The firearms team here aren't here for the long run. They're assuming that, in spite of the changing cars and the fake license plates and the stop off in a town to throw our pace off, Daddy will find us, and he'll do so quickly. They know the cameras won't work, and they've seen what he does to his victims. They're not scared, I don't think, but they're not looking forward to this. He's just a man, they tell themselves, he's just a man. Here's hoping. Bullets can hit a man. Bullets can stop a man.
This would be quite a nice house, under normal circumstances. It's at the midpoint of a long detour road going through the wood, like the centre-line of an H. Two thirds of a mile of road either way, and a mile of forest in every direction. Police campouts throughout, with a camera network informing every one of them. They're all heavily armed. The manpower here is incredible, but when you consider the publicity these murders have been receiving nationally, it makes a little more sense. The police forces of increasingly large areas are looking like idiots, and they are really disliking being made a fool of by whatever person or people are behind Daddy. Rather looking forward to filling them with holes.
The house itself has three out of five bedrooms taken up by police, sleeping on the floor two-to-a-room. Monitors of the security cameras in every room, wires trailing everywhere. My family and I are forced into the smallest possible space. Nadine and I are sharing a room for the first time ever. She cries all through the night. This Daddy affair is hurting everyone. Spoiling the lives of everyone it touches. And it's my fault that my family's been exposed to it.
Simon and I have barely been off the phone, I don't know why I'm still having to vent to you guys. I just feel powerless against this overwhelming malevolent presence. It wears a girl down.
The paranoia. The disgust. The relentless horror. I feel like there's less and less of me.
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