The Three (32 page)

1. Report from vehicle examination centre re Chevrolet Suburban. Evidence of damage to hood and front windshield consistent with impact from a deer. Crumpling of rear of vehicle consistent with impact with a tree trunk. Shattered rear window and damaged central lap belt. No evidence of any pre-accident damage or faults to the vehicle.

2. Report from RTA examination team. Skid marks indicate likelihood of sudden braking secondary to impacting with deer at moderate to high speed with resultant spinning off the road of vehicle and rear off-side impact with tree. Adult seat belts remained in place, but central, rear lap belt open and partially damaged, resulting in the ejection of the male child casualty through the shattered rear window.

On 11/06/2012 at 9.45 a.m. a complete post mortem examination was performed on the body of Bobby Small, who was identified by the Norfolk County Chief Medical Examiner’s Office. David Michaels was present as autopsy assistant.

Bobby Small was wearing a bright red baseball cap (retrieved at the scene), blue jeans, a red
Night at the Museum
T-shirt, a pale grey hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of red Converse sneakers.

The body is that of a well-nourished white young male consistent with a stated age of 6 years.

Body length 45 inches Weight 46lbs.

Light blonde, medium length slightly curly scalp hair. No nevi or tattoos. A small scar on the forehead. Superficial abrasions to forehead, nose and chin. Pupils equal and regular. Light blue irides. Healthy milk teeth with absent two upper front incisors.

List of Weird Shit Jess said today (8 June)

(more on the new obsession with boredom). Uncle Paul, do you get bored being you? I’m bored being me. (goes back to watching her new favourite show, fucking
TOWIE
). These people are bored being them. (I ask her wtf that means). Being bored is like being a cup that can’t be filled (v fucking zen, where’d she hear that?????? Certainly not on Celeb Big Brother).

(10 June)

I hand her her supper she says, Uncle Paul, does Stephen smell as bad as these fish fingers now? (I scream, she laughs). I leave she turns channel to the news. I hear her laughing at something else. Almost throw up when I see it’s a report that Bobby Small has been killed in a car accident. I ask whats funny she says, he’s not dead he’s just playing silly-billy. Like mummy and daddy and polly.

(I’m in the kitchen, thinking about the pills again ie how many would it take to be sure). She glides in without me seeing her. Moves too close to my face. She says, am I special paul? They say I am at school. It’s so easy.

(14 June)

It finds me crying. Do you want to come play my little pony with me? You can be princess luna again and stephen can be princess celestia (laughs).

To:
[email protected]

From
openyreyes.com

Subject:
RE: Advice in confidence

Date: 14/06/2012

Paul, thanks for your email, happy to help in any way I can.

As I said when we spoke telephonically, the commonest way in which they work is by implanting a MICROCHIP inside the subject. I believe that at the moment of the crashes, the children were put into stasis, which is why they were not injured. Then they were implanted. Through ‘voice to skull’ manipulation, the Others (ALIENS) are able to control and influence those they have chosen. This is a new type of technology that is LIGHT YEARS away from what we can yet do in our realm.

You say you have checked out all the options and have proved this is NOT a case of demonic possession. I applaud you for being so thorough.

I’m not at all surprised that Jess is showing disturbing symptoms, or out of character behaviour–this is to be expected. Remember, a change in PERSONALITY is NOT actually a symptom of PTSD. As you say, look at what’s happening with the boy in Japan (talking through a mechanism, a ROBOT) and the boy in America, who was no doubt experimenting with his grandfather’s cognative [
sic
] functioning. It is very unlikely he is dead. This is a government ruse as they are in cahoots with the OTHERS. They receive immunity from experimentation and have made a treaty with the aliens so that they can have free rein to feed off our energies.

Your questions about the Pamelist theory are very interesting. I believe that there are a LOT of similarities with the truth. Very close to what WE believe. They are wrong, but MORE RIGHT THAN THEY KNOW.

And what you are feeling mustn’t be confused with Capgras syndrome. That is a psychological anomoly [
sic
].

How to proceed? I would be cautious around Jess, it’s unlikely she will do anything to harm you. The dreams and visions you
are having are probably interference from the chip. I would advise you to watch her carefully, and be careful what you let on to her.

Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.

Best,

Si

I usually wake very early, at around five, and as I wait for daylight to come, I often watch the clock next to my bed. This is how I knew the exact time of the first gunshot. Although my block is situated only two hundred metres from the busy Hatsudai expressway, it’s well insulated from noise, but that sound made its way into my room. A muffled bang, which made me flinch, then another, then two more. I had never heard a gunshot before, except on television, so I did not know what to think. Perhaps that it was fireworks? And I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from.

It took me several minutes to climb into my wheelchair, but gradually I made it over to the window where I spend most of each day. I don’t go out very often. There is a lift in the apartment building, but it’s hard to get through the door without help, and my sister can only find the time to visit me once a week, when she brings me groceries. I lived here for many years with my husband, and when he died I decided I would stay. This is my home.

It was not yet light, the sun was still struggling into the sky, but because of the streetlights I could see from my position that the Kamamoto family’s front door was open. It was too early for Kamamoto-san to leave for work; he left every day at six, so that did give me some cause for concern. No one else in the neighbourhood had stirred. When I was questioned by the police later that day, they said that my neighbours who’d heard the gunshots assumed they were hearing a car back-firing.

I opened my window to let in some fresh air, then waited to see if the sound would come again or if anyone would emerge from the house. Then, I saw two figures walking towards the house
from the direction of the Hatsudai. When they passed beneath my window, I recognised the girl as Chiyoko Kamamoto and I could tell by his long hair that her companion was the boy I’d seen hanging around in the children’s playground many times before. Once, I’d seen him spray-painting a message on the pavement, but he’d cleaned it off, so I did not complain. Those two were very different types of people. Chiyoko walked upright as if she owned the streets; he would hunch over as if he was trying to appear smaller than he was. I had seen Chiyoko slipping out of the house many times at night to meet him, but this was the first time I had seen her returning. They were talking quietly, so I could not hear the details of their conversation. Chiyoko laughed and nudged the boy with her elbow and he bent down to kiss her. Then she playfully pushed him away and turned to walk into her house.

She hesitated when she saw the door was open and turned back to say something to her companion. She went inside and thirty seconds later I heard a scream. Not just a scream, a howl. The anguish in that sound was terrible to hear.

The man, who was still waiting outside, jerked as if he had been slapped, then ran into the house.

Several neighbours started emerging from their doorways, disturbed by the screams, which sounded as if they would never stop.

Chiyoko staggered out into the street, the boy in her arms. I thought at first she was covered in black paint, but as she stumbled into the light beneath my window, it became red. The little boy, Hiro, was limp in her arms, and… and… I couldn’t see his face. Just blood and bone where it should be. The tall boy tried to help her, as did the neighbours, but she screamed at them to leave her alone. She was yelling at Hiro to wake up, to stop pretending.

He was such a dear little boy. Whenever he left the apartment, he would always look up at me and wave. My sister didn’t believe me at first when I told her that the miracle child was living in the house across the street from me. The whole of Japan took that boy into their hearts. Sometimes there were photographers waiting in
the street; once, one knocked on the door and asked if he could film the house from my apartment, but I refused.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later that I heard the ambulance arriving. It took three paramedics to take Hiro’s body away from Chiyoko; she fought and hit and bit them. The police attempted to drag her towards one of their vehicles, but she twisted out of their grasp, and before they could stop her, she started running away, still drenched in blood. The long-haired boy sprinted after her.

The crowd of onlookers and reporters grew as the news spread. There was a hush as the bodies, encased in their black plastic shrouds, were removed from the house. That was when I turned away from the window.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I thought that I would never sleep again.