Disclaimer - Not mine. Borrowed.
A/N - Am trying for a more coherent, tight storyline here, so feel free to tell me off when I inevitably forget that later on. Please let me know if there's elements of my writing from other stories that you'd like to see in this one - whether that's little moments of humour, quiet asides between particular characters, or actual characters I've invented. Any of them, that is. And, as always, please review. Thanks!
He tightened his grip on the long, steel blade, enjoying the sensation as it sliced neatly through perfectly cooked meat. The bird he had bought specifically for this occasion was large – enough for twice as many as he was feeding. They would have quite the feast. He had made sweet potato pie, roast potatoes, five kinds of boiled vegetables, mashed parsnips and carrot, Yorkshire puddings for little Katy, thick brown onion gravy for Annabel, and more besides. He had saved for weeks.
The perfect, slender slices of turkey fell gracefully to the plate. Katy, unusually quiet, handed them out as he'd asked. She was such a polite, considerate girl for her age. Her sisters doled out portions of vegetables; her brother took care of the Yorkshire puddings. They worked in silence. No doubt the size of the meal had surprised them. When they were finished, he finally lay down the knife. They all sat, whilst he recited a short prayer. Perhaps, he thought idly, it is religion that keeps them so well-behaved. The thought delighted him.
A knife clattered to the floor, making everyone jump. He looked up into Katy's big brown, terrified eyes. "S-sorry." She stammered.
He smiled kindly. "That's alright."
She got up wordlessly, and went out to the kitchen with it. He paused, waiting for the sound of the kitchen tap running.
"We'll have to talk to her later. There's no need for her to be so jumpy." He frowned. "Did something happen at school?" Katy's mother shook her head silently. "Just a phase then."
He beamed at them, and picked up his knife and fork. The others took the cue. They started on their dinners, hesitant at first, but then overcome by hunger. Katy padded back into the room with a clean knife. She sat down nervously chewing the end of her hair.
"Katy!" he snapped, slamming the end of his fork onto the table.
She jumped, and dropped her knife again. Her older sister caught it deftly, and lay it on the table. Katy shot her a grateful look. He took a deep breath, calming himself.
"I'm sorry I yelled, but I asked you not to chew your hair. It's a bad habit."
She nodded. "Sorry." Her voice was stronger this time, perhaps buoyed by her sister's hand, gently resting on her shoulder.
He smiled again, benevolently, and tucked into his dinner with relish. The others followed his cue. It really was a wonderful dinner. The meat was tender and cooked to perfection. The gravy was just thick enough to cling to everything. Even the vegetables were perfect – steaming hot, but not so well-cooked that they fell apart. He knew that this one was really special.
"So. Did you all do your homework?" he asked.
Katy was first to speak up. "Yes. Math and English."
"We all sat together and did it." Annabel said.
He nodded slowly. "You didn't help each other?"
If there was one thing that could spoil his good mood, it was the idea that his family had cheated. He believed in doing things by the rules. It was a belief that had sustained him throughout his life, after his mother had caught him stealing a candy bar when he was six. The thought put a dark frown on his face. She had been incandescent with rage. Since his brother had been sent to prison six months before, she had been terrified that he would go the same way.
"No." Annabel said. "Everyone only worked on their own stuff."
"Good."
The subject closed, everyone went back to eating. With most of their plates nearly empty, he indicated that Katy and Annabel should start offering round more food. Their mother tried to refuse at first, but he insisted that she eat – it was important not to make children feel uncomfortable about food.
"You really aren't well enough to go back to work." He said to her. "You should eat – maybe you'll feel better."
"Alright." She said weakly, holding her plate out to Katy.
He lost his interest in their appetites after that, though he was pleased to see their plates emptying fast. So much work had gone into this special meal. He had been defrosting the turkey for nearly a day, and the girls had been helping in the kitchen all morning. Poor Annabel's hands bore the marks of a nasty accident with the potato peeler. He had disinfected the cut, obviously, and bandaged it. Her mother had thanked him quietly, and taken over Annabel's "job".
Whilst they had been preparing dinner, he had alternated cooking the turkey with helping young Stefan chop wood. He had a traditional wood-burning stove in his big family room, which helped warm up the increasingly cold nights. They had worked in silence. He felt closer to the boy now – as though they had bonded. It made him feel good about the family.
The eldest girl, Lucy, helped her mother take the dishes out to the kitchen once they were done. Stefan was sent out to the yard, to pick up more of the freshly chopped wood. Meanwhile, he inspected the kids' homework, with Annabel's help. He allowed Katy to watch cartoons, mindful of her tense behavior at the dinner table. Ordinarily, he didn't like television, but if it helped her calm down, he was willing to allow a little of it. He smiled to himself, happy that everything seemed to be working out.
Flack stared stonily at the whiteboard. He had drawn up a timeline on the Friday, two days ago, as the first pieces of information had started to trickle in. Now it had been more than fifty hours since the Bellings family had gone missing, and they had almost nothing. He sighed, rubbing his tired face with equally tired hands. It seemed like everything –including sleep – had gone on hold.
"How's it going?" Bradwen's voice appeared before the detective did.
They stood together looking at the board. Flack didn't need to answer. Their sparse information did that for him. George Bellings had been frantic when they had responded to the call. His wife, Melanie, and his five children, had gone missing. He had come home from work early. The factory where he worked had a technical problem, and had been shut down for a few days. When he arrived at home, it was to an empty house. Figuring that they had simply gone out, George had settled himself down with a cold beer and a re-run of classic comedy.
Frantic calls three hours later went unanswered. It was only when he received a text from his daughter Annabel (who wasn't even supposed to have a phone), that George really went crazy. He called the police, who had been forced to call medics to have him sedated. The poor man was safely with neighbours now. They had been alerted to the problem by the arrival of squad cars. Flack stepped closer to the timeline, where Annabel's terrified words stood out in thick black marker – Man got us. Help Dad. Call cops. There had been no further communication, and Flack was increasingly worried.
"Times like this, I wish I didn't know the stats on abductions." Bradwen said.
Flack nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Anything from forensics yet?"
"Just about to ask you the same question." He stretched. Flack winced at the popping sound. "Wanna take a walk up there? It's better than sitting round here waiting, right?"
Without saying another word, Flack followed Bradwen out of the room. He glanced back at the hated whiteboard, trying to will more information onto it.
