Thomas Wictor

Today I created a press page for my Website. As soon as CreateSpace gets its ass in gear and fixes my Amazon author page, I can begin looking for another book publicist. I had to Google my name and read about me for hours. That was very stressful. I did so because the liars Mike Albee, Lura Dold, and Becca Pilkington only pretended to do what they said they were doing. Tonight I indulge in negative fantasies.

I certainly wouldn’t publish Becca Pilkington’s personal details. Someone did, though. You can read them here. She’s young and perky, and she loved my sense of humor. That didn’t stop her from stealing $40,000 from me. Here’s Becca.

I contacted her at her new place of work, asking for help in locating Mike Albee. Becca didn’t respond. I’d served my purpose, and she’d moved on. Sure, it was kind of a bummer that all that bad shit happened to me, but what did I want from her?

Humanity.

Becca Pilkington has no humanity. That’s fine.

Becca, pass this message on to Mike and Lura. Twice I’ve restrained some very angry people from arriving on your doorstep. I think they may have finally accepted that you’re not worth prison time. But you never know. I mean, these people and I have very different ideas of what constitutes justice. What it comes down to is belief. I’m a theist, and these people aren’t.

Here’s what I know about you and Mike and Lura, Becca: You’re fucked. I don’t have to lift a finger. Sure, I tried to get law enforcement and the media interested, but nobody cares. So you think you got away clean. After watching my parents die, what I realized is that your life passes before you on your way out. It begins to happen long, long before your final moments. So I’m not worried that you’ll live to a ripe old age and sigh happily before you traipse off to the Elysian Fields.

Doesn’t work that way. The year 2013 taught me that everyone pays for their sins while still on earth. It’s not pretty, but it’s natural law.

The reason I’m indulging in fantasies is because creating my press page made me relive extremely painful memories of showing Mom the newspaper article about me and telling her about the radio interviews, even though I knew she was doomed.

I put the proof copy of Chasing the Last Whale into her shaking hands three days before she died. She was short of breath and not tracking very well. That night they called a code blue on her. She went semi-comatose and died October 13, 2013, at 12:00 p.m.

Here’s Mom on August 11, 2013, the day Eric came to say goodbye to her.

They both knew they’d never see each other again, but they had a nice, low-key time. No drama. It was 100 percent authentic, a term you can’t grasp, Becca, any more than a hog can understand the function of napkins.

Eric has begun calling her “Mom” too. For him to come out here was a display of his incredible character. He’s a magnificent man who had a very tough childhood, given the circumstances of his birth. And yet he chose to not prey on people.

Isn’t that interesting, Becca? What’s your story, by the way? You seem pretty well off. Are you one of those people who rationalize criminality by blaming the victim? Or do you not even think about the damage you cause?

I’m not afraid of Eric. But he’s extremely unforgiving and frighteningly powerful. He inherited our father’s apelike strength. That’s him in the yellow jersey. He cycles hundreds of miles for fun.

Becca, my fantasy is that someday you’ll fuck with the wrong person, someone like those whom I’ve restrained. Your childlike innocence astounds me. Have you heard the term “playing with fire”? Eventually you’re going to come across someone who has even fewer scruples than you do.

You and Mike and Lura are extremely trusting. You’re also very lucky. My view is that every decision the three of you make puts you deeper into a hell of your own creation. So it’s not necessary for me to exact physical revenge on you, even in the name of my mother.

Actually, Mom would disapprove of me paying you a visit and…persuading you to tell me where Mike and Lura are. But I’m flawed, like my parents were. I do ponder making a trip up to where you work and having a chat with you. Either that or unleashing the very angry people who want to enact what they see as justice.

Who knows what the future will bring, Becca? You don’t. A certain dish is best served cold.

After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the commander of the Japanese task force, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, was said to have told his men, “I fear that all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.”

That isn’t accurate. Here’s what he actually said.

“Gentlemen, we have just kicked a rabid dog.”

Becca, when we corresponded on Basecamp and I made you laugh, you forgot that I wrote a memoir about how murderous rage defined me until 2011. I’ve done unforgivable things in my hatred of the world. When I die I’ll look God in the face and say, “I have no excuses. I’m guilty.”

I didn’t share any of that with you because I’m not proud of my crimes. But that’s the danger of targeting someone. How do you know what they’ll do in response? You, Mike, and Lura are touchingly vulnerable, devoted as you are to your Bay Area conspicuous consumption and your wine-tasting affectations. You have no idea the depths to which humans can sink. Didn’t that thought ever cross your mind, that you might be kicking a rabid dog?

Like I said, Mom would insist that I not come say hello, Becca. But who’s going to stop the others? I now know of dozens that Mike and Lura have screwed. One of them is terrifying. He knows where you work, and he told me what he thinks would be justice. You know what I said to him?

“We all have to find our own way.”

Free will. You exercised yours, and others will exercise theirs.

God thinks we
Will never see the light
Who wants to see?
God told me
I’ve already got the life
Oh, I see

Addendum

Tim read my post and sent me this, along with a note that that began, “I would love to…” and ended, “I would be wearing my earbuds and listening to some nice fifties jazz.”