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Send to FriendCatherine has just woken up in a darkened hospital bed after her station wagon was forced off Route 95 North the previous night. She had flipped her wheels and was knocked unconscious as her head smashed against the ceiling of the car. She is now laying in bed with a neck brace on, as well as some bandaging around her broken collar bone. Her concussion has passed, yet the shock of the night's events has still a firm grasp upon her frazzled nerves, and she wonders now, with everything that has happened, how things could possibly be worse? Catherine had been six months pregnant, yet suffered a miscarriage because of the sudden trauma of the crash. She looks ahead despondently as two solemn officers—Harrigan and Simon— question her a little bit regarding the accident, but have mainly come to give news of unrelated events in Catherine's life.
Harrigan: We're sorry for the loss of your unborn child.
Simon: Indeed. You have our deepest condolences.
Catherine: [sniffles and muffles a sob, trying not to cry] Thank you.
Harrigan: [jots something down on his notepad] Can you give us a description of the vehicle. Anything at all you can remember?
Catherine: No, I don't remember anything. All I can remember is driving home from work, and then suddenly being forced off the road. Apparently the vehicle was weaving in and out of lanes at over a hundred miles an hour, according to police reports. Probably drunk or something. I don't know. I never saw it coming and barely knew what hit me.
Simon: We've got paint samples and tire tracks to do on, ma'am. Don't worry; we'll find him wherever he's hiding.
Catherine: Thank you officers. If you don't have anymore questions, then I'd like to get some rest.
Simon: I'm afraid we have some news about your son.
Catherine: [with a look of radiant hopefulness gleaming in her teary eyes] Oh my God, Johnny? Did you find him?
Simon: [hesitantly] We believe he might be dead.
Catherine: [face darkens as the hope fades from her eyes and she appears once more despondent and grim] No...oh God no...it can't be...
Harrigan: We believe that the Children's Cannibalism Corporation kidnapped your son.
Catherine: [still blinking back impending tears, yet her voice grows muffled with each new sob] I don't understand...who are they?
Harrigan: They are an underground criminal organization that prays on children ages three through nine. Apparently, there is a small market among the very rich who—for whatever reason—desire to eat children. The Children's Cannibalism Corporation (or Triple C for short) fulfills such desires at a hefty price. The Triple C kidnaps children at schools, off the streets, in their homes, or wherever they can find them, and then kills the kids and prepares them to be eaten.
Catherine: [aghast and numb with horror and revulsion at what she's just heard] Oh God, no, it can't be, that's—
Simon: The Triple C is very meticulous about what they do, and very careful. For over eighteen months now, the FBI and local law enforcement agencies throughout the nation have tried to catch these guys, but the Triple C has eluded our grasp. We'll soon feature them on America's Most Wanted—John Walsh has already expressed his outrage over this group and what they've done all over the United States—but in the meantime, they remain out of our reach.
Catherine: [no longer able to hold back her tears and is now crying hysterically and as she speaks, her voice is barely coherent] Oh God....yuh-ya gotta find 'im....yah gotta find my Johnny before....
Harrigan: He's been missing for over a week.
Catherine: [nods grimly while wiping tears from her eyes.]
Simon: I'm afraid your son is already dead. I'm sorry.
Harrigan: [explaining matter-of-factly] Your son would be dead by now and digested inside the stomach of one of the Triple C's clients. The Triple C most likely tormented him greatly once they got him to one of their temporary locations. The organization is believed to have a good number of pedophiles in their employment, so it's a safe bed that he was raped and repeatedly molested as well. The poor child's final hours would've been filled with physical, mental, and sexual torture of nearly every variety. I wish I could assure you that his death was painless, but most likely he probably suffered more than any child—or adult for that matter—should ever have to endure. And then he was killed and prepared to be sent off like a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse to whoever wanted to eat him.
Catherine: [now completely inconsolable] Oh God, I need Jerry...my husband...I must call him.
Simon: He spends a lot of time on the road.
Catherine: [sobbing as the tears flow freely from her eyes] In sales, I think...don't know for sure what he does.
Simon: I'm afraid he might not have been completely honest with you.
Catherine: You think he cheated on me? [bites back a scream of anguish as she squeezed her eyes shut and buries her face into her hands] No, it can't be...he wouldn't...how dare you even consider it!
Simon: I'm afraid it's much worse than that.
Harrigan: We have reason to believe that your husband is a serial rapist. While some of his trips might be work-related, the rest were to fulfill his own twisted desires. Every so often, he goes out and rapes women at random. A total of ten women are believed to have been raped by him within the past two years.
Catherine: I...I don't believe it...I...
Simon: He is also HIV-positive and infected nine out of ten of his victims with AIDS. We have reason to believe that he intentionally infected himself to increase the thrill of the rape and the damage done to his victims.
Harrigan: Have you had sex with your husband within the past two years.
Catherine: Yes, lots of times...oh my God...
Harrigan: Then there's little doubt that he infected you as well.
Simon: But it gets even worse, I'm afraid.
Catherine: How...how could it possibly get any worse?
Harrigan: Because your husband is a part-time employee of the Children's Cannibalism Corporation, and was probably the one who kidnapped your son and turned him over to the Triple C in the first place. We were going to question him about his involvement last night, but found him dead at your house just around before you were forced off the road.
Catherine: [once more overtaken with grief] Oh God...this can't be happening!
Harrigan: Well, I have some good news.
Catherine: What...y-you're getting closer to catching those...those sick b-bastards.
Harrigan: Unfortunately, no.
Catherine: Then what—
Simon: [shoots a peculiar look at Harrigan]
Harrigan: [grins with excitement] Well, I just saved hundreds of bucks on my car insurance by switching to Geico!
The tears continue to flow uncontrollably from Catherine's eyes as she screams shrilly and continue to screams until a team of doctors are finally able to restrain and sedate her. While the physical injuries Catherine has sustained will heal in time, her mind has completely snapped and she will never recover from the mental and emotional damage that has been sustained.
Author's Note: No, I don't work or own stock for Geico auto insurance, nor have I ever done business with them. I just thought this would be a funny parody of their commercials, that's all.