Last night I received a phone call that woke me from a sound sleep. A little girl�s voice was on the other end. She asked me to call the police. When I asked her why, she said, �My Daddy is hurting me.� I asked her name and she told me it was Mary. I told Mary to hang up and call 911. She said, �Okay.� and hung up. I was left holding a phone, staring at it. I activated caller I.D., but it read out, �Private Name � Private Number�. So, I lay there the rest of the night, worrying about Mary. I worried that the call was for real, and she was in danger. I worried that it was not a prank call and that there was a child somewhere, somewhere that could be anywhere, not necessarily even in my own town, state, or country for that matter that was being abused. I worried that I wasn�t calling the police right away, right then, just so they would tell me they couldn�t trace the call, and that I had done all I could. I began to relive my own horrors again. My mind took me back down that dark road that I have tried so hard to forget. I broke out in a cold sweat and I sat up in bed. I got up and walked the floors and stared at the phone, hoping, praying that this child was alright. I went through entire gambits of emotion ranging from sheer terror that she was being killed to outright anger for being made a fool of. Still, I stared at that damned phone. �Why did she call me, me of all the people in the world?� I screamed at it. �Where and who are you Mary?� I screamed further. I sunk in the armchair and cried. I cried for Mary and I cried for those like her. Why are people this way? Why would anyone even consider, much less act on, hurting an innocent child? Was I just being gullible and overreacting? Was I letting my personal sentiment get in the way of rationalization? �Damn you!� I screamed at myself.

I listened to the Grandfather clock strike seven times this morning. I couldn't stand it one more second! I dialed the local police department�s non emergency number. I explained my situation to a gum-chewing dispatcher, who in turn told me through chomps of gum that she would turn this over to the county authorities. It seems it wasn�t in her jurisdiction. I thanked her and waited for the county to contact me.

At 8:01, six hours after Mary�s phone call, the county Sheriff called. He listened to the whole story and in one breath told me that there wasn�t anything he could do because he couldn�t trace the call and there was no way of knowing if it were genuine or not but that he thanked me and that I had done all I could at that point and should I get any more calls to let them know.

Great.

Remember the big O.J. Simpson trial? Remember how they had all these thousands of cell phone records and such? Yeah, me too. They seem to trace calls when they want to, or it�s a high profile case, don�t they?

Please don�t let me read or see a news report of a child murder, and it be a girl named Mary! Please!