This is creeping me out, big time....

Am in the middle of a personal mystery at the moment. I wrote about my friend John's supposed demise via suicide? Well I put my NH posse on it. Bob and Claudette were completely shocked and clueless, as I wanted to know, when, why, how, and why the fuck they never told me. It was news to them... Well, 'fancy' Nancy, formerly of Berlin with her fatal marriage to Heinjörg, who turned out to be the biggest rat of the past decade for personal relationships, is re-married in NH. Long story. To a guy who also worked with us and was always in love with her, and never married till she came back. (Someone should work up a spec on that and send it to Hollywood.)

Whatever, after four days of mourning his 'passing', Bob told me he had been in the local phone directory as late as 2009, went through the obit morgue of the local papers, never found anything, except the phone service at his house had been disconnected, and Nancy shot me an e-mail, saying he was working for a pharmacy in Allenstown. It's a fucking VILLAGE. And gave me a number to call at his workplace. Well, you know they frown on personal calls at work over there, as they do here, meanwhile.... But I always have an ace up my sleeve for such things.

'Can I speak to Mr. R please? Am calling from Austria.' Works every time.....

The woman put him on.... maybe.... It wasn't his voice. It confused me, and he said he couldn't talk, and gave me a number to call in two hours. It was late here, and was falling asleep, so I said I would call the next day, and joyously gave the number to the other three. Who went rushing to call, and heard it was a cell phone, and it goes straight to voice mail, and no one is picking up.

It was only four sentences, but it wasn't his voice. Which has left me with even more questions.

1.) The voice. Listen, I shared a room with him for a year in Salzburg, worked with him in Manchester for three years after that, and we went out every night till all hours of the morning. I knew that voice, and they are like fingerprints. You can have them change with smoking and alcohol, but they still have that 'fingerprint'. So I was rationalising, and thinking, 'ok, changes with age...' But am still confused, because they don't change THAT much....

2) Why take off from the only place he ever lived in, his parent's house in Manchester, which he inherited and loved? Ok, the sub-prime mortgage stuff, but fucking Allenstown? Makes no sense whatsoever, and he was at Rite Aid for decades. In Manchester. Why give up seniority there, huh???

3) My last visit there.... he told me something that chilled me. I do not wish to divulge that right now. It would just be speculation.

Since yesterday was Sunday, I figured he would have the day off, and tried three times, and bingo.... voice mail. By evening, I was so fucking irritated, I left a message, totally pissed off at him.

'Why give me a number if you aren't gonna pick up, huh?'

Told him to ring up my number, and I would immediately call him back.

Nothing. Absolute silence.

Something is really WRONG there... It has sort of creeped me out. No, am not going paranoid. Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing.
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Nancy said she has a mess to do, and it will take a week or so, but she is going to stop by there as soon as she can and find the elusive John R. at his work place. I hope I am over-imaginative at the moment....

However.... . this is really bothering me. If he had just said, 'Listen, I have moved on, and don't want to talk', would have accepted it, and regretted. Of all the people who worked in the cinemas there, we have a very special bond. Sometimes we get wrapped up in our own lives, but if one of us has troubles, everyone comes around and is supportive. I guess that comes from sitting up late nights when we were in our late teens after we closed up, discussing whatever new 'shocking' thing had come out, bonding-----and the 'rent's thought we were doing drugs or worse. It was sort of funny, actually.... intense discussions, sharing our experiences.

So no, am not channeling my hysterical bio-Mom, Lorraine. It's been a week, and I keep trying to take a look at this picture from every angle, and it just does not make any sense to me. So am probably dumb, don't know... but in my gut.... something is wrong.

So can we do an Agatha Christie post mortem Krimi novel now?

It is driving me off the charts for wondering, as John would have said....

Tja, isn't life odd, and I should really stop watching 48 Hours/Mystery on CBS every week on the internets. Gives you brain cavities like sugar to teeth.