I have returned home. After all my years traveling, searching, learning, I have come back to the place of my birth. If it were possible to cry, I would weep tears of joy.
But like everything else, that simple pleasure is long gone.
In over fifty years, very little of New Orleans has changed. The Market, Café du Monde, the Mississippi-all are still here, all my old haunts. My old hunting grounds.
The foolish still flock to Bourbon Street, still take part in its crassness. I have seen the fall of civilization more on Bourbon than any other place in the world. The foolish still flock, will continue to, even while myself and others like me prey on them.
The building still stands. Still blood red. I thought I could stand the sight of it, that looking upon it would no longer cause me terror. In part I was right. I feel something beyond terror, something for which I have no words. I feel grief for the acts I have committed, will commit.
But most of all, I feel rage. Rage and a hatred that causes all other emotions, even that nameless terror, to pale in comparison.
I have returned home. And now, at last, I will have my revenge.
-Taken from the diary of FelipeNovember 28, 2007