Borden MAY 2, 1894 I can’t rely on anyone anymore. Lizzie may as well have gone deaf to the bell; I suppose if I fired a warning shot or two into the ceiling, she might grow curious enough to come check on me. Maybe a shot in my own temple would be warning enough to bring her around. Maybe it would take her days to notice. Doctor Seabury’s a lost cause, too, given that he couldn’t keep the one secret I most needed kept, or wanted kept at any rate. His heart was in the right place, but mine is not—mine is trapped here, and has so little in the way of escape . . . what am I to do? What if the inspector, that pink-faced baby in a suit, makes my alias known? I’d lose even this one little tie to the world beyond Maplecroft, when I need it now more than ever. I say that . . . but the truth is, it’s been weeks since I wrote or researched. I too have become lost in this Problem, and I don’t know the way out.
