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The Origin (Part 6)
By Carnotaur3
CHAPTER 6: The Detective Meets with Jon
Jon Chapman felt guilty for the next couple of days. His lone struggle with alcohol was not paying a bit off since his girlfriend left him two nights ago. He had left many messages on the answering machine, none which were called back to him for. Jon knew in his troubled heart that Helen was a very sympathetic person. She was full of sympathy. After all, it wasn’t the first time she had left him. He would have to recall the stupid fights but it came down to this one argument which seemed to really hit it off in a big way.
Nothing in his mind would have helped the situation any differently. He wasn’t even paying attention to Billy much lately and this was observed by the little boy very quickly. Jon knew it, but did nothing. It was a big weakness for Jon, and maybe one of a few he had that made everyone around him just not care for him anymore. And neither did he care about others.
Jon sat the phone back down after realizing she was never going to call back. That message was like a piece of paper an artist screwed up and tossed in the dumpster. It meant nothing to anybody, and if Jon kept it up it would honestly mean nothing to him.
Rubbing his temples, Jon watched as Billy came in from the other room, his eyes full of wonder of what he was doing.
“Whatcha doing, dad?”
“Helen, she…” Jon spoke no more.
It wasn’t a subject he talked about. Billy didn’t want to hear anyway, instead, he just took the remote and switched channels from the television, trying to not let it get brought up again.
“You know,” said Jon, “that that bothers me too much. Why can you not just stay on one channel? One channel is all I ask.”
“Sorry.”
Billy switched the television off. He didn’t want to hear his dad complain. He did it all the time and there was just no need to hear it. Next it would have been: “Now that station is bothering me, go to another one.”
But Billy’s perception tore away from what Jon could have done and he left back to his room.
“Father and son relationship is just never what it seems.” Billy thought.
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The wood squeaked as Jon took full strides to the front door of Helen’s apartment. He shook off the rain from his raincoat when he reached it and the water just dribbled onto the floor with a soft and smooth drip. He took a couple of low knocks on the door, trying to wait for that silent movement to suddenly become hearable. It was hopeless. He tried knocking a little louder. Maybe she was just asleep in bed, can’t hear the knocks. Nothing again. He tried the loudest this time. A simple nothing.
He had traveled all this time, he had called all this time, and he had thought of her all this time to wind up with nothing. If he had known before hand, he wouldn’t have been wasting anymore hours of his life rotting in the hell called love.
Or was he even in love? Nevertheless, he jarred down the door with a kick of frustration and fury. That old door just fell to the floor with a loud thud, waking up neighbors below. He could hear their mumbled sayings of agitation. But he too was agitated and he wanted his moment of glory.
Jon entered the room which was way too dark for any human to see. He switched on the light but as he did his eyes didn’t adjust as well as they could’ve and he had a moment of dizziness. He recovered soon enough, wiping his eyes and rubbing his head, and seeing from the far left of the den. He saw that everything was in order as she had left it to stay awhile at his place. The bed was neatly done, the papers she had laying around were all in the same spots. He moved toward the bedroom and found none of her clothing in the closet was taken. The luggage she used to travel was still in the far of the bed in the corner and the bathroom still had towels. The towels smelled the same too. That same fresh smell like they had never been used.
If this had been a normal day for Jon and he had not gotten drunk again, this would have been quite odd and very serious. But Jon simply laughed.
“Ha. Why do you play tricks with me, Helen?” He said, “I do nothing to you. I just play.”
Of course, many of the words Jon was saying were hardly recognizable to even a college professor to understand. Slurred up words were not what Jon was trying to get out, nevertheless, they happened.
“Well, you sure do get me to boozing again.” And with that, Jon took off to the answering machine, punching the blinking button.
Through the night, he carelessly listened to each and every message. It had only been two days and Jon was starting to feel like he was listening to a weeks worth of messages that were all done by him. By him!
Now, even in his state of drunkenness, Jon was finally able to realize the seriousness of the scene. Something happened to her and she didn’t even make it back to her home. It took 45 minutes to get to her apartment. What happened in those 45 minutes?
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“Detective Robby Homer?” asked Jon as he watched the figure jump out of a car and pop open the umbrella.
The figure said nothing till it had walked to Jon.
“That would be me.” Homer said with a grin.
From Jon’s perspective, he was a grungy faced tall man with dark eyes. He had some sort of wit in his face that was very describable or at least noticeable to anybody else but him.
Detective Homer, sober than Jon, said with high esteem, “What seems to be the case?”
“My girlfriend, Helen, has been missing for some time. Actually, I don’t have an estimates of those. I’ve been rather busys and not keeping track. Listen, I’m worried about herl. I’ve gone to the PD, I’m gone to public investigators, but none are willing to help with the matter. They are saying that they will not begin a search until it’s been a week…and well, I know it’s not been a week at least and…well… you were the only one I could get.”
“Save the ‘thank yous’ until she is found. What happened the last time you saw her?”
“I was… mad at herl.” Jon said, getting out a cigarette.
“What was she doing that made you mad?” Homer asked with curiosity.
“I can’t really recall. It was…yeah, kind of dark in the room and I was yelling or something to that affect.”
Jon seemed so dazed in his mind that Homer just had to say, “You’re a drinking man, are you not, Mr. Chapman?”
“Yeah…but…ok, it takes about 45 minutes for her to reach her apartment, Detective. I know that furs…a fact...sle knows. I know because I’ve counted these before.”
“Wait a minute, calm down and get sober if you want to talk to me,” demanded the Detective.
“Please, Mr. Homer. You’re all I have,” Jon said trying with all his might to not slur, “and I don’t want you to go due to me. Now, 45 minutes, we all know, can have a tragedy. I believe something happened to her in those 45 minutes. Maybe it was at my apartment building, I don’t know, but something happened.”
Homer sighed and with compassion said, “Ok, you have any suspects in mind?”
“Would you mind checking the rest of the neighbors to my apartment?”
“No. Where do you live?”
5/1/2003 11:25:51 PM
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