Ruminations of an Afterlife

Hello, everyone. I'm back, and I assure you I'm the old Thomas, not that whiny one you had to put up with last time. Sorry about that...

First off, Mary isn't with the Templars. She was with me. Giving me a bollocking, to be precise... But she's safe. Secondly, Spectre isn't with the Templars either. He's in Glasgow with his father. I can't explain that to you, but we're leaving in a few hours to get him back. And it's not going to be easy. And lastly, Abby's awake now. Her head hurts a lot, but she'll be fine. She says if you come visit her, don't yell or she'll scalp you and bring cookies. I know that was two separate thoughts, but she said it all at once.

I don't feel there's much else I can say at the moment. There's too much pain right now. I love each and every single one of you. That's all I can really offer.

Okay, I lied when I said lastly. Peter's telling me to tell you. Daphne was the spy. The one feeding information to the Templars. And Rolf knew. He could have told us and saved us a great deal of pain. But he didn't because he was too busy having sex with her.

So much for loyalty.

Hi. I'm home. And rather achey, really. But I'm doing okay. Abby and Mr Razvan Hat are looking after me, and Gavin's coming round to help me work out this whole 'spy ordeal' because it's about damn time. I can report it's not Chiara. Rolf did his scanny thing. It's not Ryn either. So we're a bit at a loss at the moment, but we'll narrow it down soon. Oh I hope.

It occurs to me that everyone might not know what's going on. Apparently I have zombie-fever (according to Joe...) and I've been here too often without enough recovery time in the beyond between visits. Because the last time I was only where I belonged for a few hours, the stress of that and everything I've been through lately combined and I'm sort of...falling apart. Hopefully less literally than that, but it is a possibility... My injuries aren't healing like they used to and my mind is all...susceptible to things which is why I'm acting funny. PTSD caused by zombie-fever. My injuries can't kill me still because...already dead, but they hurt like a bitch. I lost a lot of blood the other day, and my dear Peter was kind enough to give me some of his to make up for it...he's incredible.

And old injuries are coming back. The burns the Templar gave me have showed up again, and my shoulders are starting to swell. The Templar had me on a strappado. They're okay for now, but if my arms suddenly dislocate, I'm not going to be pleased. Though really...that's less terrible than other things that could recur. Which I am not going to horrify anyone with, who hasn't already been horrified. So far though...none of...that. Which, good. I'm trying to work fast though. Rolf says he's seen this before and it does move slowly, but if certain things recur before I accomplish what I'm here for (there was a certain...ripping in half incident) I could end up stuck here...like that. Because you can't accomplish much while ripped in half. And I'm really much less calm about that than I sound...

So...that's me really. And, I would like to state for the reassurance of certain sexy rock stars, when I fell asleep in Peter's bed last night, it was because I was too exhausted to go home, and Aly crawled in there with me hours later, to keep an eye on me. I didn't know she was there until I woke up this morning, and I was so shocked, I squealed a rather unmanly squeal and feel out of the bed. Which ow.

I love you, Spectre.