August 1901
The train I am riding in back to London moves slowly. It has been raining, and the tracks are getting slick with mud, forcing the conductor to run the train at a crawling speed. I do not care. I do not care if we ever arrive anywhere. I could stay on this train never to return to my life in London. Perhaps it would be easier to start another life somewhere else. Surely, whatever it would take to create a new identity could not be as difficult as the events I have so recently faced. Looking at my last entry it seems impossible that I should have been so happy only twenty-four hours ago. How can I be happy now? How can I for see a future in which I am ever happy again? I have lost Rebecca. I have lost my heart. I have lost all chance of happiness. I have lost my will to go on with the rest of my life. I am nothing more than a raft, tied too loose, drifting and splintering over the rough ocean waves.
August 1901
How can a simple act, nay a simple moment, change so much in one's life? When I went to take a bath my life was in order. I had everything in place to marry Rebecca. Leaving the bath, with nothing more than a towel around my waist, I was carefree and, even whistling. But then my world stopped. George Roth stood, in the middle of the small room, with this very journal in hand. He looked up from the open page he had been reading and gave me a toothy grin. I did not have time to cover myself further or create a diversion before he uttered the words, "My but what you and Holmes get up to." I know I stuttered and stammered like a fool. I knew he wanted Rebecca for his own but this breech of etiquette, this betrayal, was beyond the pale. I was terrified. Would he truly use what he had read to force Rebecca away from me? I tried to claim innocence stating "I don't know," but he cut me off with his own plain words, "We are not fools, please do not treat me as one. I would demean us both." I was defeated. Like the condemned man that I was, I waited to hear what my sentence would be for the crimes I had committed. Instead, he crossed to where I was, grabbed the towel from around my waist, and stripped me, leaving me exposed. I am sure I blushed even through the shock I was feeling. My hands moved to cover myself but he grabbed them at the wrists and forced me towards the bed. I have had combat training but, between the shock, my bad leg, my nakedness, and his force, I was frozen against doing much more than his bidding. I remember the bed hitting the back of my thighs and then being turned. I do not know how, but I know I was then face down on the bed with George kneeling over me. I could hear clothing being moved and, at the sound of a zipper being pulled down, I remember becoming keenly aware of what he was after. Horrified I began to twist but I was stopped as his body pressed hard against my own. I could feel his flesh against my backside, his chest against my back and his breath, laced with the smell of whiskey, against my neck. I felt physically sick as he heaved himself against me. His manhood, which even in my stupor I felt meager compared to what Holmes offered, tried for entrance but I clamped down my backside and he contended himself with rubbing against me. After only a few thrusts he groaned, I felt his wetness, and then he pushed himself off of me. He called me a perverted freak as he pushed himself up off of the bed. I did not move. Even after I heard him compose himself and the door to the room open and close, I remained where I was. My body hurt and my brain spun. The only thought I clung onto was Rebecca. I had to get to Rebecca. I had to assure her that I was true, and worthy, no matter what words George Roth might say to the contrary. With that duty in mind I forced myself to move, cleaned myself off, got dressed, and set out to save my future.