Help me!

What irony. Just yesterday I was wishing for something better -- and this is what I receive!

I've been kidnapped. Earlier today, Locke and I arrived in Blackcrest, a large and lively city on the south side of the island. All seemed well. I enjoyed going shopping with Locke and going to my first pub -- that is, until a strange man approached me named Ike. He wrapped his arm around me and started saying some pretty rude things. Locke got so defensive! I might have found it flattering-- even touching -- if I could still afford such frivolities. . .

Ike and some of his buffoons dragged me out of the pub by force. I'm still not sure where they have taken me. It's a large building and I can hear many people coming in and out. To my surprise, and disgust, I found that the one -- or ones, rather -- behind this petty gang of villains is none other than Maroco and his devilish sister, Madoco. Locke and I defeated them before, and I was hoping we would never encounter them again. . . but no such luck! After his men had their way with my things, they locked me in this room. Luckily, I managed to sneak you, book, out of my bag before they were able to pilfer it. I need you now more than ever, dear friend. My thoughts are so scattered. I wish Locke were here to say something stupid and to comfort me. . .

Maroco is so persistant. He is so insistant that I join he and his gang, and he keeps making funny eyes at me, as well! Ohhh, and I thought Locke was sexist -- Maroco is just vile! Treating me like a sort of prize, it's disgusting! Although. . . I suppose it's better than what his sister would do to me. If it were up to her, I would have been dead already. I can't be too sure that won't happen yet, though. The last time I saw Maroco, he continued to insist on me joining and I spit at his feet. He simply shook his head and with a large grin told me he had a surprise for me. A surprise! He must think I'm daft. Obviously, he's going to kill me. . . Or. . . Maybe something even worse. . .

Locke. . . I don't know if these pages will ever reach you, or if I'll ever even see you again. . . My heart aches just thinking about it. If anything, I wish I could see you one last time and tell you. . . I've never really meant all those nasty things I say to you. You're not ugly, and you're not stupid. . . Sometimes I'm jealous at how much more clever you are than me! I wish I could control my temper, so that we didn't always fight. I wish I could have at least told you that I really do like you. . . You are my best friend. If anything happens to me, I just hope you will at least think of me now and again -- like I always think of you. . .

I hear some footsteps -- this could be it for me, book. Thank you for keeping my secrets, at least for the little bit of time we knew one another. If I manage to survive this ordeal, I'll be sure to tell you all about it! But, if not. . .

Goodbye, book. And. . . goodbye, Locke.