"... Is so hot and humid that one can barely breathe, sweat covers my entire shirt and I find no relief even at night, water, I need water …”
Again I’m so thirsty that ran out of beers. I don’t understand, the thermometer shows 47 oF.
“… The guts spilling out, but what shocks me the most is the expression in his face, Pure Terror …”
I should take some vacations all these jobs for Don Tattaglia are messing with my mind.
“… Another one has been taken down by the beast, took him from the tent during our sleep we can still hear his screams while the predator eats him alive, a Jaguar, must be a Jaguar …”
Now I find myself at the Zoo, the cat seems formidable, but somehow doesn’t inspire me any fear.
“… The symbols are so grotesque and profane, the images so disturbing …”
Nausea …, Mama Mia! Will it end?
“… I need to get to the port, I won't die in this forsaken bog …”
The color of my hair is slowly turning back to black. It’s been almost two weeks since the last nightmare, but now I feel this emptiness and great loss, like if a part of my own body died
A Telegram from Francesca. Mama wants me back in Arkham. Antonio is dead.