We were too late. Bleakley's one of them. Maybe dead, probably a proxy. Who knows.
The answers I wanted, the answers I've wanted for over a year, are out of reach once again.
"Why did I survive, and why did he die?"
I feel sick to my stomach. Despite everything that happened, I'm still the more optimistic of me and Simon. I believe it happened for a reason. I believe I can find that reason. Hell, I believe I can get himback. He was the nihilist. He didn't need a reason for why he got torn apart.
I went looking for the article in the Eastbourne Herald site a few months ago. It's gone. It's like he never existed or something. Maybe someone read his blog and deleted all the infectious memetic material to stop Daddy fucking up Eastbourne any further or something.
I remember reading it so vividly. Stretched-out limbs. Disembowled. My head ached just reading it. I could probably recite the article word-for-word. But it's gone. It's gone, and Bleakley's gone, and even that gloomy little shit Peter is gone.
I haven't felt so utterly, terminally alone in years.