If you haven’t already thought of a place you soon will; and when you do, I’d have to agree: no one would think to look there.
I know you certainly didn’t.
"This is the Discovery-14290. It is stranded at the bottom of the ocean. Does anyone copy?" Captain Ben Philips speaks into the transmitter.
He anxiously awaits a reply and distracts himself by watching the instrument panel blink its multicolored lights. There is no response. He holds down the transmit button and continues.
"I have been trapped on the Discovery for days. The door cannot be opened and I am too weak to get out. The supplies are all spent. I’m starving and thirsty. It’s getting hard to breath. Please help me."
"Help me. Someone please. Help me." He pleads.
With little strength he can muster, he bangs against the submarine door.
He tears run down his face as he screams out hysterically “Mom….help me mom…let me out, mom…”
Mrs. Philips watches the police leave through her window. Her 5-year-old son, Ben Philips, has been missing for the last few days. Her estranged husband has not returned her calls. She hoped that her missing son would bring him back. Now she has lost both husband and son.
She and Ben went out into a lake on a boat. She had put Ben into a small barrel, told him he’s the captain of submarine and to explore the ocean. He happily complied and climbed in. She placed some brick and told him it was his supplies and sealed the barrel tight; then pushed it overboard.
They’ll never find him.
The thought gave her a small solace.
Have you ever played a video game where you have to sleep to recover? They only let you do it if everything is safe. Otherwise they won’t let you sleep. You’ll get a message, saying “You cannot sleep now, there are monsters nearby.”
Now, remember the last time you just couldn’t get to sleep?
I went to the animal shelter a couple weeks ago and adopted a beautiful young golden retriever. He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever met. Within days, he knew “sit,” “stay,” and “roll over.” I even taught him the old trick where you make a gun with your hand and say “bang,” and he rolls onto his back and plays dead. The problem is, dogs are much better with hand signals than voice cues, so now, as soon as I make a finger gun, he rolls over onto his back and eagerly looks at me for his treat.
I’m sitting on the couch watching a movie in the dark and my puppy is on the hardwood floor in front of me, chewing on his new toy. He looks up towards me, pauses, then rolls onto his back, his tongue out and begging for a treat. I realize he’s looking over my head, beyond the couch. The floor behind me creaks.
"Come on, just one? One surely won’t hurt you…" He’s a good-looking guy, with arresting Celtic knotwork tattooed on his forearms, that makes her wonder, hazily, if the knotwork is all over him.
"I really don’t drink much; I just don’t handle alcohol well…"
"One little one?" he grins, engagingly. He really is quite attractive.
"I shouldn’t…alcohol makes me—", but she takes it, anyway, and….
…And she is waking up, in her room. With a terrible headache.
Morning? What happened? Ooh, my head…
Her head and…
"Oh, God! Ummmmph——-" she climbs stiffly out of bed and runs to the bathroom, her stomach heaving. She just makes it in time, and vomits violently into the toilet. She stands there a minute, shaking and dizzy, then heaves again. This time she is more aware of what she is throwing up, and how chunky, how wrong it feels.
Good God, what did I eat? She has only a vague memory of last night—a guy, a Celtic tattoo, but little else. “I tried to tell him I didn’t drink…”, but she can’t recall anything else.
And then notices, though one tries not to look too closely, at just what she puked up….”What is…? That looks like….”
And chunks of—-is that skin?
I must be hallucinating—she notices that one of the chunks has, undeniably, a piece of Celtic knotwork on it…. Snatches of last night are coming back now, and she stumbles wearily to the kitchen. It’s happened again. There’ll be a big mess to clean up, she knows.
After all, she knows why she doesn’t drink much. She just doesn’t handle alcohol well at all.