Seeker (12 page)

“Now, let me take a look at you,” Mr. Townsend said, doing exactly that. While he was being appraised, Jake took the opportunity to do the same with Will's dad. He could still see a lot of Will in the old Welshman, both were thin but not especially tall, and whereas Will still had a thick head of dark hair, Mr. Townsend's was now grey and thin. Jake felt sad looking at him, remembering the strong man that had often taken him and Will on outings. Now Mr. Townsend just looked old, carrying himself like a typical granddad, dressed in clothes of a bygone era, topped off by a threadbare cardigan. Times had not been easy on him, and Jake wondered if living in Hackney had really helped.

“You're looking healthy, eating well, I hope?”

“Well enough, but not too much. Can't ever say no to a good meat pie,” Jake said with a grin, knowing full well what was coming.

“Excellent. I got some nice steak and kidney pies from the bakery the other day. Care to join me?”

“Would love to.”

Jake wasn't just saying that to please the old man, he really did like the pies Mr. Townsend bought. He wasn't sure where they were bought, but they were possibly the best pies in London. He'd tried asking the last time he visited, but Mr. Townsend wouldn't divulge his secret.

He followed Mr. Townsend into the kitchen, which had definitely seen better days, and waited by the door as the old man fished two pies out of the fridge.

“Now, what did you want to speak to me about, Jacob?”

“Well, Mr. Townsend, it's about Will.”

Mr. Townsend turned around and wagged a finger at Jake. “Please, call me Francis, if the Lord wanted me to be called Mr. Townsend I wouldn't be blessed with a Christian name.”

Jake didn't know about that idea. He'd known the man most of his life, and he'd always been Will's dad, not some mate who he could joke around with. Using the first name was a breach of some unspoken rule.

“Francis,” he tried out, the name feeling wrong on his tongue, “Will's gone missing, and we need your help.”

Francis stopped what he was doing, and placed the pies on the sideboard. For a moment he stood there, using the sideboard to balance himself, and Jake feared he might go into shock. Instead, as if galvanised by the news, Francis stood up straight and Jake saw some of the old strength return to his grey eyes.

“Whatever it is, son, you've got it. What must I do?”

* * *

Lilly slowly manoeuvred her little blue Yaris out of the parking lot behind South Essex College, and set off. As she passed the local pub, she beeped her horn and waved. The guy in the leather jacket spun around in surprise, but he soon waved back and Lilly laughed into her rear-view mirror. Fred seemed like a nice bloke, and was clearly caught up in his own little world, so she could not resist the shock beep. She didn't know him that well, barely spoke to him in fact, but she always thought Fred was too old a name for someone in their mid-to-late-twenties.

Her good humour was soon forced away when she came out onto London Road.

Six o'clock traffic out of Southend was a nightmare. Lilly had no idea why she put herself through it every day; it would be easier, and probably quicker, to just catch the c2c from Central to Chalkwell. A brief walk from campus to station and then station to house would no doubt do wonders for her. Tomorrow she would give it a go, she decided.

It had been a long day, lecture after lecture, but she was grateful for Jordan, who made a long day go so much quicker with his jokes and empathy with the students. Sometimes the age gap between her and the students was massive, other times not so much. She was a history professor, and the title immediately created a gap between her and the younger generation, not that she felt all that old really, and she certainly didn't look her age. Not that thirty-eight was old, not in the twenty-first century; once upon a time, as she well knew considering her field of expertise, it was deemed quite old, with forty being the turning point. But the thirties were the twenties of the twenty-first century. She expected, as the years continued to roll by, humans would live longer and the older ages wouldn't seem so bad. She looked forward to such times.

But right now she was more looking forward to getting home and seeing how her mysterious guest was faring.

Jordan had helped there, too, since when the morning came she noticed that her guest, whom she decided to call Sam for no other reason she could readily discern, was pretty much the same build and height as her assistant. Fortunately Jordan didn't live too far away and, a little miffed by her request, brought some spare clothes over. She had fobbed him off with some story about Sam being a friend of hers who got stripped by his mates while out on a drunken binge. She didn't think Jordan really bought it, but he was polite enough not to ask more.

She was possibly insane to leave a complete stranger in her house while she was out all day working, but she couldn't escape the feeling that helping him was the right thing to do.

She wasn't overly charitable by nature but she was fond of stray cats, and in some strange way Sam struck her as just another stray to take in.

He'd been pretty hazy for the entire hour of wakefulness after she'd brought him in from the rain, claiming to have no idea who he was, or where he was. Neither did he have a clue as to how he managed to reach her garden completely naked and unseen; it still boggled her mind. Even in the worst weather Chalkwell was a busy place, people coming and going at all hours, so how a naked man managed to wander the streets was beyond her. Still, he had done so and found his way to the one house owned by someone who was accustomed to taking in waifs and strays. Stray people were a new thing, but she knew she had to do this.

Of course, she wasn't closed to the idea that she'd return home to find her house ransacked and her mysterious guest long gone, but she was almost certain that would not be the case.

Either way, she wished the traffic wasn't so bad this evening. Home was a place she much wanted to be.

* * *

As her instinct had led her to believe she found her house as she had left it, although perhaps a little tidier. The problem with being a lecturer was the resultant mess; papers, books, usually strewn throughout the house. But not now. The place she walked into had been cleaned, her papers neatly stacked on the small desk in the hallway, the pens in the tidy. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

“Hey, Sam, you about?” she called, hoping her guest would remember his new name.

The pattering of naked feet on the wooden floor drew nearer and Sam emerged from the living room. He'd obviously taken her advice of a shower and now looked more like a human being. She wasn't sure if Jordan's spare clothes really suited him so much, though. Somehow the straight cut navy jeans and hoodie didn't seem to hang so well on him; it had nothing to do with fitting, since the clothes fitted fine, but he wore them like an uncomfortable second skin.

He offered Lilly a smile. “Hi. How was work?”

“Work was long and arduous. Don't ever go into teaching,” she replied automatically, her eyes unconsciously drifting to his odd, red, eyes. “How was your day?” she asked, forcing herself to look away.

Sam frowned, seeking the right word. “Interesting? Yes, I think interesting is the best description.”

“Interesting is a good word. But in what way interesting, that's the question.”

“Interesting in the sense that everything is so new to me. I've read all kinds of things, watched lots of TV, and I've realised that the basics of knowledge is still intact. But the specifics are…beyond me.”

Lilly nodded slowly, wondering why he didn't sound frustrated. If she had lost her memory she expected she'd be very pissed off. But Sam seemed to be taking it into his stride. Perhaps that was typical for him, to just take problems in his stride and work through them? Would lack of memory impede the natural instincts? Lilly suspected not. She would have to look up memory loss at some point.

“So still no name?”

“Nope,” Sam said, “no name. But all day I keep getting a feeling I'm missing something really important.” He grinned. “Well, obviously the lack of memory is important, but there is something else. Something I need to do.”

“Hmm.” Lilly took Sam by the arm and led him back into the living room. “Now, I don't know much about the cause of amnesia, but I'd have thought something very traumatic happened to you.”

“Yes,” Sam said, nodding slowly, allowing himself to be sat down. Lilly looked around the living room, noting that he'd tidied her books into a neat pile, too, although there was one open on the coffee table still. She lifted it up and looked at it. It was one of her mythology books. She returned the book and sat on the table, facing Sam, who was still talking.

“But what? I can't imagine what would cause me to traverse the streets naked. Unless I'm an escapee from some mental asylum?”

“I don't think so,” Lilly said with a smile. She patted his knee. “If I did I'd never have left you in my house.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Sam said, looking around the room at the paintings hanging on the walls. “Nice paintings. You said you teach history? Mythology a big part of that?”

“A little bit. More of a hobby, really.” Lilly pointed at the big picture above the mantelpiece. It depicted a voluptuous woman in a flowing white dress, combing her thick mane of red hair while looking into a hand held mirror. “That one's Dante Gabriel Rossetti's
Lady Lilith
. It's of little interest beyond that fact that my real parents named me after it on account of my red hair. My father especially loved…” She stared at the painting, and said softly, “my folks died when I was very young and…”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said, “losing something of great value is hard.”

“Yes, but it's okay,” Lilly said, turning back to him, smiling gently, “it was a long time ago.” Still, she appreciated the sentiment. “So one day I happened across the painting in an antique shop, and decided to buy it. It was strange, normally I'd never pay so much for a painting, but I just knew I had to have it. A remembrance of those who brought me into this world, I suppose.” Lilly shook herself, to get rid of the maudlin mood she was slipping in to. She ran her hand through he own dark red hair, and flashed her eyelids. “See the resemblance?”

Sam gave this careful consideration, but eventually shook his head. “Not really, sorry. Apart from the hair colour she looks nothing like you.”

Lilly laughed. It was quite true, whereas Lilly had a slim body and was five nothing, the woman in the painting was curvy and looked tall. “I should hope not, a particularly nasty lady no matter which myth you look up. I think maybe my dad hoped I'd turn out as beautiful,” she added, with a playful grin, “but I think he was blinded by father's pride.”

“I never said she was better looking,” Sam pointed out.

Lilly laughed. “Your memory may be impaired, my dear, but you clearly know when to compliment a woman.” She couldn't help but smile at this. “Something tells me you and I are going to get along fine, Sam.”

With that she turned to leave the room. She glanced back. “I was thinking of firing up the net and doing a little research later, see if I can find a possible cause for your amnesia. How about we order in a take-away and hit the web together?”

For a moment there was fear in Sam's unusual eyes; eyes that just seemed to want swallow Lilly whole. She shivered, but continuing looking him in the eyes from the doorway. In them she saw a distant echo of a memory forgot. Then it was gone.

He shook his head and offered a smile. “Sorry, yes, that would be great. I do seem to remember the internet being useful to me in some way.”

“See? We'll get you all restored somehow.” Lilly didn't quite know how, but she assumed they would find a way, and she was quite looking forward to it. A real live mystery was far more appealing than giving lectures on mysteries of the past.

08.

Another rainy night.

Jake stood under cover from the worst of it, watching as the traffic moved up Fulham Road in the direction of the Broadway and down towards Putney.

The clouds had started to gather as he stepped off the bus at the Broadway about half six, and with only a five-minute walk to Will's house he knew he'd been saved a soaking this time. Two nights in a row would have been unfortunate. By the time he'd finished checking, and discovering no change in the house at all, the rain had begun, but he had already called Amy and she was on the way to pick him up.

They spent a few hours together at his flat, watching
Thor
—not Amy's ideal choice of movie; she only watched it with Jake out of sympathy—and then some mindless TV. He wasn't feeling all that chatty, his mind on what he had to do that evening. For her part Amy attempted to take his mind off the dread he was feeling about making the report to the police, and she outlined her plan on how to proceed with Lawrencia. Jake was glad that she had totally come onboard with that, since it freed his mind up to worry about other important things. But the details of her plan were lost on him, all he knew was that when he'd left his place he had given her Lawrencia's number so she could call Will's sister while he was out. She promised to be there when he got back, and with no other words necessary, Amy had given him a peck on the cheek and an encouraging smile.

Now he waited outside what the locals called the “pig farm”: Fulham Police Station. Looking like the proverbial drowned rat, Jake espied Mr. Townsend,
Francis
he reminded himself, still unsure if he'd ever get used to that, walking down the Fulham Road. Although his head was lowered, no doubt to protect his face from the oncoming wind, Francis walked with a strength that belied his years. Jake smiled, glad of the old man's support.

As he neared, Jake stepped out into the rain, immediately wishing he'd brought a hat with him, not quite enjoying the coldness of the water crashing down on his stubbly head.

Perhaps it was the honing of some sixth sense over the decades, or more likely coincidence, but just as Jake came into his line of sight, Francis lifted his head.

“Can you spare a glass of water?” he asked.

For a second Jake didn't get it, but then the reference hit him, and in his mind's eye he saw Tom Baker as Doctor Who standing in the rain asking the same question of the bad guy before entering his castle; from an old VHS that he and Will had watched many many moons ago. Jake smiled, grateful for the humour, and the reminder of simpler times when he'd spent most of his days in the company of the Townsends.

They shook hands and walked towards the steps leading into the station house. Francis looked around. “No sign of Sandra?”

“No,” Jake said, with a sigh. “I had hoped she'd turn up, she seemed all for it when I spoke to her earlier, but…I don't know. Eon is one funky son of…”

Francis held up a hand. “Yes, he is, but let's not dip to his level, son. Sandra chose her own path many years ago. If she can't be here, for whatever reason, that's not our problem.”

Jake felt a depth of sadness at these words, but he couldn't argue the point. Francis had been married to Mrs. Adomako for a very long time and Jake had no place to comment on their opinions of each other. It was sad that they'd split in the first place, but Jake kind of hoped that Francis's faith would have given him cause to forgive her. It was probably stupid of him, but he had been holding onto a little hope for them. Will's disappearance should have been the thing that brought them some form of reconciliation.

Francis opened the door. “Come on, then, let's do this, let's bring my boy home.”

Jake nodded. One parent would have to be enough.

As he set to step inside a voice he recognised came from behind. “Hold the door for me.”

Jake grinned and turned. Mrs. Adomako was walking up the path to the station. She looked grim, as if she'd just had to endure the worst moment of her life. Behind her, pulling away, Jake spotted Eon's beaten up car. The Guyana man was behind the wheel, his face matching the storm outside. Jake turned to hide his smile.

“Sandra,” Francis said, still holding the door open. “It's been quite a while.”

Mrs. Adomako only stopped once she was in the foyer of the police station. She removed the plastic rain hat she wore, looking to Jake much like a carrier bag, although he was sure it wasn't. Mrs. Adomako looked her ex-husband up and down, then turned to Jake. “They'll let anyone in these days, won't they?”

Francis laughed. “It's good to see you, too,” he said, allowing the door to close.

“Of course it is,” Sandra said, “I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.” She removed her raincoat and handed it to Francis; he graciously took it and hung it over his arm.

Jake was quite taken aback. Although at almost sixty she was way beyond his type, he had to admit she scrubbed up well. And it was pretty clear that she'd made extra effort to dress for the occasion. He had got so used to seeing her in her house clothes that he reckoned if he'd seen her in the street dressed in such a way he'd probably not even believe it was Will's mother. Jake had to wonder, though, whom it was she was trying to impress.

Francis raised an eyebrow, and Jake saw so much of his son in him. He felt a sharp sting in his heart, his breath caught in his chest for a moment, and turned away from the awkward reunion.

Jake placed a hand on his cheek, and wondered at the wetness.

* * *

“Dissociative Fugue,” Lilly said, sitting back in the swivel chair. “Or some derivative thereof.” She looked over at Sam, who was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, looking down at the tin foil containers, wondering what Chinese dish to sample next.

“Definitely removed from something,” he said, not looking up.

“Best we can come up with.” Lilly turned the chair so she could watch Sam without having to crane her neck.

He reached into the Egg Foo Yung with his chopsticks, his movements tentative. Lilly was quite impressed by his ability to use the two sticks with such deftness. She always used chopsticks herself whenever she ordered Chinese in, not that she did so very often, but after a long day at work and with a guest here she had decided to pop across to the Chinese take-away at Ridgeway Gardens. He had even insisted on coming with her.

She was quite prepared to offer him a fork, but he wanted to try the chopsticks. Lilly was fascinated by this willingness to try everything. Much like he was now, slowly placing a piece of the Foo Yung into his mouth, he was a little timorous about it all, but more than willing to try. In some ways there was a childlike innocence about him, but that illusion was shattered when she looked into his eyes.

They held a fierce intelligence, and something else. She wanted to say “haunted,” but she wasn't sure. Whenever she looked too closely the redness of his eyes put her off; it was almost as if his eyes were transparent, and she could see the blood flowing behind them. This was, of course, patently ludicrous. More likely as a result of some genetic fault he had been born with albino eyes. She knew so little about genetics, but it had to be possible, right?

“What do you think?” she enquired.

Sam glanced up from his chewing. “Nice. If it wasn't for the obvious physical differences, I'd swear I was Chinese. This stuff is incredible.”

“Hmm.” Lilly steepled her fingers, in what her students called her contemplative pose. The one she used when she was about to impart some insightful comment on their assignments. “Can't say I remember the first time I tasted Chinese. Problem with being raised in Enfield, Chinese became a staple diet.”

Sam smiled at this. “You'd think that would be more of a China thing, than an Enfield thing, really. Mind you, this stuff is not very close to real Chinese food. I have a Chinese friend who used to…” His voice trailed off, and his face lowered. “Who used to…do something.”

Lilly waited in silence, carefully watching the ticks of his facial muscles as Sam tried to recall the specifics. General stuff he was good with; the everyday things of life were no problem for him, but when it came down to anything remotely personal it was like he hit a wall. And judging by the look on his face it was a very large and painful wall.

He shook his head. “No, it's gone.” Sam looked back up, and swallowed hard. “What's happened to me, Lilly?”

“I really wish I knew.” She glanced back at the computer. “But according to my research this fugal state can last for days or weeks, sometimes even months. But it's rarely permanent.”

“Rarely?”

“Well, I'm no doctor. My expertise is history, not medicine. That's why I think we need to visit my doctor tomorrow; perhaps she can recommend a good psychologist. Get an expert to look at you.”

Sam physically pulled back at the idea. He shook his head and jumped off the bed. “No,” he said, turning to the window, looking out at the Thames Estuary and towards Canvey Island. “I can't place anyone else in danger.”

Lilly frowned. “Danger?”

Sam didn't answer, so Lilly walked over to him. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sam? What kind of danger?”

“I don't know,” he said, slowly turning until he was facing her. “But I just get a feeling that the more people know the more dangerous it will be. Whatever happened to me…it can't happen to anyone else.”

* * *

Once they'd explained to the officer at the desk that they were there to make a report about a missing person they were seen to pretty quickly. If you called waiting half an hour before being called into a private room quickly. Jake wasn't so sure he did, but both Francis and Mrs. Adomako seemed quite content with the time factor. In part Jake suspected it was because, at their age, they were very glad to be out of the rain and the chance for them to catch up after a few years seemed to appeal to them, too. Jake didn't have the heart to explain to them this was not a social occasion, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least they were talking again. He guessed, when he reached his sixties he'd probably take every moment to chat to old friends too. After all, in six decades of life you'd probably have seen so much that you were no longer in a rush for anything.

The officer that ushered them into the private room was a short woman of Portuguese ancestry who introduced herself as PC Medeiros. She explained she would be the initial investigating officer and it would be her job to take down all the information she deemed relevant to the case, and this initial meeting was to ascertain the risk factor of the missing person.

Once they were all seated and PC Medeiros had arranged her papers, she began. “Obviously we will do everything we can to help you find your…?”

“Son,” Francis offered.

“Son,” PC Medeiros continued, barely missing a beat, “but we'll need to make a risk assessment to find out what level the danger is to him, or possibly others. This will help us decide what measure will need to be taken in our efforts to find him.” She picked up a pen and placed it ready to write on the form before her. “We'll start by taking a few important details which I will later circulate to every station in the UK. First of all, what is your son's name?”

Jake was silent through most of the initial questions—name, age, home address, description—but had to butt in when it came time to answer a few more personal questions. The answers to which neither of Will's parents had.

Jake gave the officer a description of the clothes Will was wearing, and where he was last seen. But when it came to asking if there had been any recent out-of-character behaviour Jake had to pause.

There were some things that Will didn't want his folks knowing, and normally Jake would be the first to protect Will's privacy. However this situation was anything but normal.

Medeiros sensed his hesitation, and sat forward, speaking gently.

“I understand that some of this information may be delicate, and quite likely personal, but in order to help us with our investigation we will need
all
relevant information. However minor is may appear, it could be the linchpin of our initial enquiries.”

“I…” Jake stopped, casting furtive glances at Francis and Mrs. Adomako.

Medeiros nodded. “I see. I'm sure Willem's parents won't mind if we…”

“Mind?” Mrs. Adomako said. “Of course we mind. If this involves Will then we want to know. Isn't that right, Francis?”

Francis didn't seem as sure as his ex-wife. He placed a hand on her knee. “Sandra, Will's private life is none of our business, and if Jake is protecting that then we ought to…”

Jake interceded, his mind made up. “No, it's fine. If it helps I'll tell you, and when Will returns he can bitch me out all he likes.” He offered a weak smile, imagining how Will would react once he learned that his parents knew all about his secret internet romance. He would be freaked, but at least he would be home. Jake could deal with that.

So he explained all he knew about the events leading up to him seeing Will walk towards Fulham Broadway station. He mentioned how he found a lot of Will's behaviour a little out of character, but in Will's defence, Jake made a point of explaining that the unusual behaviour was intentional on Will's part. He was, at the behest of Steve, pushing himself beyond his usual boundaries. Jake was careful to include Will's desire to help his sister when he returned, and the business at work that Will had also planned on his return home. But when Jake came to explain about the developing romance between Will and Charlie, Medeiros stopped him.

“An internet romance? And it was this Charlie that Will was going to meet?”

Jake nodded, aware that both Francis and Mrs. Adomako were exchanging worried looks. They were of a different generation, but they had heard about the dangers of the internet as reported by the naysayers in the press. And it was clear that to their minds Will was going to be a casualty of such dangers.