Smythe’s Journal entry Tuesday 10:23 pm - 07 Jan
It has been an unremarkable and somewhat tedious day, made all the more irritating by my throbbing head and scratchy eyes. Sorely, pun unintended, in need of diversion after supper I have opened and read the second letter. Its contents have once again taken me quite aback. I have no choice but to think the impossible possible and consider this letter in depth. Call it what you will, paranoia, sleep deprivation, madness. I hope you have read further into this journal and have found I return to my senses. I truly do.
The first thing I must say is I had a realisation on my way home that started me thinking about the clues in the first letter and why, at first, they had made no sense. As I have said the clues lead me to the library where they formed a cross and, in a rather clichéd way, ‘X’ marked the spot. In my sleep-deprived state I did not realise that as few as eight days earlier they would not have done so.
As I wrote briefly in my journal from a week last Saturday, a pipe burst behind the wall of the library. The damage was limited to the plaster and the repair itself effected so quickly (despite the holiday season) I did not see fit to document it. I also failed to report that I moved several objects during that time and that two of them were not returned to their original positions: the small bookcase fit so well under the window it remained there and the Turner was hung next to the door while I decided how to appoint the newly repaired and decorated section. Therefore, their new positions were the only ones that could have formed the cross. Somehow this was intended to happen. I know where my mind is taking me and I have hinted at such above. If you have not decided how this has happened then read on while I describe the contents of the letter.
Yesterday I wrote about the first letter asking me to change my ways, which it appears I opened decades after intended, and a second letter which I had found using clues within the first. Now I describe the contents of that second letter which, as far as I can tell, was intended to be opened last week. Unless I am utterly incorrect about when the first letter was hidden, and this is a current, ongoing, and rather obscure practical joke, then the author must* have had knowledge of the future in order to know where to hide the second letter so it would be found at the intended time. Also the contents do not fit with someone writing the second letter now or in the recent past. Everything about it implies a kind of knowledge that no-one should have.
I have procrastinated long enough. The second letter, far from the than guidance and hope of the first, is a lament for the life I have lead thus far and a plea that I change. It describes in detail the festive meal my man had with his extended family and his conflict as he realised he would have to work through the night to keep the job they all depend upon (something I have used upon him twice more since then). I confess I had not realised how much so many people can find themselves entirely dependent on a single individual. Nor did I realise how much that person can need a job that causes them unhappiness, places then under so much stress and, in truth, rewards them so little.
The letter also told me how my cousin cares for me regardless of my reproachable attitude and callousness. I must speak with her tomorrow when she calls and not, well... be myself.
Finally, it told me something I should have thought about but never truly have. That girl I had known as a young man, who I had courted and from whom I had turned away was, is, happy. It did not tell me how she had fared when we lost contact but it did describe her life now. She is an author, mostly of non-fiction, and a mother. The rest of the letter, save perhaps a few sections, might have been intended to set my mind at rest but I rather think it was written to show me a life I might have had.
I do not like this intervention, supernatural, or whatever, or otherwise. Well intentioned or somehow selfishly motivated on the part of the author, I do not know but I do not like it I do not like it all! However they came about this information, after all I have no reason to doubt its veracity, it matters little in the grander scheme of my life. Yes, I could treat my employees differently, but better in one area will cost in another. Yes, I could be more kind to my cousin and perhaps, as the letter suggests treat her more as the sister she has tried to be for me. But as if I know how!
But no: I cannot lament the decisions of the past. That kind of self-absorbing reflection becomes both guilt and regret which can eat a man from within and I shall not indulge.
I must confess this letter is more infuriating than the first. At least that one I could dismiss as a prank, sour and stale, years beyond its use-by date. This one, this missive, reeks of condescension and tells me little of what it would have me do. Apart, of course, from its dripping innuendo that I should be focused on people rather than business. That has never helped any of my associates, nor did it benefit my late partner.
And as if I would know how!
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