The Mark Fizroy Mystery

Mark Fizroy, his mother claimed, was brought to the good old USA, by the church from Guyana when he was twelve years old, and then suddenly, one day when she called to talk to him, she was told Mark had vanished. No one knew how it happened. The priest claimed on the day in question when Mark had mysteriously disappeared, he had come to get the young child to join him on fishing trip. And lo and behold, he had found the child’s room empty, the door ajar but Mark was not there. There was no explanation. It was as if the child was snatched up in the rapture of the church.

“The boy never goes anyway alone!” the mother cried. “Who would do this to my baby?
I love him.” She began sob.

“What did the police do? I assume you report the matter or the priest did...” I said offering her a paper towel that was on the table.

“Oh. The police according to the priest came and look over the place. They found nothing. I have tried following up at the said precinct on any development. Not a word from ever since. I keep calling. They ignore me...” She began to sob again, dabbing at her eyes with the paper towel.

Jean Fizroy was about sixty years old. She had black wavy hair that flowed down her shoulder. She was medium height and solidly built for a woman her age. She exuded energy of determination as she showed a picture of her missing child.

“This is Mark on his eleventh birthday. He is a handsome boy. I must find him.” Jean lamented.

“How long ago was this?” I asked.

“Oh son, I didn’t tell you? I am sorry. This happen twenty-six years ago. Two days from today will be the twenty-sixth anniversary since he disappeared. Last month he would have celebrated his thirty-eight birthday.” She smiled through her tears.

“I am sorry.” I said. Thinking what could have really happened? Was the child kidnapped? Was he murdered? Did Mark run away? And if did, Why? Finally I said: “I wish I could help in someway.”

“I have never given up hope. He will come back someday. I will be waiting. Put his picture on the internet for me son. Can you do that?”

“Certainly! Leave the picture with me.”

She handed me the picture after kissing it ever so tenderly.

(To be continued.)

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