“To me, human life is one of the biggest mysteries and consciousness a huge burden on the human race. Consciousness in a clearer sense restricts our achievements, thinking and even our daily movements which can be bypassed through various methods, and one of the more legal and common methods practised is dreaming whether through hallucinations, imaginations or sleeping. This logbook accounts of different events which walks the thin line between reality and imagination and questions the basic laws of science that we know and would act as a paramount authentication in case of my disappearance.” were the introductory words on this specific handwritten diary I found today while foraging through my frequently visited antique bookstore, which was in a dire need of members in a godforsaken far flung rack. As I was dusting off the dirt that had collected on it for which seemed like millennials to me, I searched for a name and at the very end in a cursive font was written “Private Inspector Joydeep Bose”. Never heard of that name. I looked for a corner table below the cobweb riddled ceiling fan and started reading.
12th June, 1962 - It was the month of June; dark clouds have gathered outside my room bringing a smell of forthcoming rain after a long spell of hot days and with it came my advent of a new case. The case had been kept on hold for some time now but has been recently opened. The case was very unusual mainly for two reasons. Firstly, the gest of the case was about a spree of missing people that has been occurring and being found exactly 21 days later usually in the sewer system, dead but with a sense of extreme satisfaction in the face with the most recent one being yesterday which is 11th June. Secondly, before I had been consulted regarding this case, three other official detectives had been appointed of which two are dead and one has gone insane. So, my next lead and my best hope right now is to get all the information I can get from the insane one. I light a cigarette and board a cab to Ananda Mental Asylum where he is located. On reaching, I am shown the way towards the room where he is kept. The door opens and I see a person sitting on the floor with a lifeless look on his face glaring continuously at a group of ants marching gloriously with what seemed like an insect. I tried to greet him and ask him a few questions but there was no response until I show him the photo of the victim which took place when he was handling the case, to which at first those lifeless eyes sparkled with a spark of fear followed by a gleam of desire. He pounced upon me, “One drop… one drop is all I want” continuously licking his dry lips with a primal aura around him, “Sweet smell (takes a huge breath), no one’s got to know, I will be at Biswa bus stand”, meanwhile the caretakers enter and held him down and pulled me out of there while I heard him shout, “I’m ready…Yes I’m ready to die for the dreams.. Pleaseee”. The door behind me shuts down along with growl. Atleast I have another lead now, “Biswa bus stand” I murmur to myself while my mind was fixated on this specific liquid he kept on pleading for, “that wouldn’t be much of a deal, I have my informants to let me know about it”
17th June, 1962- Today I have sat down to write my diary again, these couple of days has been really hectic for me. I have come a long way with my research which cost me a lot of money on my informants and a hell lot of deductive thinking. Anyhow, the entire case has received its foundation which is of a mind-bending drug, chemically called Di-methyl Tryptene and locally called “Sweet smell”, and behind all of these is a mastermind, who calls himself Euclid whose Greek meaning turns out to be ‘glorious’ and a mathematician who existed around 300BC who is known to create the dodecahedron one of the most secret figures of sacred geometry in his book, “Elements of Euclid”. And the most important finding is me locating his lair during this time. I have already deduced few character traits of this specific person which is extremely methodical, periodical, works alone, young and maniac (often a deadly combination). It was a windy night, the trees were rocking to the tunes of the strong gusts of wind while the exchange was taking place between my informant and Euclid. I was drinking a cup of tea near Biswa bus stand. As soon as the exchange took place, the informant signalled me which was the cue. I kept a safe distance and followed this person through the dark alleyways which along with the wind gusts were making a shrieking noise unheard by my ears before. I mark the house in my mind and return back. I return back a day later and crawl through the dry drain beside the house and enter into it. It was around 4am, the house was completely silent, I switch on my flashlight and look for evidence. A strange smell of burnt ammonia punched my nose and brought my attention to a closed room. The door wasn’t locked to my surprise, heard a grunt beside me and a blow of a baseball bat to my face got me unconscious for a moment. As I was gathering myself I could feel another heavy kick flying towards me. I dodge it and catching his leg I flung him to the ground. I was in a dominant position now, I started throwing a few hard punches and before I reduced him to a blood pulp the police battalion has barged in and arrested Euclid. As I was standing up, I feel a test-tube sliding into my pocket and a smile on his face as he was being dragged away, “A gift from Euclid to you”. Stopping a famous serial killer has been really rewarding for me where I have been showered with accolades by the police department.
2nd May, 1962- Today marks the 21st day since the last murder. I have taken a break from my cases and I won’t lie in my diary I have taken a few drops of ‘Sweet Smell’ by now. The memories, the lucid and vivid dreams I better live in them than in reality. This is purely for scientific purpose from which I will just try to gather the relevant information I see in my dream, I console myself. I see the glowing white bluish liquid in front of me showing me the way to paradise away from my monotonous routine. My lips feel dry and a tremendous zeal in the form of a blood rush enter my head. I need to have a little bit more. Yes. Yes. The dreams are worth dying for.
The diary has ended. I sit down straight and look out, it has been a few hours, evening has dropped not long ago. Albeit the diary seemed interesting, I will give the rest of the events a read later tonight. As a preliminary research for the authenticity of the diary I search the internet to find an Inspector named Joydeep Bose actually lived till 1962 but he did not die but disappeared under mysterious circumstances whose case is still open and inconclusive. I gave a small laugh and questioned myself shrugging, “Were those dreams worth dying for?”. I put the diary into my pocket and go to a nearby tea stall to have a cup of hot tea and a cigarette.