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This time, the journal was different. It wasn’t about what story she was writing, or how many words she had to put down, but it was about Marilyn, and her feelings. The last few days she poured out into the journal, scribbling madly, in her distinct copperplate. Page after page she filled, telling about Marilyn, spankings, the fire, Henry and even a short blurb about Will. These words she paid no attention to, as far as grammar and spelling were concerned, this was simply a purging of her mind, a cathartic mechanism that she had developed as a child in rural Tacoma. Her writing was peppered with passive voices, adverbs, and half-remembered quotes. She then started to write about her base feelings, her sensations, and the helplessness. She wrote about the shame she felt when Marilyn didn’t find a slip under her skirt, and then the conundrum, as she had no intention to ever buy or wear any. She took deep breaths and realized that she wanted punishment, that there was some. "I saw it in the store." Lies," she said, "It's all lies. I can prove it from our own files."It was clear to John that the idyllic weekend was over with. This was the fanatic side of Heather. Maybe the sweet and loving side could be resurrected sometime, but it wouldn't be today. "Sure," he said. "I'll have to have it back by the time school starts." Let's go get it," she said."We'd better get your car, while we're at it," John said."OK," she said in passing, getting in the car. "Floppies. I'm going to need lots of floppies. I've got a lot of data to download." I've got a few you can have," John replied as he got in and started the car. "Maybe eight or ten." That won't even get me started. I'm going to dump the whole mainframe. It'll take time to do, but it'll be quicker in the long run."John flipped a nickel in his mind. It was worth going to a fair amount of trouble, just on the chance that Heather might be willing to play again, some time in the future. The weekend had been.
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