| From: | Jett <zmjett@*********.COM> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Targets and insight |
| Date: | Tue, 29 Dec 1998 00:41:17 -0500 |
>>>>>[Glad we had a chance to talk, Jazz, especially over Christmas.
Hope speaking out some of your thoughts helped. I know having someone to
sound my troubles off of helps me a lot, too.
Anyway, I'm ready to move. I got some nice new toys for Christmas
and spent the last couple of days sighting them in. I also did a little
looking around at that club that one of the targets frequents. I think a
little snatch and grab would work quite nicely there, or a shot off the
roof down the block. It's all up to you, but I think the snatch and grab
would be some nice poetic justice, don't you?]<<<<<
-- Jett <00:07:43/12-29-59>
*****PRIVATE: Jett's Journal
>>>>>[Well, Christmas is over with. Can't say I'm upset about it. It's
always the same. Just another day.
I avoided Julian for the holidays. I had to go back and see him today,
though. He tells me I shouldn't keep everything bottled up, that I
shouldn't try to pull through on my own. My spirit is fragile, he says,
and my mind open to madness and corruption if I let the anger get the
better of me.
But I told him about the assassination. About how I looked down the
barrel of that gun and shot them all. How I slit the last one's throat
without blinking. He says the coldness while killing is a sociopathic
expression of my need to be in control.
God, I'm being psychoanalyzed by a vampire. If I didn't need his help, I
don't think I'd put up with it. Every time I see him, he has a new
lecture for me. But I listen, because I know no one else can help me.
It's so hard sometimes. I remember that I'm always just a phase out of
reality, one step away from the "real world." Everything is an effort.
Everything is pain. And it's a wicked circle: the more I try to stay
real, the more toll it takes on my mind, the closer to madness I edge.
Which takes me further out of solidity.
So what do I do? I work with Julian, let him look at me, do whatever the
hell it is he does. Mostly he talks to me, maybe sprinkles a little
powder that smells like graveyards on me, or look at me through a
shattered crystal. Sometimes he actually casts spells, and I can see the
dark anti-energy of necromancy as he casts some sort of binding or
another. He says that my aura is stable. I've only been technically dead
a few months, and I don't actually cast death-magic, so the erosion of
my aura is under control. But he's told me what happens to necromancers
and ghosts who let death-energy eat away at them, who abuse the power
until it overwhelms them and abuses THEM. Their auras start to rot,
decay, and fragment. Then, something pushes them that last little bit,
and they die screaming in agony, their aura completely disintegrated.
Humans aren't meant to handle death magic. That's why it's so rare, and
no one really knows much about it. It's not natural.
He scares me with stories like this, maybe faerie-tale boondoggles, but
I listen. I can see it in the mirror. My normal magic gets weaker. I'm
still dual-natured, of course. The Jaguar-Nagual's sight is still with
me. My aura turns dark, like a black swirling cloud. Julian says that
that's just the form my masking takes. But I can see through the cloud
sometimes, and I see myself, my old aura, but spiderweb-cracked like old
glass, thin lines of black fire through it. And I wonder how something
so fragile can be so powerful. By my very nature I'm a paradox, so why
not? Like a diamond. Magic doesn't bother me: I can fight the spells, or
just shield from them. Bullets pass through me, or catch in my armor. I
can walk through fire, survive the bitterest cold. Fast, strong, tougher
than I have any right to be. Yet one sharp blow, in just the right
place...and everything comes apart.
Julian says that my mind will probably be my downfall. if something dark
doesn't drag me screaming into True Death some night...then I may very
well simply go mad and destroy myself.
Then I have to remind myself. I chose this. Every time I look in the
mirror. This was my decision, given the choice between true death and
this suspended state of being, this un-life. I made my call. I chose my
fate.]<<<<<
-- Jett <00:07:43/12-29-59>
