Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Jun 19, 2007 - Entry #13

Jun 19, 2007 - Entry #13

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*



The police have no idea who I am…


I walked to the local police station soon after my last post. The officer on duty sat behind the front desk doing some kind of paperwork. I told him everything. He took me to a questioning room of sorts, gave me a glass of water and a few pastries. I handed over my ID and he left me alone with my thoughts.

It seemed like an eternity before he returned and sat down before me. My mouth hung open as he proceeded to talk…

According to him, there is no record of me being wanted for murder. No record of my wife missing. No record of anything. He told me he even called my place of work to ask if I have been missing. According to my supervisor (at the engineering firm) they have ‘never heard of me'

I stared at him and told him ‘that’s wrong.’ I’d call them myself. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed the office. The phone rang then answered with the ‘after hours’ recording. I slammed the phone shut and checked my watch. It was after 4pm. Closed for the day.

‘What about Claire? My son has been kidnapped for Christ sakes! What about my wife!'

He just stared at me.

I frantically pulled my laptop out and showed him the blog, scrolled to the picture of my wife and told him to read from the beginning. It was all there, ‘Why the hell would I make this up!’

He shook his head, closed my laptop case and asked me if I was taking any medication.

I used every ounce of my being to not explode and realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this condescending asshole. Maybe I wouldn’t believe me either. I glanced to my reflection in a window. I looked like I slept in a ditch for days and was wild with panic. Like some nut case that escaped from an asylum.

I calmed down and asked him to check the computers again. I described Claire and Julian in detail. I told him that she must have kidnapped him as well. He (reluctantly) took down all details then left me again.

I sat there fuming at the indifferent attitude of this prick. I contemplated giving him the contact info for the old guy at the farm. But decided that would be my last straw. I did not want to implicate that nice family in anyway.

I opened my laptop and checked my friend’s site for messages and was relieved to see he had responded to me.

He was on his way.

I compared times in his message and realized that he would most likely be pulling into town within the half hour. I had to get out of the station.

Thank God, small town police stations don’t have much staff. I opened the door to the room and checked the hallway. Nobody.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped from the room and made my way toward the exit.

A voice suddenly shouted from down the hall.

‘Hey!’

I froze in my tracks

‘Could you come back after dinner? I’ll see if I can help you then.’

At that moment, I didn’t know if I wanted to smile and shake his hand for not giving a shit, or drive my fist through his face for not giving a shit.


So I’m currently typing this beside my friend ‘Boyd’ as he drives. We are heading south and are 3 hours or so from the border. My only thread of a clue as to where Claire and my son might possibly be is the map the boys had made.

I’ve known Boyd since we were kids. One of a small handful of ‘best pals’ that grew up together. Some friends stayed around and camouflaged into their married lives, others left for bigger and better things.

Boyd’s always believed he was one of the smart ones to move out of that ‘shit-assed-inbred-mutherfuckin-town’ (his words).

Never married. No kids.

Only string of girlfriends that 'don't-know-how-to-cook-cause-it-don't-matter-that-they-don't-know-how-
to-cook’ (again, his words)

Despite his messed up taste in women, he is definitely one of the few good guys around these days and if he wouldn’t punch me in the nose, I’d kiss him on the cheek for showing up to help.

I am fully rested again and my head is much clearer.

Questions play over and over again in my head like some hellish merry go round...


Who the hell is Claire?

Why did she try kill me?

Why did she kidnap my son!

Is my wife alive?

Tomorrow morning we are going to try get across the border.

If anything has happened to my son...

...Claire is going to wish she was dead.





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4 comments:

Med Scottdock said...

I know this is fake but damn, this has pretty much got me riveted. When's the show scheduled?

Rodrigo said...

Oi, achei teu blog pelo google tá bem interessante gostei desse post. Quando der dá uma passada pelo meu blog, é sobre camisetas personalizadas, mostra passo a passo como criar uma camiseta personalizada bem maneira. Até mais.

Anonymous said...

complete with commercials and everything.

personalised t-shirts. how 70's.

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