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Tuesday, June 17, 2014 – 1:54 PM EST – Hartford County Jail – Hartford, Connecticut

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This morning, I was contacted by Judge Williams and he confirmed for me that he had what I wanted. Getting my hands on the warrant was only step one. Once I get it back to the Compound, the real work would begin. We'd have to forge every detail of the document and a signature of the magistrate in Middlesex County. The signature of the petitioning officer will be omitted.

Doing that guarantees two things. The first, is that none of the items seized in their search and the related findings are admissible in court. And two, it guarantees that the case against Sebastian Duke gets thrown out and your King of Darkness walks free.

I have the document locked in a briefcase inside the Tahoe. Right now I'm staring up at the Hartford County Jail. The place the King of Darkness now calls home. As I enter, I can feel his presence. A few greeting later, and a corrections officer escorts me down into the bowels of the light security prison.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Where are you taking me?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “To the basement.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Why?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “Well, the powers that be felt he might be a danger to other inmates. Since we don't have solitary confinement, this was the next best thing.”



He continues to lead me deeper into the basement. Old cells, now used a storage space, line each side of the long hallway. Much of the walk is quiet. As we near the end of the hall, a large heavy steel door blocks our path. The corrections officer pulls out a large key and unlocks it.



CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “He's in there.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Aren't you coming with me?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “No chance in hell.”



I look at him, dumbfounded.



CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “What the hell do you want from me? I have a family. Innocent until proven guilty and all that, but this guy is accused of killing fourteen people. I'm not going in there without back up.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Relax. He's locked up. Plus, he knows me. He'll be on his best behavior. Plus, I'll need someone to talk to.”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “Huh?”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Just trust me.”



The corrections officer follows me in, albeit extremely hesitantly. The room is dark. The officer flips a switch on the wall and one single, dim light is lit. It hangs above him. I'm appalled, but not entirely shocked at what I see.







They have him chained up. In every way possible. Large shackles surround his chest and secure his arms at his sides. Chains hook him to the ceiling. Shackles and chains secure him to the floor. A stupid hockey mask covers his face.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “What the fucking hell?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “We were afraid for our safety. Thats why there is all these chains.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “What about the fucking mask? You guys make him out like he's some deranged lunatic from a cheap eighties slasher film!”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “The mask was my idea. Kind of looks like Jason Voorhees doesn't he?”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “He's a human being, asshole! He's not a fucking animal! Get that God damn mask off him!”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “Huh uh! No damn way.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “What the hell do you mean?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “See, he has this mask over his face, except we couldn't get it off. It was all dry and leathery, and completely disgusting. If I have to look at him, I'd rather see a harmless hockey mask than whatever the hell that mask is on his face.”



I reach up to Sebastian's head and remove the hockey mask. The very moment I do so, is a moment I regret. As if it were affixed to his skin, the grotesque mask stares back, decaying before my very eyes. Before long, I force myself to replace the hockey mask. King George's face is a shadow of its former self. Bits and pieces are missing.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “We'll have you out of here in short order.”



As if he's going to reply.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Until then, just hang in there, okay?”

CORRECTIONS OFFICER: “Ha! Like he has a choice!”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “If you don't mind, Officer, you can save you sarcasm for someone who appreciates it. To have him chained up like a circus animal is nothing short of disgusting and you can bet once his attorney gets wind of this, somebody in this building is getting fired.

“I'd suggest you call whoever it is you need to call, and have him unchained.”



The officer isn't quite sure what to make of my threats. If I were him, I'd listen.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “This is not a debate, nor is it some kind of staring contest. Find the sheriff, the warden or whoever runs this damn place and get him unchained and into a regular cell or I swear to you, we will have this place shut down. If you don't think we can do it... try me.”



It doesn't take long. Within five minutes, more corrections officers are in the basement and unchaining the monster. Still within leg and arm shackles, he's lead upstairs to the general population. After just a few more minutes, he's lead into the visitors room. He and I are separated by glass laced with chicken wire. The only thing connecting us is a telephone.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “So Azrael is dropping promos left and right. It's almost as if its a repeat of last year. And he called my bluff. I kind of figured he would. I told the world that you blamed him for...”



I barely get the words out and I can see he's visibly angry. He slams his fists against the glass, causing it to spider web under the force of both of his powerful fists.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Uhhh, I kind of didn't see that coming... Sorry 'bout that. He wants to hear you. He wants you to break your silence. I kind of think he's right. I think it's time, Sebastian. You haven't said a word in two months...”



He hangs up the phone and stands to his feet. Guards are there to flank him on either side. Within just a moment, he's ushered away to his cell.

On my way out of the building, I look at my cell phone. Thirteen missed calls and twenty three text messages. One call from Matthew, and the rest were from Asmodeus. Truth be told, I didn't really feel like talking, so I simply sent out a text reply to Asmodeus to let him know I'd be home in an hour or so.

During the drive, I started to wonder what all the calls and texts were about. I never read any of the texts and honestly, if it was anything pertaining to the case, there would be no specifics anyway. Sensitive information is always spoken, never written and never sent electronically.

Back at the Compound I dread walking in, but I do so anyway, with the official search warrant secured in my briefcase. As I exit the garage and enter the back hall, I can already hear screaming and carrying on. By the sounds of it, Asmodeus has pissed someone else off.

I walk into the library and Asmodeus is being held back by a few Brothers. Matthew stands a few feet in front of him.



JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “What's going on in here?”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “Where the hell have you been!?”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Well, I went to Taco Bell, took a massive shit in the rest room at Target, accidentally ran over a kitty, punched a virgin in the face for being a cunt, retrieved something valuable, went and saw your son, ignored all of your attempts at contacting me, and now here I am...

“In a room...

“With you.”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “You can save your smart ass comments for someone with the time to...

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “It's all true. Except the kitty. I made that part up.”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “The boy wonder over here has failed again at hacking into the evidence files and you've been conveniently absent this entire weekend!”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “We don't need the files.”

MATTHEW, THE TECHNOLOGY WIZARD: “What?”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “Of course we need the files! How else are we going to spring him if we don't know what they have!?”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “We have something better. The fact that we have it, means they don't. And if they don't have it, then legally, there is no case.”



The room falls silent.



MATTHEW, THE TECHNOLOGY WIZARD: “You got the warrant.”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “You son of a bitch.”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “I got the warrant.”

ASMODEUS, THE HIGH PRIEST: “You left us here worrying and arguing all weekend, and you physically have the warrant?”

JACOB, THE MESSENGER: “Yes. Of course, having the warrant is only half the battle...”



Its not just a cliché, its also actually very true. Time is running out for Sebastian Duke.



Fade to Darkness.