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YOU'RE IMAGINING THINGS

We Are Surrounded

By Tina D'AngeloPublished 4 days ago Updated 4 days ago 4 min read
YOU'RE IMAGINING THINGS
Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

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I was sitting in the lobby of the Police station, biting my nails and checking my phone constantly for word from Roy, hoping he had decided to call into work and take Jimmy for a Daddy-son day. But I couldn’t imagine him doing so without leaving a note or waking me first, and the shredded Toy Story pajamas I held in my lap told another story; a much more horrifying one.

Rebecca fussed and blinked her eyes under the bright ceiling lights as I rummaged through her diaper bag, looking for Mr. Binky. A wailing infant would not make this any easier, I thought, as a detective in dark pants and a dress shirt motioned me to follow him. Stuffing the binky into Becca’s mouth, I followed the officer down a wooden corridor lined with awards, pictures of fallen officers, and press releases of major crime busts.

The entire building smelled like burnt coffee, and Lord forgive me, donuts.

“Please have a seat, Mrs. Randall, I’m Detective Fitzgibbons. Can you tell me once again, in detail, what you believe happened to your husband and little boy?”

“Jimmy, he’s four years old, he had a nightmare last night around one in the morning and ran into our room to hide in our bed. He woke the baby and my husband took him back to his own room while I fed the baby and got her back to sleep,” I babbled.

“Okay, then, in the morning when you woke up again, you said your son and husband were missing?”

“Yes, Roy never misses work. When I went in to wake him all I found of the two of them were these torn-up pajamas.”

“I see. Have you and your husband been getting along well lately? No other women, no domestic abuse or financial problems?”

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that? My husband and son are missing. Something must have happened to them.”

“I see,” the detective wrote something in his notebook then repeated his question about our marriage in a different way. “So, no other women, no anger issues with your husband, no disagreements that might have caused him to voluntarily leave you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Rebecca began fussing again, spitting the binky out onto the dirty, threadbare rug in Detective Fitzgibbon’s office. I was tempted to lick the dirt off and stick it back in her mouth to keep her shrill screams down to a dull roar. But I was afraid I’d be arrested for child abuse. Having lost one child I wasn’t willing to lose another for poor hygiene. Instead, I jiggled her on my lap until she settled down.

By Hollie Santos on Unsplash

“My husband did not leave me. We had no problems. He can’t afford another woman and he doesn’t dare hit me,” I snarled in frustration.

“Aha! So you do have financial problems and are you stating that you abuse your husband? Do you think that’s why he took your son and left?”

“Dear Lord! No. I was being sarcastic. We are fine financially and I do not hit my husband. He’s not the sort of man who would be violent, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, because your son is apparently with your husband and there are no custody issues you are willing to discuss, we can do nothing for seventy-two hours. What about his vehicle? How long has that been missing?”

“It’s not missing. It’s right where he left it when he came home from work last night. I’m telling you that someone or something has taken them both.”

Tears of frustration ran down my nose and dripped onto Rebecca's head. This guy didn’t believe a word I said. I was willing to bet he had marital problems with a wife who beat him with a frying pan for not listening.

“Can I give you their pictures in case someone sees them?” I begged, hefting Rebecca over my shoulder as she made a nice, green, swampy poo in her diaper, which ran down my sleeve as I dug through my purse, looking for my wallet. I was shell-shocked at the careless way Roy and Jimmy’s disappearance was being handled. Panicking, I yanked a family photo from the clear window in my wallet and dropped it on his desk anyway.

“That isn’t necessary, as they aren’t officially missing yet. Come back in three days and we can begin the paperwork for missing persons at that point.”

“Well, wait, don’t you want Jimmy’s pajamas to do a DNA test or something? Don’t you want to send a team of crime scene people to the house to search for clues? I mean people don’t just disappear. It must be a crime!”

Detective Fitzgibbons, having had enough of my hysterics and the smells coming from Rebecca’s swamp butt, escorted me out the door of his office and sent me off with a reminder to come back in three days, if my husband and child were still missing.

I was furious and scared. How could he dismiss me so casually? What if it had been his wife and child who were missing? I’ll bet there’d be fliers up all over town and search dogs would be combing the woods by now.

By Reuben Juarez on Unsplash

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About the Creator

Tina D'Angelo

G-Is for String is now available in Ebook, paperback and audiobook by Audible!

https://a.co/d/iRG3xQi

G-Is for String: Oh, Canada! and Save One Bullet are also available on Amazon in Ebook and Paperback.

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Comments (2)

  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarran3 days ago

    "I was tempted to lick the dirt off and stick it back in her mouth to keep her shrill screams down to a dull roar. But I was afraid I’d be arrested for child abuse." "I was willing to bet he had marital problems with a wife who beat him with a frying pan for not listening." "Rebecca’s swamp butt" Gosh those parts made me laugh sooooo much! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Can't wait for the next!

  • Mark Gagnon4 days ago

    I hope a some point I'll get to see part 2 but probably not. We closed on the sale of the house today and we're off to VA. tomorrow to find a new home. Good luck with this story!

Tina D'AngeloWritten by Tina D'Angelo

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