Work Text:
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ARCHIVIST (G.R.)
Statement of Faith Smith, regarding her encounter with the being known only as DIO. Statement recorded directly from subject, October 10th, 1990. Statement begins.
[THERE’S SILENCE FOR A FEW SECONDS
ONLY STATIC FROM THE RECORDER.
A SHORT EXHALE]
FAITH SMITH (STATEMENT)
I won’t bore you with the details of my…unique circumstances leading up to this. All that’s relevant is this: My name is not Faith Smith, I do not know my real name. I woke up in an alley in Boston in July of 1988 with no memory of who I was or how I came to be there. The police confirmed I’m not a missing person’s case, for all intents and purposes I don’t exist.
Unfortunately the police were not inclined to give me any help so I was on my own. I managed to spend some time in a homeless shelter, but there are a lot of homeless in Boston and when you’re homeless and -according to the government- don’t exist, well it’s a bit hard to be given a lot of aid. I think they just assumed I am an illegal immigrant and sent me on my way. As far as I know I’m not, I sound like I’ve grown up in America, but then again anything is possible.
I was homeless for that time, and I suppose still technically am , hopping from shelter to shelter.
[THERE’S ANOTHER MOMENT OF
BRIEF SILENCE]
It was evening, I was heading back to the shelter I was currently at. I’d managed to make a few dollars collecting bottles off the side of the highway and sending them for recycling. Two…Two men jumped me and pulled me into the alley. I wasn’t sure if they were planning to assault me, kill me, or both. I don’t remember everything that happened but I am clear that I managed to grab the gun off one of the men. My will to live had overwritten the fear that had engulfed my being. I had grabbed the gun and next thing I knew the owner of it was on the ground, howling and clawing at his skin. His buddy looked between him and me. I hadn’t shot the man, it was physically fine and yet he screamed as if he’d been brought immeasurable pain.
His friend came at me, shouting at me, insulting me. I barely thought about it, I just grabbed the wire frame glasses off his face, almost crushing them in my grip. This man fell to the ground howling as well. Both writhed as if in terrible pain, yet I had inflicted no physical damage to them.
[THE SILENCE IS LONGER
AS FAITH SEARCHES FOR
THE RIGHT WORDS]
The next part is hard to understand if you’re not…afflicted with this curse. I focused on the cold metal of the gun in my hand, feeling its ridges and curves, almost imbuing energy into it. I could suddenly see the owner’s mind, his memories. I saw a man riddled with drug addiction, rage, paranoia. A man who had a wife and children but squandered his money on crack and hookers. I saw him when he took his first hit. I saw him stumbling home from a bender, threatening his wife and kids. I saw the paranoia that slithered through his mind like a snake, coiling around every thought. Poisoning him against the people he’d promised to care for, whispering of some made up infidelity on his wife’s part. His fear, his paranoia, it consumed him.
His companion’s mind was different but not any better. I saw a weak man. A man who had everything but feared those closest to him. His disconnect from his surroundings made him susceptible to suggestion, manipulation. He wanted to be in control, feared even those closest to him were always looking for an in. So he controlled those weaker, preyed on women who had little else. Made them what he wanted and threw them out the moment he became bored, only to once more spiral into fear of not being able to control.
I must admit, this next part is even harder to explain. I was prepared to flee when above the men I saw a thing . It might be hard to explain and those not…afflicted can’t see it. But above the men I saw an eye . A massive, floating eye, it stared at the men with such… fervor . [ nervous laugh ] I wish that was easier to explain but it isn’t. It was an eye, it was blue and it was ugly. It wasn’t attached to anything, but it had these…tendrils that coiled down from it. I realized it was optic nerve, red and horrifying, something from a nightmare. And yet I found it comforting as its optic nerves touched the men, bestowing them this unseen pain.
And then he showed up. I hadn’t noticed him at first, leaning against the wall at the other end of the alley. I sensed him once my mind had cleared and wondered how long he'd been watching me. My first thought was ‘he’s tall’ and he was being well over six feet and his aura-
[HERE FAITH PAUSES
HER BODY SHUDDERING]
It was cold and dangerous, and yet charismatic as well. I raised the gun in shaking hands as he approached, seemingly unfazed by the chaos at my feet. I wanted to shoot him, but found I couldn’t pull the damn trigger. He stared me down with eyes like rubies, glowing in the dim lighting. He reminded me of a cat, slinking and elegant, but powerful. I still had the gun aimed at him when he stopped, less than a foot from me. His first words surprised me, partly because I realized he was British but also because the words themselves are imprinted on my brain.
‘Do you believe in gravity?’ I scoffed at him, asked what kind of a question was that to ask when there’s a gun aimed at your chest. ‘You won’t shoot me,’ he said. He was right. He asked me if I’d named my stand. I asked what the hell he was on about. ‘Your stand, the manifestation of your spirit and the only reason you’re not lying dead on the ground right now.’ He could see the eye, stared at where it still had the red optic nerves wrapped around my would-be assailants like vines. I told him I had no idea where it came from and so no I hadn’t named it. He laughed at me. ‘Would you like to come to Cairo with me?’ he asked holding a perfectly manicured hand out. I guess the next logical question in any sane mind would be to ask me why I didn’t run screaming for the hills and if I’m honest…you really can’t understand the draw he has until you’ve met him. He was charming for sure, but staring into his strangely red eyes I felt…compelled, drawn to him. He never truly compelled me then, that I’m certain of, though later instances are…questionable, but in that moment every fiber of my being was drawn to him.
I’m not ashamed to say that, all of us were drawn to him. Not in a sexual manner, at least not for me. Rather, I saw a man who could raise me from the ground and give me a life I hadn’t had until this point. I told him I couldn’t leave America, I was no one and as such had no papers to travel with. He assured me it mattered little, and promised a place to live, food, books, anything to occupy myself, and…he said he may have a way to help me regain my memories. He told me my lack of identity wasn’t a flaw, but that it meant I could choose who I’d become. Fate had no control over me if I had no name. Thinking back on it…[ self-deprecating chuckle ] I know the real reason he was glad was that I was unable to be tracked. He wouldn’t need to worry someone would come looking for me. He wanted me because I was no one. No one would come looking for me if I died.
I still hesitated. The moral side that clung on asked if giving myself to this strange man was worth it for food and shelter. What if he was lying to me? ‘No harm will come to you under my care.’ he said this in the same moment I had the thought. I always wondered if he could read minds but I never found out. ‘Would you like me to prove it?’ he asked this as he crouched before the men, still lying on the ground. I saw when the handsome, albeit cold, expression on his face turned into a sneer, a mask of evil. Glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He called the men scum, said they weren’t worthy to live even the abscess of lives. He looked to me again, the hatred smoothing over into a handsome smile, ‘shall I take care of them for you?’ he didn’t wait for my answer. In a moment he had a hand wrapped around the necks of each man, his palm sort of…melting into their skin?
[THERE’S ANOTHER PAUSE.
FAITH TAKES A FEW DEEP BREATHS]
He killed them. I don’t think there’s any getting around that fact. Though I suppose…absorbed would be a better term. Their blood absorbed into him, and he dropped them without a second thought once they were gray and… deflated and dead. The process was mostly bloodless, all things considered. Only a splatter or two. Once he’d finished, he turned once more to me and offered a hand, now bloodied. ‘Come. I will make great things of you.’
I did. I took his hand, I let him lead me out of that alley and to Boston Harbor, away from what I realized was a double homicide I’d not only witnessed but was now an accessory to. He brought me to a cargo ship where another man waited for us, he called himself Vanilla Ice. Said he was ‘Master DIO’s servant.’ I now had a name for my savior. DIO. God in Italian, an apt name for a being like him.
There’s not much else to say for the early stages of my…relationship with DIO. Our journey to Cairo took about two weeks, a long and depressing journey when all I had for company were the waves and Vanilla Ice, who wasn’t much for speaking to me. As for DIO, I saw little of him those first two weeks, so I had a lot of time to consider the circumstances of my situation. Once docked in Cairo I was escorted to the mansion he and his followers called home, a place I’m sure you remember from our brief encounter in the streets…
[THE WHIRRING OF THE
TAPE RECORDER IS THE ONLY
SOUND FOR A FEW SECONDS.
FAITH SEEMS TO HAVE MENTALLY DRIFTED.]
ARCHIVIST (G.R)
Perhaps it would be wise to continue this later? If you need time, we can record these as separate statements.
FAITH SMITH
I…Please, I’d prefer that, there’s…a lot.
ARCHIVIST (G.R.)
Then we shall end it here for the time being. For now let’s get your papers processed with HR.
Statement ends.
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