The Unfinished Journal of Alex Cross

The Journal of Alex Cross September 23rd, 1976

 

I tried again today. I must have misjudged but I guess it doesn’t really matter. There I go again, trying to make sense of all of this. The truth is, non of it not even my own being makes sense. I’m a fluke, no a freak. Whatever I’ve become, god has forgotten me and in turn, I forget god. I made sure the cut was deep this time and I bled, oh how I bled. But just as I felt myself drifting away, the bleeding stopped and I knew he was mocking me somewhere in the depth of my mind. Laughing at how pathetic I’ve become, laughing as I agonize in his enjoyment. My body is my hell, I welcome death. Please take me, please allow me to hang the sword of Damocles above this demon’s head.

…

 

Home Sire Home

 

In Caesar’s opinion, the killing had grown out of hand. For him to think that way, it must have been bad. He had already etched over 40 notches into his belt. Alex Cross had come to this decision only after the first murder. Alex, in some strange disturbed sense of mind, had found it funny that Caesar had finally decided that he had been committing far too many murders to remain in one place. Caesar, also known as the “Philly Ripper” had made his mark in Philadelphia and now he was going to go back home and he was dragging Alex along with him. Ireland, Caesar’s place of birth, but more importantly the place in which he was sired. He would feel more comfortable there, hopefully there would be less human filth for him to exterminate, and more familiar blood for him to enjoy. Alex was a true-blue American man though, the trip to Ireland would throw his already bewildered mind off another cliff.

 

I Killed Myself Again Today

 

Alex stumbled carelessly down a steep hill of jagged unforgiving rocks. He fell once or twice and added another bruise and another gash to the collection he had received that night. Scratches up and down his arms, deep as the devil. He could swear the woman had broke a nail off in his muscle somewhere, he could feel himself healing strangely over it. Caesar had really done it this time, they hadn’t been in Ireland for over a week and he had already found himself another helpless victim. The innocent mother of a newborn. Caesar raped the woman in front of her distraught husband and then gutted her, leaving her destroyed body with one last statement, “her fear tasted better than her blood.” Again, like every other time, Alex was forced to watch this suffering through the eyes of a blood lusting maniac. This was it, he was going to end it all for good. He was going to make sure nothing like this would ever happen again. Alex climbed into the dank foreboding cave at the end of the hill, and loaded the revolver as the darkness slowly engulfed his wiry, shaken body. “Caesar, you son of a b***h. You’ve done your damage. Now I’m taking you to hell, even if it means I have to go with you.” but all Alex could hear was laughter, deep within his being, Caesar was sure Alex didn’t have the will to shoot himself in the head.

 

“You’re a weak, simple creature.” Caesar retorted.

“I’m in control now.” Alex began squeezing the trigger.

 

But it felt as if God himself froze Alex’s body, seized it tight and stifled any further moment. Alex feared he was experiencing another seizure at a bad time but this was different. This cataclysm was not occurring within his body, but around his body. Tossing it through a series of summersaults and flips, for the first time in his life, Alex felt a sensation of anti-gravity. Did he fire the gun? Was he dying and falling through the molten lava circles of hell? The gun was long gone, far from him and for a moment everything was stricken in a deadly silence. He felt his body slam against the ground and he immediately tasted dirt, than grass, than blood.

 

Author's Note

As cliche as this is, give me your best shot.