Patient Number 1632

Dear Reader, 

This story is about love and loss and sanity. It contains misunderstanding, miscommunication, and a few death threats. Read with caution.

Amanda

***

Dear Reader,

Ok, Ok, I know I am running behind, but you simply must forgive me. The next book absolutely will be out post haste! I am furiously researching, reading, learning, and maybe thinking about exploring for answers on my own-out in the real world. Hold your applause, please, Dear Reader. I can and will take my time with this next book. I simply believe it’s what this next chapter needs-time, research, space to blossom into the magnificent tree you have come to know and love. 

Fine, fine, you have me at gunpoint. The third installment of the series doesn’t have a name….yet…but it does have a premise. And a fairly sound one at that. You’ll remember you left our main character, me, Marcy Alexandra Thompson, just about to crack open the true witness testimony of Joey’s secretary. My beloved Joey! Yes, yes, you’ll remember we had spent several sleepless nights cross referencing her clear and pathological lies. Remember when she claimed Joey was at a business meeting on April 29th? And he wasn’t! And remember how she swore he had a court date on May 17th—she had said, “He’ll be busy all day long; simply unreachable. Even by me!” What had she meant by that? Dear Reader, you know she meant to insinuate that he would answer his phone, even in court, for her, but not me. Preposterous! I know, Dear Reader. Preposterous. 

Please, I beg of you, Dear Reader, do not blame my darling Joey. I know him. I introduced the two of you in book one. Remember? “Blossoming Cherry Blooms?” Book one was all about how we met, fell in love…oh! My heart stops at the memory. Tears prick my eyes and may damage this letter. Book Two, all about our dear son, “Dancing In the Garden of Eden.” We felt like Adam and Eve, building our own garden—with a son, of course. That bit we hoped wouldn’t follow the stories in the bible. Remember how I described our baby boy’s laugh? “A babbling brook of laughter from a babbling baby.” How my heart aches for them. That burning pain must light the fire in my soul to avenge them. But you know all about that, don’t you, Dear Reader.

I have photos. Real photos. Pictures of that witch twirling that long, red cord on that old fashioned telephone around her finger with her stupid princess pink manicure. I have that shot of her leaning over Joey’s desk as she hands him a client’s folder. Please, don’t ask how I managed to get that one. I just know it, I know she is the reason he is dead. If she couldn’t have him, no one could! How classic.

So, I have the evidence and the proof. I just need to make it neater, easier for her to swallow. If I present it now, I just know she’ll call me crazy. Me! Dear Reader, since I know you’ve read the first two books, then I know you’ll know that I am not crazy. In fact, I am the most sane woman I know. 

And of course the so called “law enforcement officers” of this town won’t be investigating this woman. They say that she has an, “air tight alibi,” whatever that means. I, just know, Dear Reader, that it’s a lie. But you can refresh your memory on all my thoughts regarding that chaos in the final chapter of my second book. 

Toodles,

Marcy

***

Dear Reader,

My beloved Joey visited me last night, once again. Oh, Dear Reader, his eyes. They used to be that beautiful, caramel macchiato brown, remember? Now, they blaze red with fear, and pain. I just know his beautiful soul is trapped in Hell—waiting for me to free him by finishing his story. Consider this my solemn vow to renew my efforts. 

I couldn't find our baby boy in my dream at all. Joey, I found. But our son...it felt like I spent hours searching for him. Maybe, if I take one more sleeping pill tonight he'll appear. Or...could he be truly lost to me, Dear Reader? Could he?

But no, Joey wouldn’t tell me to keep fighting so clearly if they were gone. Their souls are in anguish, Dear Reader. And it will be I who saves them.

Which is why I spent the last week organizing my notes. I will do it for both of them. Best to return to the work rather than dwell. It’s a much easier task now. I have a confession, Dear Reader. I confess, I lost my office job. Technically, it’s not lost. It now belongs to that weird girl with big glasses and beautiful blonde curls. She sure looks like Joey’s secretary, sitting behind my desk. Ok, ok, Dear Reader, not my desk…her desk. Ugh! The words disgust me. 

But I digress, all the better to have more time to work on my confrontation. Then, I will really dedicate myself to this next book. I just…I truly believe it’s best for you to have a real picture of the vixen who stole my beloved Joey from me. 

I think that a map will help her, don’t you think, Dear Reader? Like, a timeline. And I could put it on the cover of the next book! Would red string be too cheesy? Nonsense, right? Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll bring along my phone so I can record the conversation. I’ll write what is said, word for word. You can count on me for authenticity!

Toodles,

Marcy

***

Dear Reader,

I…need to explain some things…I know you saw the articles in the paper…the clips online…the meme…ugh! Can I just…share my side?

The articles in the paper are just, plain, inaccurate. I am not, “A Woman Unhinged.” That photo of me in the coffee shop was after one of my sleepless nights. You can totally tell it was heavily edited. My beautiful red hair has never been that big of a rat’s nest. Even on the worst day! I needed some coffee. I needed a place to write. I was simply fleshing my speech out by rehearsing it for the coffee shop. Can you believe they didn’t quote a single line? That stuff was golden. And that barista was totally over reacting. I was not, “Scaring the other customers.” But hey, at least I was front page new. That oughta be good publicity for the book.

Those stupid videos were taken by idiot kids, you know. I know that the barista paid them. Her or her dumb manager before dragging me out like a criminal. It probably brought them good press, don’t you think? Those kids…those kids….those kids…. don’t even know me! Not like you do, my Dear Reader. You know the real me. The young teen who fell hopelessly in love with her law professor at university(spoiler alert: he marries me!). The one who really got it together later in life and wrote an autobiographical series on the mystery of her husband and child’s death. Which is now a best seller! Surely, you know, since you’re one of my loyal Dear Readers. 

And the meme! Please, promise me you haven’t shared any versions of #SquirrelWoman. Unless, of course, you’re one of my dear fans who have created websites protesting its creation. Because if you’re using the meme that way, then please tag me @Misty’sMysteries1500 so I can share your posts on my official website and social media profiles. I pray that these words of thanks, specifically, are coming out to you.

Now for an update on that book. I know I have been promising it to you for months. But my progress was slowed since those so called “officers of the law” issued, “an official warning,” whatever that means. Excuses, excuses. I know! You sound like my editor. But how could I ever let a less than perfect piece out into the world? I couldn’t. That would just trap Joey in eternal Hell. And he wants me to keep writing-because it will save him!

On Wednesday, I took the folder and the timeline with the red string and the photos and my phone so I could record what happened and I drove all the way over the that woman’s house and I marched right up those stupid cement steps and knocked on her stupid blue door and she didn’t even answer the door!

So I knocked again and again and again. I noticed the doorbell so I rang it. Three or four times was all!

Then….I may have walked around to her living room window and peered inside. It was a real tough challenge since she has those stupid white drapes up with the lacey edges. Ugh! Dear Reader, I hated those drapes. So did Joey. Yet another reason why he will never pick her.

Anywho, I went and knocked on her window.

Then, I noticed the little wooden gate, painted forest green(gag me with a spoon)! It was unlocked.

Dear Reader, what was I to do?

So I opened the gate and stepped on through. I could feel Joey guiding me to the truth. 

That’s when those so called cops arrived with their obnoxious lights and sirens. I could see her, cowering in the corner of her kitchen with a kitchen knife. Her manicured nails wrapped around it so tightly that her knuckles were white.

What was a kitchen knife going to do to protect her against me?

A woman scorned.

As they approached me with their sticks and their handcuffs I tried to calmly explain what I was doing.

As they rushed me like crass college frat boys playing the final football game of the season, I waved my folder in the air. Red string cascading ‘round us. All that work...lost...just like my family.

With my face smooshed into the mud of her backyard, I could taste the dirt as I croaked out my final appeal, “You made him get in that car! You did! And with our son! I won’t rest until you pay for what you did. Until you’re dead in the ground with them.”

***

Dear Reader,

That is the final letter of Marcy Thompson. She demanded a pen and paper in the ambulance. The others were found in the folder recovered at the scene. I have also included Officer Miller’s detailed report of the incident and Carmen Vasquez’s official statement. Officer Miller also provided the case file on the accident involving Mr. Thompson and his son. It seems Mrs. Thompson had an author she wanted to meet in person at a local bookstore. In her statement that evening, she insisted that her son, Joey Junior, come along as she hoped he would harness his natural gift for writing into a career.

Upon investigation, it was found a severe, and rare, May spring snowstorm was the reason for the challenging roads. Most of the road crew companies had laid off their team for the slow season, so they weren’t applying salt as quickly as usual. Hey, it’s Colorado after all. And Officer Miller stated he provided that explanation to Mrs. Thompson. Please see tape “A” which is a recording of the conversation.

After that, Mrs. Thompson disappears. She refused to return to the police station and barely showed up for the funeral. Simply, everyone figured she was processing grief her own way.

Officer Miller further theorizes that Mrs. Thompson believed she had become a world famous author, hoping to unlock the mystery behind the fatal car accident. Believe me: there is no mystery.

Oh, and for her comments about Ms. Vasquez, Officer Miller believes that Marcy was Mr. Thompson’s second wife. His first was abandoned very quickly after Marcy came along. It was the talk of the college campus. Officer Miller theorizes that Marcy believe that Ms. Vasquez controlled Mr. Thompson’s schedule in the hopes of becoming his third wife—a delusion of Mrs. Thompson’s as Ms. Vasquez has been married to her wife for fifteen years and quote, “Has never dreamed of batting for Mr. Thompson’s team.”

Some photos of Mrs. Thompson’s apartment are also enclosed. As you can see the space is not a healthy environment: mountains of trash, rotting food, alcohol and medicine bottles. We have also enclosed our intake form for her—she did not test positive for any drugs(perhaps she used before she was hospitalized as she does reference several sleepless nights), but I was highly concerned for her weight as it seems she is down to skin and bones. Her blood pressure has also been high. I conclude my evaluation by stating that she will need hospitalization. But I would advise fully jumping into her delusion during her sessions, at least in the beginning, as she has not been able to identify herself, the year, or the president to any member of our staff. 

Please don’t hesitate to come to me with any questions or concerns.

Sincerest Regards, 

Michael Elliott(Licensed Professional Counselor)