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REMAIN THE SAME

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Another Fine Mess

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Four

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Spike stirred lazily in Lynda's bed.

'God, that was good.'

'Mmm.'

'Glad you ducked out early?'

'This had to be done,' Lynda told him, matter-of-factly.

Spike stretched out, resting his hands behind his head. 'You're tellin' me.'

'Yes, you were certainly very appreciative…' Lynda paused. 'Almost too appreciative, considering you were supposed to be cross at me. Almost as if… Spike, you didn't start that row deliberately, did you?'

Spike avoided her gaze. 'Don't be ridiculous. And by the way, I'm still right.'

'Try not to be a complete imbecile all your life you stupid bloody Yank,' replied Lynda curtly, 'for the last time, George Elliot was a bloody woman. The name's a pseudonym.'

'So him real name was a Sue Donnim…?'

'For the love of…' Lynda narrowed her eyes. 'You're doing it again, aren't you?'

Spike grinned at her widely, and was about to answer when there was a loud, insistant banging on the door. Spike shot a quick look at Lynda before quickly leaping out of bed, pulling his clothes on hurriedly.

'Stay there,' he commanded.

Lynda ignored him, throwing her own clothes on. 'It might be work.'

'What if it's not?'

'It's only six,' protested Lynda, 'I don't think it's going to be a hit man at this hour.'

'Dangerous weirdos'll turn up any time of the day,' Spike replied, 'you should know that.'

Before Lynda could answer him, he slipped out of the bedroom and hurried to the front door. He glanced through the peep hole and exhaled, relaxing. He opened the door.

'What's up, Liz? I though you were gonna…' he cut himself short. Lizzie was crying. 'What happened?'

'He's gone, Spike. He's just gone.'

'What?' a dishevelled Lynda joined Spike at the door.

'I went round to see him, like you said, but he was gone.' Liz sniffed, handing Spike the business card. 'He left this.'

Spike read the card. 'Well, he can't have gone far. Maybe he's just…'

'He's not here,' interrupted Liz, 'I've been all over town. He's gone!'

Lynda took the card from Spike.

'God knows where he's gone,' continued Lizzie, 'He could be anywhere. Damn it…'

'He's in London,' said Lynda.

'What…? How do you know that?'

'He mentioned London earlier,' Lynda explained, 'remember? He assumed that was where Cindy was. Maybe she talked about running away there to him, I don't know. But I bet that where he's gone to find her.'

'Well… He'll be OK,' Spike told them, unconvinced himself. 'He's a grown man, he's used to getting stuff done by himself, God knows he's used to talking his way out of trouble. He'll… he'll be…' He looked at the expressions of the two women and sighed. 'Get in the car.'

-x-

'Correct me if I'm wrong,' said Spike as he pulled onto the motorway, 'I mean, I know I'm not from these parts originally, but isn't London kinda a big place? How are we supposed to find Colin there?'

'You're a journalist, Spike.' Lynda replied. 'We all are. So we do what journalists do – we ask.'

A muffled ringing sound started up somewhere in the car. Liz jumped to attention in the back seat.

'What's that? Is that a phone? Maybe it's him.'

Lynda opened her large handbag and peered inside. The ringing grew louder.

'Answer it, Lynda!'

Lynda began to rummage through the assorted contents of the bag. 'It's in here somewhere…'

'Where do we even start?' added Spike, 'It's not like Norbridge, you know…'

Lynda fished out the chirruping phone and answered it. 'Lynda Day…' hearing the caller's voice she shot Liz a quick apologetic glance. 'Oh, hi Julie.'

Liz slumped back, rubbing her face. 'He wasn't driving,' she told Spike, 'the train would have taken him in to Victoria, so I reckon we start there.'

'It's getting late,' added Spike, 'is now really the best time to go trawling round London looking for one guy?'

'No it's not,' Lizzie replied, biting down on a thumbnail, 'but I can't help that. I can't sit around at home waiting for morning. I'm worried about him. You two can drop me off and go back if you like…'

'Nah.' Spike overtook a trundling Morris Minor. 'I reckon we got enough people wandering around the big city on their own for one night. Besides… I worry about him too. He hasn't been himself recently.'

'Since the Cindy thing blew up,' agreed Liz.

Spike laughed a little. 'Longer than that. Longer than you've known him. He used to be so confident about everything…'

'Before I came along, you mean?'

'It's not to do with you,' Spike reassured her. 'I think it's a bunch of other stuff. When he was a kid there was nothin' he didn't think he could do.' Spike grinned to himself. 'He was such an asshole. And these days he's just… he's scared. He's not invincible or immortal any more and he's so frightened.' He paused for a moment. 'I remember talking to my Dad's cousin when I was a kid. He'd got himself shot in the guts in Vietnam back in '72. And he said it was the single most painful, terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. He thought he was gonna die. He got nightmares for years after. He'd wake up sobbing. And this was a soldier, pushing 30 years old. Colin was 18 when the same thing happened to him.'

'Must've been really scary for all of you,' said Lizzie, quietly.

'Yep.' Spike paused. 'Weird how your memory plays tricks on you – I don't remember him holding a gun to me at all, even though I know that it happened. I remember him holding guns up to the others, though. I remember their faces… I remember how terrified Kenny was. Jesus. And how my heart was in my mouth every time he threatened Lynda with the gun. But all I remember about Colin was the sound. Because we thought we were home and dry, and he said something to Colin, and Colin replied, kinda quiet, like. And then he said "that's a shame"… somethin' like that. And then there was this bang, outta nowhere, and then it all went quiet again. He didn't scream. He didn't even scream. He just lay there and that bastard with the gun was just stood looking down at him. And for a good ten seconds I honestly, honestly thought he was dead. And you know what that prick says as he's looking down at our friend who is lying with a bullet in him on the floor? – "He was annoying". My God! I don't care what that bastard was trying to prove to himself. Colin lay there in agony, thinking he was dying and his verdict was it was because he was "annoying". Can you imagine? Somebody tries to kill you because of that? What does that do to a guy?'

'This is a very depressing subject,' Lynda interrupted, stuffing her phone back into her bag. 'Can't we think of anything else to talk about?'

'What did Julie want?' asked Liz.

'Work stuff,' replied Lynda, vaguely. 'Have we decided where we're going to start asking around?'

'Victoria,' Spike told her. 'Uh… who is it exactly we're gonna be asking about him?'

-x-

'You're kidding me.' Spike stood unmoving on what he still stubbornly continued to call "the sidewalk" outside Victoria station, staring at what he, with his Colonial colloquialisms, would refer to as "a bum".

'Absolutely not,' insisted Lynda. 'We're trying to find Colin's trail, remember.'

'He assumed Cindy was living on the streets here,' added Liz.

'And who is his usual port of call when he wants something?' asked Lynda, rhetorically. 'The Underworld. He'll have been approaching tramps to try to get a lead…'

'I think the preferred term is "Homeless People",' Liz chipped in.

'Her boyfriend could be in a canal, with used syringes stuck in his eyeballs by now and she's worried about semantics…'

'Don't listen to her, Liz,' Spike soothed, hurriedly, 'I'm sure he's fine.'

'Sure.' Lynda shrugged. 'Maybe he just got sold to a German Businessman or something…'

Liz narrowed her eyes at Lynda momentarily before marching up to the Tramp or Bum or Homeless Person who was sitting in the Pret-a-Manger doorway, swearing at a small mongrel on a piece of rope.

Lynda shot Spike a smug little look. 'She just needed that extra bit of motivation, I thought.'

'I'm sorry, Lynda,' Spike replied flatly, staring into the middle distance, 'my brain's still struggling to get over the mental image of Colin being some fat German's sex slave. I mean… who would pay for him?'

'Some of those German Businessmen can be pretty kinky, you know. I think it's the Lederhosen…'

She trailed off as Liz came hurrying back.

'No go,' sighed the Scot, 'I showed him the photo from my purse and he'd never seen him before.'

'You have a picture of him in your purse?' Spike asked the flushing girl, 'Liz, that's adorable!'

'Oh yes,' snapped Lynda, 'it's a real Hallmark Moment. Syringes in his eyeballs, people, syringes in his eyeballs!' She grabbed them both, one arm each, and tugged them down the road. 'We'll circle the station if we have to, let's just keep going, shall we?'

-x-

It took them half an hour, and eight vagrants, to find somebody who recognised Colin from Liz's photo. A quick trip to a café to buy a cup of tea and slice of cake for the old woman provided them with the information that he had asked her about a young blonde girl. The old woman hadn't been able to help him and he'd walked off. The old woman indicated the direction he had gone – up the street, away from the station. They gave the old woman a further £5 and hurried up the street until they found a young man dozing in a bookshop doorway. Although he complained about being woken, a ten pound note cheered him up somewhat after he too said that he recognised Colin from the photo. He pointed in the direction Colin had gone – straight up the street again. The next down-and-out gave the same information, and the next. After the fifth pointed out exactly the same direction, Lynda rubbed her eyes and leaned against a bus shelter, waving the others to her.

'He's going in a straight line, isn't it?'

'Yep,' Spike replied. He checked his A-Z, plotting the line they had taken from the station. North-West, pretty much as the crow flies.'

Liz shook her head. 'That doesn't make any sense. The biggest city in Britain and he thinks he can find one person just by walking a line through it? That's crazy!'

'You have met Colin Mathews, haven't you?' asked Lynda.

'He's not that mad! He's not… breaking down…' Liz faltered. 'Is he…?'

'Well,' Lynda conceded, 'not "breaking down", as far as I'm aware.' She turned to Spike. 'What time is now?'

Spike checked his watch. 'Quarter to nine.'

'OK, so let's say Colin came to London straight after he left work… give him time to leave the note for Liz and go to the station… about an hour, say, to get into Victoria… I reckon he probably got in at around half eleven in the morning. Nine hours ago, give or take. Slow down his walking speed for stopping to ask tramps about Cindy, let's say he was going at about 2 miles an hour, North West, for nine hours. Where'd he be?' Lynda paused, looking at Spike. 'Come on, Spike, 18 miles North West from here…'

'Oh!' Spike frowned down at his A-Z. 'Hang on… hang on…' he flipped past several pages. 'Hang on.' He faltered. 'No. No, that can't be right…'

'What?'

'That puts him out of the city. Rickmansworth.'

'What?' exclaimed Liz, 'he can't be in Rickmansworth! That's not possible. He'd have stopped… he'd have turned…'

'Let's go back to the car,' said Lynda.

'Lynda, we are not going to Rickmansworth!'

'Take the route he'd have taken eh, Spike?' Lynda added, 'North West all the way. Liz, keep an eye out in case we overshoot him.'

'Lynda, he is not in Rickmansworth! What would he be doing in Rickmansworth?'

Lynda gave Liz a quick, sad glance. 'Exactly the same thing he'd be doing in London. Now, come on, let's find him before he gets to the M25 and gets hit by a lorry.'

'Jesus Christ…' breathed Liz, hurrying after the others back to the car.