Dear Diary,
May Our Lady of Slatterns forgive me, my son is gone and I can never forgive myself.
It was all my fault, my negligence. I should never have left him alone in that place. And for such a trivial reason: Reginald had the afternoon free and asked me to have lunch with him.
I asked Mrs. Corinthos if she would mind Michael for the afternoon. "Who?" she said. "Oh right, him. Sure, whatever. But tell him to get those toys out of the way! His crap is all over the place. What if Sonny wants to have sex on the coffee table tonight? Those things look all pokey!"
No wonder she's worried, I thought, with such a bony behind even the slightest bump must be painful. But as she asked, I made Michael promise to put away his toys, and stay away -- far away -- from the living room. "Go up to your room and play with Lupita until I get back." He asked to come with me, as he hadn't seen Uncle Reginald in a long while. "Next time, Mijo. Uncle Reginald and I need some time alone today." How stupid, how selfish! If only I could take it back!
Lunch was a disappointment. I thought Reginald might be upset about Mr. Quartermaine's illness, but he just prattled on about ELQ. AJ this, Ned that, Skye the other. As if I care whether Mr. Ashton or Miss Chandler is in charge of his employers' family business!
No, I'm being unfair to Reginald. It's not his fault, I'm not angry with him. I'm angry with myself.
My first sign of trouble was an outraged phone call from Brian's mother, demanding to know why I hadn't warned her that our sons' play date would be held at Mr. Corinthos' penthouse. "Maybe you can feel safe with your son around that thug," she huffed, "but I can't! You never know when he's going to have a bomb strapped to his waist. And that wife of his, what a skank!"
I was angry, but even at the time I saw the truth in her accusations. Especially the part about the skank. There has to be a way for me to make a better home for my son.
This was the thought in my mind when I got back to the penthouse, where I found Mrs. Corinthos pacing anxiously. "He's gone! Your kid took off!"
I couldn't believe my ears. "What? Michael's gone?"
"You heard me," she snarled. "And he stole my camcorder. That piece of crap was expensive, and it's coming out of your salary!"
She continued. "Worst of all, he never put away all that pokey stuff! Just think about what's going to happen when Sonny -- my husband -- gets home! Owie! Here, help me put a pillow over it."
Mrs. Corinthos' shrill whining meant nothing to me. I ran out the door with my car keys in one hand and my phone in the other, calling the police, Reginald, the hospital, everyone I could think of.
Reginald is helping me look for him now. We've been to all his favorite places: the park, the arcade, the insect house at the zoo. We have to find him.