Betrayed Read Online Free
Author: Carol Thompson
must have contacts whom he could ask for help. He peppered his conversation with complaints about working conditions and the lack of tools for his job. Doors banged as he and his fellow officers packed up for the weekend. There were grumblings of how short- staffed they were, remarks about how they couldnât wait to get away from the police force. Doubts started to trickle into my mind about the commitment of our law enforcement agencies to fighting crime. âTo protect and serveâ seemed to have no meaning on that Friday.
Back home, rage engulfed me. Emotionally exhausted, I lay on the bed and tried to close my eyes, but appalling visions gave me no peace . Nothing was calm; nothing was quiet. Brutish, unspeakable thoughts beat endlessly against the walls of my skull. Frustration at my helplessness mixed with fury at how my family had been treated, especially my missing child. I was thinking in circles instead of focusing on what could and should be done. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed them hard, trying to concentrate. First, I decided, I needed to get someone with authority to start treating my daughterâ s disappearance as serious.
A puzzle of pictures was running through my head, images flitting and flashing. Suddenly I sat bolt upright. Like the bright flare of a neon sign, I remembered that the 4x4 Club of South Africa had a search and rescue unit. I jumped up to hunt down the telephone number and was soon explaining my predicament as concisely as I could to a member of the rescue unit.
âIâll be at your house within an hour,â he promised.
I paced like a predator on the prowl. All eternity seemed to pass. Then I saw his headlights approaching the front gate. Within min utes we were sitting at the kitchen table and I was telling him the little I knew about what had happened. Believing honesty was the only way I would find my daughter, dead or alive, I explained that Tracey had a history of drug use but had been clean for a year. I confessed my suspicions over the last month or two that she may have relapsed, but not to the extent that she was using daily. We co n sidered the possibility that she might have run away, but agreed tha t she was an independent young adult who could come and go freely; there was no reason for her to run away.
Two cups of coffee later, he alerted the rescue unit that they should be on standby. A search was organised for six the following morning, on the understanding that I wouldnât go anywhere near the search area. Reluctantly I agreed and he left me to face my waking night mares, my head a cesspit of hideous thoughts and images.
My life had become a living hell. Minutes passed slowly, painfully, until the new day dawned. The rescue unit phoned to say they had co-ordinated with the police to set up a search centre. The leader of the unit and a police officer had gone to Traceyâs cottage to ask a few questions and to get an item of clothing for the SAP K9 unitâs sniffer dogs to use to track her.
Forced to sit on the sidelines, I was agitated, on edge. The waiting was killing me. Stop, stay, linger, do nothing. I couldnât sit at home and let time pass idly by. Not knowing what else to do, I set off in the car with Glen to put up posters and missing personâs pleas on every shop window and filling station that would allow us to do so.
Nothing felt or seemed right. While I was busy with one thing, my mind hopped to something else and I changed direction in the middle, only to swerve back again. At home, I wanted to be out doing some thing constructive, anything to keep busy, to move things forward. Now I was worried about being away from home for too long, in case the search and rescue unit had some tangible news. Every thought turned into something else until none of it made any sense at all. So we returned home to pace the floors once more, impatient and un easy.
My friend Carolyn dropped in to offer her support,
Back home, rage engulfed me. Emotionally exhausted, I lay on the bed and tried to close my eyes, but appalling visions gave me no peace . Nothing was calm; nothing was quiet. Brutish, unspeakable thoughts beat endlessly against the walls of my skull. Frustration at my helplessness mixed with fury at how my family had been treated, especially my missing child. I was thinking in circles instead of focusing on what could and should be done. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed them hard, trying to concentrate. First, I decided, I needed to get someone with authority to start treating my daughterâ s disappearance as serious.
A puzzle of pictures was running through my head, images flitting and flashing. Suddenly I sat bolt upright. Like the bright flare of a neon sign, I remembered that the 4x4 Club of South Africa had a search and rescue unit. I jumped up to hunt down the telephone number and was soon explaining my predicament as concisely as I could to a member of the rescue unit.
âIâll be at your house within an hour,â he promised.
I paced like a predator on the prowl. All eternity seemed to pass. Then I saw his headlights approaching the front gate. Within min utes we were sitting at the kitchen table and I was telling him the little I knew about what had happened. Believing honesty was the only way I would find my daughter, dead or alive, I explained that Tracey had a history of drug use but had been clean for a year. I confessed my suspicions over the last month or two that she may have relapsed, but not to the extent that she was using daily. We co n sidered the possibility that she might have run away, but agreed tha t she was an independent young adult who could come and go freely; there was no reason for her to run away.
Two cups of coffee later, he alerted the rescue unit that they should be on standby. A search was organised for six the following morning, on the understanding that I wouldnât go anywhere near the search area. Reluctantly I agreed and he left me to face my waking night mares, my head a cesspit of hideous thoughts and images.
My life had become a living hell. Minutes passed slowly, painfully, until the new day dawned. The rescue unit phoned to say they had co-ordinated with the police to set up a search centre. The leader of the unit and a police officer had gone to Traceyâs cottage to ask a few questions and to get an item of clothing for the SAP K9 unitâs sniffer dogs to use to track her.
Forced to sit on the sidelines, I was agitated, on edge. The waiting was killing me. Stop, stay, linger, do nothing. I couldnât sit at home and let time pass idly by. Not knowing what else to do, I set off in the car with Glen to put up posters and missing personâs pleas on every shop window and filling station that would allow us to do so.
Nothing felt or seemed right. While I was busy with one thing, my mind hopped to something else and I changed direction in the middle, only to swerve back again. At home, I wanted to be out doing some thing constructive, anything to keep busy, to move things forward. Now I was worried about being away from home for too long, in case the search and rescue unit had some tangible news. Every thought turned into something else until none of it made any sense at all. So we returned home to pace the floors once more, impatient and un easy.
My friend Carolyn dropped in to offer her support,
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