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The Well
Chapter 11
Checking his watch quickly as he pulled out his phone, Trowa dropped down into one of the chairs in the living room. If his math was right it was shortly before 6 pm in Germany, probably a good time to catch Leia at home. He dialed the number she had sent him and waited for her to pick up. From upstairs he could hear the slight sound of rushing water and Quatre whistling in the shower.
"Hallo?"
"Hello Leia, it's Triton."
There was a brief moment of silence on the line. "How are you?"
"I'm good. How about you?"
"Me too. I assume you call because you have some news... about Trowa?"
"No news I'm afraid. But I have a question I hope you might be able to answer."
"A question?"
In the background Trowa could hear a noise and then a little girl's voice calling for her mom.
Leia sighed. "Hang on, Marie spilled her milk."
"Do you want me to call back at a more convenient time?"
"No, no, this is fine. Let me just clean this up very quick."
"How old is she now?" Trowa asked. He only had met Leia's daughter once, at her grandfather's 75th birthday party.
"Almost 4. Marie say hello to Uncle Triton."
"Hello, Uncle Triton." the little voice called out, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Okay, back to your question."
"Yes, I was wondering if you know... did Trowa get into trouble with the law when he was a teenager?"
Another moment of silence as Leia hesitated. "I take it Mom and Dad didn't tell you. Maybe it's something they don't want to..."
"Leia, please. The only reason I am asking is because it might help us to find out what happened to Trowa and why."
"I don't see how something that happened when he was 14 could have anything to do with his disappearance. But alright... From what I have been told Trowa and three friends he always was hanging out with took Mike's father's car while his parents were out of town, and went on a joyride. I don't think it was the first time, but this time something went wrong. Mike was the one driving when he lost control of the car and flipped. One of his friends was killed in the crash. Trowa and John got probation, but Mike was charged with manslaughter and spent a few of months in a juvenile facility. When he got out his parents send him off to a boarding school."
"A few months for manslaughter?"
"Mike was only 13; he was the youngest of the bunch I believe. If he would have been 14 like the others they might have charged him differently."
"Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks a lot. I'll let you get back to what you were doing."
"...Triton!"
"Yes?"
"Call if you find out anything new."
"I will," he promised. A few moments later they ended their call and Trowa hung up.
"Was that Leia?" Quatre was just coming down the stairs, the faint smell of shampoo, soap and minty toothpaste surrounding him like a fragrant cloud.
"Yes," his friend confirmed. "And you were right." He quickly relayed what Leia had told him to the other youth.
Quatre listened thoughtfully. "Maybe Trowa felt responsible because he didn't do anything to stop his friend. That would explain why he was so protective of him when they met again."
"Or maybe..." Trowa replied. "...he felt responsible because he was."
"What do you mean?"
"What if Mike was not really the one driving?"
"You think Trowa...? And Mike lied because he knew he would get the lowest sentence because of his age? I suppose it could be possible."
"We probably will never know for sure. I don't think it matters, either. It was just a thought."
"Yeah. You'd better hurry and jump in the shower. Milliardo will be waiting for us at the real estate office at 10:30."
###
"Sorry we are late." Milliardo was standing outside the realtor's office building when Quatre and Trowa finally got there. "There was a street closure on Main, we had to drive all the way around."
"Don't worry about it," the young man made a dismissive gesture. "I've only been waiting for a few minutes. Shall we go then?"
"Do you want us to follow you or should we just take one car?" Quatre asked.
"Actually, I thought we could walk. It's only a mile and a half or so if we cut through the park, and that way we wouldn't have to worry about the detours."
"Sounds good." Quatre looked at his bodyguard, who didn't seem to have any objections either.
"Mister Winner.... Mister Winner...." They were just about to leave when the Realtor caught up with them. "I was just about to call you when Mister Peacecraft told me he was going to meet you here." the woman explained. "I made those inquiries you asked for, and you were absolutely correct, # 46 Manor Terrace was rented out to a Trowa Barton in the Fall of 1971, the rental agreement also included a Mister Mike Chapman, both of them were students at the Marymount college at the time."
"Thank you so much, Missis Rama. That really helped me a lot." Quatre gave the woman a friendly nod. Her re-search only confirmed what he had already expected. It seemed like the pieces were slowly falling into place.
Milliardo gave his two companions a inquiring look as they finally headed down the street. "Trowa Barton?" he asked. "Senior, I assume. Was he your father? Is that why you are so interested in that property?"
"I'm afraid it is a little more complicated than that." Trowa replied, and Quatre added:
"Remember when you told me about Alexander, hanging on to the place where he was murdered and trying to give you clues about what happened to him? This is very similar. Those two young men, Trowa Barton and Mike Chapman disappeared in 1972 and one of them...I think it is Mike is trying to tell me why and how."
"You think it has something to do with that house?"
"That's where he first started to connect with me, and I don't think it's just because they used to live there."
"Hmm..." Crossing his arms, Milliardo raised his left hand and ran his thumb across his lips, slowly, thoughtfully. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
The three young men were entering Whitten Park now and had to split up when a group of bicyclists approached them on the narrow path.
"Maybe there is," Quatre replied after the group had passed. "Do you by any chance have the original property plans?"
"I do," the older youth confirmed. "But not with me. My father insisted on looking them over....Speaking of which..." Milliardo paused briefly then sighed. "Do you have any dinner plans for tomorrow?"
"Umm... no, not that I know of."
"Somehow my father learned that the son of Zayeed Winner enrolled in Marymount. Apparently he is a great admirer of your father's philosophy. Anyway, when he found out that we know one another he asked me to invite you for dinner. I promised I'd ask, but I wouldn't push you. So feel free to say no."
"No. I mean yes, I'd like to meet your father."
"Really?"
"Yes." Quatre laughed. "So what are we talking about... formal black tie?"
"Oh no, nothing like that, just a little family gathering, my parents, my sister, Treize and I. "
"I'll be looking forward to it."
"Great, but please don't tell my father how quick you gave in. I intend to milk this for what it is worth." Milliardo grinned.
Quatre shook his head, laughing. " Milliardo," he said, turning serious again, "Could I ask you a question about your father?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Would you happen to know if he was... involved in the anti war movement while he was in college?"
"In fact I do. He mentioned helping to organize some big walk-out and protest march at Marymount. He was trying to impress a girl he had his eyes on."
"And, did it work?" Trowa asked, a tiny smirk curving his lips. "Impressing the girl I mean."
Milliardo returned the grin. "Considering they have been married for more than 25 years my guess would be, yes."
"How about something a little more... radical or militant?" Quatre pressed on.
"My father?" The young man laughed. "The most extreme thing he probably ever did was burning his draft card, and that's something I applaud him for. But why are you asking?" he suddenly looked at the other youth suspiciously. "Is there something you are not telling me?"
Quatre hesitated.
"Quatre?!" Milliardo urged.
"Remember what I said about Mike giving me hints about what happened to him and his friend? Well most of those hints come in dreams or visions, and in one of those dreams I met your father. Hhe was carrying papers on him with the instructions on how to make a bomb."
"I don't believe it." The older youth shook his head resolutely. "There has to be some kind of explanation. I know my father, he is opposed to any kind of violence. He believes that violence will only create more violence, just like your father does."
"You are probably right." Quatre agreed. "But I had to ask."
"No problem."
As they finally reached Manor Terrace, # 46 was just about half way up the road. Milliardo pulled out the key he had picked up at the Real Estate Office and opened the front door.
#
Trowa could feel Quatre tense the moment the door opened. For all his insistence, the young man seemed hesitant to enter the house, and he couldn't say that he blamed him.
Reaching out slowly he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You don't have to do this, you know?"
Milliardo turned his head, looking back over his shoulder first at Trowa then Quatre. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes," Quatre nodded. "I'm fine, really," he assured his bodyguard. "I want to go inside."
"I still wish you wouldn't."
The young man smiled softly. "That's why you are going to be right by my side. And like I told you, if you at any time think something is wrong, you can grab me and drag me out of the house."
"Don't think I won't do it."
"I'm sure you will. Let's go, shall we?"
"Take your time looking around," Milliardo told them as the three of them finally stepped into the house. "My father wants me to take some pictures. So, if you need me I'll be upstairs doing just that."
Trowa nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks."
"I want o go check the backyard first." Quatre remembered the way to the patio from his first visit. He unlocked and opened the glass sliding door.
"In my first vision," he explained, "I... no Mike was looking down from his bedroom upstairs; from there I think." He pointed at a window at the upper floor as he tried to remember the scene in his head. "There was some furniture here on the deck, an old couch and some chairs... Trowa was sitting down here with some friends... drinking beer... listening to music from one of those huge, old boom boxes...they were laughing... Mike was upstairs writing his music or something, and they were teasing him about it. But it was all in good fun." Closing his eyes to concentrate better, Quatre nodded to himself. That's it. If I just concentrate on the on the happy things I can do this; I'll be able to keep this overwhelming feeling of sorrow and pain long enough. I'm not alone, the young man reminded himself. Trowa is right here by my side.
"I remember seeing the grass area; though it didn't look this nice and green back then. There was a little shack over there, maybe for tools or something. I have no idea but I know it was there.... But wait... this is new." Quatre gestured at a BBQ pit of some sort, solidly build onto a concrete foundation that was about 4 by 4 feet big. "I defiantly didn't see that here in my vision."
"What is it you are actually looking for?" Trowa wanted to know.
"I am not sure, really. The Realtor said the house never had a swimming pool. I was hoping that maybe there was a small pond or something and I would have seen it in my dream."
"So you are still sticking to your theory that whatever happened to Mike and Trowa had something to do with water?"
"Yes. That I am sure of. But I can for the heck of it not remember what was here before." Leaving the patio Quatre walked slowly toward the BBQ area. "But then, this doesn't look big enough for even a goldfish pond."
The moment he put foot onto the concrete floor it struck him like nothing he had ever felt before. Pain, fear and desperation washed over him like a cold, black cloud. Pictures flashed in front of his mind's eye too fast to identify them.
"Trowa!" For a moment he wasn't sure if he was the one calling out the name, or if it was Mike inside his head. But it was the last thing he remembered before his mind dipped into the darkness of oblivion, something he almost welcomed at that moment.
#
Quatre woke gradually. The first thing he noticed was a faint and familiar smell, musky and not too sweet, Trowa's aftershave. His eyelids fluttered then opened slowly, and he found himself looking into his friend's concerned face.
"Are you awake."
"I think so."
"You gave us a pretty good scare there, you know that?"
"I'm sorry." As his other senses returned Quatre realized he was laying in the front yard; with Trowa's jacket stuffed under his head, a second jacket covering his body. "Where is Milliardo?" he asked as he tried to sit up.
Trowa who was kneeling beside him laid his hand on the young man's chest, keeping him down. "He has gone to get his car. Don't move. Just try to take it easy for now. How do you feel?"
"Drained," Quatre admitted weakly. "Tired for some reason."
"Then try to rest, Milliardo won't be back for another ten or fifteen minute at least."
"Thanks." Closing his eyes he tried to remember what had happened just before he had passed out. "I'm sorry, Trowa."
"You said that already. Don't worry about it."
"No..." Quatre looked up into the other youth's face. "What I mean is, I'm sorry because I'm sure now that Trowa and Mike didn't disappear on their own account. I know something happened to them, and it most likely happened here at this house. But I am still not quite sure what."
"You are not going back in, if that's what you are getting at. I won't allow it."
Quatre smiled faintly. "Relax, I am not intending to, not after what just happened. At least not any time soon."
"What did happen?" Trowa wanted to know. He felt Quatre's hand next to his, and almost instinctively he covered it with his own, relieved when the young man didn't pull away. "Another vision?"
"No, this was different. More like... You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die? Only it wasn't my life I saw."
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TBC
Author's Note: