"Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
And let perpetual Light shine upon them.
May their souls
And the souls of all the faithful departed
Through the mercy of God
Rest in peace. Amen."

I am full of such sadness and horror, I cannot speak. It is only here, in the quiet pages of this diary I keep, that I can bring myself to give voice to the terrible things I have seen today, and the nightmare that has been visited upon another. My hands shake as I write this, my vision blurs, and I would give much to be able to go to sleep, in the hope that when I awakened, this would all prove some dream, but I cannot close my eyes without seeing blood and darkness, and I fear my dreams will be haunted now, for many nights to come.

My day began badly enough (although it is nothing to what happened later). Luci was sleeping in the cloister, as has been her habit since the affair of the sylphs--and I'll admit, I feel safer myself having her there. But she woke in the wee hours this morning from a screaming nightmare, and it took some time to soothe her and coax out what had frightened her so. The story she told both frightened and shocked me. It seems that a few days before, she had been wandering the sewers (although why the child insists on doing that, I haven't a clue).

Down in the tunnels beneath the city, she found a strange pair of doors, and on the other side... well, to be perfectly honest, I almost didn't believe her, but Luci claimed to have found a morgue of sorts, but one splattered in blood and other, fouler things. She described it in eerie detail, her voice soft and still thick with tears--how its walls were tiled in clinical white, with bags of bloody viscera in one corner, a blood-smeared table in another, and a wall of drawers such as those used for storing cadavers. There was also a ladder leading up, and she ventured up there as well, only to find a dark place filled with cells and other things I will not name. She had told Guin something of this, she said, and promised not to go back, but I have no idea if the father knows or not.

Be that as it may, I thought about it long and hard after Luci had gone back to sleep, and I decided to find out for myself what was to be found beneath the city. I honestly do not know what possessed me--I have never been so brave, or for that matter, so afraid--but the father was not in, and I have been so determined lately not to cower within the church. So as soon as my duties permitted, I slipped quietly away from the chapel, Luci's descriptions of the tunnels in mind, and ventured down into the shadows of the subway to find this slaughterhouse for myself.

I hope I never have need to enter those tunnels again. To say they were horrible would be grossly understating the truth. The smell was atrocious, and everywhere green filth covered the walls and floors. Thank heavens, the tunnels I walked were mostly dry, and I saw no one but the occasional rat, but my heart was in my throat for every step I took. Unfortunately, it did not take me long to find the room that Luci had described. And it was every bit as terrible as she'd said. I was not brave enough to actually climb the ladder, as she had done, but I opened the door a tiny crack and peeked inside. And the blood... oh heavens...

What atrocities have been committed in this place?! The smell alone was enough to make me sick and faint, and I could only imagine what horrors might hide behind those labeled doors. Or what in the name of all that's holy lay lumped and smeared on the table! I forced myself to see everything, so if no one else had told the father, I could be sure to do so, then I fled as quickly as I could back the way I had come. There are no words to describe my relief at stumbling through the subway tunnel once more, and never has that scrap of graffitti-covered concrete looked more welcoming. This in itself would have been bad enough, but it was nothing compared to what followed, after I had returned to the church to calm my jangling nerves. Strangers entered the church--acquaintances of the father, I believe--and the news they had...

*takes a deep breath and forces herself to write*

A dear friend of our parish was murdered this night. Chisaki, a regular attendee at Mass, and from all accounts, one who might have soon been won back to the fold, was tortured, mutilated, and crucified to death. Her body had been found at the Pool Hall, and her friends had come to the church, hoping to inform the father, I believe, in addition to asking for prayers and candles lit in Saki's memory. (I must go find the father, in fact, as soon as I finish writing this, so he can look into Saki's last rites. Father Eamon considered Saki a friend--I do not want to think what his reaction will be when the poor man hears this news.) It twists my heart to think of it, but the nature of her death leaves me no other choice: Was this some sort of mockery of Saki's renewed faith? Or a message to the parish itself?

Her friends could not tell me with any certainty what had become of her body, only that they suspected it was still at the Pool Hall. I did not know what to make of this, and after they left and I said my first prayers for Saki, I decided to do what I could to see that her body was being cared for. Perhaps my foray into the tunnels today was God's way of preparing me for what happened tonight, for I swallowed past my fear of the waterfront (and tried to forget Fr. Eamon's stern injunction never to go there alone--God forgive me my disobedience for a just cause!) and left the church to find the Pool Hall and what had become of poor Saki's remains.

Oddly enough, I found the Pool Hall empty. I hesitated outside for a moment or two, jostled rudely by various drunks wandering to and fro on the waterfront, but no one answered my nervous calls when I stood at the pool hall door. So I ventured inside, but there was no one to be found, and no sign at all of Saki's body. I didn't know whether to be worried or relieved, but I can only hope that Saki's fiance claimed her body and took her to be properly cared for. I can do no more myself, except to ask Fr. Eamon to let me know what he can as soon as he finds out more. But oh, that poor child. My heart breaks, and I mourn her, and the horrors she must have endured before the end. I pray God it was quick, but my heart tells me it was not.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death.