day of judgment

O LORD, help me. please help me. he's found me. he's here.

i woke from an uneasy sleep, restless and filled with visions of hell to stare at the wall. the wall was staring back at me, unblinking, and the room was cast in a reddish-yellow glow from outside.

that was when i smelled the smoke.

alarmed, i looked to the window and found the entire forest ablaze. it was burning, everything was burning. the flames rose hellishly to lick the heavens, and then i saw him. i saw him gliding out of the burning woods on his great black wings, flapping noiselessly as he came. the angel, the angel of death. Azrael.

i backed away from the window in horror, realizing what he intended to do, and grabbed my bible for protection. LORD, please, save your wayward, sinning son, bring him back to the light of salvation and righteousness!

i ran out into the foyer, looking for something to extinguish the flames. i had to escape. i had to, even though there was none. i felt sick, sick with panic, sick with grim realization of what would happen to me if i didn't run...

Richard Pinne...

my mind swam with fear as bile rose in my throat. no. no, i'm too late... too late.

"oh God, no... Azrael, please no..."

my knees grew weak as i turned to him, falling upon the floor. i couldn't bear to move... my words ran fast and panicked, begging forgiveness. O LORD, please, mercy upon this sinner! Mercy upon my soul!

there was only God to cry to now, but the LORD did not answer. he did not answer his fallen son. Azrael laughed behind his pallid mask, cold, hard, cruel and scathing... that cackle sent chills into my soul as i knew i would not be saved. there was no salvation for me. this burning cabin, this hell... this is where i was going to die, at the hands of death itself, alone and pleading for mercy that would not come.

the LORD had abandoned me.

"A-Azrael... please, avenging angel... s-spare me... i repent, oh God, i repent! all the lives i've taken, all the horror i've wrought, i understand it now! i understand the anguish i have caused from my own greed -"

Thou Dost NOT Understand, Richard! his voice thundered, angry and yet pleased at my grovelling. If Thou Hadst Understanding Of The Nature Of Thy Sins, Thou Wouldst Not Be Here Now! Thy Crimes Against The LORD's Creation Art Too Numerous, Too Grave, To Ever Be Forgiven - Just As Were Those Of Oswald Lynch...

"O-Ozzie?" i whimpered, looking up at the avenger before me. "did... oh God... oh God, you... you...?"

Yea, he claimed, his wings bristling in what i could only assume was a sickening delight. Yea, Verily, I Didst Find Him As I Have Foundst Thou, And I Didst Flay Him With The LORD's Blessing 'Til He Bled And Begged Mercy. But Mercy Is Weakness, And His Sins Were As Grievous As Thine Own, And So He Was Killed. Yea, Killed By Mine Own Hands, And I Didst Cast Him Into The Flames, So He May Burn For All Time To Come. 'Tis A Fearful Thing To Fall Into The Hands Of The Living LORD, Richard, And Oswald Didst Knoweth This... As Shalt Thou.

my face grew pale; my hands trembled. Azrael... he did this. Ozzie died in agony, the same way i would... oh God, no.

"Please... please, God, no!"

my hands clung to his black robes, desperate for forgiveness, and his gaze was dispassionate and cold... unforgiving.

"Azrael, please, i don't want to die yet... not like this... not like this... what have i done that has so displeased the LORD, what have i done that he cannot forgive...?"

Ye Knowest What Thou Hast Done! he cried, voice raising to a roar once again. Ye Hath Lied! Lied To An Entire People, Ye False Prophet! Thy Actions Hath Doomed A People To War, Hath Killed Hundreds, Hath Destroyed The LORD's Children... And For What, Richard, For What Hast Thou And Thine Cohort Done Such A Thing? Greed... Greed Every Bit As Vile And Misbegotten As Oswald's... For This Thou Cannot Be Forgiven By The Heavenly Father. For This, Richard, Thou Must Die...

there was a great and dark silence as the horror of my situation dawned upon me, and Azrael's too thin, too bony hand grasped me by my collar and lifted me up to face him.

But... If Thou Still Contesteth Thy Innocence In Light Of These Grievous Truths... Thou Shalt Have No Fear Of The Holy Light. Thou Shalt Look Upon My True Face, And Know It Is The Light Of The LORD That Shines In It...

i watched as his other hand reached up to his pallid mask, the entire broad palm grasping it and pulling it away. Slowly, slowly, inch by inch until a bright light began to flood the room, a truly blinding, pure white light that...

oh...

oh my God, no...

his... his face... he had no face... it was smooth, porcelain and glowing, the corrosive light pouring from its brightness blinding and painful... i swear to heaven i saw the universe before me in that light, cold and dead and black as a thousand voids. the eyeless gaze watched me constantly, judging and scrutinizing every inch of my soul until i was laid bare before it. i had no protection from this, no salvation, only pure terror from that corrupted, blank and blinding light... and in an instant, i knew it was not another mask. this was no mask, nor was it a thing of the LORD's creation. no, this was the face of fear itself.

i vaguely remember screaming, screaming as loud as i ever had, feeling so violated and tormented at the evil light, and i recall Azrael speaking three words.

Thou Hast Failed.

he told me to write. he told me to write all this down. he wants the world to know. i'm to be an example, an example of what happens to those who fall from the LORD's grace. if i am to be dragged to hell... then surely, surely the rest of america is next. we are doomed. we are a nation of ants before a flood.

you will hear from this sinning hog of war no longer. as soon as i finish these words, he wi

prayer

i couldn't sleep last night because of the nightmares. the cabin is too quiet. these woods are too quiet. the silence has been killing me slowly, broken only by my constant prayer and bible study. where? where have i gone wrong, LORD? i still do not understand.

perhaps i never will.

enough

i've packed my bags.

i need to get out of DC. i am leaving tomorrow, first thing. i need to get away from them. from Azrael. from the Watchdog.

i can't let them take my family from me. i can't let them hurt my three baby girls, my innocent wife... i can't take any of this any longer. i need to leave. now.

my family can't know where i went. it would tear them apart. all they know is that i am going to stay with a friend for a few weeks. they can't know where i am, it's for their own safety. for their own good. if they knew, they'd search, and then... then Azrael would...

LORD, please don't let them search for me. please keep them in the dark. it's better this way. keep them safe, in your Grace and Glory, protect them from this poor sinner... protect your lambs. it's too late for me. this sheep's already been left behind by the rest of the flock, lost and wandering. even the moons and stars are strange now, and the world seems to have stopped turning, ensconced in blackness. it's ashes. it's all become ashes...

consider this the final post.

heaven help me

the church isn't safe anymore. father wilson isn't safe anymore. nothing is safe.

it used to be once. it was last monday at the sermon. it was safe, and holy, and i felt the LORD's light upon my soul, and i knew i was safe. that the LORD held me close, in HIS flock, and i was tended to.

not anymore.

i went today as i always do to pray forgiveness, pray for protection from that damned Watchdog that follows me, baying at my heels, snarling in my nightmares. i went today to speak with father wilson, for he is a Holy Man, and closer to the LORD than this poor sinner. i walked into the chapel, and found it empty, so empty... no feeling of closeness with the LORD Our God, no openness. as if the whole of the Holy Spirit had fled the place, leaving it hollow as the chrysalis of a dead thing. there was no warmth or light in this chapel, no, none - not even from the overhead lights or windows, not even from where father wilson should have been. it was as if a strange night had fallen, with strange moons and stars, as if part of a reality not of our earth.

"hello?" i called, treading between the pews lightly, feeling so very alone in this dark, dim shell of what once was a place of holy worship. "father wilson?"

there was no reply, save my own echoes. at least at first.

"father, please... do you have a moment? are you here?"

my words echoed off the walls, caught in the shadows, and i was given the faint rumblings of a familiar voice in reply.

Hast Thou Come To Give False Repentance, Sinner...?

i only recall looking up in startled shock at the voice, the voice from my dreams, the voice of the terrible Azrael, and was horrified to find him. i wish it were an illusion, LORD above do i wish, but no... it was Azrael, sitting upon the overturned pulpit that had been dismantled to serve as his splintered throne, with the Watchdog chained and settled at his feet, glaring at me with its many twitching, red eyes. the crucified figure of Christ on his cross looking down from above them with anguished, pained eyes, as if horrified at the sight of this blasphemy. i could scarcely bear to look upon that dark angel, with his blank and pallid mask of porcelain and his wings like tattered cloaks, but look i did, meeting his awful gaze with a dreadful fear.

Well? Hast Thou?

 "yes..."

he tilted his head in half-amusement, the mask tilting with it, and scrutinized me deeply, darkly. then, after a silence that seemed like forever, he spoke again, voice booming and echoing about the walls like a clap of thunder.

Liar... Sinner!

his hand, skeletal as death, came down in a fist upon the arm of the wooden throne, splintering it as it landed, and i quailed in fear. around me, the walls began to melt and warp and catch fire, and the figure of Christ became an unholy, tortured, distorted caricature of itself... writhing and screaming in torturous pain as his eyes melted from their sockets and his jaw dislocated, bleeding profusely from so many cuts, bits of his flesh rotting away to nothing...

How Darest Thou Come To Me, Only To Blaspheme Before The LORD? Sinning Hog Of War, Thou Hast Made Thy Choice! Thou Shalt Never Be Forgiven! Never! Never!

i don't recall much after that, i just remember running, and running, and running as the church became hell around me and the growling of the Watchdog resounded at my heels... i ran and i ran to my car, and locked all of the doors as the Watchdog began to... i just... i...

i can't do this anymore. i need to find somewhere safe. anywhere safe. anywhere they won't find me, where i can atone to the LORD in peace, and beg mercy and forgiveness for this poor sinner. LORD, please, why have you forsaken your child? what have i done to earn such wrath? please, LORD, help me.

someone help me.

Sleep

I need sleep. I need sleep badly... so badly... My eyelids are heavy as I write this, my fingers ache, the bite wound's scar aches... but I can't sleep. I can't sleep, because of the nightmares. They've gotten worse. I fall asleep from exhaustion, and the nightmares wake me back up.

I had a new nightmare last night, a new vision of hell. I was as before in the forest, the burning forest, but alone this time. The Watchdog was not with me, it didn't even appear in the dream at all... I was alone, naked, bleeding, burnt and in agony... and terrified beyond belief. And that, that is when the angel found me, gliding down noiselessly on ebony wings from the rising heat and smoke, silent and ethereal as it landed without a sound. I felt it approach, I felt it coming, and looked up at it, tall and thin. Its black robes billowed around it, and its porcelain mask turned downwards to gaze at me eyelessly. Then, after a long and oppressive silence in which only the roaring of the inferno could be heard, it spoke my name.

Richard Pinne...

Its voice was deep and powerful, like a roll of thunder in the heavens, and tinged with a dark sort of divine anger and sadness I couldn't quite approximate. It was as if graven iron bells tolled when it spoke, and then I realized, and knew which of the LORD's angels had come to me...

"Y-you... A-Azrael..."

Yes, Richard.

"Oh God... Oh God, am I...?"

Yes, Richard, Eventually Thou Shalt Die. But It Is Not For Thy Soul I Will Come.

"Why then? Why has God sent you? What do you want from me?"

I Am Sent As A Warning, Richard. Thou Art Mark'd For Death. The LORD Is An Angry LORD, And His Day Of Judgement Cometh. Thou Wilst Knoweth When It Comes.

"Marked... for death...?"

Yes, Richard, Thy Actions Hath Displeased The LORD. Thy Actions Hath Caused Many Deaths, And Many More Will Die. And It Is Your Fault.

I felt his gaze intensify, scrutinizing my every move, slowly dissecting me. Under that stare I knew the true pain of guilt, the true feeling of despair and inevitable destruction, the true fear of the divine... I knew, from the most base part of myself, that he was right... and the implications horrified me. And then, then he did something even more horrific.

He pointed behind me, and I turned... and I saw a bloodbath. I saw men and women crawling in the ashes of the woods, their clothing torn and bloodied. I saw bodies burning in the fields, set alight by nuclear fallout and waste. I saw women holding their own dead, disemboweled children and crying in anguish, and buildings turned into burnt-out and crumbling shells of their former selves. I saw men killing others, and children left orphaned, unable to survive. I saw a horrible monster of a man raping my wife to death, soldiers killing soldiers, my daughters being butchered alive... it was hell. Truly, utterly hell, and I knew... I knew such a fate would await me if I did not beg mercy.

Doth Thou Understand Now, Richard? he said, a sort of sick glee in his dark, powerful voice. Doth Thou See Where Thy Sins Lead?

"Yes! Yes, oh God in Heaven, yes! Azrael, angel, please... please, how... how do I keep that from happening? How do I stop it? How can God ever forgive me for what I've done...?"

There Is Still Time, Richard. Thou Art Not Without Redemption. Change What Thou Hath Wrought. Repair Thy Relationship With The LORD, Earn Once More His Trust And Love, And Thou Shalt Halt Thy Judgement Day.

"I-I understand... now I understand..."

Good. Wake, Then, And Knoweth Thy Art Burden'd By Sin. Repent, Richard. Repent, Or Thy Fate Is Sealed...
 He left me, and all became black as I woke to a cold sweat drenching my body and my wife trying desperately to calm me down. She's getting so horribly worried about me. My daughters don't understand. They keep asking why daddy wakes up screaming at night, and it's scaring them. They're so young, how can I tell them, how can I say what I barely comprehend myself?

I can't be around dogs anymore. They snarl at me, always, constantly... it's like they know something I don't. And the angel, Azrael... God, I... I swear he's following me. I swear he's stalking me. I see him in the distance, always watching, always... judging. He never says a word or approaches me, he merely nods, as if biding his time, waiting for the moment he will drag my soul to hell... He frightens me, that slender, black-winged, porcelain-masked creature, because I know he is following to torment me. He is following me to ensure I repent, to remind me of what awaits if I fail, to judge my sins with all the delight the Angel of Death takes in human suffering...

God above... am... am I going to die soon? Is that why this is happening? It... it can't be because...

No... No, there's no way it's due to the drone strike proposal. It had to be done, for the country's own good. Those monsters, those desert monsters that make up ISIS... they all have to die, that was the President's mistake, not killing them all sooner... not carpet-bombing the entire nation, not destroying those savages.

For God's sake, they behead Christians. I've seen the videos, I know what they do to people, how they torture them in the name of a false prophet, how they cause hell on earth for so many...

For the first time in a long while... I am starting to see just how horrible attacks done in the name of false religion are. How could any good Christian man kill and torture for the Inquisition, knowing Christ's sacrifice so sinners did not need to be punished so cruelly? How could anyone believe the Old Testament so much more important than Christ's rebirth that they would kill innocent women? False prophets, all of them, everywhere, their minds controlled and poisoned, brainwashed... all by the very people they trust. Thank God my own pastor is so kind, so open, so trustworthy... he would never do such vile acts, or condone such violence. We simply cannot hope to protect Christian morals in this country when we are condemning others... thanks to my renewed faith through my more frequent church visits, I see this now.

But if this was what God meant for me to learn, then why do I still see the angel? Why does it still haunt me? What does it want from me? What does the LORD need for me to learn? God, please, forgive me and please just tell me... answer my prayers, send me a sign, tell me what it is I am missing... Please...

Knowest Thou

 Thou Art A Gear In The War Machine.

Repent, Sorcerer, And The Sins In Thy Evil Mind Shall Be Forgiven. This Is Thy Final Warning. The Truth Is Coming.

Fear Is Coming.

Thus Spake Azrael.

Taking A Leave of Absence

This is an open letter to others in the Senate as well as to the public: I am taking a short leave of absence from my duties as Senator to rest. I've been having a few issues with insomnia and night terrors recently, and it's beginning to affect my ability to work during the day. I simply do not feel comfortable working on American policy-making when I am not at my mental best - it wouldn't be fair to my co-workers, it wouldn't be fair to the God-fearing people of this great nation, and it wouldn't be fair to me or to my family.

Normally, I wouldn't mention something so personal here, but the wife said it might be a good idea to get my feelings out on the subject on this blog. This is not an easy thing for me to do, but she insisted. She is a trained psychiatric nurse after all, or was in her younger days, and I trust her implicitly. How could I not trust my best friend, and the love of my life, after 25 years together?

I believe it first started with the night terrors. Every night since Ozzy's death I've been having them, and they're always the same. I'm in the woods, alone, and it's ablaze with fire. I'm running, always running... and behind me is that wolf, "The Watchdog", as Ozzy's drawing called it. It snarls and growls, hissing blasphemous words as it chases me. It calls me a sinner, it calls me a monster and a killer... and its eyes. God, there are so many eyes, all red, all watching and staring, all focused on me... violating me down to my soul. They never once blink, they never once look away...

They are not human eyes. I am convinced, they are the eyes of Lucifer himself, and that the Watchdog is a demon he's sent to torment me and test my faith.

The Watchdog chases me into a dead end, surrounded by flaming trees, everything burning. It's so real I can feel the heat from the inferno, sweltering, and feel the sweat drip from my shaken body. I'm backed into a corner by the beast, and that's when I notice the heavy iron chain it wears. It never had one before, but it does now... I trace the chain with my eyes, and there I see the angel, the tall angel in the porcelain mask and black robe. It is holding the Watchdog's chain taut, keeping it back from me. Protecting me. It gazes into me, through me, scrutinizing... and that is when its gaze turns dark. It exclaims one word only - Sinner - and then releases the Watchdog. I beg it, I beg it not to... and nothing changes the dream one bit. It always ends with the Watchdog tearing me apart, tearing me to bloody ribbons...

Needless to say, I have been trying very hard not to sleep these days. I can't take the nightmares anymore, and it's starting to affect my waking life. I haven't slept in 48 hours and I feel like absolute hell. I'm actually starting to see and hear things - trees that appear to bleed, eyes opening in the walls to stare at me, the sound of a dog barking in the distance... It's getting out of hand. I need sleep, but...

I am beginning to fear I have offended God. Why else would He send me such a dream in which I die, constantly, after being chased by a demon that his own angel refuses to protect me from? Why else would he punish me like this? Clearly I am going down a horribly incorrect path, and He is trying to save me from going further...

Perhaps it is time I reconnect with the LORD. My church attendance has unfortunately been lax lately due to business reasons, and I am sure my Pastor may have some idea of how to interpret what is happening to me. I trust Father Wilson, I would trust him with my own life even if I didn't already trust him with my immortal soul...

That settles it, then. I will go, on my own, to the church and speak with the Pastor. I will resume nightly prayer for guidance. My soul is on the line, and I above all else should know better than to have let myself stray so far from His flock...

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.

Corrections and Regards

Hello,

I have returned from the hospital, and am doing much better now. I should be able to return to work shortly, but in the meantime I will keep posts here coming.

My hand is healing, but my heart has not. It pains me to learn, so soon after I have gotten well, that my good friend and coworker Oswald O. Lynch has lost his life... especially after he has been having such trouble lately. The trouble is, he is not the sort of man who would do this and leave his family in that sort of deep pain. I will most assuredly be attending his funeral in order to pay my final respects to the man he was, but I am feeling... conflicted about the media's report on his cause of death. Call it part of the grieving process, but something about his death just doesn't sit right with me...

I feel the need also to correct some faulty statements the Washington Reporter has made about my accident this spring. I was not, in fact, bitten by someone's pet labrador retriever puppy as the article claims - I was bitten by an adult animal. The dog in question was a black labrador mix of some sort, and was feral and clearly diseased. We suspect the animal to be a stray that somehow got onto the Country Club grounds where the charity event was being held. We had kindly asked people not to bring pets unless they were service animals, seeing as my youngest daughter, Emma, is terrified of large dogs and we didn't want someone's pet to frighten her. Any articles you may have read claiming that it was due to me "hating animals", online or off, are little more than bald-faced lies.

I don't recall anyone pointing the animal out to me until I heard my youngest say something about a puppy in the yard. I had barely more than turned to ask her what she meant when I saw the feral animal standing not more than five feet from her. It wasn't snarling at her, and in fact was more or less staring at her, and she was approaching it. I remind my readers that this dog looked mean, injured, in poor health, and possibly dangerous - and Emma was heading straight for it, trying to pet it, as everyone else stood and watched.

Seeing this and fearing she'd be hurt, I immediately ran over to grab her and pull her back, but at that instant the dog's reddened eyes shifted to look at me and it started growling. Not because it was cornered, or because it was scared... because it saw me. Emma apparently didn't notice that the animal was upset, and tried to reach for it anyway. It was at this point I pulled her hand out of the way, and that was when the animal attacked, snapping its jaws onto my hand and just about breaking my finger. I felt something snap in my hand, and then pain, and immediately knew something was badly wrong. I hastily bandaged my hand to control the bleeding, my wife took me to the car, and we drove to the hospital to figure out what was wrong. You know the rest from there, thanks to Mary Anne.

I don't understand why that dog bit me, even now. I've never had this issue with dogs before - I've owned my fair share in my life, and would definitely own another if Emma weren't so touchy around them. But the fact that the animal bit me isn't what gets me. It's what the dog looked like.

Call me crazy, but that dog looked and sounded just like the one my late friend Ozzie said had been wandering around his property, howling all night and keeping him awake. He said it had been some sort of feral mutt or something before...

It's probably nothing, even if his death does feel... fishy to me. But then again, I don't particularly expect accuracy in reporting from the kind of shock articles the Washington Reporter publishes. All the same... I think being able to see the suicide note he left might clue me in on what happened, and help me come to terms with losing him so suddenly. I'll definitely have to ask one of my acquaintances at the police department to allow me access to the evidence on file... being a politician does have its perks sometimes.

- R. S. Pinne