Part Thirty-Three (May 3, 1972)

I really need to stop procrastinating, as I'm running out of excuses. That's a small matter, though, since I'm fairly certain that my readership now expects irregular updates. Let's just call it a stylistic thing, and move on.

By the way, I have recently turned 51, but I won't be changing my profile description, for I believe that it lessens the impact of the statement. For the curious, my birthdate is October 27th. I don't expect any belated birthday messages, due to the fact that hardly anyone actually reads this, but feel free to leave one, regardless. I appreciate sentiments such as that, even if they're insincere.

Okay, now that that's covered, let's go back in time:

It had been three days since John's suicide, and we had been too terrified to follow his words. In fact, we had mostly given up on the case. Because the three of us were unified by our traumatic experiences, we continued to spend time with each other, but we effectively did nothing.

That day, we were in a local park, playing a casual game of catch. We went a few rounds, before Tommy reservedly took off his mitt. Casting it aside, he knelt on the ground.

Confused, we immediately stopped what we were doing, and sat beside our friend. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Tommy lowered his brows. "I don't understand why we're doing this." He stated.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, puzzled.

"Why did I even agree to help you guys, if all we're going to do is toss around a baseball?" Tommy sneered, "I don't know about you, but I want to find a way to get rid of this thing. For three days, we've been doing nothing but sitting on our asses, just because some old man offed himself. Why don't we just do what he said, and see what's at this carnival? If there's something, in this place, that can help us, then let's find it. I'm tired of being afraid, and I'm done with grieving some guy that I've never met. The police are doing nothing, the other during victims are doing nothing, and no one what knows anything. Whether we like it, or not, we may have the power to stop this thing. I didn't get rescued from those woods to simply play catch, or to read Lyle's stash of porno mags. As much as I like boobs, this is more important."

I bowed my head, in shame. "You're right." I said, "We'll head out, tomorrow."

Before Tommy could speak, Charlie cut in. "We can still take a Playboy for the road, though, right?" He grinned.

I nodded. "Just one," I said.