December 16th

I'm not scared to admit... character is gently based off of Zeke from Seeking Truth.

December 16^th

My official investigation into the Adam Fox case has ended. When I asked for additional time to look into the details of his death, I got some strange looks. Everyone else in the station agreed that it was mostly an open and shut case - a clear example of suicide and how one person taking their own life can cause a chain reaction of deaths in a community. Lieutenant Ford saw no reason to keep such a simple case open, despite some oddities that I considered worth looking into.

There was something strange in Fox’s suicide note that sent chills down my spine. I wrote the entire thing down while I was at the station so I could reproduce it here:

 “Sorry. So sorry. Never imagined that this is how I’d die, cold steel in my own hand, pressed to my own temple, finger slowly squeezing the trigger. I didn’t think I’d die like Jenna. I still remember finding her there, lying in that crimson-filled bathtub, her arms split open. I didn’t understand the note she left. I wish I had realized my sister how incredibly sane in those last moments as she wrote those words. I didn’t believe that this was all because of someone else’s suicide. I couldn’t understand how reading a note could make someone take their own life. Now I know what Jenna meant. Since I read those words, I’ve felt this compulsion to end it all. All week, I’ve considered stepping into traffic or off of a building. I’ve made a noose without realizing it. I nearly slipped rat poison in my own food. I can’t live like this anymore, and so it ends with a gun.

I don’t want to die. I DON’T WANT TO DIE. This is just so fucked up. There’s still so much I want to do. This isn’t fair! I know I wasn’t a good person, but I don’t deserve this. Jenna deserved it even less. And to whoever gets this note… I am so sorry. I couldn’t help but write this, just as I cannot help but pull this trigg“

The only thing left on the page was random scrawls and blood spatter.

The Lieutenant considered the writings nothing more than the pre-mortem thoughts of an unhinged mind. After all, Fox was a drug addict and had a previous history with depression. I found heroin on the table next to his bed when he killed himself.

Maybe it’s simply because I was the first one to find his suicide note, but I felt a need to investigate further. I was allowed an additional day to look into the case. I did not like what I found.

A friend of Fox’s sister helped me understand what Adam meant when he mentioned Jenna. Ms. Fox had stumbled upon the body of a homeless man hanging from a tree in Central Park a few days prior to her death. I can only assume she’d read his suicide note, just like Adam found her own. I can only assume it spoke of reading someone else’s last words and how soon she would write her own.

I checked the recent case files and, fortunately, Jenna reported the dead man to the police. I was able to obtain the box of his belongings. Inside, I found a bundle of papers. Each was someone’s suicidal writings, and each referenced a previous one. The chain was fourteen notes long. This homeless man had clearly conducted his own investigation before his untimely suicide.

Most of the notes were similar to Fox’s: filled with grief for the person who came before, despair at their own coming demise, apologies for leaving yet another link in the chain. Three notes stood out to me. One mentioned “memes”, or the concept that an idea can pass from person to person like a virus. This writer, a rather prominent sociologist, theorized that perhaps this was the first fatal meme. Another was by a local museum director. He’d done some digging, pulled some strings, and gotten his hands on the final piece of the homeless man’s chain.

This last note was written almost purely in Latin. I was only able to understand one word from it: Thanatus, Greek god of death and the Freudian word for describing humanity’s tendency towards self-destruction. I recognize it from my college literature and psych classes. Never expected those things to ever actually be
useful.

That note was a dead end, the trail going cold, and I had to officially close the case. However, I took the bundles of notes home with me from work today. I leave it here, with this note, my note, in the hope that whoever finds my body will pick up where I left off. Get this thing translated, find a name or a place from it, and try and figure out what the hell is causing this.

I’ve been fighting off the need to die ever since I was called to Adam Fox’s apartment. I keep hearing voices in my head, telling me to join them in their never-ending sleep. I don’t know what is making me do this, but I just can’t resist it anymore. I can only hope that you are stronger than I am. That you can carry this torch and go further than I was able to.

I am sorry I did this to you. I am sorry I wrote this and trapped you in this same dark spiral, but I just couldn’t help it. It’s like my hands started moving on their own. It felt like if I didn’t write all this down, it’d be like telling my heart not to beat. I get up, leave this note behind, and in a blink, I find myself back at my desk, pen on paper. I am so, so sorry. Be strong. Fight this. Don’t give in, as I am about to.

I still love you, Rose, and I pray you are not the one who fin