EIGHT

Dictaphone message from Floyd.

Firstly I'm going to have to ask you to suspend or even discard everything which you thought was truth. Nothing which you considered real actually was. None of your beliefs were more than a scratch at the surface, though I will tell you that it's not all false promises and ideals. Some of it was based on other things which are very real. I'm really not sure where to start, but as you wanted to know about me and not the politics of where I'm from then that's where I'll start.

You know – I'm sure you know that if someone tells you something enough then you will begin to wonder if that is truth. That slight doubt will be built upon because there is nothing available to disprove it. Or there may even be a shit load of evidence. Your book sales are proof that some arrogant fuck can actually begin to have that sense of self importance. You know that. It's happened to you. You might well have good books sales and you might well have people coming to you asking for your advice and telling you what a fascinating person you are, but in the end you know that you are nothing. You can spot the sycophants and you will begin to revile those who walk behind you worshiping you. Spencer was a good example of this. And he did admire you and think of you as a celebrity. He was in awe of you and that will rub off.

I'm meandering in my mind, but I need you to understand that the person who is brought down by words and told things all his life will eventually begin to believe it. Again I will bring Spencer in here as a good example. He was never what you saw. Never what anyone saw, except me. I knew the real him… but again I'm going off course. I wanted to tell you that even great beings like myself can eventually be fooled by what they are told.

Childhood – youth… those are times in your life when what is said and done will shape the way you think and feel for an eternity. You only have one shot at it. You can only be that child once and if the wrong images and words are used then that person moves forward in the way he feels he is. I was never a child in the physical sense. I was created and there I was, standing with others like me. A light of glory shining from within because creatures created by the gods are pure. A purity which can last forever or be sullied and ruined. It's an ignorance and a weakness which can be used against you. You really have to believe what you are told because that is the story which builds your very being and would the gods lie to you, Dave? Would they? Can they? Are they capable? Of course they are! And they do. They manipulate to play their own games and the only thing they are concerned about is their own selves.

I was created in The Great Forest. I was always told this. I never doubted it. Why would I? I was given some freedom to do what I wanted. I abused that… except… well I'll talk about that later. Firstly I will tell you what I thought I knew and then I will tell you what is truth. Truth is dangerous. It's the most dangerous, beyond all else. If someone is incapable of telling lies then the world would fall apart. Can you imagine what it would be like if people actually told you what they were thinking or if you could tell if what they were saying was a fabrication or a slight twist? Think of that happening for just a day or a week and then drag that over your whole lifetime. How do you think you would deal with such a thing?

Spencer caught on quickly. He was careful how he worded a sentence. He was careful with his words and what he admitted to me. All of it structured and sorted in that special brain of his. Nothing denied if it was obvious that a denial was a lie. He knew the consequences of doing something like that, but I'm not sure if he ever realised why I was so angered by lies. Of course he knew I didn't like it, I could sniff it out easier than smelling my own stink, but he never took into account that throughout my whole existence I had been surrounded by people who were unable to tell the simple truth about something. One of the reasons I was so good at lying. I was a master at it, because I was constantly being bombarded by it. Only one sort of creature could lie to me and keep it to themselves. The ones who created me. And they were the ones I actually believed the most. It never occurred to me that they were doing what they were. Why would it? I was a naughty little Guardian who had committed a dreadful crime and been thrown away as a result. Except now I know that the crime I was accused of never actually happened. It was not how it appeared. But then nothing ever is, is it Dave?

Once I had been thrown out of The Great Forest I was at the mercy of Them. They had plans for me. They had jobs they needed doing. They wanted to be fed the souls of the people. It was what they wanted me for. I was sent out initially just to kill at random. I had no MO. I just went and did what I was told. An orphan. A sad young creature with no sense and a great chip on his shoulder… and all the while I was being told by those who threw me away that there was always a chance of redemption. I could claw my way back. I just had to follow some simple rules… BUT… but I'm jumping ahead again. I want to tell you more about my last moments in The Great Forest.

o-o-o

Here I stopped the recording. It was once again going to be a mess of his delusions. I found it pathetic that he went to all of this trouble to try to explain something to me. A confession. And then to fall into his own insanity.

He should have been locked up a long time ago. I say that knowing that he had been locked up multiple times and each seemed to wriggle his way out of it. His favourite trick was to fake his own death, allow his friends to mourn him and when they were at their lowest or maybe when they were beginning to come to terms with it, he would step back in again and restart. There is a scattering of graves over the country with his name etched on the headstone. Places Reid had gone and knelt and cried and grieved for him. I've seen some of those places. How many unmarked graves are there? How many in different countries with different names has he been buried under? Though it's obvious he was not actually buried under any of them. All a trick. A con. I would like to meet the others involved. He couldn't have carried out this farce for so long and not have someone to assist. I know Spencer did. I know that Spencer covered for his crimes. Washed up blood… lied for him. I know he did but always it's the problem with proof. When we did manage to get some, somehow it disappeared again. He talked his way out of it. Bribed someone somewhere. Money was never an issue with him. Where that money came from he never said. Did we even bother asking him?

The next part of the tape is meant to explain his hatred towards Derek Morgan. Again it's just his delusional mind and his paranoia, now knitted together with racism.

o-o-o

Part Two of Dictaphone message from Floyd Flanders.

I remember that I was sitting alone in my breechclout and some grass plaited through my hair. I'd been inspecting my fingernails and wondering what the day would bring. As far as I know that's what I was doing. There was no blood on my hands and no reason for me to suspect that danger was brewing. There were birds singing… a blue sky and a very special smell to the air. I didn't know what it was at the time… and thinking back at this moment over my own personal eternity I can tell you that it was a smell of deceit and danger. Something was watching me.

They called out my name and still I had no idea what it was I had done… I'd only followed my natural instincts. I'd been given freedom and I'd used it. Why wouldn't I use something which the gods gave me? Why not? It would have been wrong not to. Alia and Fello had been tracking me and now they stood there in front of me with their superior looks and angelic glow at full force. They told me that I had broken a sacred law. I had gone against all that was and will be. I was to be discarded as a fault. Thrown away. Handed over to Them for punishment.

Obviously I tried to run. Which fool wouldn't? The let me. They allowed me to run from them for hundreds of years. I had no rest. I never stopped my continuous howling and cowardly run. I did learn from that. I learnt never to run away. Never. I thought I was delaying what was going to happen. I thought that by running that I was going to stay in The Great Forest for longer and enjoy the peace, but there was no peace. No animal or creature there would come close to me. They would spit and throw nuts and sticks at me, but they would not give me somewhere to rest. Never. All I received for all of those years was constant abuse. The story of what I had done rang in my ears. Every time I stopped to rest or take my breath I would hear more of what I had done. Killed something. Raped something. Eaten it when I was finished. I had actually committed the worst crime. But still they didn't stop me. They let me run and scream and howl and feel that nothing would come close in case it caught whatever disease of the brain I obviously had.

They caught me. Well it wasn't so much as they caught me, as I gave up running. I turned around and walked back to where I had seen them. I went back to that place where Alia and Fello had told me I was going to be punished and I went to my knees and I begged forgiveness. I pleaded with them. I lay on my belly and supplicated myself to them. I lay there begging until my throat was bleeding, until the plant life began to grow over me and my fingernails were claws digging into the ground. I begged like no creature had ever begged before. And they listened. Of course they did. They had to listen. It was their job. They demanded a confession. They insisted that I needed to tell them every small detail of what I had done and my story was confused and muddled and really nothing I could remember doing, but I must have done. A million other creatures said I had. The Angels said I had. The gods said I had. So I confessed to them. I lay there and made up some bullshit story and said I had done it and said I was sorry. I said that word so many fucking times! A constant dirge. A chant if you will. A litany so meaningless that I might as well have cut my own throat. I never understood why they never accepted my apology. I never really understood why I apparently did what I did and had no memory of it. I never understood why they allowed me to run and finally return. I understand fully now. It's all in clear primary colours. It's so bright and so sharp at the edges that at first I wondered if Taki Otikami was somewhere in my head painting this… But no.

As I lay in the leaves, Fello knelt on my back and ran a finger down my spine. Alia stood on my hands. Maybe I could have escaped them, but I had surrendered and there was nowhere to run to. No safe place. Fello was tall… he was dark skinned. He was very much in appearance another Derek Morgan, though Fello had no tattoos. He was dark voiced and the glowing dark brown skin… I'd never seen one of us with that colouring before. He was special. He had a special job. He grabbed at the place where my wings were growing on my back and he tore them away. One pull was all it took. It was like having your spine removed. It was like having your body sliced in half. I screamed for a thousand plus years and Alia took my wings and burnt them.

I've rules. My own set of personal rules and ways about me. Things which I do or say because of how life treats you. Never say sorry… it's meaningless. I know that. The word means nothing. Never run… retreat or back away, but never run from something. Face it. Face the fuckers. Do what you have to do, but for fuck's sake don't run from it. Never return to a place if business has been done. I can twist that. I can manipulate that if I need to. But it's a shitting bad idea. If you leave a place, don't for the love of the gods go back. You could lose your fucking wings for it. It's not worth the damned risk. This applies to whores. Never repeat a paid deal. Never. I go on my knees for no man or beast unless it's for pleasure or unless it's to garner favour and that favour is actually possible. Don't lower yourself to try to reach their level. Don't touch me unless I've given you permission. You have no idea of the reflexes I have. I will kill you if I'm taken by surprise. If I think it's a threat. Don't you fucking well doubt that!

o-o-o

Again I paused the recording. It was an interesting reason for his dislike for Morgan. Unfortunately it was just a story in his sick head. He had to give himself reasons for what he did. People who are this sick and dangerous should be helped. They should have people working with them to sort through the rubbish and pull the truth out. I would like to be able to say that all that happened and all that Flanders did was his fault. Now I listen to what he is saying, I don't think it really was. He was sick and he spread that sickness around like some viral contagion. I need to dig further and try to work out how he pulled so many tricks. How was it actually done? I want to know how he latched onto Reid and why he did to him what he did. It wasn't as though Reid was good looking or had any special traits, except for his brain. Could it have been that Floyd needed Reid to use? Was Reid all part of the con? Was Reid even aware of that? Did he assist Floyd with the tricks and sleight of hand knowingly or was Floyd watching him and learning? Was that why he became so close to him and refused to let him go? Was Reid all part of this delusion and to let go of Reid would mean that he would no longer have that to fool us with? I can't imagine it was for his looks. Reid was tall and overly thin. There was no muscle contour on his body. He usually looked ill and his personal style was dated and almost childish. I don't want to say it, but was it the childish nature that Reid had that Flanders liked? I will come back to that later.

I have a diary which was posted to me. I don't know where it was from or who posted it. The postal mark is smudged and I've tried tracing it back to no avail. I received it the day after I received the Dictaphone message from Flanders. It's a diary written by Reid. It spans several years. There are pages missing and a lot of crossing out or even bits removed maybe by a sharp craft knife. Things he didn't want anyone else to see but he felt he needed to write down. Before I continue with Flanders wild story, I will go through some of Reid's thoughts. I need something other than pure fantasy to read before I sleep. I'm really not sure I will find it on Reid's pages.