A journal entry 5

By Asa Montreaux 

That night of course he tried to kill me the entire time. There was a helicopters overhead, people talking about it on the news. And police, screaming at him come out with your hands up. Leave Andrew alone. You might be retarded, they told him. Then it was another six hours. No, he didn’t have to leave because was gonna run and die. No, it was gonna work, this is mind control. I’m gonna make him so sad. He’s gonna think I work. 

Then he sat there on the couch, asking when I’d fallen asleep so he could try to get in there, and kill me more easily. Sometimes he’d jack off. For a while he was watching porn. He rewatched the entire Canucks game from that night with his arm on the edge of the sofa and one foot on the coffee table. He said Andrew I’m positive you have to do it. A little later, This is the way to survive. And a little later, do this and maybe I won’t ask for a million dollars. Then he flicked the channel with the remote. I probably gonna kill yea, anyways. One of these days you’ll realize it. There wasn’t a career for me. I was a retard. Now I say I was an actor. I have no home. And I realize you’re not Chad Michael Murray but you look like that. And I hate fucking hate it, he screamed. I’ll kill ya. A bit redundant, I thought. Later, he screamed, I hate this man, more than anyone on earth. And I’m gonna kill, Andrew. Not sorry, that you heard that. Now come out here, I have a knife, and I’ll kill yea. And actually, it’s a gun. And actually I’m gonna come shoot yea. 

Then he got up, stormed over, and held the gun, spreading his feet. He said come out now. And. I said, and what, you’re the police now. Then he fired the gun, through the door. I had moved from where I was when I said that. I had been slowly scooting over. I talked with my head bend towards the left and then I shifted my torso back to the right, and he missed me. Then a police man broke the glass, and opened the door he had locked. Then he sniffed in the air and tried to find out where I was. He moved closer to the door, and started firing rapidly. He shot all where he thought I was. And in the meantime, I ran for the corner of the room, at the farthest angle from the door. Then he shot all along the bed, where I’d been sitting. He shot where I had just been, three times. And by then, two officers walked up behind him, and grabbed him. They held to the ground, cuffed him, and then they quickly led him off, out the door.

I suppose he went to jail again. And as the last story ended, in the morning I saw him on tv again, in a very incriminating infamy-making way. He was being led out, hands behind his back, in cuffs, by the two officers, and it was all filmed by a news helicopter.

*

He was in jail a week, and in the mean time, someone called every day and said to tell Andrew to kill himself on a run. He went on with a bunch of crazy stuff after, some of it the same, some of it even crazier things he’d been thinking of in jail. I’d rather not try to repeat all the ramblings. Though several times he had spoken sentences. He just spoke I fragments, it was really even random words, though they all had to do with killing Andrew. Kill, die, and speed, low and high, for some reason black, and car. It was all non sense, but still threatening.

He made bail in a week, he got a bond. It was ten grand, I believe. Hi court date was delayed all the way until May. He seemed to have requested it. After the big game. He’d said it in court, so some of the officials told me when they called. He actually only attacked me, or tried to, from outside my room, a few times a night, for almost even a couple weeks. But every day, he was trying to say the most confusing things possible, 100 percent of the time. He was trying to make my thought s more jumbled. He was trying to give me lots of things to worry about. The number of games increased tenfold. I suppose he thought and thought of a plan in jail during the times he could speak properly. Usually, they say, he could not even speak a few words. Though he may have been faking they say. He didn’t like to sit down on the couch so much anymore, he liked walk around in circles and just try to battle my mind. I suppose I was listening the whole time, but I really had things to do. Well, I was listening when I was ther. Everyone had to spend time where they live. I guess he figured being there where I lived, he could get inside my head al day long, and that’s what he said to his wife one day. This would be the way to kill a telepath. Be in his house, to be in his head all day. If killing, Andrew was job, then I got it, he said. He was a disturbed individual.