Journal, Wednesday 30.03.11 (15.03)

I just woke up, an hour ago, in my bedroom. Is the date on the laptop right? Is it really the 30th of March? Where have the last 29 days gone? The last thing I remember was seeing men in hazmat suits bursting through the doors of the beach house. After that, I've got nothing.


At first, I thought, or rather hoped, that the events of the past few months had just been a horrible dream. So I checked in here.


I've read the entries that were posted between now and my last journal entry. I've also checked the bedside cabinet. There are photographs, in my top draw, of my girlfriend handcuffed to a radiator in what looks like an old abandoned warehouse.


I guess, I'll have to go looking for Emily. I'm not sure how I'll be able to leave the country just yet but I think it's in my best interest for me to try and figure out a solution as quickly as possible.


Jennings, you son-of-a-bitch, you'd best be telling the truth about that cure.


Harrison, I'm sorry that it has to be this way.


Emily, if you're reading this, please tell me where you are.


Oh great, now somebody's knocking on my door…

Journal, Wednesday 30.03.11 (16.58)

Well, thank God for that. It was only my landlady. She was angry that my girlfriend and I had gone away for two months without telling her. She said she had been considering selling all of our things in lieu of rent money. I told her that I'd pay her this afternoon but, to be honest, I have more important things to be worrying about.


I've counted four men positioned outside of my house but there could well be more than that. There are two sitting in a black car on the end of the street and another two around the back of the house. Getting out of the country will be tricky. Hell, getting out town without being followed is going to take a miracle.
I'll walk down to the cashpoint machine in a minute and see if I can spot any escape routes. There's got to be a narrow alleyway or something between here and the shop. Maybe I can give them the slip? Who knows?

Journal, Wednesday 30.03.11 (18.51)

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. I gave those guys the slip without even breaking a sweat. As I type, I'm now sitting on a train to the coast. I'm not sure how I'll get over to France but at least I don't have to worry about the DPIR, or whatever.


I'll book a hotel room when I reach the coast, spend the evening reading over the old entries for clues and then look at my options in the morning.

Jennings, Wednesday 30.03.11

The file on my desk says that you booked a room at the Riviera Hotel on Burnaby Road in Bournemouth, using one of your girlfriend's father's debit cards, at 20.46 this evening.


You didn't lose them, you fool. They let you think that you'd lost them. They want you to lead them to Emily, remember?


You're going to need to do something a little bit more creative than running down a narrow path to lose these men. These aren't "nightmare people", son, they're trained professionals.