Max and I devised a plan in an attempt to catch Jaime red-handed. We were going keep a close eye on him all day long, and when he finally decided he was done selling his drawings for the day, we were going to follow him home on Max’s car.
The stage was set, Max and I were positioned on the roof of his surf shop with a pair of binoculars in hand. And sure enough, there was Jaime. He was lounging on a foldable chair inside of his ever so charming blue tent, with his “paintings” on display like they were the lost work of DaVinci, oh, and a really noticeable smell of marihuana emanating from a sloppily rolled joint in his left hand.
I swear to god that if you look up the word “douchebag” on the English dictionary, the first thing you’d see would be a picture of this guy.
I really can’t understand why he was still there, it was 5:08 p.m and by the look of it, every potential client of his already left the beach, plus, it’s not like anybody in their right mind would pay the ridiculous price that he charges for a piece of his “art”. Maybe he doesn’t arrive at the beach so early, and leave so late to sell his drawings. Maybe he does it to scout his victims, to get close to vulnerable people without them suspecting anything. Maybe that’s how he got to my Sophia…
I was lost in my thoughts when a firm tap on my shoulder brought me back to my senses, Max pointed towards the tent as he quickly jumped from the rooftop and unlocked his car:
-Dude, look! He’s leaving! Hurry the hell up or we’re lose him.-
I quickly followed behind him and got into the passenger seat as fast as I could. As soon as I closed the car door, Max started driving almost recklessly, trying to keep eyes on Jaime’s white van. We managed to get behind him without causing any suspicion, but I could tell Max and I felt equally as confused when instead of turning right, away from the bay area and towards where the trailer home he told Hoffmann about would be, he took a left towards the wealthier side of our town. We followed close behind as the white van made its way into an old garage, just outside of Springfield, the neighborhood home to the most luxurious vacation homes and most stunning apartment complexes. We waited outside of the garage for about 5 minutes when suddenly, Jaime drove out of the garage in a insanely over the top, red sports-car. It looked like something straight out of a Grand Theft Auto game. Max let out an audible gasp of pure shock, I instead stayed silent for a while as we followed that ridiculously expensive car:
-Holy shit! How much do you think that thing is worth?!- I said.
-I don’t even know man, like a couple million at least. But the real question is, how the fuck did he pay for that?- Max replied while confusedly shaking his head.
-Maybe he stole it, I don’t know. There’s no way he paid for it, I mean I’ve never seen anyone buy his shitty paintings.- I said, that’s the only possible explanation I could think of. Max let out a soft chuckle at my reply.
-Dude, Alex, you’re such a gullible little goofball. Haha, I mean it’s obvious this whole “painter” thing is complete bullshit. This guy doesn’t live in a trailer home, and he most definitely doesn’t make a living out of selling paintings on the beach. He’s hiding something, and we’re gonna find out exactly what it is.-
-But that doesn’t make any sense. If you were a millionaire, why the hell would you pretend to be a junkie, surely it would be the other way around, right?- I said.
-Well, maybe he doesn’t want people to know that he’s a millionaire.- Max replied.
-But why? If I was a millionaire, I would be delighted if people knew. Why would anyone not want to take credit for that?- I confusedly stated.
-That’s exactly what we’re here to find out.- Max confidently replied.
Earlier that day, before my friend and I decided to go our investigation, I got a text message from Hoffman. It read:
“Hello Alex, I should tell you what I’ve been up-to since our last interaction. I’ve decided that in order to eliminate all doubts regarding mr. Watkins’ supposed encounter with your wife, I had to investigate Malu Island. So I did, and I discovered absolutely nothing that could connect mr. Watkins to the disappearance of your wife. Although, on second thought, I think it would be convenient if you took a look for yourself. Perhaps the two of us should travel there tomorrow morning and give the island another sweep. But to be honest with you, personally, I reckon that the supposed encounter never even took place, or at least in the day that mr. Watkins described it to me.”
Then another text message after it:
“I can’t describe how uncomfortable this individual makes me. I have a really, really bad feeling about him. I’ll pick you up at your house tomorrow morning, just after I pay our little friend another visit. I’ll see you tomorrow Alex, take care of yourself.”
The red supercar finally stopped, pulling into the driveway of a home I could only describe as surreal. Imagine the kind of property that The Wolf Of Wall-street would own if he never got caught by the FBI, and times that by ten. Jaime calmly stepped out of the luxury vehicle and watched as two muscular men dressed in tuxedos greeted him, and one of them proceded to park the car in the home’s private garage. All Max and I could do was watch in disbelief as the scene before us unfolded.
The home had a meticulously designed security system, it was no joke. There were cameras everywhere, at least twenty other unnecessarily jacked security guards dressed in tuxedos, a massive electrified gate about fifteen feet tall and of course, because why not? there was a fucking sniper of the mansion’s rooftop. It looked like a supervillain’s hideout straight out of a video-game.
After analyzing our situation, Max and I quickly figured out that our options were quite limited, we only had two actually; Option A. Go home, or, Option B. Die. Since we’re not (completely) out of our mind, we decided to choose the first option and leave the investigative work to a professional, like our friend Detective Mark Hoffmann for example. We drove back to the surf shop and said our goodbyes for the day with a bittersweet feeling. We basically made no progress towards finding Sophia, and we’re losing valuable time that in this particular situation could be the difference between life and death. But hey, at least we didn’t attempt to break into a deranged billionaire’s home!
When I finally got home, the loneliness hit me harder than it ever did. My wife has been missing for more than two days now, and so far all I’ve done about it is find out that she met up with a billionaire pretending to be a loser. She could be dead right now, or maybe she’s still alive and in desperate need of some help. And yet here I am, at home… alone… doing absolutely nothing to help her. I tried to change that by calling Hoffmann and explaining everything Max and I saw in excruciating detail, I also sent him some photos I took of Jaime’s car and his house. To my surprise, Hoffmann seemed quite unbothered by this, he assured me that he’ll get something valuable out of Jaime tomorrow morning, and wished me a good night. I’m ready to do something about it, I’m ready to step up for Sophia. Tomorrow, Hoffmann and I will investigate Malu Island and I swear on Sophia’s name that I will not go home empty-handed. I will find something that can allow Hoffmann to legally search Jaime’s home and then it’s over, she’ll be right there, alive and ready to finally come home with me.
I miss her so much.
I actually woke up at a reasonable time for once. It was 7:30 a.m and I was ready to finally do something meaningful. I had called Hoffmann the night before, I asked him to be present for his second interrogation with Jaime. I wanted to analyze everything about his demeanor, any signs of guilt in his body language or matter of speech, I was going to notice. Hoffmann knocked on my door, and we decisively made our way into his black SUV. This made me reminisce about the time he interrogated Casey, the anxiousness and uneasy feeling was exactly the same. I was excited to find out more about Sophia’s disappearance, but absolutely terrified about what exactly I could find out. Hoffman broke the silence:
-Right Alex, same thing as before. We will use the same wireless microphone technology we did last time, and the rules are still the same, yeah? If I’m being honest, I have no idea what I’ll be able to get out of Jaime, so please, keep a cool head. This could go extremely well or terribly wrong, but whatever happens just stay here and do not leave the vehicle for any reason. Understood?-
-Yes, thank you Detective.- I said.
We pulled up to the beach and Hoffmann parked his SUV in a position that would give me a clear line of sight to the tent, but keep the vehicle from raising any suspicion. Hoffmann handed me the same “tape recorder thing” as before, and gave me a pat on the shoulder as he stepped out of his car. I think up to that point, I had never been so nervous.
-Oh wow, look who decided to show up! My good old pal Sherlock Holmes! I missed you buddy, what have you been up-to lately?- Jaime said with a infuriating grin on his face.
-The show is over Watkins. I now have conclusive evidence of your little side-job, or side-life I should say. And I imagine you wouldn’t like it too much if that got out, would you? You’d probably lose a few clients if that happened.-
Jaime literally burst out laughing. How can someone be so relaxed when there’s a trained detective interrogating them?
-Man, you crack me up Mark. You’re one hilarious dude, I’ll give you that. I just wish you were as good of a detective as you are a clown.-
-You’re facing multiple charges that could lead to more than sixty years in prison. Make that a life sentence in a few days when I connect you to the Atkinson murder. How exactly is that “hilarious” to you?- Hoffmann shot back.
He’s calling it a murder now? God. I really, really hope this is just a scare tactic. I can’t even grasp the thought of my wife being murdered.
-Murder now big-shot? Ha! You don’t even have a body, asshole. I literally own the police force Mark, I’m perfectly aware of all the little tactics scum like you use to get people to incriminate themselves. You’re pathetic.- Jaime replied, that disgusting smirk on his face still intact.
-Well, what’d ya’ know… at least I tried.- Hoffmann said while reaching into his belt.
He took out his handgun and fired a bullet into Jaime’s foot. Holy shit! This is insane.
-Agh! Motherfucker!- Jaime screamed out in pain, but his agony quickly turned into… laughter? This can’t be. The guy literally just got shot at, and he somehow finds this… funny?
-And so, the plot thickens. Ha! Did you have fun on your little field trip, Mark?- Jaime was now in a full-on fit of laughter. There is something seriously wrong with him.
-You sent me to Malu Island to find nothing, how funny.- Hoffmann cocked his gun and aimed it at Jaime’s foot once again.
-You wasted my time, so I thought it’d waste some of yours.- Jaime said, still laughing hysterically.
Hoffmann then fired another shot into Jaime’s foot, this time around, there was apparently no pain at all. In fact, it actually seemed to make Jaime laugh even harder.
-Tell me what really happened to her or your head is next!- Hoffmann said with the weapon still firmly in hand.
-What really happened to her, okay. What really happened to her is that I took her to my house and fucked her brains out. She begged me to stay, but I kicked her out as soon as I was done with her. Then after that she probably killed herself when she realized she had to back to Alex Davis.- Jaime’s fit of laughter got louder and more obnoxious with every word that came out of his mouth.
I officially lost my mind when he said that. I didn’t care anymore, I was gonna get out of the car, walk up to the scene, take Hoffmann’s gun away from him and put a bullet through Jaime’s skull. I was in the middle of unbuckling my seatbelt to do just that, when Jaime spoke again.
-This is priceless Mark! If only you could see the look on your face. This play just keeps on getting better and better, and perhaps it’s time for the final curtain. But it seems like all of the actors are yet to arrive.- Jaime actually stopped laughing, his demeanor took a sharp turn into something… a lot more menacing than infuriating.
-You know exactly who I’m talking about. That idiot you call your client, sitting in your car like a coward, listing to me right now. Come out to play, Alex.-
I wanted to go, and I most definitely would have done so if I didn’t notice that Jaime had some kind of assault rifle hidden under one of his paintings. So instead I stayed in the car, like a coward. At this point I hated myself more than I hated Jaime.
Hoffmann noticed it too, and he carefully walked back to the car, still facing Jaime, with the firearm in hand. He got in, and we drove away. That somehow went even worse than anything I could’ve imagined.
-Well goddamnit, now we’re dealing with an actual criminal. I told you this guy is bad news, Alex. I had that weird feeling about him since day one.-
-Hey, let’s waste no time. Let’s go to Malu.- I quickly replied.
And that’s what we did.
As soon as Hoffmann and I stepped out of the boat, we immediately started scouring every little corner of Malu Island, not just the places that Jaime mentioned like Hoffmann did last time. Every bar, restaurant, shop and public area we went to, trying to discover any clues that could lead us to the truth. Our efforts were seemingly worthless until… until we decided to investigate that old, rusted well located on the most desolate area of the island.
I really wish we didn’t do that, but I’m also, in a way, glad we did. My sanity could not handle a single additional ounce of uncertainty, so discovering the truth, as absolutely heartbreaking as it was, felt oddly rewarding.
We opened the well and our eyes met with nothing but a pit of darkness, however the smell was a completely different story. The well emanated a pungent odor, the scent of rotting flesh and solidified blood. When Hoffmann lit his flashlight to reveal the source of such a disgusting smell, I threw up in my mouth. My eyes stared in disbelief and my chest sunk like never before. What we discovered was…
Sophia’s corpse, staring back at us with those lifeless eyes. To this day, that sight makes me stay up at night. I can’t get that image out my head, the way her mouth froze open, and her hands rested stiff on what used to be her thighs. In that moment, I couldn’t do nothing more than just stand there, too numb to even react. I felt the urge scream or cry but my body just didn’t respond. Hoffmann and I just froze there, I can’t even tell you for how long, time just didn’t feel real in that moment, nothing about that situation seemed real to me, it was a terrible nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. This was and still is without a doubt the worst day of my life, and I can predict with almost complete certainty that it will stay that way until I die.
Jaime Watkins, if by any chance you happen to be reading this entry, let me just tell you that the murder case coming your way should be the least of your worries. If you’re unlucky enough to run into me one day, I swear that I will put you through the most amount of pain the human body can handle, and I don’t give a shit if we’re in public. I will tear the flesh of your bones and rip apart every single one of your organs, one by one. You took my life away from me, you took the only thing I had, and fucking took her away from me! I swear to god that one day, I will do the same. I don’t care how much I have to sacrifice, I will go to any and all lengths to destroy you and everything you have, even if it costs me my life. Take this as a friendly warning. If you value your life, the best thing you can do is just plead guilty and hide in a prison cell like the dirty rat you are, for the rest of your miserable existence. But even that won’t help you. I will find you, and I will make you pay for what you did to me.
Submitted December 29, 2021 at 11:49AM by Nickrtfmburner https://ift.tt/316g7pk
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