Dear Reader,
The following work was found sealed in the library of a castle, belonging to an ancient noble family, in the Champagne region to the east of Paris. The dates of the events contained within are attributed to sometime in the 18th century. It appears that any other record of the Marquis featured within, and the estate that he kept, have since been expunged from historical record. It is as if there was an omertà (conspiracy of silence) which sought to erase him entirely from collective memory - one that might have succeeded if not for the astonishing recovery of these letters.
It has been my duty to act as caretaker to this work since I agreed to its restoration. I have found, regrettably, that my colleagues have failed to grasp the momentous importance of these letters and their wider significance. There is, I admit, some question of authenticity that requires consideration. For my part, I have forcible reasons to believe that these letters are genuine. I have submitted the work to a broader audience, however, for precisely this object; I have hope that, by breaking outside the narrow remit of literary academia, I may yet find a willing readership committed to studying these letters as seriously as I have.
As the Judge might once have heard it, so the Reader shall hear it now.
Unfortunately, I must also include a notice of warning: the letters of Charlotte B--- speak of diabolical horrors and the direst human cruelty. I believe that, were these letters recognised, they would take the place as the first of the modern écritures maudits (damned writings), above de Sade or Corbière. Hence, I recognise that such subject matter is certainly not for everyone.
Should you decide to turn to more pleasant reading, I certainly could not blame you. The world can be a sombre and unforgiving place without having to reflect on its grimmest parts.
The choice to continue, Reader, is entirely your own.
Yours faithfully,
Dr. Samuel J. Collins
Highest ranked- #10 in action 2/16/2017
A promotion.
That's all I wanted. I didn't want to run for my life. I didn't want to be kidnapped. I didn't want to face death. I didn't want to find out my whole life was a lie.
I just wanted a bloody promotion. Guess fate had other plans?
****
The cold air fanned over my face as I opened the door. The exit door lead to the back of the building so it was pitch black. I leaned against the wall trying to control myself.
Blood was running down my arm and head. My hair was stuck to my face from all the sweat and blood. Everything was spinning around me and the ground seemed like it was shaking. Groaning I sat down and put my head on my knees.
He knows who I am.
He knows how I look like.
He knows where I work so possible knows where I live.
I am not safe anymore... no where.
While I was in my own world I heard faint sounds behind me but I didn't bother to look or run away. The footsteps got closer and I was pretty sure it was Walker's men.
I should run.
I should try to fight.
But what's the point in trying to run away? He would eventually find me and if he has his way he would most likely kill me. If this is my fate then why am I trying to fight it?
I felt someone harshly grab my waist and pull me up and I complied. They dragged me down the alley and into the busy street. I heard the opening of a car and the next thing I knew I was being thrown into a car. My head hit the hard leather seat and the door shut behind me.
Maybe this is how my life will end. Maybe I should just let it happen. Maybe I was destined to die alone as a no one.
With that I let the darkness consume me.