Symbols

I've been doing some research on the side. I used to be pretty good at it, during my academic days. That woman said that the symbol was her boss' mark. It's my only clue, so I started quietly asking around. Homeless people tend to be everywhere and see everything, especially when it comes to the criminal element, so I was certain it would turn up somewhere.

I got a whole lot of nothing. The only people who knew anything denied any knowledge-except for poor Tyler, who hasn't been doing well off his meds. Unfortunately, a schizophrenic's rantings about curses and demons can't be taken seriously, so I'm back at square one. All I know is that anyone who recognizes the symbol tends to fit the drifter type. Mid to late teens, usually, and the type who doesn't stay in town for long. And they all refuse to talk about whatever it is.

Just like Sam.

As a last resort, I tried plugging it in to Google, on the off chance that something would come up. I got plenty of information online, just nothing that makes any sense. I might as well go back and listen to Tyler, it's pretty thematically similar. It's a mathematical symbol, it's a Japanese police station, it's the planetary seal of Jupiter, or it's the symbol for an imaginary creature called the "Slender Man", who seems to be a pretty standard boogyman type, that steals children and kills meddling adults.  None of this makes any sense in my case.

I don't know why I thought the symbol of a clearly very secretive organization would show up on Google. I guess I'm just desperate.

I'm being followed again. I leave tonight. And I still don't know what I'm running from.

I've been saving up what little I can-if I hit the right street corners and skimp on eating I can make a decent amount in a day busking, in addition to what I can pull together working for the employers who like to hire homeless folk as 'contract workers' to do some heavy lifting and such. There are places like that all over the City if you know where to work.

I haven't seen anything else, but I want to be gone by the time the cold weather starts. And I need a small chunk of change to make that happen.

Not Dead, Just Hiding

Apparently people are reading this now. I have comments. That's new. I'm glad you're reading this, I'm glad someone's reading Sam's story. Even if I have been derailing things with my own life. I'd be hesitant, but now I'm certain that all of this is connected. And I know Sam wouldn't want me to cut myself off when I so badly need an outlet of some kind.

As much as I'd like to deny that, I do. I'm scared. There's something going on here I'm not quite getting. What could Sam have possibly done to bring this much attention on himself? That would bring down this level of shit on me, just for knowing him? This isn't some simple gang shit. No gang would chase me across territory like this guy has. And no gang I've heard of would act the way these guys act.

This is something huge. A mafia family maybe? Or government types? I don't know, now I just sound crazy. All I really have are hunches and intuition and things that just don't make sense. All I really know is that Sam definitely wasn't just a fan of the X-Men.

A few days ago my stalker decided that just following me around wasn't enough anymore. I was trying to lose him for the third time that day when he charged me out of nowhere. I had no choice but to duck into the nearest alley to try to get away. It was blocked off, and... decorated. With what must have been a hundred of those symbols drawn all over in what looked like blood.

Normally my reflexes are what save me in dangerous situations, but I admit to being a bit too stunned to react properly. I lunged for the closest thing to a weapon I could find-a broom handle sticking out of a garbage can. What I didn't do was appropriately keep an eye on my surroundings. I watched my stalker pull out his knife and clean it threateningly.

And then a small angry woman with what looked like broken bits of a porcelain mask stuck to her face dropped from a fire escape and kicked my head. I struck out with the broom handle, trying to keep her at bay, but she seemed to only be amused by my efforts.

"Oh look, it has some training" She cooed too cheerfully at me.

I glared back at her. "I'm not an 'it'. Who are you and what do you want from me?"

I didn't get an answer. Instead she charged me, I struck her, and my stalker managed to grab me from behind. My attempts to kick back and get free were stopped by the masked woman's knife pressing into my chest. "What do you want?" I repeated, trying very hard not to show any of the fear I felt.

She smiled, and it was unsettling in a way she didn't intend. It was obviously supposed to be intimidating, but what scared me far worse was the madness behind it. Whatever else she was doing, it was clear to me in that moment that she was insane and being used by someone who used that to their advantage. Not a good sign at all, really. If a person is willing to use the mentally ill to get to you, they probably don't care what happens to you. Or they're terrifying enough to scare them into submission. Either way, not a good sign.

After a moment that felt like a lifetime, she spoke. "We're just... marking what belongs to our boss. Which is a shame to do to something so pretty." My stalker took that opportunity to carve a symbol into my shoulder. At that moment I didn't know what it was, just that it hurt like hell.

I bit back a curse. "Who is your boss and what does he want with me?"

She looked pleased with me, which made me question whether asking questions was a good idea. "Good question. You'll just have to find out."

At this point she did something that made my stomach roll. She sliced herself and pressed the cut to the wound in my shoulder. I'm not sure what the point of that was. Was she trying to infect me with something? I wish I could find out, but I can't exactly afford to get tested. "What are you doing?" I shouted, squirming away instinctively.

"Something personal."

She punched me in the gut at the same time my stalker let me go, which dropped me to my knees. "What is going ON?"

"You'll just have to find out, cutie" She giggled, like she was flirting with me, and started walking away, pulling my stalker with her. "Come on you masky wannabe. I think we're done here."

At this point I was confused, frightened, but most of all frustrated with the secrets and the uncertainty and the lack of information. "You're just going to LEAVE?" I asked, almost irritated

"Aww, what's wrong? Wanted more answers? Maybe a better beating? Maybe some sneakers?" The woman replied, looking thoroughly amused. My stalker looked less so, and he punched her. That devolved into a one sided argument-something about a reference I didn't understand and still don't.

"Answers, yes. Or even more questions so I know what to look for." The woman was crazy, I was hoping she might let something slip.

She didn't. "If you aren't finding questions, then maybe you aren't looking for them?" My stalker punched her again. "Dammit, I don't need your crap right now, I'm busy!" She turned back to me and pulled two throwing axes. "Fine, you want a fucking question? How about how well can I throw?"

I dove for cover and they left, the woman complaining to my stalker the whole way.

I discovered  later that what they carved into my shoulder was the same symbol Sam used to spray paint everywhere. The circle with the X through it that he claimed was the Xmen symbol. It's clearly not. Which makes me wonder why he used it. If it's the symbol of the man he was running from, shouldn't he have been trying to avoid it?

Was he trying to throw people off his trail by putting the mark places so that people would think that it was that guy's territory and that Sam couldn't have been there?  I don't understand, and he's not around to ask. I have no answers, no real clues, nothing to go on but one of the vaguest symbols possible.

I don't know what to do. I just know it's not safe to stay here anymore.

I Dislike Consistency in my Stalkers

At this point instead of a series of silent, masked stalkers, I've now got one consistent one. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not. He doesn't seem to want to do anything other than follow me for the moment, so I've decided that all I can do is let him follow-I can't shake him for anything, and it's been days.

I don't know how someone with a mask like that-just plain white-can get away with being in public like he has, but he does it. If I'm someplace /too/ public he'll melt away, but he shows back up again soon enough.

Big tall guy in a flannel shirt and jeans. White boy-probably country. And he has the coldest green eyes I've ever seen.
If I get another steady stalker I'll keep this updated. For now I'd best go-it's not safe to have the laptop out for long.

Still After Me

I've exhausted Sam's story, and so by all rights this blog should be over. This wasn't supposed to be about me, it's supposed to be about him.

But what I'm discovering is that the nights wear on a body when they're all spent alone, and days busking on the corner or doing odd jobs become strangely lonesome when you're used to sharing them with someone else. Especially when that someone else was your Someone Else.

I don't think he'd mind me coming here just to talk, since I can't talk to him anymore. He'd probably laugh at the idea of me feeling guilty and tell me he just wanted me to be happy.

As though that's possible anymore.

Nothing much has happened here since I got mugged. I've been dodging more masked bastards, but they don't know the city as well as I do, and they haven't come out in droves again yet. It's honestly almost like they're waiting for something.

If only I knew what.