A Cold War’s Heart

By Mason Kirby

The following text was collected by the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation from a journal found on the body of Maksim Morozov (aka. Max baker).

Friday 5th May,1957

6:30 AM

My first day living as Max Baker, this name they chose disgusts me, but it is believable, I guess. I moved into the suburb outside of Langley in hopes of uncovering anything useful to us inside the CIA headquarters. I have secured a position as a junior custodian with low level security clearance. So, to all my friends back in the motherland, wish me luck.

Saturday 6th May,1957

6:30 AM

The goal for today is to establish a presence in this neighborhood and create an alibi. My first stop will be the Fitzgerald’s, the childless Jewish couple next door, they seem nice enough and hopefully good friends during my time here. I should stop at the market to pick up a gift for them.

9:45 AM

When I arrived at their home, I was not impressed but I do have to admit that their landscaping was pleasing to look at. Before I had a chance to knock, I was greeted by a short dark-haired woman whose name I heard to be Abigail. We exchanged greetings and I asked to meet her husband which she obliged, and I stepped into their home. Mr. Fitzgerald, whose name I didn’t catch, was sitting on the sofa drinking his morning coffee surrounded by loose bedding draped on the backrest. They may be fighting. I introduced myself to him all the while he stayed staring at the television, ignoring me. I turned to the coffee table in front of him and set down the gift basket hoping to catch his attention. He stared at it for a few seconds and without saying a word he took out the bottle of Irish whiskey and dumped it into his coffee. I stepped away awkwardly and bid them both adieu.

8:30 PM

I was not expecting an eventful night, but I am pleased to say I made good enough of an impression to be invited to a party tomorrow at the Smiths, a family of secondgeneration polish immigrants, although I do find their last name a bit strange. They said it was a “garden party”, a term I am unfamiliar with, but I was told to dress formally so I assume I will be a natural. I would label today as a great success.

Sunday 7th May,1957

6:30 AM

Nothing out of the ordinary happened this morning as I went through my routine. I had nothing planned for the day aside from the garden party at noon, so I decided to go for a morning walk around the neighborhood to familiarize myself with my surroundings. I swear I walked for an hour and a half, and I got nowhere, the endless duplicate houses overwhelmed me, so I stopped for a smoke to calm my nerves. My vision settled and I made my way back to the house to prepare myself for the party. I laid out my best suit but there were moth holes in the jacket. I need to get that patched up.

9:30 PM

I had taken my journal with me to write down some information about my neighbors, but I seemed to have gotten caught up in the festivities. I admit American parties are much livelier than the ones I am used to. It was fun, interacting with these people made me let loose and not worry about my mission, but I need to get back on task. I cannot be distracted. But the people there… they were infatuating.

Monday 8th May 1957 5:30 AM

Today is my first day. I do not know why but I am nervous, I’ve done this so many times before but this time it seems different… I’m not sure why.

7:00 AM

Once I arrived, I was immediately scooped up by a man whose nametag read James Q. Theodore, a muscular and handsome man who led me to my “station” which was a broom closet. The doors to the closet were oak, it was knotty and imperfect, the more I stared the more I got caught up in my own mind, the more I looked like a crazy person. James tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was ok to which I did not respond and as the butterflies fluttered in my stomach, I grabbed a mop and got to work.

12:30 PM

As I’m writing this, I am on my lunch break. The cafeteria food here is vile. I’m not sure how one of the wealthiest world powers can’t even afford to feed their employees a good meal. During my morning here I haven’t heard anything very interesting yet, aside from some drama between James and his идиот (idiot) of a secretary. Supposedly they are supposed to meet at a hotel down the road on the 10th. I heard this at 8 this morning and

I do not know why it’s stuck in my head this whole time. I need to focus.

5:00 PM

I just got off work and today was a total bust. NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I need to relax. I need to sleep. I need a drink.

Tuesday 9th May 1957

5:30 AM

I woke up in a cold sweat this morning paired with a wrenching feeling in my stomach. I think I’m sick again; I need to push myself; I need to finish this. I’ll pick up some drugs from the pharmacy before work, maybe they will help.

7:00 AM

These pills are helping. James was not here today but his secretary was. I despise her. Trying to sneak in this device was not easy but I got it done, I convinced the security it was my lunch. This massive moss green case had to be hidden in the room somehow, maybe the wall. Everything is in working order.

8:00 AM

While making my rounds cleaning, I made my way into the conference room. Luckily no one was there, so I had the opportunity to run a microphone from under the table to the tape recorder hidden in a hole in the wall. I concealed it with one of the decorative display cases that adorn the walls. Let’s hope there is something of use this time.

12:30 PM

I saw line of men in dark suits making their way down the hall towards the conference room. They looked important.

5:00 PM

I went back to check on the device and it was gone. Everything is going wrong; I don’t know If I can do this. I am going to bed early tonight. I need to take my pills. I miss home.

Wednesday 10th May 1957

2:38 AM

I cannot sleep, my mind is racing, nothing is right here. James is all I can think about, every time I close my eyes all I see is his face. What is happening to me? I am paralyzed by the thought of him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, not like this.

7:30 AM

I was late today, and I was reprimanded by James. I was supposed to feel shame, but I didn’t, it felt good, I felt alive. Just him looking at me made me feel some way I can’t comprehend. I don’t know if this mission has taken the forefront of my priorities now. Maybe the meds will make this go away.

12:30 AM

The meds calmed me down, but James still lingers in my mind. I caught myself drawing him in the blank pages of this notebook. They are crude and I don’t remember starting them I just remember stopping.

5:00 PM

Tonight, is the night they are supposed to meet, James and his secretary. I got into my car and knew that was where I was going to be too. I did not stop to eat or change my clothes I just drove to the motel. It was dingy and rundown, but it was out of the way and a good place to go when you are doing something you aren’t supposed to be. They aren’t here yet, so I guess I’ll wait for them.

11:00 PM

James and the s**t showed up around an hour ago and checked into a room on the second floor. I hate to think what she is doing to him; it should be me… It must be me.

11:03 PM

I’m going in there I have to stop this; I can’t take it.

Thursday 11th May 1957

3:48 AM

Anger. Anger and blood. It was all a blur

7:00 AM

When I showed up for work today James’s secretary wasn’t there, that pleased me. But James wasn’t there either. I hope he’s ok. I know I didn’t hurt him. I miss him. He’s the only one that brings me peace.

12:30 PM

During lunch today I didn’t eat, nothing felt right, I just sat there scratching my face until I started to bleed. James’s boss saw this and told me to go home so I did, there was no way I’d get any work done today anyway.

12:36 PM

I am still in the parking lot, I don’t know why, I don’t want to leave. My face continues to bleed, and I don’t care to stop it. Why am I here, I’ve gained nothing by being here.

6:30 PM

I feel like someone is watching me. Since I was a kid, I’ve felt those invisible eyes watching every move I make, I thought It was getting better but arriving here only made it worse. The blood from my face now stains the pages of this journal but I can’t be bothered to turn the page. I don’t feel safe here, I don’t feel safe anywhere. I want to go home but I don’t know where that is. Maybe James knows, maybe he is my home.

7:00 PM

The pills aren’t helping anymore, I am scared, I am alone, I need someone, I need him. The blood had clotted on my face, so I resorted to my arm, it is now the subject of my abuses. My nails began to uproot from my fingers so I changed my tool of choice, my father’s knife would do. Its blade glided through my flesh like a painter’s brush upon a canvas.

11:54 PM

I’m finished; every inch of my body is covered in this sadistic artwork. My stomach seems to have taken the brunt of my creative prowess, it wasn’t a random form of lines, it wasn’t even a rudimentary pattern. The wounds on my stomach formed an image, a face… it was James.

Tuesday 21st , May 1957

3:00 AM

I have laid here for hours, I can’t sleep, I won’t sleep. I can only stare at the ceiling hoping that his image will morph out from the turquoise paint. He is all I want to look at, nothing and no one has brought me such happiness before. I need him near me, I need him to love me too.

5:00 AM

I haven’t eaten in days; this is the first time I have noticed my hunger in that time. I arrived at the refrigerator to find nothing, but a bag of rotting grapes and a steak filled with maggots. In a daze I forked down the infested steak and grapes and I enjoyed it, it felt good. The maggots slithered down my throat, chased by the juices of the fermented grapes, it gave me a sense of euphoria.

7:00 AM

I wandered through the streets of my neighborhood hoping to find something to dampen my hunger. Soon enough I ran into Mr. Fitzgerald, he was carrying a suitcase to his car that looked like it had been in the trenches of the Somme. He stopped when he saw me, he had a shocked look on his face, all the blood ran from his face. I lumbered forward to greet him, but he just stood there, mouth ajar. I spoke to him but the voice I heard was not my own, it was raspy and coarse like a sheet of sandpaper. He spoke to me in a sheepish tone, like he was afraid. While he was talking, I noticed Mrs. Fitzgerald in the window looking out at us, she had a black eye and makeup running down her face.

I knew what happened, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care less about this conversation, I couldn’t care less about their life, I just couldn’t care. I looked down on myself, I saw my emaciated hands and my bloody shirt. I realized why he was scared. I didn’t let him finish his sentence; I left him there.

8:00 AM

I have been walking for the past hour, bouts of exhaustion humbled me as I slipped in and out of consciousness. Every time I woke back up, I was still walking. My body was carrying me to him.

9:32 AM

I’m here, I see his car in the lot. I need to be with him, we will be together. I don’t care what I have to do but I will have him. I have my father’s knife tucked in my shirt pocket. He is finally going see the real me. I know I’m going to die today, but my true love will join me. We will finally be together.

End Transcript

This journal was collected after the soviet spy Maksim murdered director James Q. Theodore in his office. The perpetrator used an engraved knife to stab Theodore 28 times in the chest before using it on himself. The home of Morozov was found in disarray and covered in garbage and filth. The state has come to the decision that Maksim will be cremated and sent back to the Russian government as to reunite him with his people.

Misentity © is published annually by North Harford High School’ s Creative Writing class.

All rights reserved to the author upon publication with the provision that Misentity received initial publication.

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