Silence roused George from his stupor. His Ravel disc had reached the end, so now the only sound was the chatter of his wife’s tv. He removed the headphones and set them on his lap, then rubbed his eyes and temples. Man, what a headache! The television was babbling something about the upcoming election. It was making no sense to George. Where was that confounded remote? He spotted it over by Harriet’s chair. Finally he began to wonder why the chair was vacant. He called out her name, competing in volume with the tv. No response. Resolutely, he plumped down his recliner and got stiffly to his feet. He staggered and nearly fell, but luckily the room wasn’t spinning. George shuffled to the other chair and picked up the remote. Aiming it at the screen, he hit the power button. Poof. Good riddance, he thought. But what about Harriet?
He stumbled from the family room into the living room, again rubbing his temples. There was no sign of his wife, and no reply to his sporadic calls. Then suddenly his eyes lighted upon something odd on the floor. It was a smoldering cigarette butt, and immediately George knew something was wrong. The front door was closed but unlocked. He went through it, his drunken mind instantly sober, out onto the porch. Even more strangely, Harriet’s car was still parked in the driveway. His heart began to palpitate with a growing sense of panic. What on earth had happened to her? He ran out into the gathering dusk, calling her name, yet feeling more and more like a fool. He had no clue where she had gone, so it made no sense to go looking on foot. He considered driving around town in search of her, but it would have been futile. At last he went back inside the house. George figured that he ought to begin his search by using the telephone.
Hours and many phone calls later, his search proved to be fruitless. No one had any information about the whereabouts of Harriet. She seemed to have disappeared. George filed a missing person report, yet even the sheriff’s office gave him the runaround. After he thought he had exhausted every resource, he crumpled into his chair, utterly defeated. His eyes were glazed over, staring into emptiness before him. By chance, they fell upon a page of a newspaper lying next to him. It was open to the classified ads, one of which was bold and conspicuous. He grabbed the paper for a closer look. The advertisement ran as follows:
Mr Rock n Roll Guy can help you!
Righting wrongs free of charge since 1986.
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