Transcript of a voice message sent from number 289-7890

October 13, 1:24 A.M.

Hey,, I know it's late, and you're probably not up, but I, uh, I need to tell you about this before you find out from someone other than me., after work I, uh, I came across this guy. Laying against the dumpster out back. I couldn't leave him, I...I mean...God...what choice did I have? He was so sick...just laying there all covered in sweat...every time he inhaled he'd choke and start coughing...I mean, he was so weak that he needed help standing...and, yeah...I, uh, I took him in. With me. Don't—don't freak out, just...I'll try to find out if I can bring him to a shelter, or like...wherever else...people like him...go. He's sick and he says I can't tell anyone that he's here and I don't even know who he is or what he's capable of and if he finds out I told you this...God, Nola...I think...I think this was a mistake. I try to get him to eat and he refuses and he's so skinny and...I...I'm afraid he's gonna die and then I'm gonna have to call 911 and get involved in whatever illegal business it is that he probably does. Oh, God...I just...

I have a horrible feeling about this. I think I've done something wrong—like really, really, wrong. I just...I don't know. Maybe I'm paranoid. It's just that...that...okay, I think he just woke up. I'm going. I'll try to call you at work. Keep this message just in case...of anything. Bye.

Luther Sterling's journal

October 15

I think it's finally happening. To whomever has taken the time to read through my daily scrawlings and ramblings and hopefully understand my story, thank you. Share my story with others and be vigilant.

I can only hope that these pages will increase your awareness of the ever-changing world around you. I can only hope that they will inspire you to look out for those in need, and make sacrifices for people who need you, no matter the cost.

That's enough with the obscurity, I suppose. I will detail the events of the past few days to the best of my ability, though parts of it are still unclear to me.

I quite literally fell ill on the evening of 13 October. Having been infected with a respiratory disease (it is called influenza, or "the flu", I have since learned), I spent hours searching for somewhere I could rest without being noticed.

Everything burned. It was practically impossible to inhale through my nose and horribly painful to breathe through my mouth. My lungs felt swollen and the muscles in my arms and legs were afflicted with the most agonizing ache I have ever experienced. The pain was dull, yet its persistence made it unbearable. I believe that I collapsed somewhere in the alleyway beside the diner (the one I have previously mentioned), because my next memory is the feeling of being half-carried, half-dragged across the wet gravel and cement. I vaguely remember listening to the sound of an engine. I was laying across the backseat of what I suppose was the car to which the engine belonged.

My clearest memory is finally awakening in a room comparable to the most expensive suite in a motel overrun by drug circles and prostitutes.

Perhaps I should be more fair considering the generosity that was shown to me. The room was clean and orderly, and was empty save for the bed I was laying in, a clothes bin, and a dresser. There were no curtains on the window, but the blinds were pulled shut. It was dark.

The man who saved me is named Alexander. He is a human with a very strong conscience. He is quite nervous and awkward, though his handsome name would lead me to think otherwise. He insists that I tell him many details about myself, but I know that it would not be smart to even give him my name until I know I can trust him.

Alexander keeps the door locked when he is not in the room, but I am still fairly weak and would not be able to escape anyway.

I think I have written enough for now. I am still sick and need to rest. I am going to have to find something to drink before I become ill again.



Transcript of a phone conversation between 109-3654 and an unspecified number

October 15, 1:30 P.M.


"Uh, hey. It's Alex."

"Oh, hi. Whose phone is this?"

"It's just a payphone. Look, I'm sorry about my message last night. I didn't want to worry you. I just didn't want you to think I was trying to hide anything from you."


"Hello? Nola?"

"I'm here."

"I don't mean to be like this, but are you mad at me? For what I said?"

"I'm not mad, I promise. I just...I don't know what to say. I don't want anything bad to happen to you but I don't know how to help."


"Is he still at your house?"

"Yeah. He's a little better but still not that good. I don't know what to do, I-"

"Okay, okay, listen. Don't freak out. Baby steps. Focus on getting him better first. We can deal with everything else later. What time is your shift over?"


"I'll be at your place."

"You don't have to-"

"See you then."