Yaxley Farcett was standing hesitantly in front of the door of Chestnut Farm, the home of the late Reg Dixon. He had left the severely distressed Anne Worthington in the care of Clunch Parsons and had made his way to Barnham. After Anne had made the shocking confession that it had been she that had killed Reg Dixon, albeit in an act of compassion, Farcett had rushed out to his car and headed to the quiet home of Dixon. He had to get another look at the diaries that Anne had spoken of that he had seen the day before. There must have been over twenty of them gathering dust on that shelf in his study. Farcett was unable to find Dixon's next door neighbour, Mrs.Brancaster, so he took more direct action and smashed the window of the door, reached inside for the catch and unlocked it. He entered and clicked on the nearest light switch without success. Even in the afternoon sunshine, the old fashioned heavy curtains made the room almost dark. The electricity board had cut off the power supply with unseemly speed. Yaxley tried to remember the lay out of the house from his visit earlier in the day. As he made his way across the room, his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he made his way around the room pulling back the curtains to let in the afternoon sunlight. Yaxley turned the doorknob with a creak and let himself into Reg Dixon's study. He stood in front of the desk and looked at the twenty two volumes of diaries that almost filled the shelf.
Farcett took down the 1998 diary and sat down heavily with it in front of him. He opened the diary to the last couple of entries for Thursday and Friday; the last two days of Dixon's life. He read:
It's Friday morning and I'm sitting here at my desk, having just taken my medicine...just what the doctor ordered...ha ha. Doesn't seem to be helping much...my ribs feel like they're on fire and I'm sure Trent did some damage last night...the bastard. Though it won't make much difference in an hour or so's time...will it ? It's 7:30am and I'm off to meet Worthington in a bit. By then I expect to be almost there, I just hope I've timed it correctly. The dosage should be right, according to the web site...wonderful what information you can find...suicide.co.uk... I know this isn't all to do with Anne and the power station but I'm still going to have my say. How far am I away from unconsciousness?? How far am I away from a stream of unconsciousness ? Not the usual sort of thing you write is it ? A note like this. A note to no one in a book no one will read. No Courtney Love to read it to an adoring crowd. No fanfare for the fallen. No bugle for the broken and beaten. I'm going to tell Worthington what I think of him and then I'll be ready. He's just an irritation. Just another example to convince me I'm doing the right thing. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with shouting at the deaf. Fed up with Feem Park fun, Fed up with seeing kids stone fire engines while teachers are made redundant, fed up with hospital beds closing while factories make computer guided missiles which kill ordinary people 'by accident', fed up with thirty years of Sesame Street producing kids which gun down their class-mates, fed up with religion, fed up with irreligion, fed up with being fed up, pissed off with being pissed off. Too much pulpit bullshit not enough people going to church and yes Mr.Zimmerman..the vandals have taken ALL the handles.
I know my handwriting is starting to deteriorate. I hope you (if anyone does) can still read this. It's probably illegible...like the joke: Q- 'What's that word. I can't read your handwriting ?' A- 'It's illegible' Q- 'Yes I know. What does it say ?' A- 'I told you ! It's illegible'....etc etc etc.
I've been flicking through all these diaries for the last couple of hours and a thought occurs to me. I've never considered it before, but maybe the fact that that I'm going to see Worthington has cleared my mind even at a time when I expected to be scared. But I don't. This is the most clear headed I have been for years. I now realise that these diaries have been leading up to this. Too much honesty, too many excuses, Anne has made me see the light. These diaries have been my........Two Million Word Suicide Note...
& thas' it. No more.........
Reginald Dixon 18/05/98 7:45am
