Transcript of a call from Lucien Farrow’s cell phone to Quinn Hallorann. Call made 9:54 PM on October 24, 2020 out of White Oak, North Carolina. Transcribed by [REDACTED].
QUINN HALLORANN: Mr. Farrow?
LUCIEN FARROW: Hey, Quinn. How’s Simon doing?
HALLORANN: He’s OK, he’s asleep. They released him this morning, but the doctor said it could be a day or two before he’s himself again. And I have 9-1-1 on speed dial, you know, and I’m jumpy as hell, but … sorry, I’m just exhausted. How are you?
L. FARROW: You don’t got anything to be sorry for. Can’t imagine you’ve slept much.
HALLORANN: Yeah, no, I haven’t. He’ll be OK, though. They’re gonna have him back for tests in a couple weeks, but they think it might have just been a one-off. I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. But what about you? Do you have any leads?
L. FARROW: Yeah, you could say that. I’ve got him.
L. FARROW: I found Ben. I’ve got him. He’s OK.
[There is a long pause.]
HALLORANN: You’re shitting me.
L. FARROW: Do you want to say hi?
[The phone changes hands.]
BENJAMIN FARROW: Hey, Quinn.
[Hallorann begins to cry loudly. This goes on for some time.]
B. FARROW: I’m guessing we missed the deadline for your project, huh?
HALLORANN: Oh my god! Oh my god, Ben!
B. FARROW: Sorry.
HALLORANN: Where were you? What happened to you?
B. FARROW: Hang on a second.
[The phone changes hands again.]
L. FARROW: Sorry, Quinn. It’s a little complicated to get into at the moment. We just got back into town and we have some things to take care of before it gets too late. Did you know White Oak doesn’t have a local paper?
HALLORANN: What? I don’t —
L. FARROW: Sorry, sorry, just thinking out loud. We couldn’t let any more time go by without letting you know Ben is OK. I promise we’ll give you more information soon, but we’re going to let you go for now.
HALLORANN: No! No! Don’t you dare!
B. FARROW (muffled): Dad, give me the phone.
[The phone changes hands a third time.]
B. FARROW: Quinn. Hey. It’s OK. I’m fine, Quinn.
B. FARROW: We can FaceTime tomorrow if you want. So you can see it’s really me. Look — look, I’ll send a picture.
L. FARROW (muffled): Careful.
B. FARROW (aside): It’s just a picture. OK, Quinn, here it comes.
[Hallorann’s breath hitches]
B. FARROW: See? I’m OK.
HALLORANN: It isn’t … it’s not … I don’t think it came through properly.
B. FARROW: Damn it. There’s no signal out here. Might have to wait until we’re closer to Asheville. How’s Simon? Is he doing all right? Dad said he had a seizure.
HALLORANN: Grand mal. Yeah.
B. FARROW: Shit. The big one.
HALLORANN: Yeah. (pause) Ben, what was it? Did you — did you have a — a break of some kind? Because of your meds or — or something?
[There is a long silence.]
B. FARROW: Yeah, I did.
B. FARROW: I’m really sorry for worrying you.
HALLORANN: Ben, what aren’t you telling me? You were gone five months. Five months! And you’re still in White Oak? Were you there that whole time? Why didn’t anyone … where were you? Where were you? I thought you were dead!
B. FARROW: Nope!
HALLORANN: Nope? You vanish without a trace for five months and suddenly turn up like you just came back from the dead and all you have to say is nope?
B. FARROW: Yep.
HALLORANN: I’m going to kill you!
[Lucien Farrow takes the phone.]
L. FARROW: I know how frustrating this is, Quinn. It’s for — everything is still very fresh, do you understand? And for legal reasons, we don’t want to … muddy the waters. We have to tell the police he’s not missing anymore, and it’s probably best if we give the details to them first. It’s not you. And we’re both very tired. Try to see it from our angle.
HALLORANN (softly): Mr. Farrow, can he hear me?
L. FARROW: No.
HALLORANN: Is it him? I know that sounds like a stupid question. I feel stupid even …
L. FARROW: Yes.
HALLORANN: Yes, it is him?
L. FARROW: Yes. I think so.
HALLORANN: Was he at the Estate?
L. FARROW: No.
B. FARROW (muffled): Are you talking about me?
L. FARROW: Quinn, we really have to go. I’m sorry we can’t talk longer, but we’ll get in touch as soon as we’re out of White Oak, all right? Ben is safe with me.
HALLORANN: Mr. Farrow, I don’t … think I believe you.
L. FARROW: Good night, Quinn. We’ll be in touch.