Part two, if you missed it: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1awjw99/part_two_my_daughter_has_a_new_penpal_somethings/
The next hours were an awful blur.
First Mack jumped up from the table and returned in his cop uniform.
Then Amy popped in and regarded me in frightened silence. She’d never seen me cry before, and I wish I could say I kept it together in front of her. I pulled her to my chest so tightly I thought we might meld together. For once, she didn’t immediately try to wriggle away.
Gus then offered to play another game of Mario Kart with her, which she accepted in a whispered voice.
I somehow managed to make it my feet and Mack and I drove over to Sam’s place in his truck.
I wish I could say something useful came out of it all. But there was just nothing.
As Gus had said, the front door to Amy’s house was open. But other than, the place looked as it always did. Nothing was missing. No scuffs on the floor. No streaks of blood on the walls.
The TV was still on. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a plate on the edge of the sofa. Classic Sam. I was always vacuuming up crumbs when we lived together. It didn’t look like she’d been on her way out to the trade show, which (Mack said) probably meant she left (in one way or another) hours earlier.
Someone on my last post mentioned checking Sam’s house for the Lisa Frank stationery. I’ll admit - I didn’t want to do it. But with some remaining shred of fortitude, I did. I checked everywhere I could think of - including several places I don’t think Sam will ever forgive me for rifling through. Whole lot of nothing.
The cops also pulled her phone and credit card records. Again - just nothing. No unusual contacts or purchases. No new acquaintances, no dates, no stalkers. The most interesting thing she’d bought in the last six months was an Air Fryer. Her life - as I already knew - revolved around family and work.
Speaking of work, Jenny’s heading back to town to sit down with the cops. But I’m not holding my breath about any breaking leads. Jenny seemed as mystified as the rest of us.
Amy and I slept at Mack’s, curled up in his guest room. At some point, we’d need to return home, but I was dreading it. Something just didn’t feel safe anymore.
It was the next morning, when Mack and I had to tell Amy her mom was missing. I can’t even put into words how awful it was. If there’s a hell, and I wind up there, it’ll be reliving that moment over and over again. The look on Amy’s face as it crumpled into hysterical tears. The sound of her sobbing and asking for her mom, over and over and over. And what could I say?
Mack and I then had to make some very difficult choices.
First, we let Amy’s school know she wouldn’t be there for a couple weeks. It would be incredibly disruptive to her education, but we couldn’t take the risk.
Then, I took a leave from work. Again, a nightmare for my wallet. But I couldn’t leave Amy anywhere. I didn’t want her out of my sight.
We made an official missing person’s report for Amy. The news of it spread like wildfire. I had to field tearful phone calls from Amy’s classmates’ parents, neighbours, Sam’s mom and sister. God, her poor mother. When I explained what happened - how Jessica-Ray happened - I thought it might give her a damned heart attack. She made a sound I never want to hear again.
I had to ask her though, about Jessica-Ray. Any detail, no matter how small, could give me some sliver of hope that this whole mess could be untangled and set right.
“Jessica-Ray.” Sam’s mom said in a strange, muted voice. And I knew exactly how she felt way back then. It was how I felt right now. “What a nightmare. I thought I would lose my mind. I mean, who ever heard of such a thing happening?”
“Do you remember anything? Anything at all that might stand out?” I tried to say it gently.
“Only what you already heard. They looked into that teacher, but things didn’t pan out. I phoned around a lot myself. I called the bus stations, here and in New Mexico. Nobody remembered anything. I even made the local public library order me a copy of the phone book for Farmington. I called every person named Miller. Nobody named Jessica-Ray. At least no one admitted it. They probably thought some crazy woman was calling them anyways. The police told me to cut it out, so I didn’t hinder their investigation. Not that it made any difference.”
My heart broke for her. And for Sam, all over again. And for Amy. I had to end the phone call, before I started crying all over again.
Then it got worse. My mother found out. Mike (my younger brother) called to complain that she was in his kitchen, talking his ear off about crime levels in “Democrat hellholes” like California and vague-posting Bible verses on Facebook. Even Max (my youngest brother) left a voicemail from what was most definitely a frat party to say “sorry to hear - it’s fucked up, bro.” It’s the thought that counts, I guess.
Thank God for Mack, though. He’s been on the warparth.
At this point, I’ll try and repeat what I learned from the cops as verbatim as I can.
First, the original Jessica-Ray - 1994 case.
The lead investigator was a guy named Charleton, who retired in Florida years ago. When they phoned him up and told him about the new developments he apparently let out a flurry of expletives that would make a sailor blush.
He told them - after a shot of whiskey and a coughing fit - that the case was “fucked from the get-go.”
“It should have been easy.” He said. There was only a small number of people who had access to the penpal system in ’94. Twenty-odd kids, their parents and siblings. Plus school staff.
The bus ticket had been printed at the central bus station in Farmington on a Wednesday morning. No CCTV at the time, but it had been paid with a credit card.
Therefore, all they had to do was pull the credit info and presto - there’s your creep.
It turned out the credit card was registered under the name “Harry Tasker.”
For those of you who aren’t die-hard Arnie fans, Harry Tasker is the name of Arnold Schwartzeneggar’s character in the 1994 film True Lies.
If you’re thinking, “well, it still sounds like a normal name. Surely there was another Harry Tasker out there somewhere.” You’d be wrong. They checked with the IRS as well as a few other institutions and couldn’t find one single damned person named Harry Tasker in the whole United States. They even checked related names. Harold Tasker. Henry Tasker. Harry Taskers. H. Tasker. Nada.
What solidified the fake name theory was that the associated address was for a vacant lot in the industrial part of Farmington To this day, it’s still an overgrown patch of weeds and used needles.
Then things got weirder.
They dusted the letters for fingerprints, not expecting to find much, but lo and behold there were two sets of prints on the last letter sent from “Jessica-Ray.”
One set, obviously, belonged to Sam.
The other were unidentified - that is, they weren’t logged in the albeit lacklustre databases of the day. However, this isn’t super surprising given that the second set of prints belonged to a child.
After that, they found basically nothing. Since it seemed highly unlikely that even a very diabolical seven year old could apply for and receive a credit card, they didn’t have much to go on. At best, they thought it might have been the work of an adult predator, using their child (or some child in their care) to do some seriously dark shit.
Now, the current case - Jessica-Ray 2.0.
As I said, Mack is out for blood.
Sam’s missing person report has been broadcast all over the country. He contacted a bunch of his former marine buddies as well as cops he knows in other precincts.
They searched birth records for anyone named “Jessica-Ray Miller” without any luck.
Then, they performed some background checks on teachers and parents at Amy’s school, as well as Elmwood. A few drug charges, some unpaid parking tickets. Nothing really to go on.
Gus also made good on his suggestion to look into the cat stationery. It is, as it turns out, discontinued. Last production and distribution was back in 1996, though it was a wide release so it stands to reason that some of it is still floating around.
Oh yeah, and they sent a photocopy of Jessica-Ray’s letters to Charlton in Florida, and Sam’s mom (she’s retired too, in Arizona). They didn’t recognize the paper and couldn’t recall anything about the handwriting.
It’s now afternoon on Saturday. Mack and Gus are out working on Sam’s case. Amy is still despondent. She’s barely eaten, and won’t let go of my arm. Even when one of us has to go to the bathroom. We’re still at Mack’s. I might just ask if we can move in for the time being.
I’m about to go make another cup of coffee when I hear my phone buzz. Amy jumps at the sound, and I flail my arm over to the counter to grab it.
It’s Mack.
“Mack? Is everything okay?”
“No news about Sam yet.”
“Right.”
“Look…I have to ask you something. Can Amy hear us?”
My heart fell. “She’s beside me, but I’m not on speaker.”
“Alright.” He sighed heavily. “Mark…I need to know. Were things tense between you and Sam?”
I can’t say I wasn’t expecting some kind of question like this. I’m the ex, after all. Still, it hurt to hear Mack ask it. “Things were fine. Really - we weren’t fighting or anything. I would never…” I let it trail off. I could never finish that sentence in front of Amy.
“Okay, man.” Mack said. “We need to check every possibility. You know how it is.”
“It’s fine, I get it.”
I was about to hang up, when Amy piped up beside me. “Daddy?”
“Yeah honey. Just talking to Uncle Mack.”
“Can you ask Uncle Mack to make sure Jessica-Ray is okay?”
Now that took me by surprise. “S…sure honey. Um…any reason why? Why are you worried about Jessica-Ray?”
Amy frowned and bit her bottom lip. Seven year olds have no poker face. A horrible, sinking dread spread from my stomach into the whole of my body.
“I’m not supposed to tell you Daddy…”
Jesus christ. “Honey,” I tried not to yell. “This is important. You need to tell me right now!”
“You’re scaring me.” She started to cry.
“Amy…Amy, I’m sorry. I’m not angry, I promise. I’m just worried. Please, you need to tell me right now.”
“In her letter. She said she was scared. Maybe someone took her, like Mommy.” Big teardrops rolled down Amy’s little cheeks.
“Her letter? What letter?”
“The letter she sent me last time.”
“I read that letter - it didn’t say anything like that.”
I swear a look of guilt passed momentarily over her face. “On the back.”
“There was nothing on the back.”
“There was, but you couldn’t read it. It was a secret message.”
“Amy…” My teeth were gritting together horrendously. “Amy what the hell are you talking about?”
She started sobbing. “That’s a bad word.”
“Amy!”
“We write the secret messages. All the kids do it. So the teachers can’t read it.”
“How? How do you write secret messages.”
“Lemon juice, Daddy. With lemon juice.” She started to bawl.
From my phone, which I’d been holding several inches away from my ear, oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t yet hung up, I heard Mack say “fucking hell.”