Entry #6
December 4, 2009.
Friday.
7:15pm.
Dear Alfred,
I’m going to start writing the date and time of every entry from now on, just so I don’t get lost again.
They released me from the hospital today. As soon as I was out, I asked my dad to drive me to the police station so I can ask some questions. Dad was still not back to his normal self. He still keeps looking at me weird. I gave up asking my family questions. I was going to resort to my friends, but the damned Wi-Fi never got fixed.
When we got there, I saw a familiar face. It was that officer who blurted out “junkshop,” while I was asking them about my car. I went up to him and asked about my car, but he looked at me with this dumb expression on his face and said he had no idea what I was talking about. I tried telling him about the night of my accident, but still nothing. He just shook his head and walked towards one of the offices.
I didn’t recognize any of the people in the station. I tried looking for the people who interrogated me in the conference room, but I didn’t see any of them. My dad and I asked about the accident Sunday night. There only record they have for Sunday, November 29, was an incident at EDSA that was reported at 8:52pm. That was probably the accident I was in.
I kept on asking the people around if they recognized me, but no one did. How can anyone not recognize me? I made such a big scene with all that screaming, all that shouting. Something weird was going on, Alfred.
When we were about to leave, this guy who introduced himself as Detective Jeremy Cruz, walked up to me. Apparently, he was one of those people inside the conference room. He asked me about my head. I asked him if he knew what happened to me. He said he had no idea what happened to me because they were called in at around 2:34am on a Tuesday to investigate a murder, not an accident. He said he was just as surprised as everyone else when I started walking around the police station with a bleeding head in something close to nothing. He told me that he had to leave even before they were done with me, so he didn’t know anything that happened after that.
If that was a Tuesday, then I did miss a day. I missed Monday.
I’m scared, Alfred. I don’t know what happened and what’s happening to me.
I remember, it was a Sunday. 8:43pm. I was driving to a party when I crashed head on with another vehicle.
My dad must have seen my confused look, he gave me another quick hug, but didn’t say anything.
I wonder what happened to the person in the other car I hit? I never got to ask about that because no one else seems to know about it. I looked in the news, but I didn’t get anything.
I’ll just keep digging, I guess. I just hope I get a damned break.
I’ll let you know when something comes up, Alfred.
-
Rick
-
7:51pm
Friday.
7:15pm.
Dear Alfred,
I’m going to start writing the date and time of every entry from now on, just so I don’t get lost again.
They released me from the hospital today. As soon as I was out, I asked my dad to drive me to the police station so I can ask some questions. Dad was still not back to his normal self. He still keeps looking at me weird. I gave up asking my family questions. I was going to resort to my friends, but the damned Wi-Fi never got fixed.
When we got there, I saw a familiar face. It was that officer who blurted out “junkshop,” while I was asking them about my car. I went up to him and asked about my car, but he looked at me with this dumb expression on his face and said he had no idea what I was talking about. I tried telling him about the night of my accident, but still nothing. He just shook his head and walked towards one of the offices.
I didn’t recognize any of the people in the station. I tried looking for the people who interrogated me in the conference room, but I didn’t see any of them. My dad and I asked about the accident Sunday night. There only record they have for Sunday, November 29, was an incident at EDSA that was reported at 8:52pm. That was probably the accident I was in.
I kept on asking the people around if they recognized me, but no one did. How can anyone not recognize me? I made such a big scene with all that screaming, all that shouting. Something weird was going on, Alfred.
When we were about to leave, this guy who introduced himself as Detective Jeremy Cruz, walked up to me. Apparently, he was one of those people inside the conference room. He asked me about my head. I asked him if he knew what happened to me. He said he had no idea what happened to me because they were called in at around 2:34am on a Tuesday to investigate a murder, not an accident. He said he was just as surprised as everyone else when I started walking around the police station with a bleeding head in something close to nothing. He told me that he had to leave even before they were done with me, so he didn’t know anything that happened after that.
If that was a Tuesday, then I did miss a day. I missed Monday.
I’m scared, Alfred. I don’t know what happened and what’s happening to me.
I remember, it was a Sunday. 8:43pm. I was driving to a party when I crashed head on with another vehicle.
My dad must have seen my confused look, he gave me another quick hug, but didn’t say anything.
I wonder what happened to the person in the other car I hit? I never got to ask about that because no one else seems to know about it. I looked in the news, but I didn’t get anything.
I’ll just keep digging, I guess. I just hope I get a damned break.
I’ll let you know when something comes up, Alfred.
-
Rick
-
7:51pm