The Second Hand Man
August 17th, 2014

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

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

Even though Imay have stopped resending him that special gift I put together for him manyyears ago, up until today I never gave up hope that there might just be theslightest chance to sway him.

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

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

In my earlierattempt to talk to him over the phone, he might have already considered me tobe somewhat unstable! But I do know that although I was hysterical, I was atleast able to impart enough information to him to imprint the urgency andseriousness of my dilemma.

When thepapers start announcing Cornelius Crane’s fantastic condition to the world, hewill 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 oncewas; the truth that we had once been the very best of friends; a truth that Iso foolishly and selfishly squandered away between the strong, shapely thighsof his magnificent Amazon Queen wife.

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

But on thatnight of his wedding, he had not shed a single tear for me or the blushingbride. I had never seen his visage contort and twist with such malicioushatred.

I did not cryimmediately. It was like experiencing the loss of a loved one. Sometimes themind takes time before it accepts the facts…the reality. Yes, sometimes theshock is so great that we wander about in a trance…in denial. Only when we canno longer refute the truth do we finally accept it in a flurry of tears…acatharsis, if you will.

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

I haddestroyed 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 Ihave done. So, when Judgment Day cometh – I pray that God forgive us both.’

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

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

I havedecided to also include the following:

A note explaining the purpose behind sending him the diaries. I have alsostressed that the diaries have only been placed temporarily in his safekeeping, and that I trust he will use the proper discretion when the time comesto return them to me. They will reveal the complete truth to myself once Ihave, not only learned to read, but also acquired a mind that will be morecapable 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 sufficefor now.

An old worn tin containerthat had once held boiled butterscotch sweets produced by a confectionerycompany in Lancashire, England, est. 1880.

Some old British coins dated 1925 and 1931.

Two wavyedged postcards with sepia-colored photos of the Blackpool Promenade in thelate thirties.

A military cap badge of the 17th Lancers.

The last of the $10 bills from my coconut hair-stuffed mattress (This isthe $10 that Tallis was kind enough to return to me) I kept it to remind myselfthat 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 WorldTrade Centre (If these do not convince him of the truth – nothing will.).

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

In the meantime I will try yet again to convince him to see me before itis 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 exactly23h00, proves to be wrong – I will have only the embarrassment of havingneedlessly harassed the man.

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

Lately I am replaceing it very difficult to shake away the unsettling imagefrom my mind of the terrified expression that I had once witnessed on Natty’sface.

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

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