Background

West Monroe Police Department Inmate File Suspect Name: Justin Park Race: Caucasian Sex: Male Date of Birth: June 17, 1949 Date of Arrest: March 9, 1993 Current Date: March 9, 1993 Reason for Arrest: Stalking, Littering, Disturbing the Peace, Unlawful Surveillance, Being a Public Nuisance, Harassment, Criminal Trespassing, Criminal Mischief, Vandalism, Theft, Assaulting a Police Officer. Finally caught the “Terror of West Monroe” after six months of dealing with endless notes and reports of sightings. They’re really throwing the book at this guy; the trial’s gonna be a media nightmare for sure. Suspect was caught in a sting operation. We removed all of his little notes from a property on the edge of town. Sure enough, he took the bait; weirdo couldn’t resist putting up more. After that it was just a matter of chasing him back to his camp in the woods. The suspect was cornered in a tent, took three of us to hold him down. Socked Jenkins in the jaw so hard he had to go to the ER. He’s been sitting in a holding cell for a while now. Hasn’t said a word. Just been staring at us. Creepy bastard. He stinks to high hell too. God only knows how long he’s been out in the woods. I almost feel bad for him. We’ve been fending off reporters ever since word got out that we caught him; don’t know who talked, but I’ll have their ass when I find out. The newspaper’s been milking the hell out of this guy, making him seem like a monster stomping through the woods. He’s no monster, just some dirty homeless man with nothing better to do, it seems. He’ll be with us for at least a few more days until he’s transferred to the detention center to await his trial. I’ve already been hearing rumors from the higher-ups that he might be getting sent to a mental hospital. Seems a bit unnecessary to me; the guy seems perfectly sane. Just don’t like people and has some sick fixation with watching folks from the woods and putting weird notes on their houses. You don’t have to be a psycho to do all that. I’m getting sidetracked; I will need to go over this report again. Make it more proper, like. I’ll do it tomorrow; it's been a long day, and I’m tired. - Sergeant Alan Perkins *The following has been written in pen* They never knew me. Try as they might. My walls were too strong. But things are different now. I suppose I wouldn’t mind them knowing the real me once I’m dead and gone. I never had a journal. This will suffice. The things coming from the rifts don’t scare me much; I just hate that they remind me of mom and dad. They looked just like them after they crashed into that ravine. Nobody found us for six months; only later did I find out nobody had even been looking. I was put into foster care after that. But I was the weird, creepy, broken child who didn’t talk much. They never liked me. Nobody did. Anytime I reached out of my little bubble, someone was there to punch me back down. I learned that isolation meant safety. I became good at it. Very good. When I aged out of that hell, I got thrown into a new one. I never truly understood the world around me; too many unwritten rules and unspoken agreements to decipher. No matter how hard I tried, I could never escape the labels they put on me. So, I left. I just walked into the woods one day and never left. They didn’t find me for years. For years I watched without being seen. Until one day I was spotted from the corner of someone's eye. I hid again, but the fear in that man’s eyes as he desperately scanned the treeline for me filled me with a sensation I’d never experienced before. And that was the beginning of the end for me. I began to deliberately stalk people. That was until I came across West Monroe, a quiet little town in Louisiana. I realized I could practically farm the fear that gave me power. So I did. I did for half a year before they cornered me in that hollow and shipped me off to that cinder block hell. They never knew me, as much as they tried. It doesn't matter now. They let us all free when the tears appeared. I found that cop, or what was left of him. I gouged out those awful, judging eyes he tormented me with. They can't mock me anymore. They can't judge me anymore. They can't call me crazy anymore. I'm finally free. And I'll wander the ashes of this hateful world until the sun dies out. Things haven’t been much different, really. They’ve been easier. The rotten ones are stupid, easy to hide from, and everything I need is just free to take. I barely run across people anymore. Some are so preoccupied that I could watch them easily. Others are so paranoid and vigilant I felt like I couldn’t come within a mile of them without them clocking exactly where I was. I have no idea where I’m going. All the roads look the same to me. But something about this one is telling me to keep moving forward. Perhaps it’s done the same to others. I feel reassured; it's nice. Though part of me feels like I’m just a fly being led into the maw of a Venus flytrap.