I see him. He’s half a mile away. He’s everywhere. When I move my head, he shifts with it. He’s always there. His tendrils outstretched across my vision. There’s nowhere left to go.

I hear footsteps in the snow behind me. I won’t fight him. I’ve never committed violence. I will not start now.

 I don’t have much time. No time at all. And yet every second is precious. Every second is a few more words I can add. The last few words of a dead man.

I’m not afraid. 

I’m going to see Caleb. 

I love you, Samantha.

I’m sorry, Annabel.

Never stop running.

Never stop struggling.

Never stop hoping.

Stop killing.

Stop letting others die.

Stop compromising.

Stop

Isn’t this interesting?  It seems he wasn’t quite finished with his post.  I suppose it was rude of me to interrupt him, but it almost works better this way.  After all, now I can explain events directly and save you a report, Messenger.

Donovan Swihart is dead.  On February 12, 2011, mere minutes ago, he was accosted by myself.  It’s strange.  He struggled at first, but only because he seemed glued to this phone.  Strangely enough, as soon as I felt the bones in his wrist crack under my grip and he was practically forced to let go of it, he simply gave up and refused to fight back.  Looking back over his post, it seems almost ironic, doesn’t it?  He stopped struggling very quickly.  He also never tried to run, although that might be because he knew it was futile to even try with broken knees.  It’s a shame I had to resort to a tool as inelegant as a lead pipe to do so, though.

Fortunately, the human body, the perfect tool, was more than enough to snap his neck.  Don’t worry, Raven.  I prefer quick, clean efficiency.  Your Donovan did not suffer.

You thought you had me on the run?  You thought you could bring Raven back to her old self?  You thought that I wouldn’t find out about any of this?  Please, Messenger, give me more credit than that.  And Raven, I’m very disappointed in you.  Have you learned absolutely nothing?  I thought I had made it clear that a doll like you should know her place.

The car will be burned with the body inside.  This blog is over.  

-Screwtape-

So, Messenger, was that satisfactory?

Car’s dead. The belt snapped. I replaced it last month. No such thing as coincidence. I’m out of town now. I’m isolated. I’m alone. There’s a forest to one side, open field on the other. Something’s moving in the trees. The field it is.

No use hiding my story now. Now that I’m dead.

I tried to be a hero. I tried so hard. I never made it off the ground. Too many people. Too many problems. It was all bigger than me. It’s bigger than any of us. I tried. I failed. I got people killed.

All this blood on my hands.

No one wants a failed hero. I was ashamed. I stopped updating. Better gone than derided. No point making a spectacle of myself.

I didn’t save anyone. I just got them killed. I never even got to New York.

I’m sorry, Annabel. I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.

It’s so cold. The wind is harsh. I don’t know where I’m running to now. I’m just running.

Wish I could just stop.

Dead. Brandon’s dead.

Wasn’t gonna come back. Too much shame. No one wants a failed hero. I’m dead though. Maybe there’s value in a dead man. These are my last words.

Went back to our safehouse. I’d left to meet a runner. Passed her some money. My last good deed. I stepped into the house. An arrow of blood painted on the wall. I knew. I still followed. The arrows took me 

to the bedroom. Brandon was there. Neck snapped.

Just like Caleb. Just like my son.

Black feathers on the floor spelled “Run”. So I am. I’m in my car, almost out of town. I’m still not safe.

I know this is it. I feel it. Even so, I’m not done running.

Never stop running.

Never stop.