Today I found dried blood on my mailbox, most likely a deer's. I finally called the post office. They told me that the letter came from inside town, most likely from the north side of Back Cove. I’m considering moving further inland to Westbrook for some time. I have a friend there. This killer has torn me apart inside, all the way down to the soul. I find solace in this:
"Certainly it is necessary for every man to consider for himself the journey his soul will have to make, how terrible it will be when death comes, and separates the kinsmen who once were joined: the soul and the body. After that, there will be a long time in which the soul receives from God himself either torment or glory, depending on exactly what its earthly enclosure has earned for it earlier on, in the world."
As well as in the words of the ultimate man of internal conflict:
“This is most brave, that I, the son of a dear father murder'd, prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell ... I have heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play have by the very cunning of the scene been struck so to the soul that presently they have proclaim'd their malefactions; for murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ.”
