This Book Does Not Exist Read Online Free PDF Page A

from someone named “Geppetto W.” He doesn’t have a profile picture, no mutual friends are listed, and his page is private. To see his entire profile I have to be his friend.
    Figuring there’s little danger in accepting Geppetto’s request since I can always defriend him later, I do so and then examine his profile. I am his only friend. His profile is almost completely empty. No network is listed, no hometown. There’s nothing in the personal or contact information boxes. His “About Me,” “Interests,” “Likes,” and “Activities” sections aren’t even visible because he’s left them blank. The “Education and Work” field is the only part that’s semi-filled out:

 
    Employer: “ Geppetto’s ”
    Location: “East Cleveland”

 
    No further specifics are given.
    Stumped, I notice a message has appeared in my inbox.
    It’s from Geppetto.
    The message has no subject, one picture, and a single sentence.
    The picture is of Naomi’s parents’ house.
    The sentence says, “I can help you find Naomi, but not unless you come to Ohio.”

THE MESSAGE
     

 
 
    Is it a hoax? Is someone I reached out to for help being cruel? Are they taking advantage of my desperate state? I don’t know, but this is the closest I’ve come to actual information on Naomi’s whereabouts.
    I write the stranger back: “What do you mean by help? Do you actually know where she is?”
    After pressing reply, I Google “ geppetto w.” All that comes up are links to Pinocchio-related merchandise. On the web, the “w.” is interpreted as “with,” which makes me think the name “ Geppetto W.” is either made-up or incomplete, abridged to conceal his identity. I almost write back again to ask if he kidnapped her, but a response shows up first:

 
    “Just come to Ohio. You’ve already lost the girl. What else is there for you to lose?”

 
    I debate calling the police. I don’t want to overreact. I seem to be the only one who’s reached this level of concern about Naomi. Could it be because I’m the only one who doesn’t know where she is?
    I know I’m paranoid. Sometimes I think I’m crazy.
    I go to Kayak.com and plug “LAX” and “CLE” into the search fields, setting the departure date to today. I could leave in the morning and rent a car in Cleveland, but when would I come back? I suppose I could buy a one-way ticket, although that might be more expensive than driving cross country , depending on how long I need to stay.
    I leave my desk and enter the bathroom. Although I’m alone, I close the door, embarrassed. While deliberating what to do about Ohio, I pull up my T-shirt and pick at the skin on my chest. It’s a bad habit and much of my skin is broken and scarred as a result. The abuse forces me to concentrate my thoughts. It helps me with decisions and ideas. There has to be a better way. I don’t want to inflict this pain on myself anymore. I want it to stop. I hate being in the same position I was in as an overweight teenager, afraid to take my shirt off at a public pool or during a shirts and skins basketball game. Sometimes I won’t let Naomi feel the flesh of my upper body against her naked chest.
    I take a pair of scissors off the bathroom counter and snip the scruff on my cheeks. My hair seems long on the sides. I consider trimming it. I would need somewhere to stay in Ohio. Having received so little help since Naomi disappeared, I’ve lost faith in everyone. I start to cut the uneven pieces of hair around my ears. The combination of my actions and the size of my face in the mirror reminds me of a sequence from The Royal Tenenbaums where Richie Tenenbaum attempts to commit suicide. The sound of Richie saying, “I’m going to kill myself tomorrow,” and the image of him taking out a razor blade and slitting his wrists enters me. I badly want to talk to Naomi. I picture us living together, her coming home from work, opening the door to our apartment. We smile and say hello and then we