Once Phil was done crying, he went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He needed to focus on finding answers. He concentrated so much on his height loss that he totally forgot about what his friend from the FBI had told him about Veronica. He decided to give her a call, and asked her if the FBI had any copies of the file surrounding the death of Veronica.
His FBI friend told him that she just needed an hour to make the copies. The files were public record, but she could organize them better. They agreed to meet at the coffee shop at noon. Phil just needed to find answers, any answers, that would help him.
Noon arrived, and so did Phil in a cab. Too short to drive his car, he noticed that his ID wasn’t a license anymore, it was considered a State ID. But he made his inside and saw his friend in the back. Once he reached the table, he took a seat. He had to look up at her slightly. He was starting to feel self conscious about his height, but took the file she offered and they ordered lunch.
Due to his diminished size, he could only eat half a BLT, so he set it aside. His friend said that she was totally unfamiliar with the case, as it was before her time. But everything the FBI had was in there. Phil glanced through the file. This wasn’t the place to thoroughly examine the papers. He would wait until he got back home.
Once lunch was over, both stood up. Phil couldn’t believe how much taller his friend appeared than when he saw her a couple of days before. She offered him a ride home, which he accepted. She reached his apartment and dropped him off, and once he thanked her for the ride and the files, went up to his apartment.
Phil poured himself a glass of water, having finished off the remaining bourbon earlier. He sat down on his sofa and opened the file. There were the investigators’ findings, interviews conducted with witnesses, diagrams and photos of the crime scene, plus autopsy reports detailing the nature of the wounds infected and ultimate cause of death.
There were photos of the victims. And that’s when Phil dropped his water. He sat there, staring at a photo of Veronica Cartwright lying on the coroner’s table. The face in the photo was the same as the one he screwed earlier. He couldn’t believe it. The photo showed the same perfect body and face that he was dreaming about, and talking to. He couldn’t understand what the hell was going on. The body in the photo was exactly the same as the one he desired, yet it shouldn’t be possible.
He read the notes of the investigating team. Apparently, there was this Doomsday cult that thought they could save the world if they killed people they believed to be evil. They committed several ritualistic murders over several states, until they were apprehended just after killing their last victim, Veronica Cartwright.
Phil looked at the autopsy report and photos. A knife wound right through the heart. Painless, but quick and effective. He studied the face in the photos. It definitely looked like the woman he just screwed, but this face had more innocence in its appearance. He felt sad for the victim. She was only 21, and had her whole life in front of her, only to be cut short by crazies.
But he also noticed her measurements, written down by the coroner. 70 inches and 120lbs. The same size as the woman he has been dealing with in the present. He tried to rack his brain, coming up with possible theories, but every one he posited made no sense. He needed bourbon, but was completely out, and thought about going to the bar around the corner to buy a bottle.
He also needed something to eat. He ordered a pizza, and while he was on his way to pick up the pie, stopped at the bar to get his bottle. But he found that it was anything but easy.
Opening the door, some of the female barflies saw him and started to harass and tease him due to his size. One even got on her knees to look him in the eye, asking in a mock voice if he was lost, because being out by himself might be too dangerous. Phil tried to ignore her, only to have her arm grab his tightly, enough to cause him pain. She told him that she was talking to him, and it wasn’t polite to just walk away. She asked him if he understood. Phil didn’t say a word, so the lady tightened her grip, causing him to wince in obvious discomfort, and she asked him again if he understood. Phil rushed out a yes, and the lady released his arm. Phil was fighting back a tear from the pain. The lady told him that she wanted an apology, and with no other choice, he did as told.
The lady got back up her seat, and Phil made his way up to the bar, and got 2 bottles of bourbon. After paying, he took his bag, and warily went past the lady who had just tormented him, and then got his pizza, and went back to his apartment. His arm was still sore. But the bourbon helped with the pain, and the pizza hit the spot. He was able to focus on the file and the tons of questions that ran around his mind. The answer had to be in there somewhere. He just needed to find it.
After a couple of hours going over everything in his head, and with the effects of the bourbon taking hold, Phil decided to put the file down. He couldn’t think anymore, and had started to close his eyes when his phone rang. It was Judy Wilson. She wanted him to know that her brother was coming into town the next day, and she wanted to know if he wanted to go with her to meet him. She would swing by and pick him up.
Phil thought her request very odd, considering that he hardly knew her, and had never met her brother. But if it would make her feel better, he agreed. He just needed to know what time he had to be ready. They agreed to meet at 1:00pm. Phil hung up after saying goodbye, and he just felt really tired due to the bourbon and his small stature. He was hoping that all his questions would be answered soon.