The Secret Rave (Part Two Of The Search For My Missing Daughter)



Raves in the 90s were pretty much secret gatherings full of drugs.

 

The Secret Rave

              My oldest daughter had flown in from Seattle to help search for her missing sister. She wasn't into raves, but she had been raised during the Grunge scene and could fit into the Rave crowd. We needed her for the secret Rave taking place in Dayton, Ohio the night after the Indianapolis Rave.

              You had to find a certain website that contained a phone number. When you called the number, you would receive instructions to a location to buy tickets. You had to buy the tickets in person so you could find out where the Rave was being held. The location was in a strip mall in Dayton. The police were apparently kept in the dark because they could have made an entire year of drug busts in one night at these Raves.

              We drove to mall and watched people line up in front of what looked like a record store. My oldest daughter got in the line, and after paying ten dollars, got the Rave ticket with the directions. I'm glad we had brought her because neither myself or my sister would have been able to buy a ticket because we didn't look like ravers. We didn't plan on using the ticket, and she only bought one so we could get directions.

              I was losing hope that my daughter was alive. The police in London, Ohio had recovered her purse from a church parking lot with her King's Island amusement park ID in it the day after she went missing. They had also told her step-father that they had several unsolved Satanic ritual murders in the London area, of young teens about her age. Nothing like kicking a family when they are down with this new scary information. (Found out later that she had put her purse down to dance at the Milford Rave and someone stole it and threw it out in London, Ohio. But we didn't know that at the time.)

              We also staked out Milford, Ohio for three days. I knew a lot of Ravers hitched rides in groups so I went through every piece of trash at the freeway entrance, hoping to get a clue in case she left with a group. I also searched the local creek beds, terrified that I was going to find her dead. Then, an off-duty police officer saw one of our posters and told us he thought he saw her going into a small convenience store with a man. The woman who worked in the store confirmed the sighting. We thought maybe she was staying with someone or was being held against her will. I worked the local park because kids her age crossed through on the way home from school; just in case she had been staying with other local Ravers.  I also ran a couple of what I think were perverts out of the park by confronting them and reporting back to base with my walkie-talkie. They obviously thought I was an undercover cop, and that was okay by me.

              I figured if she was alive after a week that she was being pretty much held against her will, and I was ready to kill the kidnapper.  My mind produced all kinds of horrible situations, giving me the Terminator thought process; I was never going to stop until we found her and I was going to take out anyone who tried to stop me once I found her.

              We got a call from the store Thursday. The owner said she was just in there with another girl. They had bought some snacks and walked out. Her husband had followed them. When we arrived, her husband showed us where they had gone. It was down a long driveway. I wanted to rush down there and rescue my daughter, but calmer minds prevailed and we called the police. They raided the place that evening. I had gone home to Indiana at my ex-wife's suggestion to control myself from attacking the people who had my daughter.

              It wasn't her. The girl could have been her twin, but had green eyes instead of blue. She was also a runaway. The police busted the guy who owned the house for dealing drugs and contributing by supplying alcohol to underage kids.

              The entire scenario was the stuff of fiction. We operated outside the law, mainly because the law couldn't really help us find her, and we would call every few hours to the central location at her stepfather's house where another family member stayed at the phone. We had a family member at a Rave in Austin, Texas and her step-father was at a Rave in Chattanooga, Tennessee that night.

              We arrived at the gated warehouse complex in Dayton, Ohio. It contained three large pole barn type metal buildings. Three people worked the gate collecting tickets. When I pulled up, I handed one of the gate guys the one ticket and I asked who was in charge. He brought over one of the other young men.

              "We're looking for a missing juvenile," I said. "And we have reason to believe she may show up here. Either you let us in with this one ticket, or we'll leave and come back with the police."

              The guy went pale. "No problem. We don't want police here."

              We drove inside. I ignored the parking lot and parked where we could watch all three buildings with binoculars. People streamed in, young and a few older people. I didn't know why a lot of people in their forties would be here, until I realized the older ones stayed close to their cars and seemed to be visited by groups of Ravers.

              "They sell drugs," my daughter said. "The promoters sell fruit juice inside and the people mix their drugs in the drinks."

               Strong scents of burning pot drifted over us on occasion. I'm an old school Marine, and I didn't like any of it, especially when it involved my family. Twice someone tried to park in front of me and block my view. I wasn't in the mood to argue so I just walked up to them and said, "Move the fucking car now."

              Maybe they were drug dealers and thought I worked there. They moved out right away.

              My oldest daughter went inside the buildings one at a time looking for her sister. We saw no one, except  an ex-step-family member who was big into raves. She didn't see us. Hours passed, and about three in the morning, I thought I had spotted her being led into the main building  by some guy.

              "I'm going inside," I said, and took off before the others could follow.

              At this point, I prayed it was her and the guy with her would try to stop me so I could shoot him and beat him to a pulp or beat him to a pulp and then shoot him. It didn't matter. If she was there, someone was going to pay for the kidnapping.

              I wasn't prepared for the hazy world of unbearable noise that hit me when I walked into the warehouse. The bass actually altered the heartbeat. I saw smoke and lights and kids staggering around like out of control stick figures, trying to dance, but so high they could only react as if the floor was tilting up and down and they had to fight to remain upright. Nothing made sense to me. I had to escape outside because I knew I wouldn't find her inside in that mob, and I was afraid the noise would push me into being too aggressive.

              I waited outside near the building entrance until I saw the girl and guy come outside. It wasn't my daughter. By then, it was about five in the morning so we gave up and went home. It was Sunday, eight days after she disappeared.

              That  evening, we would get a call that changed everything.