#1 - Page 33 (1/2)

I look at the time stamp on the envelope again. It was mailed first thing Tuesday morning. And Wednesday at 11am is exactly when this happened to us.

If you find anything out that will help, add it to the next page and keep this going until we figure out what started it. And how to stop it.

I flip to the last page, but it’s blank.

I look at the clock. It’s 10:57am. It’s Friday. This happened to us almost 48 hours ago.

My chest is heaving.

This can’t be happening.

48 hours will be up in less than three minutes.

I flip open my console and search for a pen. I don’t find one, so I yank open the glove box. Right on top is a copy of the same letter with mine and Charlie’s names on it. I lift it up and there are several pens, so I grab one and flatten the paper out against the steering wheel.

It happened again, I write. My hands are shaking so bad, I drop the pen. I pick it up again and keep writing.

At 11am, Wednesday, October 8th, Charlie and I both lost our memories for what appears to be the third time in a row. Things we’ve learned in the last 48 hours:

-Our fathers used to work together.

-Charlie’s father is in prison.

I’m writing as fast as I can, trying to figure out which points I need to write down first—which are the most important, because I’m almost out of time.

-We visited a tarot reader on St. Philip Street. That might be worth checking out again.