We Will All Go Down Together Read Online Free PDF Page B

snoring, in unison; couldn’t’ve told you which one was which if I’d tried, not even if you’d put a gun to my head, or theirs.
    So I just got up and left, as quietly as I possibly could, and I came here. And I waited for the sun to come up.
    Now it’s four hours and a couple of big lattes later, and here’s an open letter to whoever’s listening: if anybody wants me, you don’t have to come looking anymore, okay? Give me three days by the map, I’ll already be in Overdeere. I swear.
    Then, I’ll come to you.
    [
Addendum B—Partial ICQ chat record for 1:15 AM to 1:29 AM, 07/09/2004, pasted and saved to a text-file (Ganconer1) on Galit Michaels’ hard drive:
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt <“shush”? the fuck u>
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin <>
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin <>
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin <>
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin <>
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt <>
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt <>
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt <>
    GalToTheIt <>
    TamLin
    GalToTheIt
    GalToTheIt
    GalToTheIt
    No records are available for the time period between September 7
th
and the next entry.
]
    October 7, 2004
    Hi, everybody. This is Josh Kim—yes, that Josh—and hard as it is to say this, I guess I’m posting to wrap up Galit’s story. I never told her I knew where her blog was, or that I read it on a regular basis, but after she hadn’t gotten back to me or anyone else for long enough, I logged in by guessing her password. The fact that I even
could
guess it should mean a lot, and it does, though not as much as it might have, earlier.
    When she didn’t bring the car back after a week, that was when I first started looking around. Went by Mister How’s, where he spun me a tale about how she’d broken his back door and then gotten some con artist to write him a cheque that turned into leaves, of all the crazy shit you could possibly accuse someone of. Went by Fiona’s, only to hear she’d left the last of her stuff behind there in the middle of the night, everything but her laptop and my keys. I even went by the Connaught Trust, for all the good that did me, but that’s a whole other story.
    Last week, the Ontario Provincial Police called to tell me they’d finally found my car. It was sitting by the side of a dirt road with no real name, a rural route half-on and half-off the Sidderstane family’s property outside of Overdeere. I asked them if it was near something called the Lake of the North, and they said yes. They told me it was within walking distance.
    The OPP offered to take me up, and I agreed. The car was covered in dust and dirt, like someone had buried it. I asked them if I could get them to wait while I went over to the lake, just to check for any signs that Galit had been there, and I think the officers maybe felt sorry for me, and that’s why they said yes. One of them stayed with the car, while the other came with