Chapter 20: The One Big Clue
Gary glanced up from his massive paperwork pile to the ancient beast of a computer sitting on his desk. The familiar pinging sound of his email he would have gladly ignored had it not been for the headache he was getting from hours of reading.
Reading and turning up nothing.
He successfully eliminated over half of stack of folders he had pulled in his search. Yet none so far, say for maybe two, even looked like the ‘Lauren’ living at the parsonage home. Others had no pictures or were far too ancient to be this young woman—unless of course she were say…a vampire or had discovered the fountain of youth.
Since neither of those options seemed viable, Gary continued his search.
With a flick of the mouse Gary scrolled through his mail—apparently neglected throughout the day.
An ad, here. A receipt for something ordered a few days ago. A couple of blog updates…
“Hmmm,” he muttered clicking the first.
“One Last Thought has a new entry,” read the headline.
Curiosity spurned him to open the link.
He, like the majority of the blog’s current subscribers, had only recently decided to follow in hopes of some juicy gossip or tale tale story about the missing artist. However the blog had remained silent, refusing to give up it author’s secrets.
In less than a second the entry was up on screen.
“More reading…great,” Gray mumbled. Maybe I’ll get somewhere this time, he thought.
“Well it’s been quite a while since I last checked in. Sorry for the wait folks. It has been a terrible few weeks.
I’m sure you’ve heard by now about my missing sister. I’m also sure you’re pretty sick of hearing about it as well—for some of you at least.
Then again there are probably those of you just reading this in hopes of finding clues.”
Gary smirked. She was right.
“I can say I have no more clues to offer you than I have already to offered up to the police.
Even her last painting is a mystery to me.
It looks so rushed, and not like her time consuming methods of pouring over a canvas for days—even weeks.
I don’t get it.
There is only one thing I do get.
That until I see her body, I refuse to believe that Gwenivere Baxter is dead.
I know it sounds crazy.
They have been looking for her ‘body’ for a couple of weeks already…but still.
I cannot simply believe that my sister is dead because a search says so, or that statistics show if a missing person has not been found for such and such amount of time, then the possibility of ever finding them alive is slim to none.
I know she’s out there—maybe ill, but she is. (Gwen never was one for much health food.)
Perhaps she may even be hiding for her own safety.
But how would I know…
That’s what everyone keeps telling me anyway.
Still, I will cling to the hope of finding my sister even if I have to do it myself!
You may think I’m crazy or just downright desperate and perhaps I am—but she will be found.
The image of a man…who had taken his coat and draped around the shoulders of beaten woman at the park.
She was cold and hurt…even fearful, but he took her with him in the most gentle manner.
They disappeared shortly after getting on a waiting bus, but the sight still brings me hope—hope that my sister is cared for and safe.
How do I know this? I don’t. But I hope.”
The words struck a cord for the reporter.
He was sure the article would start quiet the buzz. Everyone would be jumping on it in the next few hours. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was reading it.
Could she be…? No..she wouldn’t, he thought. That would be putting herself in possible danger. But then again the police would likely turn a blind eye to the writing.
There was a tugging at the doorstep of Gary’s heart.
His eyes glanced between the papers strewn across his desk and again to the glazing screen of his monitor.
Without so much as a word the reporter grabbed his coat and bolted for the door.
Copyright The Faithbook 2012