go home intact, suggest you tell me.”
One very tall man approached, “You are one brave man, I’ll tell you that.” He smiled at me, showing a gold tooth, “But stupid. I heard your name before. Ror-schach. Walter whatever the F**K your name is. My old man talked about you a while. Thought you was bad ass up in New York City. Even after you went to Sing Sing.” He puffed his chest, “But I ain’t afraid of you. You ain’t nothin’.” He said, “Ugly son of a bitch.”
I stood, unmoving, “Flattery will get you no where. Still looking for Jace.”
“See, I spent time in lock up. I know how it works. “ he pounded his chest, “I maimed a man for jus lookin’ funny at me.” He laughed as his bravado expanded. He looked back at his friends, cocky.
I stepped forward swiftly, grabbed his right hand, violently twisted his arm and forced him down on his knees with speed. With my knee on his spine, I pulled back a finger and snapped it. The cracking sound quieted his friends. “Lock up not the same as Penitentiary. Did your father ever tell you how I escaped Penitentiary? Killed 10 men. Bare hands. How about you?” I snapped another finger.
The man screamed loudly. “Oh shit oh shit, man you broke my fingers! Let me go!” tears streamed down his face as with his other hand he waived at his gang and then flailed at me.
About 5 guns pointed at me. I looked up, and from behind my black and white patterned face coolly stated, “He has 10 fingers. When I run out, I work my way up the arm. You cannot shoot me without hitting him. So I would choose wisely.”
“Hey hey! What the hell?” Another voice came rushing up and pushed the others aside. “What? What is this?” It was Jace, with his little girlfriend, the one who took a liking to Walter. She cupped her hand over her mouth to scream.
I thew the arrogant man to the floor, “We were just having a little chat. Seems no one wanted to tell me how to find you.”
“Oh God, I….” Jace looked at me, stunned, “What the hell do you want?” He said as he helped up the crying man.
“I need to know about the stolen artwork and J.S. Riley.” I said, “I suggest you tell me.”
“I need to tell you nuthin’ I…”
“Baby, J.S. Riley, that’s my….”
“Shut up Shari.” With one motion Jace back handed his girlfriend. Shari laid sprawled on the floor holding her face, blood oozing from the corner of her lip.
With the same motion as with the other man, I too grabbed Jace’s hand and swiftly brought him to his knees. This was either almost too easy or they were just too stupid. I pulled his arm to an odd angle and grabbed his thumb. “Shouldn’t hit girlfriend, Jace. “
“Wait, wait, waiwaiwai, Ow!” His thumb snapped.
“J.S. Riley is my father. He’s been missing for the last week.” Shari stood up, crying.
“What did you do with Riley.” I demanded.
Jace started crying as well as I grabbed another finger. “I killed him, ok? God Damn!” He cried. “I’m sorry baby, but I had to.” He said to Shari.
“Oh God! You bastard!” Shari said and ran to kick Jace in the face. I held up my hand for her to stop.
“Why did you kill him?” I got no response. “The ambulance is coming soon. Unless you want to leave here in body bag rather than on that ambulance I suggest you start talking.” I readied the next finger for breaking.
“Ok ok, Sandra Whitaker, the rich bitch with that damned art show. She paid me to! Arrrrggghhh. Knew I was runnin' with her daughter and the kind of connections I had. He gave me a tube and told me to give it to her and then I kilt him. I swear, don’t break another finger, please, I’m begging you. Please!” He said, in humiliation.
I dropped the man and turned, “Thanks for your cooperation. Will be dropping in from time to time.” I then took the woman’s arm, “Come. Quickly as you can.” I dragged her.
Outside the bar I stopped, “Suggest you stay with a girlfriend tonight. Do not go back home.”
Shari collapsed to her knees, “Jace killed my dad. And mom paid him to do it.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh God, what’ll I do?”
The sound of sirens drew closer. Foolish of them to have called the police, the bar reeked of Marijuana and they all carried pistols.
“We need to leave, right now. You cannot be seen here.”
“I’m no better than any of them! Andrea I can call Andrea.” She laid down flat on her back and wailed. I stood there, suddenly feeling helpless.
“You didn’t’ know. Your mistake was associating with them, but you were not responsible. Shari, I assume your last name is Riley?”
“No, it’s same as mom’s, Whitaker.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Miss Whitaker, I cannot take you with me. You must leave on your own. You cannot be seen with me either. Go to a girlfriend’s house.” I backed away but she followed. The sirens were getting closer now. “Very well, but be very quiet.” I said as I grabbed her wrist and we sprinted down one of the back alleys and snaked around to S street. She slowed me down, considerably, but she was obedient.
“It’s ok now Mister. I’ll call Andrea now.” She said sadly as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. She continued to speak to me as she waited for the phone to ring, “You seem familiar, do I know you?” Shari said as she wiped away tears.
“No, you don’t.” I backed up when she started speaking on the phone. When she turned to look at me, I had gone.
For now, Rorschach
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 18th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 3:12 pm
In Walter Kovacs disguise again. Big opening today at museum. Showed up, with sign, of course had to check it again. Something about how they could be used as a weapon. *I* could, yes, but generally, no.
Never really looked at museum before. Kept a close eye on all those milling about. One would think the purpose of visiting a museum was to be reverent and quiet and contemplative. The main atrium was far from it. The worst of it, tour groups after tour groups of school age children.
Truth be told, don’t mind children. Do mind bad manners. People these days need parenting lessons. It would seem many commented about how I smelled. Good. It kept them away. Which is the intention.
Managed to swim through hordes of tourists to Michelangelo exhibit entrance. Of course,packed with all walks of life. As I understood it, the socialite woman from television yesterday had been on hand to cut the ribbon to the exhibit. She was no where to be seen currently.
Walking in, was struck with how few paintings and art works there were. They had been well placed, however, and there were many photos of original Frescoes mixed in with the art itself.
First stop, Sculpture “Awakening Slave”. Looks as though he is struggling to get free of the stone. Only partially sculpted. Very eerie. Near it some photos of the Sistine Chapel. God gives life to Adam.
Next stop, Study for 'The Libyan Sibyl', a sketch for final painting on Sistine Chapel.
Next, Madonna of the Steps, Bas Relief Sculpture. Refined, beautiful. Next to that, life size photo of Pieta. I pause. A bereft and beautiful mother with dead son sprawled across lap. The drapes of her clothes look real as they sit frozen in stone. The tenderness and love in her face as she mourns the death of her son, Christ. A mother’s love.
“Excuse me.” a body pushed accidentally, breaking my concentration. I grunt in aggravation.
“She is beautiful, our Lady, isn’t she?” A woman’s voice said from behind. I spin around startled. A Nun, smiled. Of all people for her to talk to. “A symbol of motherly love and holy grace.”
“Eh, yes. I suppose so.” The concept not lost on me, just that, something never experienced.
“My child, if you ever are in need of help, my group can be found at The Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. “ She said out of the blue. Surprising, Frankly. I suppose it was my homeless disguise. “I suspect you could use some kindness now and again.”
“Thank you.” How do you talk to a Nun? “Thank you Sister.” Moving on, went to inspect a few never before known sketches of Sistine Chapel.
Thinking back to New Frontiersman. Claim was, one was fake. Which one?
Moving on to The Entombment, Painting, then on to Manchester Madonna, painting.
Lastly, The Doni Tondo. It looked painted on wood. I looked more closely, it WAS painted on wood. Somehow, impressive. Even the frame was impressive and the descriptive sign explained the frame was a Michelangelo as well. “Hurm”
Finished with the exhibit, after over an hour. Surprised. So easy to get lost in the art, regardless of the nudity. At least it wasn’t pornographic.
No signs of trouble. Waited around a while. Managed to spot green prostitutelike girl from yesterday. No doubt there with her mother. No sign of boyfriend anywhere near. She looked troubled.
“Oh hey, it’s you! I thought you’d be here, you’re such an art lover!” She, much to my dismay, approached. Felt like running. “You were talking so nice about the art.”
“Yes, eh, very nice.” I looked around, “Conversely, I did not expect you here.”
“Oh, I know, but Mom and Jace dragged me. Now that I’m looking it doesn’t seem so bad, but gosh there’s a lot of penises in these paintings.”
*Cough* I choked a bit.
“So what’s your name?” She smiled.
“Ror…..Walter.”
“RorWalter?”
“No, it’s Walter.” I looked around. “I, ought to go, I have to get back to…”
“Your sign?” she said in question as if I really had nothing better to do, and she laughed.
“Don’t you have some kind of boyfriend?” I questioned.
“Oh, he’s off talking to someone or something. Oh there’s mother, MOTHER!” She shouted.
At this point was feeling trapped. Not expecting to draw all eye in museum.
“There you are Darling.” Tall, well dressed, woman walked up. She looked at me as if I was gum stuck to her shoe. “Who is your friend?”
“This is Walter. “ She smiled.
“I was just leaving ma’am.” I excused myself.
“Oh well then, good.” She said and turned to her daughter as I turned to leave, “Honestly darling, why do you associate with trash, first your boyfriend and now him? People will think you’re a whore.” The mother said in a hushed tone.
For a moment I stopped. “Mommy is he hurting you?” “You son of a bitch. You ruined my life. I should have had that abortion!” *Slap* In all these years, those images never left me. They would flood back time and time again. Made me angry. Very angry. Balled my fists as I left the museum, collected my sign and stalked off.
No apparent sign of thievery. Perhaps on wrong trail. Let the damned painting be stolen. Stopped, twirled J.S. Riley’s diamond ring. In habit of wearing it these days. Something bad happened to him. Or something he was doing was bad. More than just paintings.
For now, Rorschach.
In Walter Kovacs disguise again. Big opening today at museum. Showed up, with sign, of course had to check it again. Something about how they could be used as a weapon. *I* could, yes, but generally, no.
Never really looked at museum before. Kept a close eye on all those milling about. One would think the purpose of visiting a museum was to be reverent and quiet and contemplative. The main atrium was far from it. The worst of it, tour groups after tour groups of school age children.
Truth be told, don’t mind children. Do mind bad manners. People these days need parenting lessons. It would seem many commented about how I smelled. Good. It kept them away. Which is the intention.
Managed to swim through hordes of tourists to Michelangelo exhibit entrance. Of course,packed with all walks of life. As I understood it, the socialite woman from television yesterday had been on hand to cut the ribbon to the exhibit. She was no where to be seen currently.
Walking in, was struck with how few paintings and art works there were. They had been well placed, however, and there were many photos of original Frescoes mixed in with the art itself.
First stop, Sculpture “Awakening Slave”. Looks as though he is struggling to get free of the stone. Only partially sculpted. Very eerie. Near it some photos of the Sistine Chapel. God gives life to Adam.
Next stop, Study for 'The Libyan Sibyl', a sketch for final painting on Sistine Chapel.
Next, Madonna of the Steps, Bas Relief Sculpture. Refined, beautiful. Next to that, life size photo of Pieta. I pause. A bereft and beautiful mother with dead son sprawled across lap. The drapes of her clothes look real as they sit frozen in stone. The tenderness and love in her face as she mourns the death of her son, Christ. A mother’s love.
“Excuse me.” a body pushed accidentally, breaking my concentration. I grunt in aggravation.
“She is beautiful, our Lady, isn’t she?” A woman’s voice said from behind. I spin around startled. A Nun, smiled. Of all people for her to talk to. “A symbol of motherly love and holy grace.”
“Eh, yes. I suppose so.” The concept not lost on me, just that, something never experienced.
“My child, if you ever are in need of help, my group can be found at The Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. “ She said out of the blue. Surprising, Frankly. I suppose it was my homeless disguise. “I suspect you could use some kindness now and again.”
“Thank you.” How do you talk to a Nun? “Thank you Sister.” Moving on, went to inspect a few never before known sketches of Sistine Chapel.
Thinking back to New Frontiersman. Claim was, one was fake. Which one?
Moving on to The Entombment, Painting, then on to Manchester Madonna, painting.
Lastly, The Doni Tondo. It looked painted on wood. I looked more closely, it WAS painted on wood. Somehow, impressive. Even the frame was impressive and the descriptive sign explained the frame was a Michelangelo as well. “Hurm”
Finished with the exhibit, after over an hour. Surprised. So easy to get lost in the art, regardless of the nudity. At least it wasn’t pornographic.
No signs of trouble. Waited around a while. Managed to spot green prostitutelike girl from yesterday. No doubt there with her mother. No sign of boyfriend anywhere near. She looked troubled.
“Oh hey, it’s you! I thought you’d be here, you’re such an art lover!” She, much to my dismay, approached. Felt like running. “You were talking so nice about the art.”
“Yes, eh, very nice.” I looked around, “Conversely, I did not expect you here.”
“Oh, I know, but Mom and Jace dragged me. Now that I’m looking it doesn’t seem so bad, but gosh there’s a lot of penises in these paintings.”
*Cough* I choked a bit.
“So what’s your name?” She smiled.
“Ror…..Walter.”
“RorWalter?”
“No, it’s Walter.” I looked around. “I, ought to go, I have to get back to…”
“Your sign?” she said in question as if I really had nothing better to do, and she laughed.
“Don’t you have some kind of boyfriend?” I questioned.
“Oh, he’s off talking to someone or something. Oh there’s mother, MOTHER!” She shouted.
At this point was feeling trapped. Not expecting to draw all eye in museum.
“There you are Darling.” Tall, well dressed, woman walked up. She looked at me as if I was gum stuck to her shoe. “Who is your friend?”
“This is Walter. “ She smiled.
“I was just leaving ma’am.” I excused myself.
“Oh well then, good.” She said and turned to her daughter as I turned to leave, “Honestly darling, why do you associate with trash, first your boyfriend and now him? People will think you’re a whore.” The mother said in a hushed tone.
For a moment I stopped. “Mommy is he hurting you?” “You son of a bitch. You ruined my life. I should have had that abortion!” *Slap* In all these years, those images never left me. They would flood back time and time again. Made me angry. Very angry. Balled my fists as I left the museum, collected my sign and stalked off.
No apparent sign of thievery. Perhaps on wrong trail. Let the damned painting be stolen. Stopped, twirled J.S. Riley’s diamond ring. In habit of wearing it these days. Something bad happened to him. Or something he was doing was bad. More than just paintings.
For now, Rorschach.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Rorschach's Journa, March 17th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 5:08pm. Saint Patrick’s Day. All the drunkards are out tonight. Starting early, it appears. Every so often one stumbles by with enormous green hat, hooting and hollering. For the most part, ignoring me, however, monetary contributions have been on the rise today. Either the sign is effective or they are not really sure what they are doing. One commented on my red hair and asked if I was Irish. Not Irish, Polish. Still, the donations will buy some groceries for a welcome change.
Outside 9:30 club. Sign in hand. Almost time to call it a day while in my disguise so that I may slip on my face for the night to patrol streets. Shots rang out an hour earlier. Watched from the front of the pawn shop as police and hysterical drunks run about.
Television in Pawn Shop’s window catches the eye. News. Short report on the new Michelangelo exhibit opening tomorrow.
“Oh God not that again, I can’t get away from it.” A young girl of 22 spoke from my left. Dressed like a green colored whore. No doubt “clubbing” or celebrating the holiday in some kind of debauched way.
“Hurm, not a fan?” I spoke to her, reluctantly, but perhaps she knew of anyone a little too interested in the paintings.
“Oh God, my mother can’t shut up about it. Michael Angeles this and Michael Angeles that, who ever the hell he was anyway.” She grouched, “Same with my boyfriend. God, he’s even worse."
“Not impressed by art? Art is a reflection of society and culture. Can be controversial but important nevertheless, even if you don’t agree with it.”
“Hah, so you, homeless guy, are an expert on art.” She laughed as she looked at my sign. “I like your sign. Here.” She handed me a 20 dollar bill, “You convinced me.” She smiled stupidly, “My boyfriend would kill you if he found me talking to you.” She smoothed her hair vainly.
“I’d like to see him try.” I thought to myself, but did not speak it out loud.
“There she is.” She pointed at the screen again, “Mom’s on the news.”
I stared at the woman on the screen. Well to do, patron of the arts. Socialite. I then looked at the girl. How could this apple have fallen so far from the tree?
“Hey baby, you ready to go?” a male voice said as he approached the girl. He looked over at me. It was one of the hoodlums I saw last night in front of the museum. The one who wrinkled his nose at me. Suspicious. Wonder if he was involved in the shooting a block away as well.
“What the F**k you lookin’ at?” he said as he lead the girl away, “Shit man, take a shower, Wooow!” The two laughed as they walked away.
"Aw, baby I thought he was cute!"
I contemplated following them had it not been that they were going out on the town and it was a holiday. There would be no covert operations tonight.
Stopping at the store, I pick up groceries and meet James at the house. Cat had managed to empty out every container in the place. He sat, amongst torn papers and looked up innocently.
“Mew” Purring, he enjoyed a can of tuna with me. A night in, reading New Frontiersman, cacophony out in the streets.
Outside 9:30 club. Sign in hand. Almost time to call it a day while in my disguise so that I may slip on my face for the night to patrol streets. Shots rang out an hour earlier. Watched from the front of the pawn shop as police and hysterical drunks run about.
Television in Pawn Shop’s window catches the eye. News. Short report on the new Michelangelo exhibit opening tomorrow.
“Oh God not that again, I can’t get away from it.” A young girl of 22 spoke from my left. Dressed like a green colored whore. No doubt “clubbing” or celebrating the holiday in some kind of debauched way.
“Hurm, not a fan?” I spoke to her, reluctantly, but perhaps she knew of anyone a little too interested in the paintings.
“Oh God, my mother can’t shut up about it. Michael Angeles this and Michael Angeles that, who ever the hell he was anyway.” She grouched, “Same with my boyfriend. God, he’s even worse."
“Not impressed by art? Art is a reflection of society and culture. Can be controversial but important nevertheless, even if you don’t agree with it.”
“Hah, so you, homeless guy, are an expert on art.” She laughed as she looked at my sign. “I like your sign. Here.” She handed me a 20 dollar bill, “You convinced me.” She smiled stupidly, “My boyfriend would kill you if he found me talking to you.” She smoothed her hair vainly.
“I’d like to see him try.” I thought to myself, but did not speak it out loud.
“There she is.” She pointed at the screen again, “Mom’s on the news.”
I stared at the woman on the screen. Well to do, patron of the arts. Socialite. I then looked at the girl. How could this apple have fallen so far from the tree?
“Hey baby, you ready to go?” a male voice said as he approached the girl. He looked over at me. It was one of the hoodlums I saw last night in front of the museum. The one who wrinkled his nose at me. Suspicious. Wonder if he was involved in the shooting a block away as well.
“What the F**k you lookin’ at?” he said as he lead the girl away, “Shit man, take a shower, Wooow!” The two laughed as they walked away.
"Aw, baby I thought he was cute!"
I contemplated following them had it not been that they were going out on the town and it was a holiday. There would be no covert operations tonight.
Stopping at the store, I pick up groceries and meet James at the house. Cat had managed to empty out every container in the place. He sat, amongst torn papers and looked up innocently.
“Mew” Purring, he enjoyed a can of tuna with me. A night in, reading New Frontiersman, cacophony out in the streets.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 16th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 3:19pm
In disguise as Walter Kovacs, doom profit. I am amazed no one has made the connection that this disguise is the same one that was in the Penitentiary back in the 80s. Perhaps Walter looks different? A little grey at the temple? Hurm.
Made it to library. Only permitted 20 minutes. Needed to make the best of it. Research of J.S. Riley revealed he is a famous auction house buyer out of New York. Perhaps here on business for the Michelangelos. But apparently will not be buying the exhibit. Perhaps to case the place for a robbery later? Scum and Villainy. Why would he have dropped his ring, unless he was relieved of it involuntarily?
Wonder if some of the street thugs would like to answer some good old fashioned questions. My way.
Hurm. Need to purchase nail clippers. Cat’s claws can be clipped with human clippers. Rubbing another scratch on wrist. James is quite a frisky kitten.
“Excuse me, sir?” Library aid approached. Friendly, glasses, broad smile, she must be up to something, “I’m sorry, but you’ve been on a little longer than 20 minutes.”
“Oh.” Hurm, “Pardon, Miss Dorian” Her name tag spelled out her last name.
“Oh it’s fine, have a nice day!” Her New Jersey accent lilted.
Collected doom sign and left library. Head out to museum. Nothing out of the ordinary. Banner reveals exhibit to open March 18th. Will have to see for myself why the commotion.
Same two gang members wander by. They give me backward glance as they wrinkled their noses.
For now, Rorschach
In disguise as Walter Kovacs, doom profit. I am amazed no one has made the connection that this disguise is the same one that was in the Penitentiary back in the 80s. Perhaps Walter looks different? A little grey at the temple? Hurm.
Made it to library. Only permitted 20 minutes. Needed to make the best of it. Research of J.S. Riley revealed he is a famous auction house buyer out of New York. Perhaps here on business for the Michelangelos. But apparently will not be buying the exhibit. Perhaps to case the place for a robbery later? Scum and Villainy. Why would he have dropped his ring, unless he was relieved of it involuntarily?
Wonder if some of the street thugs would like to answer some good old fashioned questions. My way.
Hurm. Need to purchase nail clippers. Cat’s claws can be clipped with human clippers. Rubbing another scratch on wrist. James is quite a frisky kitten.
“Excuse me, sir?” Library aid approached. Friendly, glasses, broad smile, she must be up to something, “I’m sorry, but you’ve been on a little longer than 20 minutes.”
“Oh.” Hurm, “Pardon, Miss Dorian” Her name tag spelled out her last name.
“Oh it’s fine, have a nice day!” Her New Jersey accent lilted.
Collected doom sign and left library. Head out to museum. Nothing out of the ordinary. Banner reveals exhibit to open March 18th. Will have to see for myself why the commotion.
Same two gang members wander by. They give me backward glance as they wrinkled their noses.
For now, Rorschach
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 15th, 2009
Discovered, after frustrating day, that most libraries are closed on Sundays. Need to research J.S. Riley inscription on diamond ring and need free access to computer... evil computer. It sucks you in and hypnotizes you. I shall not fall victim to it.
Also must research proper method to clipping cat claws.
Currently walking along street in front of National Gallery. Hoping to see blond man, or other assailants.
Small group of loud young adults, probably in their 20s, passed by. Cacophonous talking. One threw a match at me. I grumbled. Mounted police too close by for me to ground one of them. Resolved to move on to more secluded area between the museums.
Found blood stain on the cement. Clump of hair. Crime scene not fresh, but fresh enough for a second look.
Hair, blond.
For now, Rorschach
Also must research proper method to clipping cat claws.
Currently walking along street in front of National Gallery. Hoping to see blond man, or other assailants.
Small group of loud young adults, probably in their 20s, passed by. Cacophonous talking. One threw a match at me. I grumbled. Mounted police too close by for me to ground one of them. Resolved to move on to more secluded area between the museums.
Found blood stain on the cement. Clump of hair. Crime scene not fresh, but fresh enough for a second look.
Hair, blond.
For now, Rorschach
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 14th, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 11:39pm. Continuing to patrol street alley behind National Gallery of Art. Cold and rainy night. Trench coat fends off the chill. Managed to visit old enemy, “Sledge” today. No matter how much they say they reform, they never will. He retired away from NY but ended up in this place. Still, managed to obtain one can of baked beans, and one can of creamed corn.
Full now.
Must report his poker winnings to the IRS.
The night is lonely except for a scuffle in the alleyway. Voices heard arguing.
“I told you! Tomorrow.”
“I have no time for tomorrows, you do this tonight or no money!”
“Oh no you don’t mother F**ker.”
Bad language and a scuffle. I leaped out from a dumpster to find the two running off.
On the asphalt a glint in the dim street light. I pick it up. A diamond ring. Mind flashed back to a few days before. Man in crisp suit. Blond hair, diamond ring. Inscription on the ring. J.S. Riley.
“Hurm”
Full now.
Must report his poker winnings to the IRS.
The night is lonely except for a scuffle in the alleyway. Voices heard arguing.
“I told you! Tomorrow.”
“I have no time for tomorrows, you do this tonight or no money!”
“Oh no you don’t mother F**ker.”
Bad language and a scuffle. I leaped out from a dumpster to find the two running off.
On the asphalt a glint in the dim street light. I pick it up. A diamond ring. Mind flashed back to a few days before. Man in crisp suit. Blond hair, diamond ring. Inscription on the ring. J.S. Riley.
“Hurm”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 13, 2009
Rorschach’s Journal, 10:57pm. Cold dark streets. Washington DC different than New York. Less crowded, but more dangerous. Walking along alley way behind Art Gallery. National Mall fairly dead at this hour. No one around.
Thoughts wander. James at home, probably scratching one and only chair. Rub scratch mark on wrist. Never had pet before. How can anything be playful, soft, warm and draw blood all at once? I think I like cats.
Shadows dart through bushes, but nothing there on investigation. A light flickers and then is gone.
Michelangelo show starts in two days. Not sure why I am so concerned with degenerate’s paintings. But there is always someone who wants what they can’t have. And I need to be there to stop it.
A wind picks up, but all is quiet. Aimless walking, alone, against a backdrop of lit monuments. A lonely superstitious night.
Thoughts wander. James at home, probably scratching one and only chair. Rub scratch mark on wrist. Never had pet before. How can anything be playful, soft, warm and draw blood all at once? I think I like cats.
Shadows dart through bushes, but nothing there on investigation. A light flickers and then is gone.
Michelangelo show starts in two days. Not sure why I am so concerned with degenerate’s paintings. But there is always someone who wants what they can’t have. And I need to be there to stop it.
A wind picks up, but all is quiet. Aimless walking, alone, against a backdrop of lit monuments. A lonely superstitious night.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 12th, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, 9:27pm. Long day observing Art Museum. Various nondescript characters entering and exiting building. Discreet moving truck arrived out back. Michelangelo's finally arriving, piece by piece.
Spotted couple of men. Obvious gang members. Entered art museum. Made note of it.
No food today.
Sitting in apartment reviewing New Frontiersmen. Knock on door.
"Hey, Kovaks, it's the 12th, he's here!"
Landlord stands in doorway. Box in one arm. Bag of something and tray in other.
"Your kitten, just like we talked about."
Hands me box, bag of food and litter tray. Leaves.
Kitten, nearly one year old. Average brown tabby. Eyes, yellow. I can't take care of a kitten. Will dump in alley later. Put box down and pick up newspaper.
"Mew?"
Small yellow eyes look up. Cat encircles ankle. Pick cat up. Looks interesting. It purrs. Warmth. Softness.
A name. Need a name. Truman. No. Max. No. James. James, I imagined perhaps my father's name. Yes. James.
"Mew."
Spotted couple of men. Obvious gang members. Entered art museum. Made note of it.
No food today.
Sitting in apartment reviewing New Frontiersmen. Knock on door.
"Hey, Kovaks, it's the 12th, he's here!"
Landlord stands in doorway. Box in one arm. Bag of something and tray in other.
"Your kitten, just like we talked about."
Hands me box, bag of food and litter tray. Leaves.
Kitten, nearly one year old. Average brown tabby. Eyes, yellow. I can't take care of a kitten. Will dump in alley later. Put box down and pick up newspaper.
"Mew?"
Small yellow eyes look up. Cat encircles ankle. Pick cat up. Looks interesting. It purrs. Warmth. Softness.
A name. Need a name. Truman. No. Max. No. James. James, I imagined perhaps my father's name. Yes. James.
"Mew."
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Rorshach's Journal, March 11th, 2009
Middle of the afternoon. In my disguise as doom profit outside Smithsonian metro stop. The End is Nigh. Got a few donations. Got some ridicule. The best answer to insults is silence.
Sitting now, across from National Gallery of Art, writing, also reading New Frontiersmen. They re-ran my journal from 1985/1986. Feel vindicated. Where is your utopia now? Not sure when shipment of Michelangelos arriving. Keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Trouble is, everyone in DC is suspicious. Someone threw half full cup at me. Tripped him as he walked by. Moved on. Hungry. Not eaten since breakfast yesterday. Have enough money to buy food from vendor.
Man in crisp suit walks passed. Gave me scornful eye as I ate. He doesn't like my grungy clothes. He wrinkles nose before trotting across street to museum. I follow.
Guards made me check my sign. Begrudgingly, I do. Followed man discreetly through the halls of so called art. He seemed distraught at arriving to cordoned off area of the Michelangelos. He left museum. I make note. Blond man, average height, new suit, diamond ring.
For now, Rorschach
Sitting now, across from National Gallery of Art, writing, also reading New Frontiersmen. They re-ran my journal from 1985/1986. Feel vindicated. Where is your utopia now? Not sure when shipment of Michelangelos arriving. Keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Trouble is, everyone in DC is suspicious. Someone threw half full cup at me. Tripped him as he walked by. Moved on. Hungry. Not eaten since breakfast yesterday. Have enough money to buy food from vendor.
Man in crisp suit walks passed. Gave me scornful eye as I ate. He doesn't like my grungy clothes. He wrinkles nose before trotting across street to museum. I follow.
Guards made me check my sign. Begrudgingly, I do. Followed man discreetly through the halls of so called art. He seemed distraught at arriving to cordoned off area of the Michelangelos. He left museum. I make note. Blond man, average height, new suit, diamond ring.
For now, Rorschach
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, March 10th, 2009
Rorschach's Journal, passed 10pm. Early in the evening, yet, compelled to return to apartment. Too tired to roam streets for trouble. Need to research art gallery opening exhibit. Michelangelo paintings in town on tour. Michelangelo, Hurm, possibly homosexual. Must investigate further.
Something unusual at Smithsonian Metro Stop. All scrambled at the sight of me. Harder to ambush in Washington DC.
Gang violence at maximum level. Worse than New York. City does not fear me yet. They will.
Grappling gun makes short work to lift me to window. Room warm and dark. Sleep beckons. Note slipped under door. "Arrival Date March 12th." Arrival?
Time for sleep. Make shift bed. On to nightmares.
For now, Rorschach.
Something unusual at Smithsonian Metro Stop. All scrambled at the sight of me. Harder to ambush in Washington DC.
Gang violence at maximum level. Worse than New York. City does not fear me yet. They will.
Grappling gun makes short work to lift me to window. Room warm and dark. Sleep beckons. Note slipped under door. "Arrival Date March 12th." Arrival?
Time for sleep. Make shift bed. On to nightmares.
For now, Rorschach.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Rorschach's Journal 3/9/09 8:04pm
Rorschach's Journal, March 9th, 2009 8:04pm
Family of rats uncovered behind storefront on way home. Dirty, like this city, full of debauchery and prostitution. Climbed stairs to reunite with face and clothes for foray into night. Bumped into Landlord. Discussion of animals in apartment. Confused by topic and shrugged it off.
Put on face, clothes, looked out window before climbing out. Chilly air, new city, same filth. On to investigate bank robbery. Find some food. Break some fingers.
For now, Rorschach
Family of rats uncovered behind storefront on way home. Dirty, like this city, full of debauchery and prostitution. Climbed stairs to reunite with face and clothes for foray into night. Bumped into Landlord. Discussion of animals in apartment. Confused by topic and shrugged it off.
Put on face, clothes, looked out window before climbing out. Chilly air, new city, same filth. On to investigate bank robbery. Find some food. Break some fingers.
For now, Rorschach
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