Him. The him that haunted my adolescence and stayed tucked away in a past that wasn't really a past I wanted to claim, especially since the universe made sure that he did not have a hand in our upbringing, nor his own children's (or most of them anyway). But still, the knowledge of him was always there. A book - The Book - written by one of his own sons surfaced (and literally landed on my doorstep anonymously) a few years ago and the almost reverence with which it was written was nauseating. Shocking. So fucked up. I couldn't even finish it and buried it away. In the freezer next to my oldest copy of The Shining. Not really but maybe.
In hind sight I should have burned it in ritualistic fashion when he passed away last year, thank you Universe, prior to the birth of my wee little person. But now, He lives on in audio form. Complete with interviews, conversations... some of his victims, his own sons and co-conspirators... All there for the world to listen to and ponder. Have I listened to it? Jesus no. I'm not sure that I will or that I could even stomach it. Kevin described his voice, the voice of a cancer ridden 80 year old unapologetic evil genius, stress on the evil but dammitall on the genius too. Genius in the inability to function in mainstream rational and law abiding society kind of way.
Like a ghost from the past, the skeleton tumbles out and presses play and on this day of All Souls, I remember and pray not for the man, the relative, but for his victims. Those hapless lonely heart who so easily believed and those who still long for their perceived love lost. I pray and I grieve for them.