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I don’t know if it will do any good, but I am releasing the Burke documents. Something is happening and I think it is all connected to this. They are trying to cover it up, but I won’t let them. I will post more as soon as I get access to the rest of the files.
- Z.F.
…
The following documents contain transcriptions of the recordings made by Nolan Burke (NB) involving his report of Edgar Carnes (EC). Additionally, his notes and journal entries recovered from his home have been compiled alongside them to better represent the series of events leading up to his disappearance.
Nolan Burke’s Journal- August 18th, 2022
A scratched grey table maintained the distance between us. I had my chair sitting a couple of feet away from the table. My right leg remained pointed towards the exit. A guard was only a few paces away from us, but there was an instinctual need to flee, or at least be prepared for an instance where it was necessary.
This man was not what I had expected, though I can’t say I had many expectations to begin with. His frame was old and withered. His torso had no volume. The orange shirt hung off him as if he was nothing more than a coat hanger. His arms, stick like, were adorned with freckles and unidentifiable marks of the skin that were shrouded by a near transparent layer of wispy white hair.
Where the cuffs held his wrists together, long bumpy digits extended out, ending in yellowing fingernails. They intermingled aimlessly as his hands rested on the table. His face was nothing more than a loose-fitting mask. The skin had drooped, what little hair was left was a tattered mess, and the surface was harsh and uneven. His eyes, cold and blank, remained fixed on me.
How could someone like this be capable of such an act? On physical appearance alone, I would not believe such a thing. He was just some pensioner. One who, on the morning of June 23rd at approximately 3:36 AM, entered his neighbor’s home and took a hammer to a husband and wife. As for the couple’s child, their whereabouts were unknown. After the incident, Edgar had returned home, made a cup of coffee, and sat on his front steps. When the authorities arrived, there was no struggle. Since being apprehended, he had not uttered a single word. Despite countless hours of interrogation, he would not speak. There were no leads on the location of Jacob Torres.
Then, unprompted, he said my name. Told them he would like to speak to Nolan Burke. I had never met this man in my life. The same can be said for any friends or family he had. I have exhausted all methods of research trying to find a connection, but there are none that I am aware of. Something had compelled him to utter the name of a journalist on the other side of the country.
I hadn’t even known of Sage Point’s existence until I got the call. Heck, I had enough difficulty finding it on a map. It probably would have faded away years ago if it wasn’t for the mine. The town had seen something of a renaissance with the influx of workers. Still, a feeling of instability persisted in the community. It was as though a gust of wind could empty the town at any moment and return it to the rotten husk it was destined to be. It did not please me all too much to be sitting across from a man like Edgar Carnes in this strange patch of Oregon.
As concerning as the situation was, the opportunity that was presented before me was irresistible. I had been working under my employer for just over a year up to this point, though I had been relegated to menial jobs and writing about events that only served to fill in the blank space between the real stories.
THIS was a real story. After this, I’d be worth a damn. Of course, my employer insisted on sending a more experienced staff member until the bitter end, but the subject was adamant that he would only speak with me. Whatever his motivations may be, however he may have found my name, I was grateful that this nutjob chose me to confess his sins to.
We sat across from one another in silence for a several cold moments. I had prepared questions beforehand, but as he looked through me, I found myself unable to find the words. Thankfully, he was the one who broke the silence.
Recording 1 - August 18th, 2022
EC: What I’m about to tell you…you need to listen…you need to listen to all of it. I don’t mean collecting the words just to regurgitate them on a page. It is of the upmost importance that you understand.
NB: I intend to do so…but first…why did you ask for me?… How do you even know my name? I don’t believe…
EC: I’m sorry Nolan, but there can be no alteration to the order in which I present this information. I do not wish to negatively impact your comprehension.
NB: I see… As long as you are talking, I guess…
(There is a pause for approximately five seconds)
EC: …Carolyn always had complications with her health, so many complications that one could be forgiven for believing that I was somewhat emotionally prepared for such an eventuality. That was not the case.
If you had known her, you would be forgiven for thinking she would live forever. Even bed ridden, her smile was just as vibrant as the day I met her. However, her body lacked the vigor that was in her soul. I was told the numbers, what to expect, but when it happened it hurt just the same.
Hurt doesn’t feel adequate now that I say it, but I don’t care to find the words to effectively share that kind of pain. She laid the foundation on which I built my life. Then, just like that, it all collapsed in on itself…There was a service, a nice one at that, and a barrage of nameless faces showering empty condolences. After everything was done, they all moved on, and all I was left with was an empty house.
I took up space inside those walls, passing the moments, waiting for my turn. The only notable thing I did during those days was tend to her garden up front. I didn’t have it in me to let it die. I turned to the bottle a few times, but it wasn’t in me. Drinking myself to death felt like I was wronging her in some way. I just wanted to think about her and dulling my senses would only take away from that…
The night of her return is still vivid in my mind. I was awoken by the jumbled sound of the television in the living room. I threw on my overcoat and walked out of my bedroom into the hallway. It was dreadfully loud, much louder than I would typically have the set at. Flickering color from advertisements bounced off of the walls around me as I approached. Turning the corner, I saw the visuals that accompanied the insufferable audio. I briskly walked towards the television as a smiling salesman brandished a glistening kitchen knife. Reaching to the side of the TV, I hit the power.
The room went silent and my surroundings faded to black. I couldn’t say exactly how at the time, but I knew someone was behind me. The room was quiet, but there was some sort of displacement of space that I was acutely aware of. I remained still. My hand felt along the edge of the television to find the power button again. It made contact. I let my index finger rest on top of it for a moment. Holding it there, I turned the rest of my body to look behind me. My finger pressed down on the button. Light painted the room accompanied by a blaring soundtrack.
Standing only a foot away from me was Carolyn, expressionless, wrapped in the glow of the television.
Reality seemed to warp at the sight of her as I desperately tried to make sense of an impossibility. I began to realize that this was not some imprint within my mind projecting itself into my room. She was there, yet the longer I looked the more it seemed that she wasn’t. Something about her was…gone. I struggled to maintain my view of her. It was like looking directly into a light source. She did not emanate any light, but my eyes would wince and a silhouette of her would temporarily burn into my vision. I quickly became light headed and fell to my knees. Whatever occupied her eye sockets glared upon me. The nature of them was ever-changing. A swirl of muted colors and unworldly images.
My mind, full of electricity, firing in all directions, suddenly came to a standstill. A circuit breaker tripped in my skull. Slowly, I found that my legs regained their function. My gaze averted the visage of my wife. It’s hard to say what constitutes as normal behavior in such circumstances. After being presented with such an extreme stressor, something inside assumed control. Feeling her presence lingering behind me, I calmly marched towards my bedroom in a robotic trance.
At some point during the ordeal the television flicked off. By that time, I wasn’t really sure if it had even been on in the first place. I trudged back into the room and got onto the bed. I stared up at the blank ceiling. Her face remained seared into my vision. I had so desperately wanted to see her again, even if it was only for one more time. There it was, in my living room. Instead of a bittersweet sensation, it felt like something had wrapped a thick cord around my throat. As I found myself fading from shock, my world rippled and surged in an echo of the gaze that looked upon me.
It was as if I hadn’t had a minute of sleep when I woke up the next morning. My head was in a fog and my eyes still burned. I remained fixated on my ceiling. An empty white canvas with no apparitions to foul it.
I knew I had to look. I rose from the bed into a sitting position. The bedroom door had been left wide open. I could see the sun seeping through the half-closed blinds of the living room window. The television, and the space where Carolyn had stood, were just out of view on my left. Stepping away from the bed, I took the first few steps into the hallway.
Continuing forward, I began to fear that she may not be there and that my mind was caving in on itself. I wasn’t sure what I dreaded more, witnessing a specter or coming to terms with the degradation of my own sanity. Perhaps reality involved a bit of both. I had stopped just shy of where the hallway gave way to the living room. Without giving myself another chance to think it over, I pushed onwards. The television was off, dust accumulating on it. Bright streaks from the window cut into the black rectangle of a screen.
There she remained, standing as she had the night before. My psyche was finally punching out. At the time I really tried to tell myself that. I almost believed it.
She had not moved from that spot the entire night. Her head was still facing the television. The longer I looked, the more difficult it became. My cranial fluid may as well have been replaced with acid. A similar caustic sensation flowed through my stomach. I had to avert my eyes from the shape as I dry heaved and fell to the floor. My skin itched and my back was drenched in sweat.
I propped myself up against one of the living room walls. After catching my breath, I worked up the courage to speak to her. No response. After attempting every conceivable string of conversation, I decided to give it a rest for the time being. I took another look at her. Daggers in my eyes. I looked away. Shakily, I climbed to my feet, all the while my knees threatening to give in.
A knocking came from the front door. My heart jumped for a moment. The Knocking came again, this time accompanied by the voice of Mrs. Torres. She shouted something through the door, but I didn’t quite catch what she said. I carefully walked by Carolyn. Mrs. Torres’s voice sounded off again, this time more concerned, asking if I was alright. I entered the mud room and grasped the handle for the front door, opening it. Sarah Torres stood on the doorstep in that lovely teal blouse of hers. Her expression tightened with concern. She seemed to be at a loss for words. Likely taking into consideration that I was reading her body language, she straightened her back and forced her familiar cheery smile through the cold mask of concern that rested on her face.
She said that she had just dropped by to check on me and noticed I hadn’t been in the garden. Sarah had almost become my caretaker at that point. Well after the condolences and care packages stopped flowing in after the funeral, she was still there. Our conversations were often stilted. There can’t be much for someone such as herself to relate to with an old man from my walk of life. Nonetheless, she tried and she never stopped trying. What compelled her to do so, I never got around to asking.
After a moment too long of standing with my mouth agape, I forced myself to respond. I told her something about coming down with a cold. Sarah immediately offered to cook for me, which I declined. I was confident that she was able to see through my lie, but she didn’t push any further. She smiled and told me to call her if I thought of anything that I may need. We exchanged goodbyes as she strolled down the walkway and off towards her house.
Returning to the living room, I examined Carolyn once more. She had returned to me, but I could not speak to her and it physically hurt to even glance at her. I guess I could have just left her there. I had no way of knowing if she would follow me, but I had no intention of finding out. I would not be able to leave the house knowing that she would be standing right there, waiting for me.
Over time the headaches and burning subsided. I could stare at her for longer periods of time. Perhaps I just became numb to it, but regardless I could admire her. My fear eased and it was replaced with an obsession. I had my wife back. I dedicated as much time as I could to staying in that room, watching her. I ate little, and avoided leaving the house beyond grabbing the groceries that were brought to my doorstep by my neighbors. When anyone came knocking, I assured them that I had I was still recovering from a cold. That helped keep some distance from the rest of the neighborhood. I devoted myself to watching her as long as I could without interruption. That’s how it got me involved in all of this. It used her to get to me. Even though it was never really was my wife, I love it all the same.
…I think that will be enough for today.
NB: …Your story, as colorful as it is… It isn’t exactly…illuminating. While I can sympathize with the loss of a loved one, I must ask…how does this connect with the Torres family?
EC: It is important you get the full picture before you draw any conclusions.
NB: Then enlighten me.
EC: As I stated, that is all that I am willing to share today. You aren’t ready.
NB: If you could just…
EC: In good time Nolan.
(There are a few seconds of silence)
NB: Christ…(mutters)
End of Recording 1
Nolan Burke’s Journal- August 18th, 2022 (Continued)
The guards escorted me away from the premises. The last I saw of him that day was the jovial smile he flashed at me as a door closed between us. It was with the familiar fondness of a beloved relative. I was in disbelief. I had expected to encounter a character of some magnitude, but the man I met in that room left me in a strange state. He must have been playing some kind of joke or maybe he had just lost his mind all together.
When I returned to my motel, I was stricken with an intense fatigue. I don’t remember going to bed. That night I was shocked awake by a booming voice. My head darted up to see the hotel television set blaring commercials. I didn’t recall turning it on. Then again, I didn’t recall much of the previous night due to my extreme exhaustion. I fumbled around the nightstand for the remote and snatched it up. I flicked off the television and placed the remote back on the table.
“Even though it was never really my wife, I love it all the same.”
The thought bounced around my head. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I decided I would decipher its meaning another day. It would be tough enough to get back to sleep without over analyzing everything that man had said, especially with this migraine.
END OF FILE 1