Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday

T-11 hours until I get myself captured, killed, or otherwise. Research is done. I know who, where, when. I might even know how. Can't get a hold of Elena; not sure where she is, but I'll call again and leave a message or something. Like it matters. She can't come with me.

I'm scared out of my freakin' mind. I can't sleep. I should, because I'm better when I sleep, but it's not working. I close my eyes, and I hear things. Thank god this stupid internet cafe is twenty four hours. They've gotta be wondering about me by now, though. Then again, I am nowhere near as freaky as some of these people around me...

Some stellar dude just looked at my screen as I wrote that and now I'm getting the stinkeye. That's what you get for reading over my shoulder, asshat!

I keep thinking about all the things that can happen to me. All the things that can happen to him. I think about how stupid this is, doing what I'm doing.

Then I think about how fun it's going to be, and I don't care.

I kind of feel like James Bond. Only, you know, not a guy.

Then again, for this, I will be.

I am totally Bond.

It worked. Holy shit. I don't even know what they would have done to me if they'd caught me. There was one point where I could feel myself slipping and thought I might lose it. The guy wasn't looking at my hands, though. Thank god (or dog, or whatever we're calling him today).

So. I have an address. I have a plan. I think I have a plan, anyway. Gotta talk to Elena. I am > this close < to winding up on the six o'clock news for this stunt I'm about to pull. I went to see the place today, but it's totally unassuming. Doesn't look like a fortress, but I bet it is. I've been staying at this run down little motel on the Lower East Side, just in case they come back looking for sloppy seconds. I'm sharing my pillow with roaches, but, uh...

...at least I'm still there when I wake up? Turns out if you drop enough bills on the concierge's desk, he doesn't care if you walk in and call yourself Chesty LaRue or Marilyn Monroe or whatever else. (I gave him a better name than that, don't worry.) I might have bought myself, what, six extra hours by doing that? Sure, we don't share a last name or anything, but ever since those DNA tests, there's something out there telling them that I exist.

Damn it, Benny. Next time just believe what I say when I say it!

Scratch that. It's probably a bad idea.

Guess you knew me better than I thought.

P.S. - Don't die, okay? It's going to be hella lame if I do this and you wind up deader than dead.

I don't even know if I should be saying what I want to say. I have this sinking feeling that this whole "higher education" thing is about to fall through the floor. I've been sitting here in this cafe, staring at the screen, the cursor flashing at me. Mocking me. I can't go home. I shouldn't go home, anyway. I will. I need to grab some things.

This is totally unrelated to the squirrel in a wetsuit thing. I wish it was related. Wouldn't that be badass? "I had to leave home because a ninja squirrel in a wetsuit armored with rancid meat has been living in my oven, and now he's taken over." Yeah. Right. Then again, after the last 24 hours? Not so unlikely. What the hell is wrong with this city?

Things I was not expecting:

* A crazy chick to show up at the door.
* Her conspiracy theory to be right.
* To actually care.

Guess it really was too good to be true.

Commencing hella crazy plan... nnnnnow.