The Diary Of Moon Frazier

Oct 5, 1901

I don’t know what has given me the inspiration to write this however I figured this was perhaps a good time to start. These last few days have been surreal spending time in New York and at Herman’s estate no less. I couldn’t bring myself to tear it down like my other half. Although it wasn’t out of sentimentality, but the logistics, this property was left to me by Herman. Seems he held onto the hope of me changing my mind, well I’m sorry to disappoint however perhaps I’m becoming what you always wanted me to be.

I fraternize with criminals I have become a dealer of whispers. I find it hilarious that I can sleep so soundly in your bed. I had all the pictures removed; I thought my time with Sophia would remove my guilt but that was fool hearty. It sits in my chest like a burrowed hole and all things that shut myself away from crawls inside. It was nice to have others here with me, the presence of Eleanor expelled some of the shadows. I wondered if either her or Marta could hear the ghosts that walk these halls. I wondered if they could see what I see, hear what I hear. The cock of the hammer and the sound of rope taut with hanging weight.

I have forgotten myself when did this become a conversation? I’ll start again El and I had “dinner” we confirmed a few things. One there’s no other woman that I want to spend the rest of my days with and two that we are both fools. The amount of danger that we are putting ourselves in is honestly laughable. My father would disown me if knew what we were doing. I think my mother would understand at least I would hope so. El and I have decided to keep this a complete secret and to do it right this time.

No carelessness, she told me she could “Behave” I heard that, and I almost melted in my chair. I can barely grasp everything that has happened that has brought us here to this place and to this house. However, they have already left, I’m following a few days afterwards as to avoid suspicion. My best kept secret, I can only see this ending one way.

Oct 6, 1901

I’m writing this from Herman’s balcony, today felt longer and colder than the others. Probably because I was alone in the estate, I paid the crew a little extra to handle the house whilst we were here. Deep down I think I paid them for the extra noise. Quite silly when I think about it, I shot you to protect the people I cared about and now none of them are here with me. Makes it all seem pointless in the grand scheme. Fuck I’m doing it again, I don’t know when this became a conversation with you. It’s probably the ghosts of this place possessing my hand, my other half had a way of keeping you away from me.

*Looks like something was written and then scratched out*

Esme gave me a letter from El this afternoon, they both arrived safely in the crossing, and she misses me. That made me smile however it reminds me that this is only a moment in time. She has returned to a place rife with murderers and thieves and most of them seem to want a piece of her. I am at a loss, how do I act, what do I do? Do I ignore this? Do I set everything aside and seek revenge? My stomach ties into knots the more I think of it, and I am filled with anger as I look at her scars. Without even noticing I had encapsulated every inch of the tapestry of torment that is her body and I still find her beautiful.

Today I had some work done, I found a man who does tattoo art down in the Chinese district. The shop smelled of incense and had beautiful pieces of pottery and jade. Marta wasn’t lying it hurt like a bitch however if there was anything that Lottie taught me. Is that pain should be welcomed, you don’t run from it. It can clear your head and it can help you see what wasn’t there before and I think that’s what Herman was trying to tell me. So, after a while there was no more grunting or wincing, I was clear and focused. Hours later I was finished and back home with some pain-relieving cigarettes and a bandaged torso.

I left the pack on the end table I wanted to feel this pulse of pain, I wanted to keep this focus. I would need it for when I returned home, I walked through the house looking over every inch stopping in front of Marta’s room. What or who she is now, I don’t know. That smile and those marks on her neck, perhaps she is beyond help. A broken man can not fix others who are broken, so what did we do? We pieced ourselves together with each other, like taking a piece from another puzzle and making it fit. Wedging in pieces to just complete it, but not making an entire picture.