The Second Hand Man

My sister has promised to see me tonight, but I had also hoped that Steve Ferran could be present on my final night on this plane of existence. I had hoped it would be his face that I again saw for the last time.

I have been phoning Steve constantly today. He still refuses to see me. It is so difficult to accept how much he hates me now; difficult, but understandable!

Even though I may have stopped resending him that special gift I put together for him many years ago, up until today I never gave up hope that there might just be the slightest chance to sway him.

In light of the coming tragedy, I’ve taken the liberty to pack him another gift; a larger one this time, and without any copies – I’ve included all the originals – everything!

Perhaps when he learns that I’ve turned into a seemingly babbling idiot, he might just reconsider inspecting its contents.

In my earlier attempt to talk to him over the phone, he might have already considered me to be somewhat unstable! But I do know that although I was hysterical, I was at least able to impart enough information to him to imprint the urgency and seriousness of my dilemma.

When the papers start announcing Cornelius Crane’s fantastic condition to the world, he will be forced to sit up and take notice.

Unfortunately, it will be too late to help me, but at least he will know the truth that once was; the truth that we had once been the very best of friends; a truth that I so foolishly and selfishly squandered away between the strong, shapely thighs of his magnificent Amazon Queen wife.

I had once seen tears in the man’s eyes before he slid me into the chamber and proceeded to blast my mind back through the very fabric of time.

But on that night of his wedding, he had not shed a single tear for me or the blushing bride. I had never seen his visage contort and twist with such malicious hatred.

I did not cry immediately. It was like experiencing the loss of a loved one. Sometimes the mind takes time before it accepts the facts…the reality. Yes, sometimes the shock is so great that we wander about in a trance…in denial. Only when we can no longer refute the truth do we finally accept it in a flurry of tears…a catharsis, if you will.

I have wept many times since. I wept for both of us, for the tragedy had been twofold.

I had destroyed our friendship before it even was, and I have now destroyed myself, the man I have become.

‘I am neither proud nor relish in the things I have done. So, when Judgment Day cometh – I pray that God forgive us both.’

Grandpa was right; sometimes we cause ourselves a lifetime of misery and suffering for a few brief moments of unbridled, passion and pleasure!

As soon as I’ve finished this final entry I’ll add it to the collection and have the box sealed and addressed to Steve (I only pray that he doesn’t decide to put a match to the lot without thoroughly studying the contents!).

I have decided to also include the following:

A note explaining the purpose behind sending him the diaries. I have also stressed that the diaries have only been placed temporarily in his safe keeping, and that I trust he will use the proper discretion when the time comes to return them to me. They will reveal the complete truth to myself once I have, not only learned to read, but also acquired a mind that will be more capable of understanding, as well as accepting, the truth. In the long interim, the short video recording that I have prepared for myself will have to suffice for now.

An old worn tin container that had once held boiled butterscotch sweets produced by a confectionery company in Lancashire, England, est. 1880.

Some old British coins dated 1925 and 1931.

Two wavy edged postcards with sepia-colored photos of the Blackpool Promenade in the late thirties.

A military cap badge of the 17th Lancers.

The last of the $10 bills from my coconut hair-stuffed mattress (This is the $10 that Tallis was kind enough to return to me) I kept it to remind myself that I would one day have my revenge.

A pair of Harry S. Truman/Harold Lloyd spectacles.

Hannah’s lock of hair.

The cigar from the Balmoral Ladies Bar.

A baking powder tin containing one last imported candy from Belgium.

Two mugshots of me holding a board marked, ‘F.B.I.s Most Wanted!’

The two video recordings that I made of the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Centre (If these do not convince him of the truth – nothing will.).

An old cigar box containing numerous newspaper clippings (The oldest being those regarding the Willow Creek Killer. The latest being the special ‘In Memory of’ tribute that The Chronicle ran after Erika Angelo, their Assistant Editor was killed in the 9/11 attacks.).

In the meantime I will try yet again to convince him to see me before it is too late.

Oh, yes, I must also add:

The framed note from Joaq Du Maille hanging in my study.

If my assumption or theory, about what will happen tonight at exactly 23h00, proves to be wrong – I will have only the embarrassment of having needlessly harassed the man.

But, if it should prove correct – then at least one person will know the truth about the man who was once ‘Professor’ Cornelius Crane!

Lately I am finding it very difficult to shake away the unsettling image from my mind of the terrified expression that I had once witnessed on Natty’s face.

I know for certain that I am awaiting that very same fate!!!

Time is most definitely a four-letter word!!!