A LETTER (CONTINUED)
EXCERPT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY DR JOHN WATSON TO SHERLOCK HOLMES
I begin to think that this letter will never be posted.
Holmes, for all my favourable talk of the country it must be remembered that they have no infrastructure here. If I want to send you a message, I have to commit to half an hour’s cart journey and a village post office that views opening times with the sort of loose informality that would have an urban business bankrupt within a week.
No matter, I can only hope that I will find the time when I arise later, for really, matters have come to a point and we need you here. I need you here. If only to tell me I’m dreaming.
I have explained to you, in as much detail as possible, the events of the night, our “battle” against whatever unbelievable forces they were that faced us across the dimensions. Oh dear Lord... I’m even beginning to talk like them. Holmes, you simply cannot imagine how terrifying it was. Worse, how quickly one stops questioning and just adapts. I was firing my service revolver at DEMONS, Holmes. My whole view of the world is in ruins.
And Mary. How can I not think of her? Now that I know that the veil between life and death is thinner than I imagined, now that I know that there are souls out there that are still themselves. I was somewhat ambivalent about the idea of an afterlife, Holmes, I think all soldiers are; have to be. But now I begin to wonder.
I miss her so very much.
Enough, forgive me, my friend, I know you find this sort of conversation awkward. Let’s stick to the facts shall we?
Where had I got to...? Ah yes, Carnacki’s concern that the Breath of God was now loose upon the world.
I cannot pretend I followed every aspect of their conversation. Once the battle was done – and it was, there were no more attacks after that – my adrenalin faded and I began to feel that same sense of disassociation I had experienced on the train. A dizziness and lethargy, nausea even. It was shock, I know, I am a medical man after all.
Still, despite my discomfort and confusion, I followed the generalities of their discussion. It seemed that Mathers’ final act had been to send the Breath of God directly into Crowley. How he was able to do that I cannot say, the words of explanation simply slip off the brain. No doubt I adopted that vacant look Mary always had once I started to discuss anatomy. All you had to do to send that woman to sleep was speak Latin.
Explanations aside, that is what had happened. And in order to defend himself, Crowley had vented it elsewhere. Where, he could not say. He suspects London (in which case you will likely know more about it than me) because he tried to send it right back to its source. But he could not be certain.
As dawn broke it shone its light on five exhausted men. The only plan we had was to use a “scrying” ritual (don’t ask) to try and locate the Breath of God, but apparently before that could even be considered all concerned needed to rest. Fighting psychically is – logically enough I suppose – extremely draining.
I confess that I was unsure as to whether I could possibly sleep after such an experience. In all honesty, though, as I write these words, I find I am struggling to stay awake. Perhaps it would be better were I to leave