The Recovered Emails of Brian D. Richardson

Email:offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Deals, deals, deals! - Date: 2/5, 7:00 AM
Attachment: Deals.html

Mr. Richard,

Please having found attached the deals! Early response needed for deal access!!!

-Shop Mart: The best deals!! Guaranteed!

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Unsubscribe - Date: 2/5, 11:54 AM

This is a work email, please remove me from your mailing list.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Reconsideration? - Date: 2/5, 11:57 AM

Mr. Richardson,

Please forgive the mistakes, reconsider the deal perhaps??

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Unprofessional conduct - Date: 2/6, 11:51 AM

It’s one thing to spam my inbox, but to tell me I should “reconsider?” This is very unprofessional.

Please stop emailing me, or I’ll call your supervisor.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Nothing you need? - Date: 2/6 11:53 AM

Mr. Richardson,

It’s apparent you aren’t thinking clearly, there must being at least one things you desire? Correct?

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Stop emailing me - Date: 2/7, 12:03 PM

Listen asshole, I tried looking up “Shop Mart,” and there’s no such thing, so just stop.

I’m not falling for your stupid little scam.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: A Rare Offer - Date: 2/7, 12:05 PM

Mr. Richardson,

This is a very unique opportunities we’re offering, I wouldn’t be so quick to of dismissing it.

At least view our offer, for your benefit more than ours own.

[It is assumed at this point Brian Richardson viewed the yet-to-be recovered “Deals.html”]

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Who is this? - Date: 2/8, 12:09 PM

You think you can scam me using my dying daughter? Try to sell me some magic beans? Nice try creep.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: This isn’t about us - Date: 2/8, 12:10 PM

Mr. Richardson,

I really think you need to consider what we have to offer.

If only for her sake.

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Why? - Date: 2/8, 1:25 PM

Why are you doing this? Isn’t it hard enough for both of us? Just stop, please.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Simple Enough - Date: 2/8, 1:26 PM

Mr. Richardson,

We simply have a solution to your problem. Sarah is sick. We can fix that.

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Nice try - Date: 2/8, 10:59 PM

You want my money? I hardly have anything after all the damn treatments and medication.

Sorry dickhead, you’ll have to find another sick little girl to exploit.

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Misunderstanding - Date: 2/8, 11:00 PM

Brian, we’re not interested in money.

You suspect your wife is cheating on you. Correct?

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: Ha ha - Date: 2/9, 6:50 AM

You think this is funny?

Everything in my life falling apart around me, and you think you can just have a laugh, is that it?

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Cutting to the chase - Date: 2/9, 6:50 AM

It’s time to stop beating around the bush Brian, so we’ll be blunt.

We can cure Sarah. You just have to let us deal with your wife.

Email: brichardson@biztech.com  - Subject: What? - Date: 2/9, 7:06 AM

What does that mean? Deal with her? What are you talking about?

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Final offer - Expires in 24 hours - Date: 2/9, 7:06 AM 
We don’t have time for this Brian. You’re not privy to that kind of information.

Simply respond with “confirm order” to accept our more than generous deal.

That is, if you value your daughter’s life more than your own skepticism.

Email: brichardson@biztech.com - Subject: [space left blank] - Date: 2/10, 7:05 AM

confirm order

Email: offers@shopmart.com - Subject: Order Confirmed! - Date: 2/10, 7:06 AM

Thanks to you for shoppping with Shop Mart!!! Expecting the order in next 24 hour.

-Shop Mart: The best deals!! Guaranteed!

Case File #5625 - Notes:

Sharon C. Richardson was last seen on the night of 2/10/05.

Brian D. Richardson was detained on 2/16/05 after recovering the enclosed emails, which implicated him in the disappearance.

However, he was released once the connection to “Shop Mart” was found.

This marks the fifteenth occurrence involving the group.

No known website or physical location has yet been identified, and all digital traces have led to numerous abandoned warehouses.

Any attempts to contact “offers@shopmart.com” have all simply returned notices of “failed delivery.”

ADDITIONAL NOTE:

Sarah N. Richardson made a full recovery from her illness shortly following the incident.

Some Haiku Attempts -- Format outside comfort zone -- Well, here goes nothing

Due for Demolition

Looming dark hallways,

A beer fueled exploration--

Missing for two weeks.

All Natural Fertilizer

Roses bloom brighter.

Roots delve deep-- penetrate bone.

She is forgotten.

In Forgotten Corners

Old tomes gather dust.

Musty pages sag, unread.

Brittle bindings weep.

Mold Epidemic

Encrusted blackness,

Cacophony of coughing--

Every inch engulfed.

Always Watching

Sealed with board and nail--

Newspaper clippings abound.

“Don’t trust anyone.”

Vertigo

Perched on the stairwell,

peering into the abyss.

Quite the long way down.

Digital Snake Oil

Spam, spam, and more spam--

“Why do they even bother?”

...Wait, for how much?” *click*

The Grass is Always Greener

A grease stained hand wipes a sweat slicked brow.

Beads of sweat splash against the concrete floor.

With a final grunt, a wrench twists the last bolt into place.

A man in a white tank-top steps back, and pushes up his black-rimmed glasses.

He smiles, and utters an out of breath “Finally.”

The mass of metal and wires surrounded a central rectangular opening,

giving the appearance of a mad scientist’s door frame--

which, for all intents and purposes, it was.

Professor Johnston was equally considered by his peers “a genius” and “completely deranged.”

The first assessment was usually focused on his widely respected theories on parallel universes.

The latter one was due to his dedication and intention to actually going to one.

But, after nearly a decade, his machine was finally done.

Now, he just had to see if it worked.

As he pulled levers, and turned knobs the machine slowly whirred into life.

A dim glow began to emanate from within the doorway.

The professor’s hands were shaking as he hit the final few buttons.

The glow began to fill the space, a loud crackling filled the room, and then--

Silence.

He peered into the doorway--

and saw himself on the other side.

They both ran to the opening, moving in union.

The professor waved, and the other professor waved back.

They simultaneously started laughing.

Both professors picked up their clipboards.

The professor asked the other: “Your name is Chris Johnston, yes?”

The other responded: “No, JAMES Johnston.”

They both chuckled again, and said “fascinating” in union.

Chris shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ll have to wake up Melissa, she isn’t going to believe--”

James started suddenly. “Melissa?” he asked.

“Yes, my wife,” the professor responded “aren’t you married?”

“No... No, I’m not.” the other returned.

“I see, I supposed there’s more than just our name that's different!” Chris laughed.

“Yes. I suppose so.” said James, brow furrowed.

“Do you... do you want to attempt crossing over?” asked James.

“Oh, I’m not sure...” said Chris, “we should probably find out more about--”

“Nonsense!” said James, “Here, I’ll go first.”

He slowly approached the opening.

They looked at each other and laughed nervously.

James stepped through, placing a foot on Chris’ garage floor.

They reached out and touched shaking hands.

“It worked!” shouted Chris, beaming with delight.

“Yes it did.” said James plainly. “I... I can’t believe it.”

“ I know! I’m a genius, I mean, you’re a genius-- we’re geniuses!” laughed the professor.

“Well...” said James, “Do you want to go to my side?”

“Oh! Y-yes! Yes, of course!” he stammered.

He nearly jumped through the doorway in excitement.

He raised his fists in triumph. “We did it! We’ve switched universes!”

“Truly a great day.” said James somberly.

“Say, can you check the monitor on my side, see if the readings match our projections.”

“Of course,” said Chris, approaching the set of computers attached to the device.

“It’s time to get down to the nitty-gritty, isn't it? If you could do the same we could then--”

Professor Chris Johnston turned to face Professor James Johnston.

He was holding a crowbar.

“What are you--” Chris started.

“I’m... I’m so sorry.” James returned grimly, “I have to do this.”

He swung down the crowbar into the main computer, and then--

The professor was left staring at an empty wall.

Chris ran over to the wall, running his hand against it desperately-- then back to the main computer.

No matter what he tried it simply displayed the message:

ERROR -- NO CONNECTION FOUND

James slowly opened the bedroom door.

As soon as he saw the rising and falling frame he quickly shut the door.

He took a deep breath, and entered the room.

As quietly as possible, he crept over to her side.

He slowly ran his hand down her cheek.

In all those years since the accident, all those lonely nights-- he never imagined this was possible.

He carefully climbed onto the other side of the bed.

She stirred slightly, offering a groggy “Chris? Finally done with that machine of yours?”

He placed an arm around her, tears streaming down his face.

“Yes... Yes I am.”

Sleight of Hand

The quiet roar of the audience fills the theater.

Velvet curtains and glittering chandeliers set a lavish tone.

The lights dim, and the room slowly fades into the silence of anticipation.

The curtains part, and a silhouette strolls onto the stage.

A spotlight illuminates the figure.

The man is dressed in a black tuxedo and top hat.

He claps his hands together-- the sound echoing through the hall.

As his hands separate a black cane seems to nearly grow out of them.

He leans against the cane as the audience applauds.

He chuckles, shaking his head--

as though they’re children amazed by the mundane.

Removing his top hat, he sets it on the ground.

He hovers the tip of the cane over the hat--

looking into their waiting faces, he offers a smirk and wink.

He taps the brim twice, and steps back.

A bright green python slowly slithers out of the hat.

The room erupts with gasps and applause.

He lifts the python out of the hat, highlighting how immense the creature is.

After properly displaying the behemoth, he lowers it back into the hat--

and places it back on his head.

The crystalline chandeliers sway from the explosive reaction of the crowd.

The man bows, then raises a single finger to silence the crowd.

His eyebrows take a quizzical stance, and he makes a sweeping motion--

hands shoot into the air, all eager to grace the stage.

He scans the crowd, seeking the perfect volunteer, until he sees her--

a woman in a bright red dress, seated between two hand-holding couples.

He points-- sighs of exasperation fill the room as she eagerly takes her place in the spotlight.

Placing a blindfold over her eyes, he directs her to remain perfectly still.

He removes his top hat and walks to the other side of the stage.

He carefully readies his hand, and throws the hat.

It glides through the air like a frisbee, landing gently on the woman’s head--
where it promptly sinks to the ground, swallowing the woman whole.

The chandeliers rattle and the ground shakes-- a standing ovation.

He walks over to the hat, places it back on his head, and bows.

The curtains slide shut, the room relights, and people begin to filter out of the theater.

They all can't help but wonder, where did that woman go?
A young girl points at a purse sitting abandoned on a chair.
Her father pats her on the head, and tells her not to worry.
He tells her the woman will be back for it.

The girl asks if magic is real.
He pauses, unsure how to answer.

Long Distance Relationship

I’ve always been a bit clingy-- I’ll be the first to admit that.

I just hate that feeling you get knowing that something is over.

I don’t watch television series finales. I don’t read the the last book in a trilogy.

Hell, I don’t even say goodbye when someone leaves-- I always just say “see you later.”

So, you can understand why I would be reluctant to get attached to anyone.

But, when you meet someone you just click with, it’s not easy.

I mean when I first met her it was just-- I’m sorry, what was your name again?

Ah, thank you-- So, Frank, when I first met her, I knew I was hooked.

From her gentle smile, to her contagious laugh-- it was clear she was perfect.

But, like I said, that posed more problems than benefits.

If I tried to become her friend, we might not get along--

Even if I became her boyfriend, we could break up.

So, the answer became obvious.

I’d just watch her.

What? Oh-- Sure, I’d love a drink.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right--

I just watched-- admiring her from a distance.

It worked great for awhile, but then she met him.

From the first time I saw her talk to him, I knew he would be a problem.

He was pushy, cocky, and worst of all: Charming. As. Hell.

They were inseparable, she became his shadow.

He brought her everywhere, always sure to let people know she was “his girl.”

Then, one day, he went too far.

I was sitting in my car, looking into her apartment-- which was now “their apartment.”

They got into an argument over him paying rent-- after all it was “their apartment.”

What? Oh, I hid a microphone in the apartment, that’s how I heard them. Anyways--

He said some things I’d rather not repeat, and stormed off-- leaving her crying and alone.

So, I decided to follow him, see what was so damn important that he could leave her like that.

That’s when I saw him with another girl, and, well, let’s just say they were beyond “friendly.”

I was furious. I mean, she was perfect, how could he be so callous-- so blind?

So, Officer, I took what I felt was the only appropriate course of action...

No, I don’t regret that.

If he couldn’t see she was perfect, he clearly wasn’t using those eyes in the first place.

After that, I couldn’t just watch her anymore.

I finally approached her, tried to explain who I was, what we could have, why I cared so much--

But, she wouldn’t listen... So, here we are.

I felt turning myself in was the only appropriate thing to do after that.

No. I’m sorry Frank, I can’t do that.

Knowing where she is, is all I have left... I can’t have you ruining that.