Rebekah Shitslinger Abedon. What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into now. Why didn’t I run? Actually, why did I stop running and go back? My feet are killing me. This holding cell smells like a puppy mill. Bah. Such foolishness. I suppose I didn’t want to leave that kid, Quinn, (I know she’s not a kid, but she’s still young—all of them are) alone to the police. I don’t know what I thought I was going to do to help her; of course they were going to separate us right away… I’m losing my marbles these days.
Anyway, Quinn, poor girl, she was just trying to do the right thing, refusing to leave the stupid creep who got shot, and the cops have no sympathy for people who are just trying to do the right thing. They want to force everyone else to obey the same cowflop rules they’ve bought into. No nuance, just bland off-the-back-of-the-box rule-following. I was just about Quinn’s age when the cops first hauled me in. So naïve. They prey on that innocence and youth. They play to their image as the “good guys” and you think that if you’re good, too, they’ll see it. It’ll all work out fine. They let you sink yourself. They’re counting on you to be naïve, to trust them and to not know their tricks. I used to be good. Or at least, I used to try. Didn’t get me very far.
Inspector Hardass wasn’t buying what I was selling him tonight. Cops usually don’t; not really surprised. …I let it slip (sort of, they already knew it) that Lucas had a gun. I can’t believe I fell for their malarkey. I know better than that, offering up answers to questions they didn’t ask. Christ, I’m too old to play the little air-head, and I’m not old enough to go full bore crazy cat lady. What am I doing here? I’m not getting paid; I’m fraternizing with people who neither like nor trust me—nor should they. I should be tending to my website and my Ebay shop. I should be charging obscene markups on fucking haunted dolls to idiots with too many resources … But there’s something terrible going on here. Mrs. Gravely didn’t dissect herself when I went to “visit” her the other night. Poor dear lady, she didn’t deserve that—NO ONE deserves that. And the strange runes and the mysterious deaths around Swede Hallow, maybe it’s just a psychotic murdering asshole, purely human and nothing more, but we actually had an opportunity to stop it. To do something, I don’t know, meaningful. Maybe that’s why I’m here: Yeah, I’m a shyster, and I take people’s money for feeding them lines of bunkum that they desperately want to hear, but I aint evil. And maybe I’m tired of being a shit bag all the time. Glory, I think I just need some sleep