Dear Readers-
Sorry for the ridiculously long wait, but as I was just today was released from the hospital, I hope you'll find it in your hearts to forgive me. Yeah, spine surgery and rehab kinda takes the writing bug outta you for a while. They basically cut me open, ripped my spine out piece by piece, then put me back together again. But since no one attempted to murder me and therefore I was not rescued by a masked vigilante, it was not remotely exciting.

So yeah. Also, sorry about this chapter. I dunno, I just find it boring. And short. Probably because no one's trying to kill/rape/both Molly and there is only minimal Rorschach-Crime-Fighting-Bad-Assery. I think it has to do with the fact that I am on so many different painkillers I can barely type my own name... I r teh gud spellr!

And thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! I'm way flattered that people are reading this and, for the most part, actually like it! Now that I'm out of the hospital and can actually move again, I will continue updating weekly. Thanks Kiddos!

RORSCHACH'S JOURNAL- September 23rd, 1982

I am not good with women. I know this. Why should I be? They are all in league with each other, a secret conspiracy of unstable emotions and hormones.

Try to think of women I know or knew.

My Mother, Sylvia Kovacs, an abusive whore. Glad when she was killed.

Landlady, Mrs. Shairp. Reminds me of my mother.

Laurie Juspeczyk, second Silk Spectre. Tolerable but loud and outspoken. We share a mutual dislike.

Molly Reagan. Different.

Taken to watching Molly's apartment in spare time. Not sure why. Maybe because she has proven to be danger prone, maybe because I am curious. Besides, gives me place to think away from Mrs. Shairp and constant complaints about rent.

Sat out on bus stop bench this morning, watching apartment. Didn't expect anything to happen. Some days would get glimpse of her, moving in her kitchen, but for most part, nothing. I knew she was not home this morning. Opens windows when home. Windows were closed.

"Good morning,"

Occasionally get people who try to strike up conversation with me. Out of some half-hearted attempt at decency. Don't care for these people, usually ignore them. Recognized voice though.

Molly sat down on the bench next to me.

Shocked and surprised at first, unsure what to do. Acknowledged with nod, saying anything back out of the question. But Molly is not looking for conversation so she can look like a saint who talks to homeless men. Simply smiles, says "Good Morning,", sits on bench, waits for bus.

I watch her discreetly. This is the first time I have seen her up-close when she is not either unconscious, distressed, terrified, or hurt. Looks happy. Easy smile, like nothing bad ever happens to her. I know otherwise and do not understand. Catches me staring once, glances in my direction, then back toward street. Blushes though, like she is embarrassed. Bus comes, Molly gives me another smile, then leaves. I watch the bus until it disappears.

Night is routine. Two shoplifters, a drug dealer. All three dead. I think of Daniel as I kill these men, and one of his worn out pieces of advice. Tells me I shouldn't kill. Daniel is too soft on criminals. Doesn't understand that if you just put cockroaches outside, they keep coming back until you exterminate every last one. Ran patrol, decided to check Molly's apartment one more time. She is safe.

What is happening to me? Initially curiosity. Now fascination. Not sure what fascination becomes, but worried it may be obsession. Cannot attach myself so firmly to something as inconsistent and unreliable as the life of a human being. Something keeps telling me Molly is different. Not sure how she can be.

Begin to tell myself she isn't. There must be something.

And whatever it takes, I will find out.