WtAF Eloise Journal DT1

May 7th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I spent a few days recovering from everything that happened on the night of the 4th. I was so filled with adrenaline the night-of, and felt so brave, waiting alone in that alley, car at the ready to get us out of there.

The day after, I'm afraid I was something of a wreck. I stayed in bed most of the day. It was three pm before I had my first glass of wine, but that's no worthy accomplishment when you understand that I woke around noon. I heard little Miguel running around the floors above - the ones that are abandoned - and got out of bed just long enough to shout for him to leave that floor immediately. His mother Tina came running up, apologizing to me and scolding him. I just turned and went back into my room.

I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was so cross, until I was back in bed and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I feel very lost without you here, Luther. I thought I'd grown accustomed to life without you, and I had: all the things I've learned to do without you. But this is new, and it's inexorably intertwined with you. Your handwriting is all throughout these books, guiding me like little whispers from you that have somehow become visible on a page. (I still love your handwriting. It's so bold, even if it gets hard to read when tiny and cramped.)

I spent the last four or so days mostly in bed, wandering down to the kitchen only in the dead of night to get another bottle of wine, a small plate of food, and another armful of books. Thank God for the elevator - I would never have made it back up the steps with all of those in hand, although I may have woken the Fowlers once or twice.

Speaking of whom, April Fowler has noticed, and she showed up at my room very early this morning (nine am or so!), with a plate full of excellent food. She came in, and collected up all of the wine bottles. She didn't say anything, but her look was clear: I've been overly indulgent these past few days, and so I shall stop. Writing this down is the first step in that.

Though I've been reading your books for days, it's been in a sort of drunken stupor. I think I was reading them mostly to frighten myself. Perhaps even to justify hiding in bed and at the bottom of a wine bottle at the same time. Enough of that, though. When sweet Mrs. Fowler is casting looks of askance at me for my indulgence, it's time to reset my priorities.

I've decided that I'm going to go down into your workshop. Soon, I think. Since we discovered not only the reality of the things out there, but also your involvement in them, I almost instinctively knew where your headquarters for such things was.

But I've been afraid, I admit. I don't know what I shall find down there, and I feel as though I can hardly handle what I've discovered already. Perhaps it is a fool's errand to add more to it! But how can I not? It isn't just the world out there that drives me - no indeed, if that were all, I should happily shut myself away in my house and never look out a window again!

No, there is a part of you down there, Luther. A part I don't know about, and I can't ignore it. I've only recently discovered that I don't didn't know you in the fullness of who you were, and I must know. It's almost like when we were courting, when we spent all that time finding out about one another. There was a part you left out about yourself, Luther. Is it greedy of me to want to know about that part, too?

Perhaps, but I feel as though it's all I have of you, and there is a part of me that refuses to not know. So, I will go down into that workshop.

May 10th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I've tried several times. To go into the workshop. But I just can't - I don't really know why. I've gone down the steps into the basement, and turned around and fled. I've made it as far as the door to your workshop, even putting my hand on the lock. My hand shook too badly to fit key into that lock.

It is perhaps a misfortune for the person I am that our wine cellar is so close to the basement entrance, and lies between your workshop and the stairs. I'm afraid my intentions of drinking less have withered in the face of what I'm trying to do.

I am trying, Luther. Please don't think me weak.

May 11th, 2014 (Downtime)

Downtime
Dear Luther,
I have called dear Oz, and he has agreed to go into the workshop with me. I shall probably call the others, as well. Having them there - their bravery, their interest, their drive - will surely steel me against my own tattered nerves. I can take courage from them, can I not?

I need to call them, and ask them to come over. I'm hesitating, though. I keep putting it off. I've lessened my wine drinking in the past few days, though I have tipped from your old whiskey supply to help me sleep at night these past few evenings.

Soon, my love. I'll know what's in there.