Necronomicon: Papers of Penance

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Marwin's Letter

There are some things I never liked talking about. One thing was the catastrophes I knew I had started, and the reminders of how ashamed I should be. But I know that if I decided to pretend nothing happened, there would be no way out.

Back then, I wasn’t ready to give her my explaination, so instead I retreated into Penny’s room. I did the deed before sitting on the floor, contemplating while my eyes wandered at her unmoving body. Despite how reckless she was, she was a good person. I never want her dead, no matter how many people see her as some crazy superstitious lady.

The suddenness of her death was why I used the Necronomicon again. But the tugging feeling of Papa’s last words still lingered. I always wondered where the dead go. If Papa were in heaven, he would be looking at me with disdain, heartbroken that his last desperate words were thrown away like withered rubbish.

What about Penny? And Sawney and Lucius? It must have been unpleasant when all of a sudden they were tugged back to Earth; to the unbearable pain they had died with.

I heard Sevrin and Neilan talking to someone. A minute later Utterson was here. I ignored him. He sat beside me and asked me about the bruise. I sighed and looked away, because he should’ve known. Then I realised I shouldn’t have done that. He was trying to make amends; but by the time I realised that, it was already a minute late.

So I asked him if he believed God forgives murderers. He blinked. He must have been confused where I got the question from, and how I should’ve known the answer. I don’t. Neither did Utterson, as he stayed silent.

I wanted to solve this as quickly as possible, I told him, but I also knew I couldn’t ignore the others. Just because Patrizia said nothing useful at the time doesn’t mean she was useless. I was the stupid one. Utterson told me not to say that. I insisted that if I lost my temper, everyone else would. Though solving this on my own was possible, it would sacrifice a lot of time, and therefore a lot of people. I was so occupied in catching the murderer until I killed Patrizia.

From there, he was about to say something. But he thought about it again and shut up. ‘Are you done with your confession?’ he asked me. He seemed upset, as if he didn’t hear what he wanted to hear. I tried to think where I might have missed, but before I could do so he stood up and reached a hand. ‘Let’s go. Staring at her won’t do any good. Gabriel is waiting for me.’

I will always be grateful to Gabriel. She always did what she could to get me out of trouble, and at a risky cost. It might be her lack of allegiance toward anyone aside from Patrizia, or her utter spontaneity. She reminded me of myself, somehow; without the willingness to commit to God.

I wonder if commitment to God mattered all that much to be a good person. Most people will say no, for the same reasons we have different races. But if it were Papa or Mama, they would look at them with pity and say there was no way God would accept them to His kingdom. That was I believed in that time; now I’m not so sure.

However, spontaneous was the furthest thing I saw of Gabriel when we bumped into her and she said Normand busted out. We both sighed. I never liked Normand. He was nothing but a drunkard and romantic wannabe, and it’s questionable how he even managed to get into Miskatonic High School.

But that was beside the point. He had a good reason to bust out, as Patrizia was alone. Though I had the gut feeling that Patrizia would die as soon as she separated from us, I somehow held onto the single string of hope that I could apologise to her. But because I held onto that string, it broke off.

Of course, she wasn’t. Normand stood there, staring in disbelief. His hands were bleeding as chips of wood stuck onto them. Gabriel, too, knew what was behind the door, so she helped Normand and gave the door a big foot.

The door swung open, hitting the side wall with a bang. Where there should’ve been a heartfelt face was torn from the rest of her body. The girl lay still, her skin so pale as to make blood more red.

The room was in shambles; from paintings to candles to luggage, all were either scattered on the floor, filthed with blood, or barely hanging onto the wall. Above the bedhead smeared more lines and curves, in random, unpredictable patterns.

Because I was wearing shorts, I had no problem having my knees on the floor, as bloodstained skin wasn’t as much of a pain to clean as clothes. Opening the frills covering the bed, I lowered my head to peek under. I backed away. Utterson was there to support me from falling, giving me a moment to catch my breath.

The thing under the bed was Patrizia’s severed head. Her blue eyes pierced me back with an unextinguished venge. From behind, Gabriel was grasping my shoulder and sending me a sharp eye, warning me of my compulsive mental transcendance. She told me to do what must be done. Once again Utterson seemed to disagree, but he said nothing. Perhaps saw no point repeating himself, even though he insisted on his opinion.

But again Normand pushed Utterson away. His face showed vivid hatred as he walked up to me. He was about to hit me again. I stared at him, warning him not to do anything unreasonable.

I miscalculated. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and threw me onto the door. My head was slammed into the doorknob. I could taste iron in my mouth. A jolt ran up my back, and my head pounded like a steam hammer. Everything became a blur. Normand shouted something I couldn’t hear, and Utterson shouted back. Clutching at my hurting ribs, I tried to stand up until I felt the warmth of flesh wrapping around my throat.

‘You used me…you used me…! I’ll teach you how to use me…’

I was about to shove Normand away, but everything spun and my hands gave up. His grip tightened. Kicking him was no good. Gabriel was screaming something, but again I couldn’t hear her. Tears wallowed up.

A pistol rang. Normand stopped to look behind him. As he released me, I coughed so much I couldn’t make the next few seconds. I heard Utterson crying out in agony.

Normand gasped in disblief. Sevrin looked down at the smoke flowing out of his gun. He had misfired. But before Normand could go out to help him, Gabriel wrapped Utterson’s shoulder and strode away as soon as possible. She told Neilan to take care of the rest.

Sevrin heped me up as Neilan locked Normand’s head in place. By that time, his head had gone limp. The sight was telling me to feel regret, but more so I felt irritated. I told the other two to leave me alone, but Sevrin said he would take me out in case something went wrong. That said, Neilan went out with Normand. I told Sevrin to bring Patrizia’s head for me so I could revive her properly.

Unlike Utterson, Sevrin didn’t mind me using the Necronomicon. That was what he said, though; his eyes told me otherwise. He questioned why Normand wanted me dead so much. I told him about the fight I had with Patrizia, not forgetting to add my faults. Sevrin looked at me with disgust. I knew I made him feel uncomfortable, and I wanted to repeat that I knew my faults, but I gave up the idea out of its futility.

By the time I began the ritual, I’d become so sleepy I had to force myself to do my job. But soon my eyes fluttered open and my pulse began to quicked itself. The scream came again. I had no clue what was going on, but Sevrin dragged me out of the room before I was even aware. The scream was from Patrizia herself. I could make out her words, but the only thing in mind at the time was that I needed to get out.

'NORMAND! WHERE IS HE?! I’M GONNA CHOP HIS HANDS OFF AND–'

Sevrin slammed the door shut.

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