Seven-X (27 page)

She fell to her knees sobbing uncontrollably. It was a sweet melody to my soul. 

Donald walked over like he had just knocked out an opponent in the boxing ring, gloating over her fallen body. “Where is your God now?” he said. “Do you think he loves a murderer, who covers her sin?” 

Donald glared at Annette on the floor. Her sobbing was so deep, it made me light headed. Then this energy passed through me. That powerful feeling I had moments ago was gone, and my stomach kicked back hard. I couldn’t look at Annette suffer like this anymore. My heart sunk deep in my chest. 

What did I do?  

Before my next thought could generate, two nurses ran inside and helped Annette off the ground. The guards grabbed me and I flopped over lifelessly. I didn’t have strength to fight. They restrained me and dragged me out of the cafeteria to this holding room in Ward B.

I still hear Annette crying. She’s completely broken. They have her on suicide watch as a precautionary measure. It’s disturbing to hear someone crying so loud, for so long. The strange thing is that all this insanity quieted the voices in my head.

It’s as if they gained satisfaction from my actions. But it left me physically drained. I feel weak, cold, detached. Chills run through my body and my mind keeps blanking out.  I’m shaking. Whether it’s from excitement or shattered nerves, I’m not sure. But it’s hard to focus on my computer, and the bones in my fingers throb in pain as I stroke the keyboard. 

Putting coherent thoughts down is difficult. I read my journals over and over to make sure they make sense. I don’t even remember writing sometimes. It’s like I go into another dimension, staring at the screen and when I recover, I look down at the monitor and it’s all there, clear and concise. 

Something is stirring inside me. Moving in and out of places deep within me, that I didn’t know existed. Is it my spirit, my soul that I am finally in contact with, or is it an alien presence invading this sacred place within me? 

Is it a disease? Some kind of tumor affecting my brain, or contaminated blood pumping through my veins, filled with toxins and drugs? Is this all a reaction to the foreign substances that fill me?

Or is it a demon? 

Could a demon possibly be living inside me? For the first time, the question begs consideration. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Maybe I’m detaching from the consequence of my actions to justify what I did, and put the blame on someone or something else. Anything, but me.

Can I become that desensitized to the evil that lurks within me?  Is it a defense mechanism that lies, to protect us from a perfect God? That’s what Billings told me about sin. And now I’m questioning if anything he said could have any measure of truth to it. 

 What have I evolved into? 

Why would I purposely aim to destroy someone, or in the worst-case scenario, kill them?  If I killed Rudy, I don’t even remember. 

What just happened with Annette was so vague when it happened, but then this force comes back and brings all these deeds clearly to mind. 

I re-live each moment as if it were happening all over again, like it’s haunting me. My mind becomes this projector, playing movies of me on walls inside my head. And sometimes I open my eyes and I’m still inside this theater of my soul.  The darkness plays tricks on me and I’m not sure if I’m dreaming. It’s exhausting.  

And I’m freezing. I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep.

JOURNAL ENTRY: 

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 22, 2010 – 1:40 PM

After waiting inside the holding room for a while, I was brought to the infirmary for examination. 

My body temperature plummeted to 94°. I’m suffering from hypothermia. 

They gave an IV of iodine and warm tea. Nurse Evans wrapped a heated blanket around me. My other suggestion for warmth from her went unmet. 

I’m trying to keep my sense of humor, but the way she looked at me I could tell I lost my mojo. In fact, she coldly told me, I looked sick. 

Maybe I am sick. I’m sick in the head. Sick in the heart. Home sick. Sick of this place. Sick of everything. Sick of my thoughts. Sick of the voices that torment me. I’m sick of feeling cold and nauseous and dizzy. I’m sick of Haworth and Billings and mentally ill patients.  

I’m sick of hearing Annette Dobson cry, moan and piss herself over her demented life. I’m sick of being blamed for everything. I’m sick of losing. I’m sick of being rejected. I’m sick of failure. I’m sick of an IV feeding me drugs that I don’t even know. I’m sick of all this shit. I’m just sick!

I can’t even sit here any longer. I’m about to go postal. I feel like I am going to burst!

VIDEO LOG:                                              

 WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 22, 2010 – 2:06 PM

ENTERED BY MELODY SWANN.

NOTE: I received this in the mail, along with a note that said more material was on its way. It was signed, “a friend,” so I don’t think it came from Eddie. 

It’s been eight days since I talked to him and I’m really worried. 

Carl is convinced the tapes Eddie sent me of Annette Dobson are authentic and he paid me for them. He’s helping me put all these notes together and make it into a book. 

This video has the time and date on the bottom. December 22 at 2:03 PM. It looks like a security video from a hospital room.

Eddie is lying on the bed, hooked up to an IV. He looks horrible. His skin is pale, white and pasty. He hasn’t shaved. His hands are shaking and he’s banging his head off the back of the bed, grunting like an animal.

They tied his legs and arms down and his eyes are closed. He’s half conscious. He looks like he’s having a bad dream or contracted rabies or some disease. His eyes are black.  There’s something wrong. He’s kicking, flopping off the bed. He’s saying something.  What the hell is he saying? He’s not speaking English.

“Daemones mihi vivere. I ad eas pertinent. Et videbis credidisti! Capiam Dei solium dominabitur homines nequam.”

Holy shit! I swear I just saw Eddie’s body come off the bed. It looked like a magic trick, but it wasn’t, I know it. His body lifted in the air. Something lifted him off the bed, his whole body off the bed.  That was fucked up. How the hell could he do that? What if he’s having a heart attack or something? 

The worst thing is, I don’t even know how help. Why is no one helping him in there? He’s alone and he’s sick.

I’ve got to talk to Carl. We need to go to the police. This is bad! Really bad!

AUDIO LOG:                                           

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 22, 2010 – 5:48 PM

“This is Eddie Hansen. It’s Wednesday, I think. I think. I don’t know. I can’t move. I’m strapped down on this bed. I’m in the hospital at Uphir Behavioral Center in Uphir, Texas. If anyone gets this, please help. I need help. There’s something wrong with me. I may be infected with a parasite. I’ve been given non-regulated, experimental drugs. Is anyone down here? Anybody! I know you’re watching! I see the camera. C’mon. Help me! Hey! Hey! Nurse Evans. Is that you? Come here, please. Come here. Let me loose.”

“I can’t Eddie,” she told me, playing with my IV.

“What are you doing? What is that?”

“It’s dopamine. You went in to shock. Remain calm. Okay? Just stay still.”

“I feel like my chest is going to explode,” I told her feeling nervous as she changed the bags of medicine feeding me.

“I know. Just relax. This will help. Think happy thoughts.”

“About you?” I said, looking for relief.

“Sure. This should help you sleep. Breathe deep and relax.”

“My laptop, who took it?” I asked, trying to get up.

“Don’t move Eddie. It’s here, right on the chair behind you. You can’t move. It can be fatal. Now turn this recorder off and try to sleep this time. I’ll leave this next to your hand, just like you asked before, okay.”

“Okay.”

 “Close your eyes. If you feel your heart racing or you need me for anything, just hit this button right here. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

THURSDAY DECEMBER 23, 2010

VIDEO LOG: 

THURSDAY DECEMBER 23, 2010 – 3:00 AM

ENTERED BY MELODY SWANN

This is the second video from the package I received from “a friend,” It is dated Thursday, December 23
^rd
, three am. 

Eddie is still strapped down on the bed, sleeping. The fluorescent lights above him keep flickering on and off, or maybe there is something moving in front of them, it’s hard to tell.  A shadow keeps moving around Eddie. Someone may be in the room with him. I can’t see them, but I see their shadow moving back and forth, in front of the bed.

No, wait! The shadow is over the bed. It’s right on top of Eddie. What is it? It’s hovering over him like a cloud. Now it’s moving lower. It’s getting close to him, but he can’t see it. What’s it doing? It looks like that shadow is trying to cover him, wrap itself around his body. 

Oh my God!  It just opened up like it has wings. What is that?  It looks like a bat. But it’s too big to be. The way it’s moving. It can’t be a bat. It’s this black cloud, some kind of organism hanging over Eddie ready to latch on to him. 

 I can’t watch this. I can’t look at Eddie like this. I want to cry. I want to scream.

 He’s helpless. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. What is that thing? It’s wrapped around him like a blanket. Oh God! 

Eddie’s eyes just opened, then rolled back in his head. I only see the whites of his eyes. His mouth is hung open. He’s gasping for air. 

He just let out this sick, painful moan and then froze. He’s not moving. 

Oh God, he’s not moving! He’s completely rigid, lying flat on his back like he’s dead. I can’t tell if he’s breathing. I don’t know. I don’t see his chest or mouth moving. It’s all frozen. This crazed, shocked look is locked on his face. He’s stuck there. Completely still.

Jesus, I think he’s dead. I think Eddie just died, right in front of my eyes. I never saw anyone die. I’ve seen dead people, but no one die. Especially, not in front of my eyes. It’s creepy. It’s sick, watching the last breath of life leave someone, and horrifying when it’s someone you love.

I’m looking at Eddie. I can’t see him breathing.  Why would someone send this to me? Why would they want me to watch Eddie die? 

My room feels cold. My heart feels empty. I can’t even describe this chill running through me, seeing Eddie’s lifeless body, frozen in front of me. 

Get up. Please, get up. Move! Do something. Damn it! Let me know if you’re alive. Eddie! 

Oh God! Something just crawled up on him. A roach or a spider, or some bug. It’s crawling up his chest, but he’s not moving. Eddie!… Eddie. Get up! Jesus Christ! It’s climbing into his mouth. 

He’s choked! Eddie choked! He’s alive!  He’s still alive, but he’s shaking. The whole bed is shaking. The IV next to him just crashed.  Things are falling off the cabinets, like there’s an earthquake or something in the room.   Eddie lifted his head up off the pillow. He’s saying something. It doesn’t sound like Eddie, but this voice is coming out of him! Yelling something I can’t understand
.

“
Deus miserere mei. Recede! Egredere de me.”

The nurse ran into the room to help him. When she got to the bed, it was like some invisible force or an electric shock hit her, knocking her away. It looked like the wing. The wing of that creature lifted from around Eddie and knocked her into the wall. That’s what I think I saw.

I don’t think she’s sees that thing, because she’s trying to get back to Eddie and her hands went right through it!  She got him up.  Eddie popped straight up, breaking through one of his restraints. Now she’s trying to hold him down, but Eddie knocked her away. The lights are flickering. It’s hard to see what it was, but something flew at the camera and covered it.  I can’t see anything now. I only hear the nurse screaming. That voice came out of Eddie again. I hear him.

“Eo Consumam. Edam corporis.”

That’s it. That’s the end of that video.  

What just happened? I can’t even comprehend what I just saw. That’s not like Eddie told me it was. It’s no game or freak show, for some pharmaceutical company, or a fake movie for money. That was real, Eddie’s hurt.  

What am I going to do? What can I do? What if he dies there?  I can’t watch Eddie die again
.
I can’t watch any more of these tapes. I can’t write any more of these logs or keep feeling this way. I’m scared. I don’t want to know what happens next, but I’m trapped in this and I don’t see a way out without finding the truth. Without knowing what happened to him.

JOURNAL ENTRY:

THURSDAY DECEMBER 23, 2010 – 10:06 AM

Am I thinking or dreaming or dying? 

Am I lying to myself or digging inside myself, to find my deepest truth. Will I find a core of evil, rotted from years of abuse, neglect and harassment? Or deep in my heart, will there be some hope of light, a remnant of my heart that has not been contaminated with this BLOOD OF DEATH!