Postscript Notes

post script notes:

there was a graveyard forum at the NaNoWriMo site, where you could properly bury the characters you created and killed. So this is not part of the book, but nonetheless a chance to say goodbye to some of the people who had a place in my head and my heart for the past month.


wow. Too bad I didn't know about this thread already. I won't list them all (there were thirty total), only the main characters who ended up losing their lives at the end of the book. Written here by Detective Jacobs, who had to survive and feel the after effects of these horrific murders in order for my story to reach a conclusion.



Detective John Sanders, you were not exactly a partner nor were you exactly a friend. In our line of work we rarely hold on to either, as a rule, and in that respect you were more than both to me. You were a fine officer and your life was taken in the line of duty while rescuing another officer. There is no finer way to go, in my book, and I believe i speak for all the officers here today when I say so. Our city and our department have lost a valuable person now, and, on a personal ending,. I will miss seeing the tower of Styrofoam coffee cups that you built on your desk every day. Thank you, John, for giving us the ultimate sacrifice.



Christopher Dunn, a civilian and a gentleman who died while trying to save a young lady's life. Twenty-six is far too young to be taken from this world, when the career is just beginning to flourish and the family life starting to take wing and grow beyond the confines of your mother and father. You died in a battle of good and evil that you never knowingly went looking for. I look out at the members of the community here at your funeral, a host of friends and family along side the prominent members of our local businesses and government offices, and I see just how far your impact stretched throughout our city. My hope is that you are remembered for what you hoped to accomplish as much as what you did accomplish in your short time among us.


Arthur Goode. I pause because it gets a little bit tricky here. The idea of Arthur Goode was a good idea, I still believe that. You were not supposed to become the monster, merely the narrator of our collective story here in our city. Somehow you changed though, through the course of events that unfolded over the month of November. Something happened to flip you around, and we may never fully understand what that was, although I do intend to follow through with the exploration. Your writings, what you chose to share with the world, tended to be caring and open, and a celebration of the lives around us. yet your actions were the complete opposite. You tortured and maimed and not only took the lives of several dozen people but also caused harm to those of us left behind. Where you could have made a real connection through that common soul of humanity, to quote from your own ever so eloquent prose, you instead decided to sever the connection in some of the most inhumane ways possible. I feel a special connection to you, of course I would, and that scares me a bit. I am one of those people deeply changed by your thoughts and by your actions. I only hope it leads me into some spiritual plane rather than the dark hell that you descended into. No, I do not feel sorry for killing you at all, and I do not feel remorse at wondering if you could have been developed, changed, into a moral creature of this earth. Goodbye to you, Mr. Goode.


Finally, I get to our dearest Brooke. Brooke Adams, at nineteen years old, perhaps suffered the most this month. You came into my life out of nowhere. There is nobody in my life that you remind me of being, no basis of some other person to compare with who you turned out to be. You were a completely independent thought that developed into a woman of your own. You surprised me even in the end, not facing your death as if it didn't matter, but also not treating it as unavoidable. You fought to the end and were the last soul to be taken by our serial killer. Things could have ended differently with a simple stroke of the keyboard. You might have wrestled the gun from his hands or you may have come with a loaded weapon yourself, knowing you would be facing him. You spent most of your life not exactly lost but not exactly connected either, and I understand that deeply. You could have grown up to be bitter and angry and quite possibly the woman that your killer envisioned, or you could have lived a long and fruitful life, facing your demons and finding your spiritual center. Instead you left us exactly the way you came into our lives, unexpected and sudden and leaving a trail across our souls the way a comet leaves a trail in the night sky. I will always miss you yet I feel I cannot grieve for the loss of your body. You would not allow that, if you were here. You died as you lived, with your head held high and your eyes full of peace, despite the demons and the angels inside of you fighting for superiority. Neither one of those sides won out in the end, and that mattered to you more than the rest of everything else that occurred. Because of that, I will respect your final wishes, turn and walk away from you now and let you remain who you always were destined to be. Goodbye, Brooke.