There are some times in my life where I wonder why evolution allows some people to live, and why they allow even more people to breed.
It just seems like natural selection should raise their expectations with people.
That's all I'll say on that matter.
We went to the house on that missing persons case today. Really rundown shack of a house, but given the family's stability I shouldn't be too surprised. There was a yappy little bulldog that barked at us, but I just ignored it. Dogs are the least of my concerns in life.
Then there's the topic of the mother. It seemed that the effect of the Captain's with lime had not yet worn off, because she was not making the slightest bit of sense. All we got out of her was that her daughter had gotten moody and aggressive and then she just took off. Sounds like every depressed teenager I had ever come across. I think she could tell I wasn't really interested, so most of the questions came from and were addressed to Lizzie.
Then she started going on and on about the girl's sketchbook, how she was obsessed with the thing, how she drew in it at every possible moment. Lizzie thought it was interesting, but I had a few artist friends in high school, so it didn't strike me as odd. Artists have a fucking field day with their sketchbooks, it's common knowledge.
What did strike me as odd, though, was the way she described the reaction when she tried to take the thing away. Almost tore her mother's goddamn head off. Went freaking crazy, almost cannibalistic, from the description the alckey told us. That interested me somewhat. None of my friends ever acted like that, but then again, no one had ever tried to take the sketchbooks away from them.
Lizzie asked if we could see this sketchbook for ourselves, but I think at that point the hangover was starting to kick in, because she just groaned and went back into the house for some coffee, basically giving us free reign. I took this as my cue to come in and make my own way upstairs; I'm an impatient man. Lizzie just gave me a look- she was the older one, so I should have been following HER lead instead of the other way around- but I just shrugged and gave her that grin that almost always wins her over. She acts like a tough cookie, but get under her skin and she crumbles. It can get humorous sometimes.
The girl's room...good God, was she on a hell of a trip when she drew these pictures on her wall. When I stepped into the room, I felt like I had stepped into a Tim Burton exhibit. All along the walls were pictures of what looked like Jack Skellington with about six extra arms and no eye holes, or any facial features, for that matter. In some pictures he looked like the Itsy Bitsy Spider from Hell, and in other pictures he just looked like a businessman, or a government agent, or something like that. All of them had no face. The businessman pictures had the arms looking bent, palms extended outwards as though he was greeting someone. If I were meeting a guy like that, and he were offering hugs, I might just have shot him. He had that creep vibe to him, and “he” was only a drawing.
There were other drawings too, mainly some circles with “X's” slashed through them and some jarbled words. The words “SEES ME” and “HE COMES” were written a lot, among other phrases and a lot of repeated lines. Lizzie and I shared a look as the idea of this becoming a kidnapping case could very well be true. Someone seemed to have been stalking her.
And yet...I looked at the Demonic Spider drawings again. What were these from? Nightmares? That made sense; everything in the real world becomes more evil once you're asleep. A businessman by day turns into a creature from an Edgar Allen Poe story by night. Whatever this guy was doing to her really did a number on her psyche.
I took some pictures while Lizzie shifted through her desk looking for this sketchbook. She finally finds the the thing in the bottom of the last drawer, underneath a bunch of other shit so that anyone looking for it doesn't find it without having to dig.
The notebook held pretty much the same drawings that the wall had posted all over. Probably the most eerie picture was a hastily drawn sketch of Spider-Freak almost overcoming two small figures, whose identities I couldn't make out...the girl, maybe? But then who was the other one? Friend? Boyfriend? Some random figure from a dream? I had no clue. I'd played a few mind games in my day, but this is one hell of a brainfuck.
We claimed it all as evidence, marking the house as a crime scene. Lizzie then went to ask the mom if anyone had come to the house recently, any businessmen or men wearing suits. She said no; though she said her daughter had claimed someone was around, she never saw anyone. Personally, with the amount of booze reeking from that coffee cup, I'm amazed she could see US, let alone anyone poking around, but her statement could be considered legit. Not sure yet.
We bid her farewell and made our exit, passing the annoyingly yappy dog on our way back out. Lizzie was perplexed by the sketchbook, but while I was slightly interested, I didn't really give it too much of a glance. I save my work for the office and at the scenes of the crimes. Anywhere and everywhere else, I shouldn't have to be bothered with it.
Never seen drawings quite like those before...though if she were using them to get a message across, she couldn't have picked a more vague way of doing it...
People are fucking weird like that.