He looked around her blankly. They were very anxious to catch his entrance into the room, so it was necessary to repeat the shot because the operator waiting behind the closed door was late in activating the camera. The second time he was accompanied by a second camera, portable, recording the entrance to the room over his shoulder. Then I thought that they would probably remake these shots in such a way as to add mystery to the scene and such an atmosphere as if at any moment a terrible figure of a horror film would pop out from behind the door.
Paul Mallory, who started out with news announcements, showed up upstairs with refreshed makeup and a ponytail red hair. He and Alan were equipped with microports with transmitters strapped to the wardrobe somewhere on their backs, with cables tucked underneath their blouses, extending from the collar at the nape of the neck under the hair. Finally, Paul nudged Alan lightly with his shoulder, like a good old buddy eager to reminisce about the old blunders of the good old days. As they went down to the kitchen, Paul asked in front of the cameras: What were you thinking then? There was deathly silence throughout the house, if I remember correctly. Your sister wasn't in the bedroom, so you went downstairs to the kitchen, but here you found no sign of life.
"I had no idea anything happened yet," Alan said in a low voice. - I thought that everyone had to leave the house earlier, that my dad went on a business trip again, and my mom took my sister to school because she was supposed to do something in the city. I thought everyone was angry with me for my inappropriate behavior the night before.
- Did you give your parents a lot of trouble as a teenager? Paul asked.
"Well, I've had… worse and better times." The previous night I was out with a friend my parents didn't approve of, and we had a little drink together. But besides, I wasn't like the other kids, I mean ... I loved my parents a lot and I think ... his voice was starting to break, ... that they loved me too.
- We read the police reports from that period, as well as your testimony, which shows that you had an argument with your parents.
"Yes," Alan admitted. "It was just that I didn't get home on time and lied to them. I did tell them some nasty things then."
- And exactly?
"Oh ..." he paused for a moment, "... well, you know ... Children quite often make very unpleasant remarks to their parents that have little to do with reality."
"Where do you think they are now, thirteen years after what happened?"
Alan shook his head sadly.
- I keep asking myself this question. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it.
"If you could tell them something right now on Hopeline, assuming they're still alive, of course, what would it be?"
Alan, quite confused, turned his head and looked desperately out the kitchen window.
"Look at the camera lens," Paul Mallory said, placing a hand on his shoulder. I was far too far away to step on the set at that moment and show the audience what Paul looks like without his fake face, which he only owed his make-up.
- Try to ask them what you have wanted to ask all these past years.
Alan turned his brilliant brown eyes to the camera and did what he was asked to do, though his question sounded too laconic at first:
- Why?
Paul counted out a dramatic pause in memory, then remarked:
- Why what, Alan?
"Why ..." my husband repeated mainly to pull himself together, "... did you have to get away from me? If it is possible ... if you are still alive, why don't you contact me?"
Why didn't you leave ... even a short message?
Why couldn't you afford to at least say goodbye? I felt the tension between the entire crew, from the cinematographers to the producers of the report. None of them even dared sigh. But I knew exactly what they were thinking. They just had to come up with a shocking reportage. I hated them for investigating Alan's tragic mystery, for constantly referring to curriculum requirements, but it was their profession after all. Ultimately, it was just about attracting the viewer's attention, for entertainment. I didn't say a word, convinced that Alan understood it perfectly, I realized that they were brazenly using their advantage, because for them he was just the protagonist of one more half-hour broadcast, a way to fill the air on the schedule. But he was ready to devote himself entirely to this reportage, if any of the viewers really helped him in unraveling the mystery from years ago.