July 28, 1997 6 PM

Woke up the same time as usual today. Work was just as normal as usual. No attempted robberies or anything.

I had some dreams about the man with the glass eye. I can't remember them in detail, but I remember his face. I would've thought last night was a dream too if I hadn't written it down and dated it. Something weird's going on.

I checked through all of today's papers on anything that looked like that man, but nothing came up, not even in the tabloids. Maybe he was just some nobody with no friends or family looking for him. I kinda feel sorry for him. Still, who took his body? I didn't hear anyone outside until Cyrus got out there, and the window didn't ice itself. Someone caused it. But who? And why?

Cyrus was still asleep when I went to work. I thought about asking him if he remembered last night. I dunno. Maybe I'm obsessing too much over this. I tend to do that a lot, I think. Maybe this'll go away by tomorrow.

Cyrus just walked in. Seems we're going to the pub this time. And he's talking about getting hammered. I guess his check just came in, otherwise we'd stay here. Still, whenever he wants to go out, it usually means he's trying to forget something. Maybe he remembers the dead man too.

July 29, 1997 2 AM

And I thought yesterday was exciting. Cyrus led the whole pub in a medley of sea shanties. He forgot the words to half of them and started making dirty rhymes. It was funny, but I just didn't feel in the mood.

Claire was nice, though. She's one of the waitresses, curly blond hair, pretty, in her mid-twenties, and one of the nicest gals you'd ever meet, to some. For rowdy patrons like Cyrus, she's as strict as a nun with a ruler. I still get flashbacks to my grade school days. Anyway, she sat with me every once in a while to talk, mostly about normal problems. I forgot about the man with the glass eye until she said this:

"Do you ever feel… I dunno… when you're out walking and you just feel… hopeless for no reason at all?"

Suddenly, that glass eye popped into my head. "You're not going by the docks or anything, are you?"

She shook her head, her curls bouncing side to side. "No, not at all. It just happens. One minute, I'm fine. And the next, I feel dreadful." She chuckled. "Sorry. I must sound silly."

I shook my head. "Maybe you were just remembering a nightmare." I sipped my ale, trying not to think back to last night.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "Well, I'm all right now. That's what counts, right?" She smiled.

I nodded. "Yeah." I gotta admit, her smile can really brighten up a room.

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "Thanks for listening."

"Any time."

Just as she got up, Cyrus swung an arm around her. "Hey! How about a kiss for me?"

She ducked under her arm. "How about you pay your tab?" She whisked away to the counter while the rest of the guys oohed.

Cyrus turned to me and slid into the seat next to me. "So, Your Highness, it seems brooding in a corner, pretending to be a shadow, works wonders on women. Let me try." He hunched over and gave a surly look. Some of the guys laughed.

I smirked. "Say, Butterfinger, if you ever want a pinky, they can graft your dick on it. It's not like you're using it for anything."

The bar roared in laughter.

He grinned, taking it in stride. When the bar died down, he said, "Actually, your dick matches the size much better."

Even more laughter echoed through the room. Even I couldn't help but laugh. He's kind of an idiot, but he's all right.

We left sometime after midnight. I limped slowly home, which was fine for Cyrus since faster steps would've been too much for him. It was dark, but we were feelin' pretty good.

Just as we're reaching our building, we hear a girl scream. Any haze from the booze instantly faded. We dashed down the alley as fast as we could, drawing our guns as we ran. I managed to keep up with Cyrus even with my stiff leg.

We turned the corner and saw some nut in black robes towering over a woman on the ground. He raised some sort of black shape over his head and saying some gibberish. He looked like he was about to stab her.

Cyrus and I drew our guns at the same time and fired. I got him in the spine. Cyrus got him in the head.

The man keeled over as the woman rolled out of the way. We ran over to the scene.

Cyrus knelt by the woman. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, still shaking. "Yes, thank you."

I inspected the body. Cyrus' bullet shattered a mask roughly in the shape of a skull. I looked at his weapon and saw it was a stick. A black, nicely polished stick, but still just a stick.

I bent over and picked it up. "A stick?!"

The woman got up and snatched it out of my hand. "Be careful with that!"

Cyrus got up.

I looked at him. "We killed someone over a fucking stick!"

He looked confused and turned to the woman.

"It's not just a—" She trailed off. "Wait, you're Muggles, aren't you?"

Cyrus and I glanced at each other. This chick was crazy. Who makes up words like that?

She turned pale. "Oh no." She backed away from us. "You have to get out of here." She dropped the stick as she stumbled. Her eyes started closing.

Cyrus caught her. "Fainted." He swept her legs up to carry her in his arms. He started walking back to the building.

I picked up the stick. "Where are you taking her?"

He continued on without answering me.

I sighed and hobbled after him. I mean sure, she was attacked by some nut with a stick, but I sure as hell wouldn't take her into my house.

Sure enough, he took her inside and laid her on the couch. He checked her pulse and such.

I sighed and hobbled into my room to write all of this down. Maybe he's a weird cultist or something. Still, I'm thinking we should lock the door to our room tonight, just in case she's just as crazy too.

July 29, 1997 10 PM

Today I guess was just as normal as ever, but I feel like I forgot something. When I got up, I felt as though there was something supposed to be on the couch. I figured Cyrus left the remote there last night, but it was right on the coffee table.

Now that I think about it, something strange happened as I was coming back from the stand. I ended up taking a detour around our building and going to this dead ended alley. I just looked at it, trying to figure out what was missing. I'm not even sure why. Maybe I'm just tired. I should get to sleep earlier from now on.

July 30, 1997 10 PM

I went back to the alley. It still looks just as normal as ever. That's what bothers me. It looks… too clean. It's like, there's something obvious missing, but I can't think of what. I'm tempted to ask Cyrus about it, but he'd probably think I'm crazy. With that and the nightmares I've been having about an eye following me, I'd probably agree.

July 31, 1997 6 PM

I went to the alley again. This time, Cyrus was there. He was looking around.

He looked up at me. "Ho there! Dumpster hopping?"

I walked up to him. "Same as you, I'd guess."

He hesitated. "Look, I'm not crazy. I just…"

"Feel like you forgot something?"

He nodded.

"Strange dreams too?"

"Yeah. About some woman and a ghost."

"Oh." It wasn't the same as mine.

He noticed the tone. "What are yours about?"

"A giant eye-ball that's always looking at me no matter where I run."

He burst out laughing. I wanted to smack him.

"Sorry," he said after he caught his breath. "I shouldn't be laughing."

"Getting back to the problem, we're having weird dreams and keep coming to this alley. What else do we know?"

His grin faded. "I know I fired my gun. I checked it last night. There's a bullet missing from the mag."

I pulled out my own from my holster and popped the magazine out. There were eight bullets. One more was in the chamber. So nine. I was supposed to have ten.

"Shit," I muttered. "Me too."

"Okay, so we have bad dreams, we shot something, and we keep coming back to this alley. Now what?"

Then, it hit me. "My journal! Maybe I wrote something!"

He looked at me. "Your what?"

I rolled my eyes. "I keep a journal. Okay, I started keeping a journal. I heard it was therapeutic or something."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Look, let's check the bloody thing!"

He shrugged.

We hurried back to the apartment. I fished out my journal and flipped back a few pages. I skimmed through until I saw the entry July 28, 3 AM. "Some guy died from a fall right in front of our window with a glass eye. That explains my dream." I flipped some more. "Here! July 29, 2 AM. We got drunk, then—"

"I don't get drunk. I only get a gentle buzz."

I looked up at him and glared.

He held up his hands. "Sorry, Mate. Continue."

I sighed and went back to the entry. "We heard a scream, saw a guy in a cloak attacking some woman with a weapon, shot him, and found the weapon was… a polished stick?" I looked up at him. "We killed a guy over a stick?"

"It looks like we didn't know until after the fact. You can't fault us for trying to help. Even with a stick, he might've hurt her."

"Maybe we should've let him. She spoke some gibberish, fainted, you took her home and set her up on the couch." I paused. "I suggested locking our door in case she was crazy."

"Then why can't we remember any of this?"

"She isn't mentioned at all after this." I looked up at him. "Maybe she drugged us while she was asleep."

"How? We looked the door. How could she break in without us noticing?"

"Assuming we even locked the door at all."

We both stood in silence.

"What now?" he finally asked.

"What can we do? We can't go to the police for shooting someone whose body disappeared or some woman we took in who drugged us." I thought. "Maybe we should move. She knows where we live. She could try and break in again."

"She could've done that yesterday or the day before, too. If she wanted to kill us, she would've done it that night."

"I guess there's nothing we can do 'cept forget and move on."

He looked out the window. "Can you?"

"Prolly not. You?"

"No. I want to find her and figure out what's going on. I have some friends that might help track her down."

"Look, I don't think this is something we wanna get involved in."

Cyrus grinned. "Hey, at least it's interesting." He headed for the door. "I'm gonna make an appointment with a sketch artist to capture the essence of the woman in my dreams."

I rolled my eyes and sat down at the couch as he left. I'd hate to admit it, but he's right. This is interesting.