Sigh, I suppose I may as well continue my tale... Better to get it all out of the way as soon as possible so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. So where was I then...? Hmm...
Well, I didn’t know it at the time, but I suppose the more intelligent among you could guess, Onewinged had started being... Visited. According to what I know now, he had actually known about Tall Dark and Faceless for some time. He just never really discussed it with anyone. It was another one of his private little games. Something that fascinated him. That he poured over for hours, just pondering the possibilities of a world in which such a creature could exist. He even had notes about starting a blog, just to post his theories, analyze some silly dreams he was having. Share his ideas with this community of “authors” he thought he had found. I’ve got a whole set of text files he wrote full of the stuff. But then, I guess, shit got real.
I’ll go ahead and assume it started at about the time that he first contacted me again about the bunker. Asked me to check it out again for him, see if I thought it was still safe to build into. If it was sturdy enough to really be used. I had no reason to question his request, so I did just that. The place needed a bit more cleaning up at the time, maybe some paint, but it was otherwise more than fit for use.
He seemed really excited when I told him it was all good. Started asking me to build the place up. See if I could get some new wiring put in, cable for internet. The whole works really. Like putting together a really tiny house.
So for months, he sends me these little notes via email. Features to try adding in, things to set up, equipment to install, supplies to stock up on. It seemed like a hell of a lot of work for something we had planned to just screw around with, but hey, he was sending me money for all of this stuff, so who was I to complain?
It wasn’t until the point where he started talking about setting up security cameras that I started to worry. I mean, they were just little wireless webcam thingies to survey the area with, but still... sounded like a bit, Much, you know? Didn’t help either that he’d been starting to act really... distant by that point. I mean, he’d always been a bit of a recluse outside of family and close friends, but this was stretching it. He could always talk to me... so why wasn’t he?
I can remember the few times I saw him near the end. He just looked so ragged and tired, not like himself at all. He would never stick around for long, just stop by to deliver a message, hand me some more money, and then he was off. And he was acting so paranoid, constantly shaking and looking around. I was starting to think that he’d gotten into some kind of drug addiction... that maybe he’d gotten in with the wrong people somehow and was afraid for his life. Maybe that was why he was so fixated on the bunker... he just needed someplace to hide out for a while. Somewhere to escape to until things blew over.
I don’t know. I thought a lot of things at the time. I had just about gotten sick of it near the end. I remember calling him a loon, shouting at him to get his act together, go see a doctor or something. It all just seemed so stupid at the time. I tried to reason with him, but it was like he wasn’t even there. Like my words just passed right through him. I can still remember watching him as he wandered off that day... How he stumbled along, muttering something to himself that I could never quite make out. And then he was gone.
I would come to regret that later... I felt so stupid... STILL feel so stupid... just letting him walk off like that... in his condition. But I didn’t know what to do at the time. I didn’t want to call the cops on a close friend like that. See him thrown behind bars for being some kind of junkie. But I knew he needed help. I was planning to go talk to him the very next day. Sort all this mess out. But by that time it was too late. The cops were at his parent’s house by the time I arrived. I was immediately grabbed up for questioning and everything just became a blur.
As the story goes, Onewinged just walked out of the house sometime late that night and just disappeared. Never told anyone where he was going... and that just wasn’t like him. His parents freaked and called 911 immediately. The cops couldn’t do much at the time, since he hadn’t been missing for twenty four hours yet, but the hours passed by fast. Before we knew it, a week had gone by and still no Onewinged. They held a massive search, but never turned anything up.
I never actually told anyone else about the bunker. It just didn’t seem relevant at the time. I had enough common sense to check it out of course... See if maybe that was were he disappeared too. Figured maybe some drug deal had gone bad and he might have escaped to the bunker to hide out... But no dice. I must have made the trek back to double check a good three or four times before I gave up on the idea. Weeks went by and I started to consider going back and just tearing the place apart. Not like I needed the place for anything. With things as they were, it would just be a sore spot on my memory. Better to take it apart and move all those supplies back into my apartment.
...but then I got an email...