Our progress has been swift these past two days. We crossed a raging river, flush with mountain snow come down from afar. Haritu the guide says we will be at the temple within three days if we are able to continue our current pace.
I wish his news cheered me. But it does not. As we have grown closer to the temple, something very tangible seems to be haunting us in this jungle. I have felt eyes on us. I have heard voices. Whispers. And the cold winds that are strangely out of place here sweep in on us at the weirdest times. Once while I prayed in the morning and just after we had settled down to sleep. That time, a particularly strong gust tossed a blazing log out of the fire circle. Haritu had to quickly stomp it out or else it would have turned the jungle into an inferno.
11 May
Haritu is having second thoughts. I can see the fear growing in him and I am a poor choice for stirring any reservoir of courage he might have. For I feel my own bravery wavering in the face of reaching our destination soon.
I want nothing more than to turn around and head back to Caracas. I want to go home and see my beloved Margaret again.
But I cannot. God has directed me here. I feel compelled to see this through to the end.
Whatever end that may entail.
12 May
I have seen the temple.
Haritu guided us to the edge of the clearing that stands before the overgrown walls. Perhaps I was expecting something grander in size. But it is little more than a mausoleum-sized artifice carved out of the rock of the side of a mountain. It overlooks some type of small river that runs colder than any water we have crossed so far.
Haritu would not permit me to drink from the river and I’m glad he forbade it. The temple is a gray granite pockmarked with bizarre script that is worn away in places. Jungle vines have overtaken the majority of the place so that it is very difficult to see unless you look at it directly.
I know what I must do now, but I am loathe to do it. Already, the sun dips in the sky and the cold winds have returned to plague us again. Haritu whimpers quite a bit. I have seen much fear in my life; I have seen it play across the faces of man and beast alike, but Haritu’s fear is so overwhelming, I fear he may run away and leave me here alone.
I pray I am wrong.
13 May
I was not.
Haritu has vanished and I am left on my own. Part of me wonders if he truly ran back to the world or whether the jungle simply took him. I slept fitfully last night, my head filled with strange dreams. I woke once hearing a series of screams that seemed to drift all about the jungle. Are they spirits of those killed by the demon? I feel haunted by a presence lurking in the jungle and yet I can explain nothing about it.
I’m sure this sounds like so much silliness, but even as I write this, I feel compelled to stop often and look up. I’m certain I will see someone looking at me, but I do not.
Dawn arrived today with a heavy gust of cold wind. I feel like I am touching the world of death here. I shiver and sweat at the same time.
Does the demon know I am on his trail? Does he rest in that temple even as I write these words?
Is he waiting for me?
Perhaps I will go right now and see.
Perhaps tomorrow.
14 May
I will go today. This will be my last journal entry until I return. I shall leave my belongings outside the temple in case something should happen to me inside. I will take only my revolver, knife, crucifix, holy water and bible. I don’t know how else to combat an emissary of Satan. I pray these tools will be enough.
It has grown warmer and the cold winds have ceased.
Does he know I am coming today?
I miss Margaret. I love her so.
God keep me safe. God keep us all safe.
The journal ended there.
Lauren let her arms fall by her side. She felt exhausted.
And absolutely terrified.
If Graham Westerly was unable to kill him, she thought, how in God’s name are we supposed to succeed?
Curran switched off the eleven o’clock news and leaned back into the deep cushions of his sofa. Tonight had not gone the way he’d wanted it to. By the time he picked up Kwon and they’d finally managed to part the traffic and get themselves back down into position on Charles Street, Darius had already closed up shop for the night.
Kwon had wanted to go to Darius’ house and keep watch from there, but Curran had said no. All they had at this point was…well, nothing. Sure, Lauren had identified him as the guy she’d seen stalking her. But that was all they had. And if Darius spotted Curran, he could either disappear entirely or make Curran’s life hellish by claiming the homicide detective was harassing him for no reason.
Better, Curran suggested, that they have some type of proof to go on first.
That had been before Lauren’s phone call.
The way she sounded on the telephone, the nervous tone to her voice, Curran knew she’d found the information they were looking for. When she told him about it, Curran felt his inside go cold. The idea that the serial killer he’d been stalking for so many years was truly attempting to do something incredibly evil beyond all his expectations shook him hard.
Maybe deep down he’d known someone as skilled as the Soul Eater could only have the most foul of purposes for existing. Maybe the way he left the dead over the years had almost conditioned Curran for news like this. And even as many times as he’d privately denied the possibility, the way he felt when she uttered those words was more of a sickening feeling of having been right all along.
The dreaded ‘I told you so’ voice spoke up from his instinct.
Lauren had phoned from her friend’s house in Brighton. Curran felt good about her being there — he considered her safe from the Soul Eater.
At least for now.
No telling what this guy will do once we start coming for him, he thought.
