Missing from the Farm

Leo paces the small office in an attempt to ease the nervous energy thrumming through his body. He occasionally glances in my direction with disbelief in his eyes that I am sitting here in front of him.

“Abby, I am not sure where to begin," Leo says while running his hands over his head. “6 months ago, on your birthday, we went to dinner. We had your favorite, steak and potatoes, followed by the most delicious piece of chocolate cake you could imagine.” Leo looks at me as if he has transported himself back to that day. “It was such a wonderful day full of fun and laughter. We got in the truck, exhausted, and drove home, but something happened when we crossed the property line of the farm. We both saw a bright flash of white light and it felt as if time stood still. I slowed the truck to a stop to look around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. ” Leo's face looked haunted as he spoke. “We both just thought it was a fluke and continued down the drive to the house. We proceeded with our evening as if nothing happened and went to bed. Everything felt normal and my heart was full from the day's events.” Leo flashed a quick grin while retelling the end of the night. “Then the morning came, and you were gone.” He said in a near whisper.

I look up from where I am seated to see Leo has tears in his eyes. I long to comfort him, to reassure him, but my lack of memory causes me to hesitate. I can feel the sense of familiarity when he speaks to me when he looks into my eyes, but I just can’t remember.

Leo continues. “I immediately knew something was wrong because you never leave the bed before me. So I got up and went straight to the kitchen. That’s when I saw the door was flung wide open. I panicked and began screaming your name. I frantically searched the grounds to no avail. So I called the Sheriff. I told him about the night before with the flash of light, and how strange it all felt. I told him I thought it was all connected, but he just kept asking me if we had fought or if we had been having any problems.” He paused and took a deep shaky breath, trying to clear the panic from his voice.

“Abby, I never stopped searching for you. I knew something happened, I knew you would never just leave without telling me!”

I look intently into his eyes, searching for the missing pieces of my memory in his face. Withdrawing my gaze, I think to myself and then out loud “we should notify the Sheriff that I am no longer missing. Maybe once they see I have no memory and I am alive, they will help us piece this mystery together.”

Leo walks away briefly to retrieve the phone and call the Sheriff. In those few moments, I try to gather myself and sort through what I knew to be true. I am alive, my head hurts badly, and this man knows me. Hopefully, he has some ideas of how to jog my memory, or maybe even of what happened that night. I say softly to myself “on my birthday.”

“The Sheriff is on his way down now. He said he would come to us because he didn’t want to add to your anxiety of the situation.” Leo stated.

“Well I certainly appreciate that, but I don’t know how much information I’ll be able to provide since I truly can not remember anything. Do you think there is anything that would help my memory?” I asked softly, hoping he would magically have all the answers. “Maybe we had a favorite place to visit, or a routine we did every day?” I asked a little rushed. “Or maybe we have pets that can help me with even just a flicker of memory?” I said with tears in my eyes. This is truly the scariest thing I can imagine, not remembering, and not having a clue as to why I can’t remember.

Leo replies, “we don’t have any pets, but we definitely have routines. Once we speak with the Sheriff we can walk the grounds and I will show you all our favorites places on this property. Then I will walk you through what a normal day on our farm looks like.”

The Sheriff pulls up to the barn about 10 minutes after Leo hangs up the phone with him. Sheriff Michaelson is a big man, probably 6 foot 3 inches with shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe. His face is ruggedly handsome, but definitely shows the scars of age and too many horrible things seen. He has short, brown hair buzz cut to precision and holds his shoulders as if he is ex-military. His eyes are a deep shade of swirling brown that feel as though they are peering into your soul, but they do not make him appear unkind.

I sit in the chair patiently waiting for the Sheriff to start bombarding me with questions. He doesn’t, instead, he slowly walks up to me, reaches out a hand, and introduces himself to me. Even though I’m sure I knew this man before the event, I appreciate the fact that he believes my lack of memory. I shake his hand and thank him for traveling out to see us. And tell him briefly the events of the morning leading to this meeting. After patiently and intently listening to my story, Sheriff Michaelson stares down into my eyes from where he is standing and simply says “We have much to discuss Abigail.” That one short statement made me feel as though the good Sheriff may have some answers about what happened to me on that night 6 months ago and where I have been all this time.