Mike suggested that I'd run away and was hiding with a friend. But my computer revealed that I hadn't signed in to any social networking accounts since disappearing, so police didn't buy this story. Those friends of mine pushed for a public missing person's report, put up fliers with my information on them, and contacted local media. There were a few scattered news stories online.
But it wasn't huge news. Not even locally. See, while a missing person's case makes for great drama in film, in reality they're just depressingly common. Law enforcement doesn't have the resources -- and people don't have the attention span -- to turn every one into a national event and ensuing made-for-TV movie starring an aging, former teen starlet.
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Due to his sudden case of crime-proceduralitis, my friends were convinced that Mike had murdered me, but they still had to act on the hopes that I could still be alive. Statistically, the odds were good that I'd either wander back into civilization eventually or be found dead in a reasonably short span of time. Of the 661,000 yearly missing person's cases, 659,000 are eventually canceled, usually for one of those two reasons. The other 2,000 presumably turn out to be games of hide and seek that just got way out of control.