PART ONE: CLAIRE
George Orwell wrote in his novel 1984, “If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” I read 1984 when I was in high school. Big Brother scared the shit out of me. The idea that some entity, some man-made enterprise outside of yourself that has complete and total control over your life is, in a word: horrifying. The rest of the book was completely over my head-I don't remember anything else (hey, it was high school!) but I do remember that line about secrets and it stuck. If you want to survive in this world, you have to be willing to lie—especially to yourself. Most people, I've noticed, are horrible at keeping secrets. If you get a person talking long enough, they will start revealing the fact that they are carrying a secret; it's in their body language, in their eye contact, it's in the way they they are trying not to let on that they have a secret. The weight or 'value' of this secret depends on who they are keeping it from. If you're not one of the people that will be most effected by the secret, eventually-it all comes spilling out. Like I said, people are horrible at keeping secrets. Like yesterday with my 'former' co-worker Nancy. Nancy is about 40 years old but she looked about 100. On my first day, the manager introduced her to me like this, “Claire, this is Nancy. She's been here for-EVER!” Nancy trained me. We spent about four days at work joined to the hip. Her breath smelled like last night's alcohol and fresh cigarettes. On day 5, she spilled her secret to me. We were in the walk in refrigerator and Nancy was showing me how to 'plate' a piece of cheesecake and drizzle strawberry sauce over the top. She was acting like this was all very upscale-this act of open a cardboard box and plating a wedge of frozen cheesecake. While she was talking, I was totally lost in thought--I mean, the whole illusion of restaurants having homemade, gourmet food was really starting to piss me off. I have worked in family owned restaurants since I was like 15 and I still can't get over the fact that more than half of the menu comes from a can or a freezer. Here's this Sara Lee cheesecake that got delivered off a restaurant supply truck, still in the box, pre-cut and our job is to plop a piece of it on a plate and drizzle a spoon full of strawberry sauce from a white tub on the top of it and charge you $7.95. The whole damn cheesecake probably cost $7.95! I make this “humph!” noise and look at Nancy shaking my head and I realize she's just staring at me. I sort of pony up and stare right back at her. That's who I am at my core: A challenger. When people stare at me, I take it as a personal challenge; a threat. Looking at her like this for the first time, I start to really see her face. She has these huge bags under her eyes and she's very “pinched”. Like her whole face gets sucked into her hard line of a mouth. There is nothing really attractive about her but I can see that she used to be pretty. There's a sparkle in her eyes that struggles—almost like it's refusing to go out. Nancy relents and drops her eyes to the floor (like they all do eventually) and I grab the plated cheesecake from her hands and turn to go. “Don't go. Wait!” She reaches out to me and her voice is trembling. Her bony fingers are scratching at my apron. I back up a step further, and reassure her, “Look, Nancy I'm not gonna tell customers they can just buy this shit in the frozen food section if that's what you're worried about.” She seemed genuinely surprised by that response. Then she looked down at her shoes and whispered something I couldn't quite make out. “What?” I leaned forward a bit, “I didn't catch that.” “I don't like this place...” She raised her voice, “...this restaurant! I don't like the owners or how they treat us here or the food or ANYTHING!” She blurted out. Her eyes were welling up with tears and she looked like there was more to tell but she was reading my face. Scanning my expression to see if she should risk it. “Go on” I urged. “If you worked here as long as I have, you would know what an awful place this is. The owners, they don't give a rat's ass about me, or any of us! Sometimes, on pay day, our checks bounce! Can you believe that? We bust our ass working here for these guys and we don't get paid?! It aint right!” She flipped the box of cheesecake on to the floor and stepped on it. Her face was suddenly inches away from mine, “A few of us girls, we devised a way to steal our money back from them. Right under their noses!” She giggled awkwardly, “You can join us if you want. We've been looking for a new girl to bring into the group.” As she was talking, she was slowly starting to close the refrigerator door. My mind was racing. This was bad. I mean, really bad. There was no good way out of this because she had already told me. How could I say no? But could I say yes? This was my 5th day on the job and already I'm supposed to be a part of some angry- waitress- organized- crime- ring? “No thanks. Seriously. I mean, thanks for telling me all of this and everything. I will totally keep your secret and I'm supportive of what you guys are doing and everything. The owners sound like real a-holes. But, I just can't get involved right now. I'm sure you understand right?” Nancy got that watery look in her eyes. Her lips trembled when she spoke, “Oh hon. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all this. The other girls...” she looked around nervously through the crack in the door “...they put me up to this. They said that the next new girl needs to be part of our...our...thing.” At this, I set the cheesecake down on the small counter and I turned and faced Nancy. I put both my hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes, “Get out of here Nancy. You're like what, 40 something? You're still working in the same restaurant that took advantage of you when you were years younger and you had your whole life ahead of you? What gives?! You're risking everything to stay here and steal scraps from under the table with these other girls who probably can't keep their mouths shut just like you! You're gonna get get caught. Sure as shit, Nancy.” Nancy's shoulders slumped in defeat. My heart felt heavy for her—which doesn't happen to me very often lately. That whole empathetic thing, “Look, let me take you out for some ice cream and maybe we'll buy a pack a smokes and sit up on the Ridge and figure out what you're going to do for the rest of your life-but you have to got to leave now. I'm gonna leave. I can't stay here knowing everything you just told me and YOU can't stay here another effing day. Come on.” Nancy got up and we took our aprons off and hung them by the back door and left. We took my car. Nancy said she wanted to stop by her trailer and get her jacket. When we got there, she crumpled up on her couch and I could tell, she was going to stay there. I looked around her place and decided I wasn't about to stick around. As I was leaving, I saw a bottle of Whiskey on the counter in the kitchen. I opened my mouth to ask her for it but then I thought, what the hell, and grabbed it. I left Nancy's trailer and as I drove a little ways down the highway, I decided that I was jonesin' for that pack of smokes I promised Nancy. I pulled off at the next gas station and bought some cloves. I also filled up the tank. I had only lived in this small town for about a year but the regulars are always talking about this place called the “Ridge”. I drove myself up there, parked the car and sat on the hood. Being up on the Ridge allows you to look down on this huge valley. I lit up a clove and soaked in the scenery. It smelled good out here-surrounded by pine trees. I twisted the top off the whiskey and pounded a good size swallow. It tasted like fire and it warmed my belly. That's when I decided it was time to move on to the next town. Last night. I had stayed here longer than any of the others-mostly because of the pine trees and partly because the nagging burden of my secret had laid dormant for a whole year. I finished my clove and fought the temptation to start another one. As the sun began to set, I got back on the highway and headed towards my apartment to pack up. I repeated the mantra: Don't make friends. Don't plant roots. Never, ever get involved with some guy. The secret wants to be told. It's waiting for every and any opportunity for me to succumb to some weakness like vulnerability or intimacy. But my resolve is a formidable enemy against the secret and the secret knows it's place.
On to the next. See ya later, Nancy. Stay strong.
Small, sleepy towns are the best towns to get lost in. I've tried getting lost in a big city once and I felt like an ant in a rainstorm. I like to just get in my car and drive. Along the way, I stop for food and gas and take in my surroundings. If something appeals to me, I'll stay the night. If I'm not completely bored after a few days, I might stick around. Since the town I just left was sort of a hillbilly-foot-of-the-mountains type of town, I thought it would be nice to head for something coastal. My soul was longing for some salty sea air. During long hours on the road, I have to listen to loud music. If it's too quiet in the car or the talk radio show is dry or boring my mind starts to wander. Once my mind wanders, there's no telling where it will go and there is usually no good way to make it stop. My mind likes to try and unearth the secret. It digs and digs and chips away at the wall I built around it but this is maddening and futile behavior. The secret is heavily guarded. I spent months and thousands of dollars on expensive trainings and procedures to make sure the secret could never escape my mouth. I can't tell it to anyone even if I tried because it's gone. I buried it. Even though I know, in my heart of hearts that this secret of mine is impenetrable- my mind doesn't stop trying to unlock it. That's the maddening part. You know that nagging feeling you get in the back of your mind that you forgot something? Like two minutes away from your house you wonder if you locked the door or turned the lights off? Or maybe after vacation, you're leaving the hotel and you can't remember if you grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair? It's that feeling but it's constant. If my mind is allowed to drift off for even a minute I feel like I have forgotten something; something expressively important. It starts off as just this nagging sensation but give it any length of time and I will get into a full blown panic attack. I have medications for this. I have ways of controlling this. So I'm not worried. Moving around all the time is VERY effective. The act of being unsettled in new surroundings keeps my mind happily occupied. This is also why I take waitressing jobs if I plan to stay for any length of time. Waitressing is unique in that your mind is in a constant state of multitasking. People think waitressing is easy and anyone can do it. That's why there is no shortage of shitty servers. I was born to multitask. I can think of a thousand different thoughts at once and prioritize and categorize. Once my resume gets in some manager's hands, I have no trouble getting a job. I'm usually running the front of the house in about a month then I'm usually offered a management position. Often times, I take the position of the poor sap that hired me in the first place. And that doesn't matter to me. I'm not trying to make friends. Right now, a small oceanside restaurant serving chowder and crab legs is sounding real good to me. I roll down my window and light up a clove. The radio is playing an old Pearl jam song and at this moment, I feel good. Real good. I sing out loud, “I'll wait up in the dark For you to speak to me I'll open up Release me” Good ol' Eddie Vedder and his daddy issues. I'm about an hour from hitting highway 101 and from there, I have variety of little hole in the wall towns to pick from. I have been to a few of them when I was little but my long term memories are a little hazy due to the procedures. I have this snippet of a memory involving a weathered beach house. The back porch had this claw foot bathtub with a big board over the top of it. I remember lifting the board up to peek inside and it was full of snails. I have no memory of what happened after that. This starts my mind on a rabbit trail. Stop it. I flick the butt of the clove out the window and change the station. After letting the stereo operate on “SEEK” for awhile, I finally hear something with some bass so I turn up the volume past deafening and let the bass resonate through my chest. Coming out of the mountains and hitting highway 101, the view is spectacular. I actually have to pull over at a scenic rest stop and let my eyes soak in the ocean and sky. I ride through a few sleepy towns before I choose one that looks promising. The sign on the marquee for the local theater reads ARCATA. There is a lovely town square and some quaint beachy style houses. I decide to stay at the local Motel 6. In the morning, I'll walk around town, take a trip to the beach and make a list of “doable” restaurants in the area for the job hunt. But right now, McDonald's, a hot shower and sleep is exactly what five hours of driving was requesting. The McDonald's was easy enough to find. Then I checked in to my room and dumped everything on the bed, stripped down and got in the shower. I love showering at hotels. Nobody cares how long you're in there and the hot water never runs out. The last order of business was to put my headphones on and get busy sleeping off that drive. I plugged my charger in and then plugged my headphones into my iPhone and drifted off to sleep listening to Bon Iver. That's what I always fall asleep to...Justin Vernon's soothing, manly voice conjuring up images of woodland travels... fireflies... canoes... rivers...
I'm dreaming of him again. The man with the piercing green eyes and the scruffy facial hair. This time, he's leading me down some winding, marble staircase. The walls are painted a charcoal grey and there are portraits hanging in expensive looking frames. I keep wanting to slow down but he's pulling me down the stairs at his pace. I wiggle my wrist in his grip and he only tightens his fingers. I don't feel scared. It's not that I don't trust him, it's just that he's obviously troubled or moving with a sense of urgency that I don't understand. I want him to explain but I can't remember how to speak. My mouth moves but no words are coming out and he hasn't turned around to look at me once. At the bottom of the stairs, he finally turns around and those green eyes are penetrating. I shake my head and motion to my throat. He looks frustrated and looks around franticly. He lunges towards a desk, pulling me with him and throws open a drawer. He finds a piece of paper and a pen and pushes them into my chest. “Write!” I go to write and I can't. I can't make words. This time he looks at me with a mixture of naked fear and sympathy, “I'm sorry, he whispers.” He lets my hand go and turns from me. I try to call out to him but again, the words are stuck in my throat and nothing comes out. I follow him into a large room and when I round a corner, there is blood all over the floor. I'm alone. The blood is everywhere I look. On the walls, in streaks on the ground, large drips making paths to other hallways. I drop to my knees and scream but not a sound escapes my mouth.
PART TWO: BRIAN
How can I explain my days at Lockwood? I guess I can start with my position or title. I was a 'Personal Trainer'. When a subject or “client” came to us, they were assigned a Personal Trainer. Instead of training our clients to do squats or sit ups, we lead our clients in mental exercises using fancy equipment to help them forget their painful secrets or abandon unwanted memories. That's what we tell them. What we actually do is hack into their minds while they sleep and lock their secrets and plant new information. Everyone that I worked with at Lockwood has disappeared or died. I should be thankful fate pushed me out of harm's way but I'm not. Not really. If fate was a good thing, I never would have joined Lockwood in the first place. I never would have met Claire. I wouldn't be plagued by questions without hope of ever getting answered. I would be happily living the life of a poor schmuck in a 9 to 5 job with equally schmucky friends who meet up at the local watering hole every night after work. Instead, I have the weight of the world on my shoulders and an impossibly hard to find girl haunting my life. I first met Claire at a Lockwood board meeting. Claire was Lockwood's first legit, paying customer. We had used our intensive training techniques and mind hacking devices on ourselves as test subjects but Claire was a bona fide, above the board citizen of the US who wanted to employ Lockwood to lock her secret. (and throw away the key) She was really beautiful in sort of a non traditional way. Not in this blonde, shapely hot girl way but perhaps in this brunette, girl next door-best friend turned lover sort of way. She had a very short, almost boyish haircut but the rich, dark brown color of her hair framed her delicate face and features perfectly. She had huge, doe like brown eyes and long eyelashes. I don't think she wore any make up-that day, or any other time I saw her after that. Her cheeks were naturally pink and glowing and her lips were tinted like she had eaten berries. The day of the meeting, she had on this plain sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers. But I think all of us in the room developed a crush on her. She was so sweet when she talked-like a delicate flower that needed to be protected—nurtured. Her secret was very intense. When she was 16 years old, she was offered an opportunity to be a foreign exchange student to Japan. Her very wealthy, affluent parents fully supported her desire to try it. The incoming exchange student was also a 16 year old girl from a wealthy family and the exchange was set in motion. Claire packed her things a few months later and boarded a plane to Japan. During her 6 month stay in Japan, Claire routinely spoke to her parents on the phone and used Skpe to keep in touch. Upon her return to the States, Claire hadn't spoken to her parents for almost a week. She just figured they were on a business trip or something and didn't suspect anything was wrong. When Claire arrived at the airport, she was intercepted by the Feds. They explained to her that her parents had been murdered in their estate. The foreign exchange student staying with them at the time, was missing. A lot of her parents' hidden valuables were stolen from a safe in the estate. After overwhelming her with information—they attacked her with questions. Long story short, her parents' murder and the missing exchange student are cold case files. Never solved. Never even coming close. Years go by. Claire visits Lockwood at the age of 26. She wants her brutal past locked away in her mind where nobody, not even herself, can touch it. Lockwood accepts. For a hefty price of course. As lead trainer and the only person to have ever successfully locked anyone's secret, Lockwood wants me to 'do' Claire's secret.
So here is where it gets weird.
Imagine the mind mapping machine like a huge video game. The subject is lying down and asleep. They are “plugged in” to our machine with a lot of fancy, highly developed equipment that would take forever for me to explain. Through the highly sensitive cabling system, the subject's mind is displayed on a large screen. Instead of like a cross hatch picture of a brain with different color patches on it, you see a 3D topography road map of the brain. The pilot, (me) is also connected to the subject through the highly sensitive cabling system and for a brief time, we are literally sharing the driver's seat to the same mind. The subject is the owner-but while they are sleeping in the “back seat” I take over as the pilot. I literally “drive” or “fly” around in the subject's mind. For the first few hours, I am 'mapping' the mind. Using my software and control panel, I am able to draft a rude map of where everything is located. Then, after I can navigate to the best of my ability in my newly formed system of roads and signals, I can then 'hunt' for the secret. The software I developed identifies secrets with labels. Human beings naturally label and file memories into different, identifiable categories. My software hacks into any subject's unique and personal filing system, overrides it and makes a new system so that I can find what I'm looking for. Based on what Claire told us in her profile, I was looking for a secret, a file, labeled, “MY PARENTS WERE MURDERED” What I find in Claire's mind is a different secret—one that chills me to my bone—I KILLED MY PARENTS.
I immediately detach myself from the mind mapping equipment and run to the main office. I swing open the door and find my colleagues staring at the same screen I had just been staring at for hours and hours. “Claire killed her parents!” my exclamation is met with blank stares and shifting eyes. Finally, Dale, CEO of Lockwood, clears his throat and attempts to reply, “Erm, yes. It appears so.” “So what the hell?! I mean, we can't go through with this. We have to call the feds or the police or something and tell them!” “Not exactly.” Dale stands up he walks around the table and stands in front of me lowering his voice, “Brian, just finish the job. We'll decide how to handle all of the...um...particulars afterwards.” My mouth drops open. I look around Dale at the other 6 faces in the room and I am met with nothing. No panic, no concern, no...scruples. I turn my attention back to Dale, “I can't do that. This is illegal. We could go to jail.” More blank stares. Dale shrugs. “This chick killed her parents and nobody knows. NOBODY KNOWS YOU IMBICILES! Except now we, ALL OF US, know! I'm not going down for obstruction of justice or something, we have to come clean about this, it's over. I'm out.” I slam the door and turn down the hall. My brain feels frenzied and I'm struggling to keep any one thought in my mind long enough to make sense of it. I don't even hear them as they run up behind me and grab me. I'm able to fight them off somewhat before someone clobbers me in the head with something and everything goes dark. It was lights out for me.
When I come to, I find myself on the floor of a dark room. I crawl on my hands and knees until I make contact with a wall with my hands and I stand up. I slide my hands down the wall until I find a door. I expect to find the door locked but it's not so I go through the door and wince at the bright lights. I'm at Lockwood. I could tell you how I very slowly and fearfully went from room to room and found every single phone and computer busted into a million pieces but the part you really want to know is how I went back to the board room and found every single Lockwood member dead. There was no blood. No bullet holes. Nothing...just slumped over in their chairs and dead. I ran to the control room and found that Claire was gone (big surprise) but my equipment was untouched (real surprise). I have been looking for her ever since. It took almost a year for me to clear my name during the investigations of the murders and activities of Lockwood and its affiliate companies internationally. However, I did manage to escape implication and avoid divulging any unsavory information by performing mind mapping procedures on myself. (don't ask) As soon as I could put everything from Lockwood behind me, I began my search for Claire. First, I finished Lockwood's job on her. The first night I started, I waited for her to fall asleep and then I went ahead and locked her secret where she killed her parents. I figured that if she didn't know, she wouldn't run. I also deposited information in which she believes Lockwood helped her lock her secret through intensive mental training exercisers and mind control management—you know, listening to loud music and occupying or distracting the brain. I filled her mind with a lot of those. The second night she went to sleep, I toured around in her mind and came across more secrets. The secrets I found were not labeled like the one about killing her parents and ultimately, the more I mind mapped Claire's brain, the more I came to the realization that Claire had been hacked before Lockwood. I could very clearly see two versions of memories in Claire's mind, not to mention my own overrides. I systematically began sorting the two versions out making my own labels according to a new system. In one life, Claire kills her parents and the foreign exchange student. She steals all her parent's valuables and creates a new life. In the other life, Claire's mind has been hijacked and God only knows why. I intend on finding out. Lastly, I gave Claire a resolve to survive. I toughened her up and replaced her “delicate flower in need of protection” persona with a tough as nails, instinct driven survivor. If I'm to find Claire and get answers, I need to find her in one piece.
To this present day, although I can't physically find her, I have been able to make rudimentary communication with her through my machine. Whenever she goes to sleep, I can use the mind map I made of her brain and set up dream sequences where I try to reach out to her. At first, this proved very difficult as her subconscious would completely reject my presence in the dream. I was just simply ignored. After several attempts, I was finally able to give Claire a reoccurring dream of us running down the staircase of her parent's estate. She fashioned the surroundings but I was able to control the direction of the dream. The most frustrating element of all of this was that she couldn't talk to me, no matter how hard I tried.
I know I'm close. In this last dream, in the surroundings she created-I looked outside the windows of her parent's estate and instead of seeing pine trees and blue skies, I saw the beach and fog. In every dream, she unknowingly reveals to me details of where she is. When I went to the desk to get a pad of paper for Claire to write on, the letter head on the top read Motel 6, Arcata CA
PART THREE: BRIAN & CLAIRE
I woke up to the sound of the people in the next room arguing. After about an hour of listening to their muffled sarcasm and rage, I bang on the wall with my fist and shout “Give it a rest!!!” I hear a defiant “eff you” from the male voice and then they are silent. In the shower, I think of him. The man in my dream. It's so weird how I feel like I know him, really, really know him and yet, I am utterly convinced I have never met him before. This scares me a little because it makes me wonder if he is someone from my secret. I'm worried that the secret is making holes in the armored exterior and trying to seep out. I get dressed and decide to go to a coffee shop to get quality coffee (not Motel 6 shit) and maybe read the newspaper. Going through the sliding doors of the lobby, a rush of salty sea air is a welcomed change. I'm invigorated and for the first time since I woke up this morning, I feel a little hopeful. The coffee shop is a quaint, little hipster cafe complete with chalkboard art and mismatched wallpaper on the walls. My coffee mug has a painted mustache on it. I sit in a corner by the window with a view of the beach and sip my latte. That's when I see him. The man from all of my dreams lately. He's wearing jeans and a plaid flannel. And he's just walking towards the coffee shop as though he actually exists. I stand up and forget I am holding a scalding hot latte but I'm painfully reminded as it spills over my hand. I set the mug on a little table and head towards the back of the shop. One quick look behind me and I can see that he saw me get up and leave. He is going around the side of the coffee shop. I change directions and head for the front door. There are way too many people and I'm having to shove people aside a little to get past them. “Hey! Hey! Wait! CLAIRE!” He must have come in through the back entrance. Oh my god what the hell he knows my name I run as fast as I can as soon as I get through the front door but he makes it quicker through the crowd and catches up with me. He grabs my arm and yanks me around to face him, I struggle, “Who are you?! What do you want!” “Stop, stop, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you.” His grip on my arm loosens a little and his green eyes are penetrating “How do you know my name?” I feel like I can't catch my breath. “Let's walk down to the beach. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you okay?” I don't know why I'm agreeing to go with him when every instinct is screaming to run but I somehow find myself following him to the beach. As we walk, Brian—which I feel like I already knew his name before he told me—began to tell me the story of when I first came to Lockwood to have my secret locked. Afterwards, he held me as I sobbed into his soft flannel shirt. “I don't know what to believe. How do I know what's true anymore? My mind...my mind...” I was starting to feel light headed, like I could faint, like the beach and Brian and everything was slipping into darkness. “I can help you Claire. I have the machine and everything we need to get all the answers.”
Brian and I have been staying at the Motel 6 in Arcata, CA for a few weeks night. Every night, he gives me something to help me fall into a deep sleep and then he navigates my mind to learn information. Somehow, he is able to extract the truth from my experiences and discern what has been planted as fake reality and what is actually real. As it turns out, My father had been dabbling in international real estate. He was making a lot of money. During a business transaction involving a hotel, my father had entered into a contract with a member of the Japanese mafia, The Yakuza. My father's real estate agent oversees wasn't aware of this and backed out of the contract right before escrow. Legally, backing out of the deal was a done deal but nobody backs out of a deal with the Yakuza. This is when I get an offer to be a foreign exchange student to Japan. My father had no idea that things went sour in the hotel deal and was totally unaware that this could be connected. In Japan, my exchange family is nice enough and things play out quite nicely but while I sleep, my mind is compromised. The Yakuza implant into my mind the secret that I have killed my parents. They lock the secret so that I don't know it's there. In the meantime, members of the Yakuza murder my parents. The foreign exchange student they sent to live with my parents was one of their own.
Interestingly enough, Brian also discovers through internet research and talking to a few lead investigators from the Lockwood case that Lockwood was a legit start up company but it's biggest investor was from a private party in Japan. The final touch on the Yakuza's plan was that I would be implicated and convicted for the murder of my parents. After Brian successfully finds the secret that the Yakuza planted, they descend upon the company, sparing Brian but killing everyone else.
Knowing the truth has truly set me free. Brian went back and extracted anything that resembled planted information or secret files in my mind. He has also taken all the extra information he planted to help me survive as long as I have. I feel more myself than I have in a long, long time and he's helping me learn to cope with the reality of losing my parents to such a heinous crime organization. That's not all. We have also fallen in love. We both have a passion to protect one another, he was spared by the Yakuza for a purpose and I was supposed to be destroyed by them...both of us fear that they are looking for us. What they don't know, is that we will be looking for them.
Submitted December 06, 2014 at 01:11AM by gypsycrow http://ift.tt/1tSrZy6 nosleep
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