I’ve spent the last eight days stuck at home and glued to my TV screen now that the city’s lockdown order has become mandatory. It took police almost a week to find Brian Neves’ rotting body and launch an investigation I’ve been following step by step. So far there are no leads and an anonymous tip line was set up urging anyone with valuable information to contact the police department. I think I’ve done well.
Due to the broodiness brought to us in this time, I’ve submerged myself in crime and forensic shows, letting my mind fester away until my deep psychological wounds further turned into anger and corrupted violent thoughts. There’s a reason the latter feels better. It offers power and control. Instead of crying, you rage.
64 episodes later, my mind begged the age-old question: What causes a person, a person who was raised in a fairly decent family environment, had a good education—someone who’s smart, thoughtful and intelligent with great interpersonal social skills to end up so mentally fucked up that the only way for them to get off or be aroused sexually is by fantasizing of being raped, killing or getting killed, or through perverted sexual acts—not the basic kinky stuff, not BDSM, but zoophilia or necrophilia?
I sneaked out of my building to go for a quick walk around the block, breathe in some fresh air and remind myself that I’m still part of this world. As I walked south toward James J. Walker Park, I noticed a gentleman parked a block and a half away from my building, in a dark car, wearing some sort of hat; a beret. Strolling down the opposite side of the street, I kept glancing at him but he didn’t look at me once. On the way back, I stopped by a coffee stand and purchased two iced coffees to keep myself awake through the rest of my crime TV marathon. On the way back home, I froze randomly and without intending to then turned around to look behind me. I heard the clicking of boots but I couldn’t see anyone. I walked a few steps back scanning both sides of the street and finally saw a glimpse of the bottom part of a dark trench coat being blown by the intense wind. The subject was hidden behind a wall. Paranoid and scared to inspect, I turned around and rushed back home.
Unfortunately, none of my apartment windows face the side of the street the car was parked on, but on the way back I noticed the driver’s seat was empty which indicated something was up.
Am I being followed?