From The Truth About Jane Anderson, by Ava Harrison, 2002.
It is often said that the best way to make a lie seem true is to say it again and again and again. We humans equate repetition with truth.
This is the foul tactic many Los Angeles authorities have used to make us believe what I'm certain is one of the greatest shams in history. Credible news sources have announced that Jane Anderson died by committing suicide. Trusted leaders and politicians say the same thing. The chief of police has confirmed it. And even Jane's husband, Lewis, recently affirmed it on Global News by saying, "she'd always had suicidal tendencies."
Many think I am crazy to not believe what appears to be a perfectly tenable story. But I don't care to be crazy for the truth. It is fact enough that Jane's suicide story was fiction, perfectly delivered fiction.
The truth is, Jane was never found in the ocean. The Los Angeles rescue team never recovered her body, even in spite of them saying so. How can I know this if I'm not God, you may ask? Well, I was there; I was part of the rescue team. And her body was not recovered. Jane did not die by suicide.
Shockingly, it may be that she did not die at all.
And what proof do I have?
Well, nothing. Nothing except what I saw with my own two eyes, or rather, what I didn't see. That may not be enough for you or for the entire world, but it is enough for me. Telling the truth is enough for me.
To whosoever covered up the true story about Jane's death, I have one singular question:
Why?
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