((This Diary is currently hidden in the un-padded cell farther away from the entry gates at the HGH Psyche Ward. It is kept under a dislodged brick with some dirt dug out from behind it behind the mirror over the sink. The brick is always put in it's place and the part of the wall behind the mirror is grimy since the cleaners never bother to take care of what cannot be seen, making it hard to notice the brick is not fixed in it's place, if it even comes to mind to move the apparently wall-fixed mirror that is.

Vlad only writes in it when he's sure nobody is watching and does not want it to be found, being too ashamed of what he writes in it. He keeps it as a means of trying to understand himself, his whole self - both sides of it.))

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*A small notebook with a black hardback cover and a mistreated appearance holds the following text in a neat large script. Also helping the words appear large is the fact they are written in crayons, rather than a pen or a pencil. Above each entry in this journal is the date it was written on, along with a precise time. It is always underlined, as if it was essential for the author to remember.*

05/11/09 - 21:36

Dear Diary, ((*< - scratched out*)) Too childish. I'm definitely not a child anymore. Ahh, Childhood. Mine wasn't so great. The only Good thing I can remember from my childhood is the Circus. Yes, that was always great fun. That's where I met my only childhood friend too. Good old Silviu. Why not? Dear Silviu, I must say, it's been a Hell of a night. Found myself in the garage next to the beach, holding my bleeding stomach and feeling pain all over my body. As usual I had flashes, bits and pieces of his memories. I look up and see her, the mechanic girl. I knew my injuries were her handiwork right away but who can blame her after what he did to her? I wonder how long it will take him to become stronger again, now that I am in here between three walls and a thick glass. His anger and hatred multiply when he's held in captivity, unable to roam the alleys and lurk around the city looking for victims. She was kind. She patched me up, stitched up my slashed gut. All considered, it was only fair though. She had sliced it open after all. True, he had taken an offering from her, but he hadn't hurt her. From what I remember at least. Either way I cannot blame her for attacking him, for wanting revenge. But revenge is never good, the situation I am in proves it. She didn't believe him, tried to have her way. HPD should never have been called. Now here I am, sitting here unable to do anything for those poor girls. I told her, I warned her. "Don't call the Police," I said. "Give me more time," I begged. Useless. As I thought he's closing up in here. He's locking in and securing his memories. I have asked him so many times to tell me where they are. He won't budge. I'm tired of trying, I need to clear my own mind to be able to even Hope to breach his. That's why I'm writing to you, Silviu. If only these damn wounds would stop hurting, perhaps clearing my mind would be easier. But I cannot wait for my wounds to be healed up. There is no time. How long can they survive? That question has popped in my mind so often I wish I could get the answer to it thrown at me. And yet I don't want to know. If I knew it would give me a deadline. I've never been good at sticking to deadlines. Yes, better leave the question unanswered, better to have no defined limits to the time I have. All I know is I do not have much time. They do not have much time. My Objective is One - Save them. I can see Two paths to it - Breach his mind and tell what I learn to the authorities or run away so he keeps taking care of them while I get more time to answer the only question that really matters - Where are they? It's a damp, dark, dusty and dreary place. Where did all those d-words come from? Right - Depression. That's how I feel at the moment. The bastard may be crazy, but he's cunning too. Strong and stubborn like a damn bull. He won't let me in. Where are they? Underground, that's quite sure. No windows, no natural light. The flames on the torches hung to the walls are the only sources of illumination. They cast an eerie mood to the whole dungeon. The walls, roof and ground made out of large black stones definitely help with keeping the place only dimly lit. It seems like some old castle's dungeon. Are there any castles in Hathian or around it? I doubt it. The furniture too, reminds me of a castle's torture chamber. It is a torture chamber. Who are they? I don't know much about them, perhaps that's for the best. I already feel responsible enough for their current state without having the extra guilt of them being friends. Not that it makes it any easier for me to deal with my guilt, not at all. The first was Angel. Duffield. Quite a feisty angel too, by what I can remember. She's a fighter that one, I just hope she can fight starvation just as well as she could fight him. The new one, she said her name was Sadie. In my nightmares I see her chained to a large wooden pole. I see him hurting her. The troubling thing is that she seems to enjoy it. Or perhaps that's just what he wants me to think. But he's never cared about what I think before, so why start now? I must stop thinking about who they are and go back to the where. The where is what's vital. If I know the where and I refer it to anyone who can help, my duty is done, my debt to my conscience repayed, my existence unimportant. Where are they? He will never tell me. Perhaps he would tell you. After all you were his friend too. Unwillingly you helped him, gave him the tools he has mastered. The tools he uses for his twisted purposes. I wish you were here, I'm sure he would talk to you. Why did you have to die? Life's Unfair. You were my only Friend and She took you away. I miss you, Silviu, I really do. I'm sorry, but I must go. I have to find out where they are. I don't have much time. Where are they? Make him tell me. Please.