Her room was a mess. Clothes randomly hung from the unknown color of the ceiling fan. There were shoes tightly laced up to the bedpost and moldy pizza boxes shoved in the remaining tiny cracks anywhere there was room for one. She truly is a hog, I thought to myself just as an old, saggy frog hopped across the floor and on to my black shoe. It let out a violent, sad sort-of croak. I imagined that it was probably trying to shriek for mercy. ¨I’ll let you out, little guy. As soon as I can find a window. I am afraid that may take a while, my old froggy friend.¨
I scavenged through the room, hurdling over tall piles of filthy socks and shirts. Eventually, I found myself standing in the middle of the room. Just as I thought the so called ¨bedroom” couldn’t get anymore disturbing, trinklets of water dripped on my head from above. But, as I lifted my hand and reached for my bald head, I felt a sticky, wet substance. Immediately, I felt my gag reflex kick in. Slowly, I pulled my hand away from my head, but I found that my hand could not be lifted. Once more I felt another sloppy drip on top of the hand that was, I assumed, stuck to my head for good. Cautiously, I looked up and saw a big can of “Mega Sized Gorilla Glue” tilted to its side on top of the “fan”, “Oh splendid,” I thought to myself.
I didn’t want to look down, for I knew what I would see, a puddle of the sticky glue. And when I say a puddle, it was more like a massive lake. Right smack dab in the middle of the glue lake stood my leather black shoes that a frog once stood atop of.
Investigating will be hard in such a room, I thought to myself, especially when I cannot move my left hand and two feet. It was almost as if she left the room like this on purpose. So we could not trace any evidence of where she had gone. I pulled my gray, work phone out of my back pocket and told Siri to call Detective Farfield.
The phone rang, paused, rang, paused, rang, and I started to worry that he may be on break, and I would be stuck looking foolish with one hand above my head and my two legs perfectly symmetrical. At last he answered with a tired, groggy tone.
“Uh, hello? Detective Farfield speaking.”
“Yes, Farfield, it’s me, Detective Lee. I was, uh, well I am in sort of in a sticky situation, literally. Is there anyway you could come on down to Washington Street where the case of Marin Rooter is being held?” I asked. He didn’t answer so I continued,
“Small, yellow house. Runaway girl? Ring a bell to you?” I waited for a reply and only when I heard him snore did I realize he had fallen asleep.
Oh boy, I thought as I hung up, this is going to be a long night.