Chapter 4

Leslie still didn’t exactly know where she was headed. At least, not consciously. She drove southward, away from both of her previous homes and towards the single most peaceful place in her memory.

Stopping every few hours, Leslie continued on her journey. The days felt long, but Leslie was at least used to her car, and she grew accustomed to the driving. When she wasn’t worrying about who might be following her, Leslie tried to think about this as a road trip. A vacation, even, that she’d gone on willingly. Leslie pulled out her camera at each rest stop, commemorating the first time she had set foot in each state.

When she could no longer stand to drive, Leslie again managed to find a hotel that was not part of a bigger chain. This hotel, however, lacked both the stark formality of a typical hotel and the quaint eccentricity of the Caribee Inn. Even the front lobby was dingy; Leslie recoiled at the thought of what the rooms must look like, but her money supply was dwindling and she was just too tired to look for a new place this late.

One perk of the hotel was a computer lab- or, at least, a sad excuse for one. Leslie used her room key to let herself into lab before checking out her room, and sat down at one of two computers that looked to be, possibly, ten years old. She shoved aside the printer, which was obviously unplugged and probably didn’t work anyway, so that she could lean her elbow on the desk and rest her head against her hand while waiting for the computer to turn on.

Finally, Leslie opened an Internet browser, and waited for the computer to connect. Seriously, she thought, who uses dial-up anymore?

Just as Leslie’s patience began to wear thin, the computer ended its series of ancient beeps and allowed her to search. She quickly typed in “Camden Courier” and waited thirty seconds for the webpage of her hometown’s newspaper to appear. After working at the newspaper for two and a half years, the page was all-too-familiar to Leslie.

She glanced through the top headlines, and wasn’t surprised to see an article entitled “No News Yet on Missing Journalist.” She rolled her eyes a little, knowing that her editor must have loved the pun. Leslie knew the editor probably wasn’t missing her much, either; the two had always clashed. Leslie was one to take risks, and she was never afraid to write something unique or hard-hitting, even if it might anger important people; the editor, however, had been out of writing far too long, and had been scared into submission by the most powerful people in the city. In a small city, Denise had insisted, you can’t make enemies like that. Leslie had responded by suggesting an exposé on the tyranny of the pharmacy company in town, and Denise had relegated Leslie to obituaries and announcements for a week. It was a rough first week for the both of them.

Leslie’s honesty, youth, and open-mindedness were all qualities that had helped her be hired at the Courier, she knew- her writing was strong, and the fact that she hadn’t grown up in Camden gave her a different perspective than most of the paper’s reporters. Still, Denise had never given Leslie a chance to exercise her creativity; Leslie’s snarky editorials and insightful articles were rarely published, at least not without significant rewrite. Although most of her coworkers were impressed by Leslie’s writing, they refused to speak up. It seemed they were too afraid for their jobs to challenge Denise the Dictator, as Leslie had taken to calling her. Only Jordan had respected her integrity, and spoke up.

It was how the two had met, actually. He was a copy editor, and a good one. Although Jordan had grown up in Camden like most of the other staff members, he had gone across the country for college. His eyes had actually been opened to the world outside Camden, and he was a breath of fresh air to Leslie. Like hers, Jordan's journalistic standards were high, and he believed in unearthing the truth at any cost.

Leslie respected his dedication, but it worried her now. She knew Jordan well, and she knew he would stop at nothing to solve a mystery that meant something to him. Her sudden disappearance certainly fit into that category.

The article gave Leslie little insight into the police’s investigation. It simply relayed the story as she knew it.

CAMDEN, WI—Three days have now passed since local woman and Courier columnist Leslie Phillips was last seen. Phillips has been missing since the evening of Saturday, September 24, when her fiancée reportedly returned home to find a note she had left. The note seems to have provided no clues to her current location. Since receiving a missing person’s report on Sunday, the police have been unable to contact Phillips. Her vehicle, a teal 1998 Ford Mustang, was also noted absent on Saturday evening. Photos of both Leslie and her Mustang are provided, at right, to aid in the search.

Phillips, who has worked for the Camden Courier for over two years, is a native of California. Phillips was also engaged to be married in July of next year.

Anyone with more information on the whereabouts of Leslie Phillips or her vehicle is urged to contact local or state police as soon as possible.

Leslie did at least deduce that the state police must be involved, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Plenty of crimes were beyond the capabilities of Camden’s small police force. The state police’s participation also didn’t terribly concern Leslie now that she was out of state and had drastically changed both her physical appearance and her vehicle. No one who knew Leslie would ever expect to see her with short, boring brown hair and glasses- much less in a prudent silver sedan. Denise the Dictator, she thought ruefully, would have a cow to see her looking so conservative and mainstream.

Leslie plugged in the printer, and to her surprise, it appeared to work. The ink was running low, so the print was awkward and faded with lines running through each letter, but nonetheless, Leslie wanted a copy of the article.

Leslie waited for the printer to finish, and folded the page neatly. She shut down the computer and placed the article in the bottom of her purse for safekeeping before walking up the hotel’s creaky stairs to find her room.

It was as besmirched as Leslie had expected; a couple of questionable stains dotted the floor, and she was quite sure the off-white bedspread was once white. Leslie wrinkled her nose, disgusted, but her need for sleep overshadowed her distrust in the hotel's cleanliness. She just barely remembered to put the “Privacy, Please” sign outside her door, and didn't even bother to change her clothes before she crawled into bed.

Word Count: 3956 (a lowly 7.9%)