Hi, Holly, it's Jack. It's 1:28 AM on May 16th.
It's pretty damn cold out, Holly.
I'm looking up at the stars right now and some of them are
flickering their lights, going out and coming back like short
breaths. I can feel the pulsating of
those lights in my teeth, down into the roof and even into my
jaw. You know, Holly, I didn't plan
on leaving you a note or a tape or anything, but when I came
into the diner today, well, yesterday, I said goodbye like I
typically would have. It just didn't feel right.
I know this feels right and you have no idea yet.
I was, I was walking, trying to figure out what I was going to
say to you, and I wound up in this clearing maybe about a mile
into the woods, back behind the Steelhead Motel.
I never knew there was a clearing here.
We've gone through these woods too many times to count and we
never stumbled upon this place. Isn't it odd, Holly, how you can
spend your life somewhere, spend your life doing the same things
with the same people and the same goddamn thoughts, and still
managed to stumble into something new?
Actually, Holly, I'm shining my flashlight around this clearing,
and how odd that there's a shovel to the West, propped up
against the tree and something smells so damn wrong.
Like musky and wet. I think someone buried a dog
here. Or maybe it's not a dog.
The smell keeps shifting. When the breeze dies down, it
smells like pennies, like cold metal and fruit lifting the sun
too long. It makes the back of my throat
coat over it. Anyways, sorry I'm distracted,
I'm tired. I'm not really sure how to piece
the thoughts in my mind together.
I keep getting stuck in the same things, like a loop behind my
eyes, and there's no way to say what I want to say without
sounding like I'm just leaving. I don't think that's what this
is. I hadn't yet already happened,
Holly. I think I'm very long gone, and
I'm not sure if I mean that metaphorically.
I don't know if I feel entirely gone.
I feel maybe just misplaced or like something moved and I
didn't move with it. Does that make sense, Holly?
Honestly, you'll probably scrunch up your nose and call me
dramatic, and I don't blame you. It feels like something close to
therapeutic to say all this out loud.
Tonight's weird, Holly. My fingers feel numb.
Not from the chill in the air. It's deeper, I think.
I think my flashlight's delayed, like each path of the trees.
It's like the shadows lag or maybe the lights moving too
quickly and I can't. Fuck.
I What was it? Right, Holly.
Right. Sorry.
The diner. Holly.
When I came in to see you, I wonder if you knew, if you knew
that that was going to be it. You look distracted.
You look too lost. And I almost felt bad even
trying to talk to you. I almost said something you
would have hated hearing out loud.
Not this. I wouldn't even have known where
to start. But I almost started writing
things down or recording them. Things slip, Holly, and they
slip faster than you think. My watch shows 1:28 AM and I
know that's not right. The second hand keeps ticking
and the minute hasn't changed. I've been doing that for what
feels like an hour. There's no wind down here.
The air feels completely dead. Holly, it's stiff like this
clearing is a room and the trees offer too much structural
support. I think I'm going to turn off my
flashlight. It's not doing much but giving
me a headache at this point. And Holly, when you hear this
tape, I need you to not come looking for me.
I don't know where I'll be and maybe I'll still be right here.
Or maybe.