I regained just enough composure at the moment to register a bank teller reaching under her desk, and then calmly returning to her work at hand.
I had to get out of there. I had caused quite the scene, and while I understood the reason she triggered the silent alarm, I also didn't feel like I'd be in any position to stop what was coming if I was in a holding cell. I quickly exited the bank and ran a few blocks, then hailed another cab to my grandparent's house.
When got there, I realized I didn't have a key. That was hardly an issue, however. The driveway up to the house was nearly a mile long, and it was the only house at the end of the cul de sac where I was dropped off. It was the product of old money. Still, despite my respect for my grandparents and the architecture of the building, I broke a window and suddenly found myself inside. The furniture was still here, though covered in years of dust. I wiped off a chair and decided to leaf through my sister's diary, hoping to find some more clues. It started out normally enough, your average "I'll write in you every day" thing. She found the book about a week before she noticed she was sick, and things began to change. Fevered predictions of a horrible future, torturous nightmares, and bizarre hallucinations. Her last entries were strangely directed clues, all within the few days before she was put into hospice care. They were written as if she knew I'd eventually read her diary. Every day was a new direction;
"Once you have the book, you'll end up at our family home...You need to take precautions while there to prevent personal injury and madness.
Only read it by candle light, in a room with no mirrors or windows. I found out reading it for too long will cause tremors that violently shatter the glass around you. You must keep reading.
It will put images into your head to prevent comprehension, to confuse you. I don't understand most of it anyway, but I'm hoping, for reality's sake, that you will."
I took a few candles from the dining room and headed into a large closet. I was apprehensive, due to the startling clarity with which the last entries were made, in comparison to the months of madness that came before it. Did she really write this? Then I remembered the look in her eyes as she spoke to me, on her deathbed. It must've been her. She warned me then, she's preparing me now.
I expect it's something to do with cheap rolex watches enlarging his penis while he makes $400,000 an hour working from home.