You know, I kinda like this Teller guy. At least he’s honest. If blunt. That said, everyone is perfectly aware that this is entirely worrying; I mean, who would’ve guessed that Spence wasn’t entirely in control of his own actions? Certainly not your charming correspondent, who, doing his civic duty, decided to schedule a post-game interview with the mysterious man of the minute.
He was unavailable for comment. Indeed, when I went searching for him, he was nowhere to be seen, and all was quiet on the Eastern front…Our Glorious Leader has once again disappeared without warning, after a lovely little message from his bonny lass.
And I found Lori lying, practically comatose on a lounge in the living room. Now, to be fair, what with all her ‘morphine milkshakes’ she does so boast about, this isn’t really a rare position to find her in, but the troubling thing was the method of delivery; a small drop of blood was leaking from her neck, and a syringe was lying on the ground next to her; she looked as if she were vampirized by one half of Count Dracula. And there next to her was, of course, August, trying in vain to get her somewhere more comfortable. I gave the kid a hand (only one, naturally) and got her tucked into her own bed safe and sound, and found out something rather troubling; Spencer had given his bonny lass a phone call.
"He called Elaine, he’s going to see Writer.”
The days of me spouting angry words of rebellion and revenge are over; now, I’m on damage control. We need Spence around, but I think it’s obvious for everyone that he’s walking a razor’s edge. Elly, if the lovely Spence comes to see you, I’m sure you’re entirely sure he’s not so lovely anymore. Nor is he much Spencer, either. I trust you are capable enough to realise that the time for defending his actions is coming to a close…Now’s the time to defend yourself. Hell, this goes for all of you. Consider this a news bulletin.
Spencer Fitzgerald is not a healthy man. Spencer Fitzgerald is not in control of his own actions. Spencer Fitzgerald is wanted and dangerous.
If you see him? Do not attempt to make conversation. Do not make direct eye contact. Do not feed him after midnight.
Run.
Just run.
It's simple. You need something delivered, but are being stalked by... You-Know-Who. We are good at Running and like money. Elementary, my dear Watson!
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He promised me he'd be back. As him. I have faith in that.
ReplyDeleteI don't think he's ever been any of those things. then again, it's no longer alcohol that is holding health, control and sanity from him.
ReplyDeleteElly my dear, I hope you're right.
ReplyDeleteSeriously, please don't call me Elly.
ReplyDelete...Sorry, Elaine.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
ReplyDeleteAw damn I wanted to use the nickname too...
ReplyDelete