He heard the squeal of tires, glass shattering, the screams of his wife and son crying out in fear and in pain, and then he woke up. He lay there for several seconds, piecing together reality. It was the drunk driver nightmare again. Maybe nightmare was the wrong word, since this was not a creation of his subconscious; this was reliving, in a dream, the worst moment of his entire life. The dream happened less frequently than it used to, but it would probably never completely stop. There was something different about it this time, though. He fought his own memory, trying to place what had changed in the dream, and it came to him: Lena was in the car. It didn’t make sense; Lena had just recently turned twenty-seven, making her the same age as Edmond Jr. would have been, if. Yet, in the dream, she was an adult, and Eddie was just a teenager. At least, it seemed that way to him. He hadn’t actually seen her in the dream, more felt her presence, and yet, somehow he knew. Why was she in the dream at all? Maybe because at some subconscious level, he believed that she was in serious danger.
He glanced at the clock. 2:14 AM. If she hadn’t E-mailed by now, then she wasn’t going to. He reached for his wheelchair. It hadn’t finished recharging, but he had to check his E-mail. He unplugged the wheelchair, pulled himself into it, then pulled the charger onto his lap. He wheeled over to the computer, and plugged the charger into an outlet close by. Logging onto the computer, he found that there was, in fact, still no E-mail from Lena. He looked back through the last few E-mails he had received from her, trying to find clues that might explain this curious silence. There had been a guy that she had been seeing. She never mentioned his name, and she objected strenuously when Ed had tried to apply the initials “BF” to him; “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend that I go out with sometimes.” Still, it was pretty clear that the guy thought he was Lena’s boyfriend, even if Lena didn’t think so. Lately, he seemed to be getting a little possessive. Lena didn’t think it was serious, but combined with the out-of-character lack of E-mail, it had Edmond worried.
He looked up the number for the Portland Oregon police department. He decided to call them, even though he wasn’t sure what he could tell them. He wasn’t even sure if she lived in Portland itself, or one of its many suburbs. Still, he had to try.
“Portland City Police Department.”
“Yes, my name is Edmond Randolph, and I’d like to report a missing person.”
“What is the missing person’s name?”
“Lena.”
“Does Lena have a last name, sir?”
“I don’t know her last name.”
There was a long pause before the voice on the other end resumed. “How long has Lena been missing, sir?”
“A few hours.”
“Do you have Lena’s address?”“No.”
“How exactly do you know Lena, sir?”
“We met over the internet. I’m a blogger in Chicago, and she reads my blog, and has been E-mailing me daily for almost a year, but yesterday, she didn’t send any E-mail.”
Edmond was beginning to feel embarrassed. He had no real information, but he was certain something had happened, and that the police should get involved. He briefly considered describing his dream, but he realized that wouldn’t really help his case.
“Mr. Randolph, is Lena a legal adult?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Our policy concerning adults is that we don’t consider them missing for at least forty-eight hours. Mr. Randolph, she may have just gone away fro the week-end, and forgotten to let you know. Maybe she has lost her internet connection. I wouldn’t worry about her, Mr. Randolph. Most of the time, these people show back up in a day or two.”
As he hung up the phone, Ed felt very frustrated. It was clear that whoever he had spoken to thought he was a nutcase. They were polite about it, but they weren’t going to do anything for Lena. He couldn’t really blame them. He was no less concerned for Lena’s safety, though.It occurred to him that there might be a way to trace her E-mails. He googled the phrase, “E-mail tracker” and got several hits. Going down the list, he discovered that some of these trackers were free, while others were pay by the use. He decided to try one of the free ones first, and if it didn’t work, then he would cough up money to see what he could find out. The first E-mail tracker identified an IP address for her latest E-mail, and then indicated that the address was registered to the Portland Public Library. The next-latest E-mail was also sent from the library. If she didn’t E-mail him from her home computer, then he didn’t know if he could ever find her. The third most recent E-mail was sent from a company called Total Web Design. That must be where she worked. A quick internet search turned up a phone number for Total Web Design. A quick phone call resulted in a recorded voice saying that office hours are from 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM Monday through Friday. Great. That would be 11:00 AM Chicago time, two days from now. He went back to the E-mail she had sent on Sunday. Surely that one wasn’t sent from the library or from work… Bingo. The IP address translated to an apartment building on NW 143rd Avenue. Now we’re getting somewhere. He started cruising Anywho dot com for Lena’s on NW 143rd Avenue. Unfortunately, Anywho expects you to know at least a partial last name. He checked for Lena A. nothing. Lena B. nothing. He kept trying different last initials, in hopes that something would pop up. When he got to Lena G, there was a hit for a Lena Gibson, but she was listed as being 79, and she was in the wrong block of NW 143rd Avenue, anyway. At Lena S, though, there was a Lena Sandoval in the right block. Just to be sure, he continued on through the alphabet, but he got no more hits. So, unless Lena was an internet ‘handle,’ he now knew her last name, and what apartment complex she lived in. He wasn’t sure what good any of that information did, though.
He glanced at the clock. 2:14 AM. If she hadn’t E-mailed by now, then she wasn’t going to. He reached for his wheelchair. It hadn’t finished recharging, but he had to check his E-mail. He unplugged the wheelchair, pulled himself into it, then pulled the charger onto his lap. He wheeled over to the computer, and plugged the charger into an outlet close by. Logging onto the computer, he found that there was, in fact, still no E-mail from Lena. He looked back through the last few E-mails he had received from her, trying to find clues that might explain this curious silence. There had been a guy that she had been seeing. She never mentioned his name, and she objected strenuously when Ed had tried to apply the initials “BF” to him; “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend that I go out with sometimes.” Still, it was pretty clear that the guy thought he was Lena’s boyfriend, even if Lena didn’t think so. Lately, he seemed to be getting a little possessive. Lena didn’t think it was serious, but combined with the out-of-character lack of E-mail, it had Edmond worried.
He looked up the number for the Portland Oregon police department. He decided to call them, even though he wasn’t sure what he could tell them. He wasn’t even sure if she lived in Portland itself, or one of its many suburbs. Still, he had to try.
“Portland City Police Department.”
“Yes, my name is Edmond Randolph, and I’d like to report a missing person.”
“What is the missing person’s name?”
“Lena.”
“Does Lena have a last name, sir?”
“I don’t know her last name.”
There was a long pause before the voice on the other end resumed. “How long has Lena been missing, sir?”
“A few hours.”
“Do you have Lena’s address?”“No.”
“How exactly do you know Lena, sir?”
“We met over the internet. I’m a blogger in Chicago, and she reads my blog, and has been E-mailing me daily for almost a year, but yesterday, she didn’t send any E-mail.”
Edmond was beginning to feel embarrassed. He had no real information, but he was certain something had happened, and that the police should get involved. He briefly considered describing his dream, but he realized that wouldn’t really help his case.
“Mr. Randolph, is Lena a legal adult?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Our policy concerning adults is that we don’t consider them missing for at least forty-eight hours. Mr. Randolph, she may have just gone away fro the week-end, and forgotten to let you know. Maybe she has lost her internet connection. I wouldn’t worry about her, Mr. Randolph. Most of the time, these people show back up in a day or two.”
As he hung up the phone, Ed felt very frustrated. It was clear that whoever he had spoken to thought he was a nutcase. They were polite about it, but they weren’t going to do anything for Lena. He couldn’t really blame them. He was no less concerned for Lena’s safety, though.It occurred to him that there might be a way to trace her E-mails. He googled the phrase, “E-mail tracker” and got several hits. Going down the list, he discovered that some of these trackers were free, while others were pay by the use. He decided to try one of the free ones first, and if it didn’t work, then he would cough up money to see what he could find out. The first E-mail tracker identified an IP address for her latest E-mail, and then indicated that the address was registered to the Portland Public Library. The next-latest E-mail was also sent from the library. If she didn’t E-mail him from her home computer, then he didn’t know if he could ever find her. The third most recent E-mail was sent from a company called Total Web Design. That must be where she worked. A quick internet search turned up a phone number for Total Web Design. A quick phone call resulted in a recorded voice saying that office hours are from 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM Monday through Friday. Great. That would be 11:00 AM Chicago time, two days from now. He went back to the E-mail she had sent on Sunday. Surely that one wasn’t sent from the library or from work… Bingo. The IP address translated to an apartment building on NW 143rd Avenue. Now we’re getting somewhere. He started cruising Anywho dot com for Lena’s on NW 143rd Avenue. Unfortunately, Anywho expects you to know at least a partial last name. He checked for Lena A. nothing. Lena B. nothing. He kept trying different last initials, in hopes that something would pop up. When he got to Lena G, there was a hit for a Lena Gibson, but she was listed as being 79, and she was in the wrong block of NW 143rd Avenue, anyway. At Lena S, though, there was a Lena Sandoval in the right block. Just to be sure, he continued on through the alphabet, but he got no more hits. So, unless Lena was an internet ‘handle,’ he now knew her last name, and what apartment complex she lived in. He wasn’t sure what good any of that information did, though.
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