First things first.
The Wawa gig is still a go. The interview went swimmingly, and I got called back to come in for a second interview Monday. Woot woot.
Second things second: the sheriff filled me in on these missing kids, but honestly, I don’t have much more information for you than I did yesterday. Basically, all of these kids were at Annie’s Playground down around town and suddenly, their parents couldn’t find them. I don’t mean that they wandered off, and as far as anyone knows, they weren’t taken, because they were being watched by their parents, who, reports say, were happily chirping away about how awesome their respective kids were when the incident took place. I’m saying that these kids (whose ages ranged from 5 to 9) went into the little play-hutch thing under the slide beside the monkey bars and straight-up vanished.
This is really getting to me, nonexistent readers. But one thing got to me more than anything else: when I was at the station talking to the sheriff, who is a family friend anyway, I saw one of the parents there. I considered going over for a comment, but thought better of it. I guess I looked a little too much like a reporter and a little too much like I just wanted a scoop, because the mother in question stormed up to me and completely bitched me out, times a thousand and squared. She said that I’m cashing in on her daughter’s kidnapping (there’s no evidence to suggest kidnapping, but what else could she think?) and that I was a soulless, blood-hungry shark and why don’t I just start killing them off myself, because that’ll sell more papers.
You know how, when you hear something that you know should upset you, there’s a moment where you’re like, “Oh, okay,” before you completely lose your shit? Well, I had one of those just long enough for Sheriff Thomson to get one of the detectives to take the woman away and walk me out to my car. I thanked him for the comment, wished him luck on the case, and told him I’d give my dad and Angel his best. Then I got in the car and got the hell out of there.
Two blocks later, the shock had worn off. I could barely stay in my lane, my hands were shaking so badly. I had to pull over into a Royal Farms parking lot and give myself a few minutes to have a serious cry. The things she said, nonexistent readers, would be things I’d say to the type of journalist I never want to be, ever. I understood why she did it—no mother should ever have to go through what this woman is going through—but I didn’t ask for this story! Craig (my editor, remember him?) may be trying to give me some kind of crash-course in investigative journalism, but this is definitely not the way to go about it.
I called Rose on the way home and she was able to calm me down; I’m at her place now, sipping on a peach-schnapps-and-orange-juice (I believe it’s called a “fuzzy navel”—oh, don’t look so scandalized, reader). We went to get sushi instead of picking up pizza before coming here. I’ve calmed down a lot, and (I’ll write this quickly while she’s out of the room) so has she. I guess she must’ve gotten over whatever had her freaked out before, and I’m really thankful for that. I hate seeing her upset. I still haven’t gotten round to watching those “Slender Man” videos, but I’m also not sure that’s what had her worried. Ah, well; I’ll just get her involved in one of our Disney drinking games (here’s a great one: watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Every time Frollo makes a rape-face, take a drink. Be careful not to get alcohol poisoning during ‘Hellfire.’) and weasel it out of her. She’s so easy sometimes.
Tomorrow, I’m headed to my brother’s to spend the weekend with him, my mom, and the general Flynn side of my family. Should be...well, maybe not fun (kind of a crapshoot with my mom’s side), but at least a break from thinking about disappeared children.
But for now, to the Disney movies.