Unfortunate Findings

Good afternoon, friends. I'd hoped this would have been a more explanatory entry, but unfortunately it seems my investigations into Ozzy's death are a little more complicated than I initially thought... For starters, it took forever for me to gain access to those police records. Even after stating I was on official business from the government didn't get me in; I had to personally get permission from Andrew Kleson, the chief of police to even look at the case file, and even then they wouldn't let me look at the evidence alone. Something about confidentiality. Please, as if I would publicize the death of my best friend - for all the nastiness I get from my detractors, I'm not as cold and cruel as they'd like to believe. In either case, a little discussion here, a little incentive there, and I was granted the ability to look at the files. An appointment to go over the contents, as well as to give the police any information I had on Ozzy, was scheduled and no more was said of it until recently.

It was around 9 AM this past Monday when I arrived to that appointment. It was pretty quiet, no one in the building yet due to having just opened. I felt safe as I walked in, without rough folk or any lines to worry about. The officers stripped me clean of metal objects and escorted me through the metal detector, down the hall, and upstairs to the records room, the file neatly laid out on a metal desk for me to peruse.

"Now then, Senator," Kleson said, settling next to me as I picked up the file. "Make this quick; this technically isn't protocol... strictly off the record we're even letting you see this. Not even the papers have this evidence."

"Screw the protocols," I murmured under my breath, shifting through the file. Inside, amongst dull law enforcement documentation, were scads and scads of pictures... all of them of the crime scene, and all equally horrible to behold. They all showed a building, the timber walls charred from the flames of an inferno, with what appeared to be signs of some sort of attempted attack. Tables were overturned, chairs tipped over, paintings askew and papers all over the floor. I instantly recognized the location, looking up sadly at the lawmen.

"This... this was his cabin," I replied, pain hitting me like a knife again. "He went there on vacation with his family... it was up in the Catskills; I have a cabin around those parts as well... Sometimes our family went together... what was he doing there all alone?"

"We aren't sure yet, Senator Pinne," an officer said, "But we suspect he wasn't the only one there, at least not at the time of the incident. The media's calling this a suicide, but there wasn't a body at the scene and this doesn't look like it was his doing."

"Which means?" I asked incredulously.

Chief Kleson shuffled, his salt and pepper mustache moving as his upper lip twitched in thought, and after some time he glanced to me again.

"You wouldn't happen to know if Senator Lynch had any enemies, would you? Anyone who might want him out of the picture?"
"No, why?"
"We have reason to suspect he was in fear for his life. This was no suicide."
"Are you implying he was murdered?"

"I'm not implying, Senator," Kleson said as he flipped through the file's pages to reveal two more images. "Look at this."

I glanced down to see two images, side by side, of a pair of notes, written on lined paper. They had been scrawled on extensively, as if the writer were desperate to get some message on the paper. I instantly recognized the handwriting as Ozzy's, despite its corrupted and messy appearance. It looked to be a diary of some sort, yet it was merely pages upon pages of Bible quotations, many of which I recognized from the Book of Revelations. In the margins I saw crosses doodled, and as the pages went on the writing became more and more erratic... until eventually, it ended on a long, tear-stained paragraph comprised of one sentence only: Forgive me, I have sinned.

"Senator, I understand you and Lynch were close church friends," Kleson said, a hand on my shoulder gently reassuring my confused and shaken nerves. "Did Senator Lynch ever... was he a devout Catholic?"

"No," I replied, looking up. "He was religious, yes, but he would really only go to church on Christmas and Easter... He wasn't a practicing Catholic as far as I know, though he did attend a Catholic boys' school in his youth..."

"Did they ever have him do anything like this as an exercise there, write down Bible quotes?"
"All the time, it was a very common way to teach children the Bible... or to punish them, if they'd been acting up... the teachers would make them write up whole psalms and verses over and over, as a means of correcting disobedience..."

"In order to shame them into behaving," Kleson added, shaking his head. "An alternative to corporal punishment. I went through it too, as a kid... harsh stuff. And that's why we wanted you to come in, Senator - something clearly made him feel guilty, and his family didn't know what. We thought his closest friend might know something they didn't..."

My heart sank as I heard this. It sank because I knew, I knew why he felt so guilty and upset... it was the dog. That damn mutt, the one he said barked in his yard at all odd hours of the day and night. The one that growled when either of us got near, and the one that bit my still healing hand. The tendons ached in sympathy as I thought of this, but I kept my face a stone mask. None of them would believe me if I said a dog did this... however true it was. What kind of dog starts fires?

"I'm afraid I don't," I said, looking up at the lawmen. "He barely told me a thing... He'd been nervous lately, something about a neighbor's dog making all sorts of noise, but that was all he told me... I didn't know someone was upset at him for it... Do you think his neighbor did this?"

"We've profiled everyone in his neighborhood, no motives, nothing. The first they heard of it was when the news reported it last week. A few of them saw him leave alone, but they didn't see anyone go with him, or after him. Someone else did this, someone with no connection to his neighborhood at all... Besides, none of the neighbors own a dog, something you can bet the media had a field day with and took to mean that Lynch was nuts. Damn vultures... let the man rest in peace..."

Kleson shook his head, and started for the door.

"We'll have officers out here waiting until you're done reading through the files, Senator. Maybe they could jog your memory about something... or at least help you find some closure. I'm very sorry for your loss... Just... knock whenever you're done."

I was left alone as he and the officers disappeared behind the metal door, waiting in the hallway... alone with the documents. I almost followed suit after flipping through ten more pages and finding nothing of note, until I stumbled upon... something else. Two bagged drawings, apparently having been tested for evidence and miraculously uncharred by the fire that broke out. They were bloodstained and wrinkled, but that wasn't what struck me... no, it was the image on the first paper, clear as day. It only took me one glance to understand what it was.

It was the dog, but... wrong somehow. It was the dog, covered in too many eyes, all glowing an angry red. Around it, the words "It Knows" appeared, hastily scribbled, along with crosses and more eyes. Did... had Ozzy been affected by that dog this badly? It clearly wasn't a normal animal... after all, people said it was a puppy when I know it was a mangy cur. Was this dog, this... creature...

Was it a hallucination?

I was about to put the thought from my mind as absurd when I flipped to the other drawing. I remember staring at it in disbelief, recognizing the image on it as well. It was an angel of some sort, eyes and mouth obscured, dressed in black. The image was eerie... and the scrawlings referred to this divine figure as "Azrael".

It frightened me. Did Ozzy think some sort of angel of death was coming for him, or was it all his old Catholic teachings coming back in his time of fear for his own life? Had Ozzy really drawn these, or did someone else? If it was someone else... was it a warning?

I removed them from the bags and took some surrepetous pictures of these drawings myself. I don't think the police even know I have them yet since this blog has been encryption-protected. Look at them, and judge for yourself.

I don't know about you, but this is more than enough for me to start questioning a few things. Kleson was right - this wasn't a suicide. Something or someone killed Oswald Lynch, and I have to know what. I'm betting heavily towards the something end of that scale...

Call me crazy... but I think the dog has something to do with this. All I can do now is pray for God's guidance into finding justice for my friend, and hope his angels help me do so swiftly. His will shall be done, and the demon that did this will be routed out - of both Oswald Lynch's family, and my life.