Ode to Miss Texas: Pt. III
Animated, almost beside herself, her emotions vacillated between murderous rage and paralyzing terror. Miss Texas insisted that this alleged CIA guy would “get” her – for what, I didn’t know. In response to what quickly degenerated into incoherent babbling, I brewed her some tea. By the time I got it into the mug, she had calmed down to the point where could tell me her version of what went on.
She said that the morning she left with the supposed spook, they went down to Atlantic City, where for two days they enjoyed what remained of the good weather on the beach, while doing some sightseeing, shopping and gambling. He then took her home, and placed her, for lack of a better term, under house arrest. He started by suggesting that she stay in the house all day while he went to work. When she didn’t, he started drugging her food, so that she couldn’t leave her bed. She ultimately decided to play along, and he stopped poisoning her. She then took the opportunity to snoop around his place, and ultimately found that he had been keeping a number of different women against their will in various places around New Jersey, and from that point on, she knew that she had to find some way to get out of there.
When I asked her what this had to do with the CIA, she explained that he worked as a director for some kind of federal AIDS program that served as an Agency front. He had been part of a group who in the late-1970s had infected a number of gay men with the fatal disease as part of an experiment. His people were supposedly monitoring the first several generations of AIDS victims. For some, unexplained reason, they also kept a number of women.
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a 3.5 inch floppy that she admitted swiping before she left. She said it would prove everything, and asked me to see if I could open any files on it. If I needed help with a password, she could find it out. How, she left to my imagination.
I couldn’t believe a word of anything she said. Had she so much as mentioned anything about space aliens, I might have called the hospital. But, since she would be going back to Texas the following afternoon, I reckoned that I would just put her on the bus and let her parents take care of her.
I didn’t call her crazy, or anything. I just listened, and occasionally interjected questions that might point out the inconsistencies in her story. She had an answer for each and every one. I pointed out that if he wanted to keep her in New Jersey that badly, he could’ve just chained her up, or made her wear one of those dog collars that shocks the hell out of you if you try to cross a certain boundary. She said that he had threatened to handcuff her to the bed, which I guess would be kinda similar had he actually done it. She could only escape by insisting that there would be people looking for her if she were delayed. That was the whole point of it. It had to appear as though she simply vanished. She had lied to him, saying that I knew who he was, where he lived, and his telephone number. If anything happened to her, then I would know whom to blame. Since she had left some stuff back in my apartment, I would naturally have expected her back. If she never returned, she figured that I would call local police.
When we went to bed that night, I could see that she was still very afraid. Lying in my dirty clothes, I assured her that everything would be fine. I offered to stay with her for the duration of her remaining time in New York. Still, she kept talking as though she were trying to accept her fate. She went over the terms of her will, and worried about how her kids would turn out in her absence.