.T.

Connie closed the leather bound journal and pulled another from her pocket. It was white with a hard cover, the name Jamie scrawled across the top. On the inside cover, written in her mother's slanted writing, were the years 1965-66. The first page spanned the first entry, February 16, 1965.

Dear Journal,

I met someone today. His name was Walter. He is a quiet tailor for Mr. Greer's dress shop. I think he might dislike women, but I have a theory about that. It could be because he has to deal with them all day, and women by nature are mean. Last night, I was Muse for the first time. I forgot my costume, of all the stupid things I could have done. I also got to see another crime fighter watching me work. He was... not antisocial, just not participating in the activity, I guess. He had on a trench coat and a fedora. I waved at him to talk to him, but he just left. Just as well, as I wasn't looking very good. Forgot my chapstick. And my mask. But that's okay. All the people who I fought are dead. By accident, except for that last one. He had it coming. I sang a song for their tortured souls, but I doubt that will make up for anything. I met the Crime busters tonight. Rorschach is an interesting person. He seems to dislike everyone but me and Niteowl, but it seems more like toleration than actual camaraderie. Oh, well. Better than distaste.

The second half of the page was made for the next entry, and Connie read on. She had kept the journal for years now, but had resisted reading it until now, and she was hungry for information. Niteowl had landed the floating contraption to take care of a couple of muggers, but she was too interested in the wave of information flooding her senses.

February 19, 1965.

I saw Rorschach again. He seems to be following me, making sure I'm not screwing up. That's alright. I don't mind at all. In fact, it's reassuring. It means he cares.

I also saw Walter again today, at the bakery were I work. He ordered a Cherry cupcake. I added extra frosting to his. After all, he seems like a good person, and I had extra. No reason to let it go to waste. He's kind of cute, too. I wonder what makes him so withdrawn from other people. A lady came to sit at his table. She had on a lot of makeup, and smacked her gum loudly. Her skirt rode up, and I saw she had on a purple G-string. Some ladies just don't have any pride in themselves, honestly. He told her something quietly, and she slapped him and walked out of the store, leaving her cinnamon roll behind. He threw it away. I asked him what he said, and he told me 'I said for her to leave, because whores shouldn't make such a lovely place dirty. Not when you're here.' I think that was a complement, so that's what I took it as, but I honestly don't know what to make of that.

The next page was about a week later, dating February 28, 1965. Her mother's scrawling handwriting was accompanied by a photograph wedged between the yellowing pages. On the back, Rorschach's symbol was drawn in the lower left hand corner. The front was of Muse and Rorschach. Her mother's smile was bright and genuine, though Connie couldn't tell if Rorschach was smiling or not. The inkblots that made his mask so terrifying were frozen into the image of dueling dragonflies, in Connie's perspective. His fedora was firmly upon his head, but his cream scarf was untucked, fluttering in the invisible breeze. Muse's arm was locked with his.

February 28, 1965.

Dear Journal,

Walter gave me my dress and my sister's to give to her. They were beautiful, even though he admitted to missing a few stitches. It doesn't matter. He put hard work into them, and it shows. I gave him exact change, and a phone number to contact me further 'if he has an idea for a good dress.' Like he believed that! God, I feel so stupid! He probably thinks I do that for every handsome man I meet!

Oh well, onto my duties as Muse. I ran into Silk Spectre II. She's alright, but she wouldn't shut up about Dr. Manhattan. Someone needs to accept that she's jailbait for now and wait a couple years. We took care of some muggers, but then Ozymandias showed up. Wow, what a total tool! He keeps insisting that we all get partners, and he tries buddying up to me. It's not going to happen! He gave me his number, too. I'm only keeping it in case I need to get a hold of some backup. He may be a creep, but any help is good when it's needed.

I also ran into Rorschach again. He was tying up a drug dealer to a lightpole. I swear, I could almost swear I saw him smile when we (Silk Spectre and I) came up to him. He even let us take a picture of him! I think I'll keep it forever, as a commemoration of our budding friendship. He's a really nice guy when you get past the rough exterior. And the incomplete sentences. I swear, he never uses prepositions! But I still like him. He's a good person. I noticed he also wears the same cologne as Walter. I wonder where he gets it from?

Connie flipped through Rorschach's journal. Unlike her mother, he documented every day without fail. At the page for February 28, he had actually drawn something. It was a rough sketch of her mother smiling as she handed the slip of paper with her number on it to the person viewing the drawing. The light of her eyes were perfect, and every line of her hair was tucked into place. Her lips were clean and in soft light. Rorschach had taken a long time to draw this.

Rorschach's journal. February 28, 1965.

While I was at work, Ms. Cooper picked up the dresses I made for her and her sister. She gave me her number, suggesting that I call her if I have any ideas for a good dress. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'm a terrible designer, but I did admit I missed a few stitches on the dresses. She told me she didn't care, that they looked great anyway. It made me feel something other than apathy. This woman is truly a force to admire. I doubt she was flirting with me. I'm not that attractive, to be honest. I drew her anyway, because I never want to forget what she looked like when she smiled at me.

My night was uneventful until the end. I broke an informant's arm to tell me where a small time drug dealer was. I was trying to tie said drug dealer to a lightpole when Silk Spectre and Muse had found me. I smiled when I saw Muse. She reminds me of Ms. Cooper, though I doubt there is a connection. Perhaps it is her sister? I must investigate this further at a later time. I took a picture with Muse, and I hope she keeps it. She seems like someone who wants to make the world a better place, and I want her to remember she always has me here to help her. I really hope she didn't smell my cologne. It's uncommon enough to pin me to Walter Kovacs easily. Hopefully she hasn't gotten a dress at Mr. Greer's before now.

Connie dropped the book. All this time, she had suspected as much, but this... an indirect confession as to who Rorschach is!

"Everything all right back there?" Niteowl was pulling into the garage when he looked back and found her hyperventilating. "Jesus! What's wrong?" He pulled her to him, trying to regulate her breathing.

"Rorschach..." Connie wheezed like a dying woman. "He's... Walter... I knew him. Walter Kovacs... Rorschach... I knew him."