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I've just found out that there's a wrestling move called 'Sliced Bread #2'. How embarrassing. Anyway, that's not where the title of this journal comes from. I thought it up when I was in high school and always wanted to use it for something.
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Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.
Saturday, July 10, 2004
I had occasion to go down the back hallway today, and as I passed Room Two, my eye was caught by a Post-It on the door. It said, "Shhh."
What was this all about? I knew the note hadn't been there yesterday. I eased the door open and peeked in.
Sleeping on the leather couch was the Most Beautiful Girl Ever. There was a blanket over her, so all I could see was her face, but that was enough to make me bust out the capital letters. She was tall and blonde and cute and all I could do was stand there and look. However: beautiful, yes; attractive, no. To me, at least. The problem was that she looked like she was in her mid-to-late teens. Ten years ago I wouldn't have been able to imagine not being attracted to her, but now, she was just a puppy.
Who was she, though, and how'd she get here? There was no stuff with her; no bag on the floor. That was my blanket she was sleeping under, thanks very much. Since when is Greyghost inviting people over to spend the night? I closed the door without going in.
Later, when I was back at my desk, Greyghost arrived, carrying a cloth bag. "Who's that sleeping in the back room?" I asked.
"I'm not sure" he said. "We'll find out when she wakes up. I think she's been drugged."
"You think she's been drugged? You delegate your kidnapping now?"
"I was searching Redburn's property, and she was locked in an interior room. I don't know what her story is, but I couldn't just leave her there."
Weirder and weirder. "What the hell is it about Redburn, anyway? He's just a magician, for Christ's sake. And you're stealing his . . . is it his daughter?"
"He's not just a magician. I don't know what else he is, but he needs watching and that girl is not his daughter."
I said, as skeptically as I could manage, "Uh huh."
"If I'm not here when she wakes up, call me. I think what she knows could be important."
"I'll call you if there's a phone line free," I told him. "It may be tied up because our guest wants to call the cops and tell them that some psycho in a cape hauled her out of her home and locked her up in a basement. You never know."
"I know I need to talk to her," he said. "I'm counting on you to see that I can."
Great.
What was this all about? I knew the note hadn't been there yesterday. I eased the door open and peeked in.
Sleeping on the leather couch was the Most Beautiful Girl Ever. There was a blanket over her, so all I could see was her face, but that was enough to make me bust out the capital letters. She was tall and blonde and cute and all I could do was stand there and look. However: beautiful, yes; attractive, no. To me, at least. The problem was that she looked like she was in her mid-to-late teens. Ten years ago I wouldn't have been able to imagine not being attracted to her, but now, she was just a puppy.
Who was she, though, and how'd she get here? There was no stuff with her; no bag on the floor. That was my blanket she was sleeping under, thanks very much. Since when is Greyghost inviting people over to spend the night? I closed the door without going in.
Later, when I was back at my desk, Greyghost arrived, carrying a cloth bag. "Who's that sleeping in the back room?" I asked.
"I'm not sure" he said. "We'll find out when she wakes up. I think she's been drugged."
"You think she's been drugged? You delegate your kidnapping now?"
"I was searching Redburn's property, and she was locked in an interior room. I don't know what her story is, but I couldn't just leave her there."
Weirder and weirder. "What the hell is it about Redburn, anyway? He's just a magician, for Christ's sake. And you're stealing his . . . is it his daughter?"
"He's not just a magician. I don't know what else he is, but he needs watching and that girl is not his daughter."
I said, as skeptically as I could manage, "Uh huh."
"If I'm not here when she wakes up, call me. I think what she knows could be important."
"I'll call you if there's a phone line free," I told him. "It may be tied up because our guest wants to call the cops and tell them that some psycho in a cape hauled her out of her home and locked her up in a basement. You never know."
"I know I need to talk to her," he said. "I'm counting on you to see that I can."
Great.