Page 5 of Diluted Truths
“Care to enlighten us?” I asked her.
“The case came out of San Francisco. Happened about nine months ago,” Goldie began, beckoning us to follow her into her office just to the right of the entrance. “Eight year old boy, Joey, goes missing one day. He was in his room playing with his younger sister one second, the next second he was gone but his sister was still there. His mom called the police. There were no leads and no suspects. Five days later, boom, he shows up.”
“Goldie, don’t get me wrong, it is an interesting story, but what does it have to do with us?” asked Fai as he folded his arms in front of him.
“You didn’t let me finish,” she said, pointing to Fai. “He showed up in the middle of the street, in the middle of the day, once again out ofnowhere. He had no visible injuries, and seemed to be perfectly fine. Except he thought it had been an hour since he had gone missing. Joey had no memories of his capture.”
I pondered the details. There were many explanations as to why he forgot. It could be physical trauma or even a mental block to protect himself from what he experienced. “This is getting weirder. Let me guess, the public got the story and twisted it like it was some serial kidnapper or the government drugged him or something?” I asked as I sat down in one of the guest chairs that sat across the desk.
This happened often with cases at the moment due to the rising Satanic Panic nationwide.
Goldie nodded and sat in her own desk chair as she pulled out files and handed them to Fai and I. “You are right. Except they went the supernatural route. They’re claiming satanists are the cause and some other mumbo jumbo. There is a similar case of a disappearance and a reappearance that I have Oliver working on. Basically the same story, but this time the man was in his thirties and missing for two years. This newspaper…” She paused for a moment, looking for something. “The Christian Chronicle, wow that is a stupid name, is connecting the two stories.”
“So is the little boy in Portland… What was his name?” I asked as I flipped through the file. “Oh yeah, Joey, is he the one I am meeting with today?”
“Yep, as well as his mom and his little sister. Names are Janice and Nancy, respectively,” Goldie responded.
“This is a good one, Goldie, nice work,” said Fai as he gave Goldie a fist bump before turning to me. “Jackie, let me know if you need anything. Like I said, this seems like a good one.”
With that, we both left Goldie's office to head into our individual ones, bidding a temporary farewell.
I was greeted with my painted dark green walls that were adorned with many pictures of myself, coworkers and friends. There was a bookshelf on the back wall behind my desk that was littered with novels, research books, biographies, and stories of famous cases I had researched. It ranged from various Stephen King novels, one of which was based on my hometown, my favorite historical fiction likeThe Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and even some trashy romance novels. I had a wide taste in books.
I slowly moved behind the oak desk that was in the middle of the room and began digging through the files provided by Goldie. While Goldie was lucky enough to have a computer, I was comfortable relying on my books and co-workers’ skills to find the information I needed when I approached a new case. I was meticulous with my work as I laid out each picture, note, article, and police case that involved my new story. A story that would hopefully begin to unfold as I worked.
As I returned later that day from picking up my new Jeep with Fai, I saw that Oliver was at the office. Goldie let me know earlier in the day that he had wanted to stop by the library before our drive to Portland this evening.
“Olly! You are never going to believe what I did!” I yelled as I ran into Oliver’s office.
Oliver immediately groaned at the unwelcome mention of the nickname I had coined for him. “Please don’t call me that, Jackie! I feel like I am ten again talking to my mom.”
It also didn’t fit him. He was a giant, probably six and a half feet. He was often told he looked like an attractive Wesley Snipes, whatever that meant. He had apparently played college basketball a few years back. He still played in his freetime.
Oliver had tried to teach me once.
It didn’t go well.
“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever,” I responded as I waved off the topic and plopped down on the sofa in his office. “But you didn’t guess what I did! I got a new car! One that actually works.”
Oliver laughed. “Jackie, that is actually incredible. You’re the one driving us to Portland then.”
We had met when I joined the company two and a half years ago. We were immediately friends and in the years since had become best friends.
We balanced each other out well. Where I was extroverted and outgoing, Oliver was calm and careful. Oliver kept me from being too reckless and I kept him upbeat and joyful.
We originally shared an office when I started working. It had only lasted three months. Fai had walked in on us after hearing the roar of laughter for nearly an hour attempting to play a version of beer pong with apple juice and a golf ball. The next day he had moved my desk into the office across the hall from Oliver, hoping to dissuade our antics. This only led to us throwing notes via paper airplane into one another's office. Fai was half tempted to lock us in our offices during the day so we would focus a bit better. He, however, knew we would still find a way to distract one another. We also did better work when we had each other.
The two of us kept each other in line, being sure to never stray too far into our own theories and hypotheses when writing our stories. Oliver and I truly brought out the best in one another.
“You best believe I’ll drive us. We should actually head out soon, by the way,” I called over my shoulder as I stood and left Oliver’s office, heading back to my own.
Oliver followed behind me as he asked. “What do you think of the story?”
“Joey’s story, you mean?”
“Yeah. Why do you think he can’t remember where he was or what happened?”
“I wonder if he just blocked it out because it was too traumatic. It seems like the most logical option, “ I responded, as I sat on the couch that rested in my office and Oliver leaned in my doorway. “What did the published story say again?”
