It’s done.

I was sent the story to read to Don earlier today. We left the B&B without telling anyone. He wanted to leave without fanfare. I had planned on having some others present at the grave, but I don’t think that’s something he would’ve wanted.

It was just him, me, the pets, and Tara, I suppose. I read the story that perfectly summarized his adventure for him, written by “Pixelmage”. I’ve re-posted it below this. He sat, silently listening. Queenclaw was curled up on his lap. Charlotte rested to his side, and Binky nuzzled his face once or twice as I read.

When I finished, and saw him fading, I couldn’t stop myself. I asked him why he chose a fitting location like Tara’s grave if he simply wanted to leave quietly, without drama. His response, and the last sentence I heard from him, was this.

“I wished to return in the presence of my greatest failure, as well as my greatest success.”

And he was gone.

I don’t know who you are, where you hail from or what your intent is. But are you willing to listen to a story? A story about a man we once met. A stranger, a delusional old fool, stray from his land in La Mancha. His wanderings led him to us, lost from all those he once knew but not lost in his ideals. His heroics, as he called them, his only reason to live.

We watched the fool we heard stories about, who wouldn’t? Fearing he would lance at our windmills as he did at the ones in his home. His chivalric ideas were a burden to our order, his freedom a worry to us all. And he found our windmills, our dragons and demons and our princesses to rescue. There were none of these, yet he found them.

This is the story of that lunatic. The man challenged all wrongness in the world, cleansing wickedness and saving the innocent. Unless the evil took the shape of a spider, after all there can be no greater evil than those. And not even a true hero can overcome such a daunting obstacle. There’s no reason for me to tell that story, you imagine by now. But you didn’t see what our eyes witnessed.

From the lunacy came courage and from the simplicity, wisdom. Against evil, he didn’t rest nor desist, each small victory fueling the drive to face a bigger challenge. He was far from his friend, away from his horse. Yet he carried onwards in his beliefs. We still thought of him as a madman, but we began to wonder, was he really the insane person among us?

Our question was not unanswered. A small conflict dragged him, a woman in distress. To his eyes, that was black and white. No woman is ever wrong, no woman is ever evil and no woman ever has power of her own. We didn’t see it as such, of course, but try telling that to a stubborn old man.

His quest was hindered, twists and turns that could mislead a sane man sent him in a cycle of futile attempts, he was once again lancing at windmills. It was what he did, the only thing he did. At that point, we could have forgotten about him.

But his resolve as commendable and we once again started doubting our judgment of his actions. His failures began to dwindle, his successes began to accumulate. Yet once again he failed, his princess dead as the price of his failure. He was heartbroken as were we who watched helpless to assist… It was the end of that story. It was simply fate, the natural course, heroes do not exist. He who tries to change the world is killed by it.

The old man learned from his pain. He learned that he was no hero. He was a man like any other, wounded and weak. He learned that he had failed. And that he alone could fight to make right the injustice he witnessed. Not for glory, not for fame, not for the sake of heroism, but simply because it was right.

He found allies and friends. He charged for a fight that perhaps was already lost, because it was the right thing to do.

And he won. Villainy was punished and righteousness prevailed. And then he mourned the losses past, and he understood what he truly wanted when he first set out wishing to be a hero. His death approached, his victory bittersweet, his fight deeply moving. We would not allow his end to come. We fought it ourselves as he had unknowingly taught us. Never faltering in our belief that righteousness would win.

We gave him all our medicine and prayers, all the nectars we could muster. We would not let his story end. Not after he learned so much, grown so much. He was our friend, and as he fought for his friends, we too would fight for our dearest one.

It was a hard parting. He had lived and in his wisdom told us it was time for him to go back toLa Mancha, he missed the friends he left there, he knew that they waited for his return.

We said our goodbyes. With him a picture to remember his time with us, he rode back toLa Mancha, to once again meet his friend Sancho and his horse Rocinante, to tell them the stories of his time away from home and to carry onwards in the path of a true hero.

Yes, we parted ways with tears. And yes, he was a hero. A true hero that no one, not even the heinous spiders themselves, would be able to shake once again. He was the one true Don Quixote, the greatest hero of our times.


If you solved my easy encoded message, hello.


The doctors and I haven’t shared everything with Don, and I get my info from the nurse I’m wooing. Yes, it’s true, if you really care, I wanna date her sometime soon. Anyway, she hears from the diagnosticians and lets me know, as I am Don’s health proxy.

… Sadly, they say… Don’s heart and lung damage may give him only about 3 weeks, maybe a couple days longer.

I urge you to take the necessary steps to refictionalize him with a magic cure, urgently.

I love you, Tara.

This is Brad Foreman,Tara’s brother.

I warn you ahead of time, I am not attempting to write this as some grand piece of writing, but simply to express my feelings and emotions from my side of the story.

I’d also like to remind you that I’m slightly tipsy. My sister just died, I hope nobody minds. I just NEED to get this off my chest.

For doing so, I thought I would use this blog to post my own thoughts on the situation with Jennifer Cooney, if only to get the facts straight in my own head.

Jennifer and I were born in 1987. Her younger sister Miranda was born the following year, as was Tara.

Growing up, the four of us were very close. We had all of the same interests, in particular, codes and ciphers.

Even when our families would move, we would always be within a few towns of our home city, Seattle. We were always able to play together.

We all had some ‘imaginary friends’ growing up, but as three of us outgrew them, Jennifer… did not.

In High School, Jen and I began dating. We had always been teased as the perfect couple growing up, and one day, we thought ‘HEY WHY NOT’, right?

Why not soon became obvious. Her lovable quirks ever so slowly became horrifying quirks, especially her refusal to give up on her invisible companions. I’m ashamed to admit that around this time, I was starting to fall in love with her younger sister, Miranda.

When she turned 18, she suddenly began behaving strangely. She said her friends were all gone. A family friend, Dr. Mary Gamble, would eventually say that she subconsciously deleted them from her perspective because 18 meant adulthood, and adults simply don’t have imaginary friends. Whether this is what happened or not is up for debate, given what we learned later about Dr. Gamble.

After her episode on her birthday, she was briefly checked into a mental clinic. Miranda and I began our relationship WAY TOO fast, I admit, to the point of even engaging in intercourse while she was in there. I still feel guilty, though I really did love Miranda at that time.

And then, when Miranda and I visited Jen at the hospital, she somehow knew what we had done. She claimed that one of her few remaining imaginary friends told her, but… I don’t know. Maybe she could tell by our body language? Or maybe she suspected and just guessed? I don’t know if we’ll ever understand how she knew. Maybe magic, maybe mundane is what Jen would say…

Unfortunately, we all made a big mistake. Mary Gamble, a friend of the family, acted as Jen’s psychiatrist. We knew that her specialty was not mental disorders, certainly not dealing with someone with schizophrenia, but she was closest to us. Mistake. She couldn’t handle what she perceived as evil, and just… let her go. Sure, Jen hadn’t actually done anything wrong yet, but we all knew she was on a dark path.

This was confirmed when she murdered her own sister, my girlfriend, months later. … I miss you, Miranda.

It was after that that Jen vanished, and unbeknownst to us all, took the name Deanna Hackins. I THINK that may have been one of her old imaginary friends’ names.

Nothing happened again until Tara decided to become an actress/model. Apparently, the first photographer that would hire her, that bastard Tripky, was in fact someone Jen also had a connection with. As we now know, Tripky actually helped Jen falsify an alibi to appear innocent in Miranda’s murder.

Tara apparently had a photoshoot in the house on Mayfield Street, which was “Deanna’s” house. Tara never mentioned her on the blog, but given Jen’s manipulative abilities, she probably convinced Tara not to say as much. The calendar clue ultimately proved that by the end Tara knew that Jen was behind it all, but… but it was too late.

The most important thing I take from this blog is that my sister was the bravest soul I ever knew. She did not fear Jeffrey Hope, and she did not fear Kenneth Tripky. But most of all, she was the only one to never ever fear Jennifer Cooney.

Jen was a woman who could bring you to your knees just by looking at you, or make you frightened and paranoid just by thinking about her.Tara did not. Tara only left that final video when left with no other option, even when she thought she was going to die. She didn’t fear even death.

I’ve also learned today that Tara will be getting the dedication for the show she was to star in. You did it sis, your name is eternally famous. And what did Jen get? Eternally infamous… the woman who failed at everything she ever attempted.

Tara Coulson was infinitely stronger and greater than Jennifer Cooney could ever hope to be.

~Bradley Foreman