Chapter 12 – Case II

"Now let me get this straight," Joe Penhale was saying, "Your Frank left for school, just as always." He held a pad in front of his face as he scribbled notes in pencil, ever the dutiful constable.

Mrs. Marrak nodded. Her eyes were red and one hand held a crumpled tissue that she used to wipe her face from time to time. "Like any Thursday." She snuffled. "He ate a big breakfast. Three eggs, two pieces of toast, a bowl of oatmeal, and a banana."

"Is that unusual?" Louisa asked.

"Yes. Usually just the oatmeal. And milk, two big glasses today." She sniffled and blew her nose. "But where's my boy gone to?"

The four of us were standing in the front room of the Marrak's cottage; a typical white-washed building here, but with a decided slant to the floors. Louisa rolled her eyes at me, then she moved to put her arm around the weeping woman.

Mrs. Marrak reached out and put a work-lined hand on Louisa's belly. "Not long now. Imagine you're anxious for the day."

Louisa answered, her eyes sweeping to mine. "A few weeks still. Now, Mrs. Marrak, is there anything Frank said? Leave a note? Anything like that?"

"He left this morning; seemed to be fine." She looked at me. "That treatment you gave him yesterday musta perked him up. He was full of energy, and so I thought oh my Frank's well and fit. He gave me a great big hug and kiss afore he left."

"So, Doc, anything unusual about Wednesday in your surgery?" Penhale asked.

I cleared my throat. "No. Perfectly normal. I administered the Marrak boy his bi-weekly treatment, and he left my surgery at 3 PM, with his mother."

"I bought him an ice cream on the way home," his mother whispered.

Joe tipped his head and gave me a suspicious look. "Nothing out of the ordinary? Not one thing?"

"No."

Joe turned to the mother. "Now about the ice cream cone; what flavor?"

Louisa made a strangled noise. "Joe! Does that matter? Really."

"Chocolate," Mrs. Marrak replied. "His favorite… oh my God! If anything should happen to him? What would I do? He's all I have left now after his da left!"

Louisa wrapped her arms around the sobbing woman again. She raised her face to mine. "Martin?"

I took Mrs. Marrak from Louisa and led her to the rump-sprung sofa and settled her down. She was crying, gasping for air. Nearly keening in despair. "Mrs. Marrak. Mrs. Marrak!" I said until she stopped wailing.

She looked at me. "Is it the treatments done this? Made him run away?" she asked mournfully.

"Doubtful."

Penhale had met Louisa and me at the Marrak home. I had tried to dissuade Louisa from coming with me, but she had insisted she tag along. Frank was one of her students, she kept saying, and any of my protests about her pregnant condition were rebuffed with anger.

Penhale had arrived at the cottage before us and already examined the grounds, and didn't find the child anywhere close, such as in a shed. "Where could a ten-year-old kid get off to?" he had asked me when I got there. "And his bike is missing as well."

Louisa handed me a glass of water which I gave to Mrs. Marrak who downed it in one long drink. "Mrs. Marrak, is there anything at all you might tell us? May we examine his bedroom?" I asked when she could speak.

"It's in the back, down the hall."

The cottage was long and narrow with the front room, kitchen, and then two small bedrooms at the back. The smaller room was adorned with the sorts of thing a ten-year-old boy might have, but there were many books on two shelves. There was also shelf holding a small plastic Spitfire, another Airfix airplane model kit, and a pasteboard box containing Humbrol paint tins, tweezers, and a small hobby knife. Against the wall stood a small desk and chair, old and battered, but the desktop held neatly arranged pencils, two Biros, a stack of lined paper, and a hole punch.

"Kid reads a lot," Penhale muttered and then he started to recite the titles, "Moby Dick, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthurs Court, A Wrinkle in Time, Goosebumps, all the Harry Potter books, Robin Hood, Around the Moon… God! Half these titles I never read!"

Louisa peered in from the hall. "Frank does have excellent reading skills." She came inside. "Look, he made his bed."

She was right. The sheets appeared to be smooth, pillow was plumped, and the coverlet without a wrinkle.

"What kid runs away and makes his bed?" Joe whispered. "Doesn't make sense. If it was me… phffft… away," his hands moved in a flying motion, "and bugger making the bed."

Footsteps came down the hallway and Mrs. Marrak came in. "Frank is always neat and tidy. It always looks like House Beautiful in here." She sagged back against the door. "Oh, Frank what you got up to?"

Louisa fixed me with a look and then said, "Martin was speaking to Frank's class today, about..." she cleared her throat, "bullying, or was about to. Did Frank know about that?"

Mrs. Marrak's head nodded up and down. "Oh yeah, I sorta mentioned that."

"So, the boy's been bullied?" Penhale asked, tugging at his belt. "I don't allow such things on my patch," he said authoritatively. "You should have spoken to me, Louisa, and I'd get those hooligans sorted out dreckly. Tell me, do they wear hoodies?"

Louisa sighed loudly. "Not now Joe. Can we just locate Frank?"

I opened the wardrobe and a small chest of drawers. The clothing stored there was sparse but neatly hung up or laid out in the drawers. "Mrs. Marrak, is any clothing missing?"

The woman looked quickly. "He don't have much extra in the way of clothes, but he was wearing his denim jacket, plus trainers, denims, and a flannel shirt, which I thought odd cause it's been grand and warm." She looked up on the wardrobe shelf. "His wool beanie is missing and a pair of gloves. Why would he need those? Hm. And a torch he always keeps by his bed if there's a power cut. Course he had his book bag as well."

I turned my attention to the night table. It held an alarm clock and a hardback book, which I picked up. 'Otherplace,' was the title. I flipped through the pages and clearly this was the book Frank had told me about, the fantasy. "Frank was telling me about this book. About a child who could walk through walls and was bullied for it. Then he finally escaped down some sort of tunnel into another land, where he could be safe." I hefted the book in my hand. "Mrs. Marrak, would you say that your son has an overactive imagination?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. Not really. Pretty well grounded, I think. He has to be, what with his condition and all."

"What's this?" Penhale asked, so I filled him in.

Joe shook his head. "Poor little kid. Gets a needle stuck in his arm every two weeks? Owww."

"Not now, Joe," Louisa told him.

Joe replied, "That would explain the bullying, I'm guessing. Odd duck."

I gave him a hard look and he recoiled. "Sorry Doc," he said. "I didn't mean… anything personal."

I set the book down, then looked at the bookshelves. From the way the books were tilted together, one book must be missing. "There's a book missing. Look, there's a gap. Where is it? Find it."

"Maybe he took it with him," Joe suggested.

Louisa got down on her knees and looked under the bed. "Found it!" she announced triumphantly. Grunting, she pulled it forth and displayed the cover from her kneeling position.

"Hm, Jules Verne," Joe said.

"Martin! I know where he's gone!" Louisa exclaimed. "This book, it's 'Journey to the Center of the Earth.' " Her eyes had gone large.

"So?" I asked.

"Oh, this is bad, very bad," Joe moaned. "He wouldn't go there, would he Louisa?"

Louisa's eyes caught mine. "Martin, I know where he is! Or at least Frank's thinking of going there."

"What is this place?" I demanded. "Come on. Quickly!"

Louisa got to her feet awkwardly. "It's an old mine out between St. Teath and Trewalder," she told us. "Legend says it's so deep it goes straight down to the center of the Earth. All the village kids know about it. Legend says it's haunted as well."

Joe shuddered. "Place has been closed for over a hundred years or more, I reckon." His stricken face turned to mine. "It's got a gate across the mouth. He couldn't get down there, could he? And oh Doc, I hate heights Doc, or depths. Both really."

Warm clothing, a backpack, and a torch. God. Center of the Earth and a tunnel.

Louisa shouted, "Joe! Call the Cornwall Search and Rescue Team! Have them meet us at out Wheal Bal."

Joe took out his mobile as I followed Louisa out of the room. She caught my hand and her fingers were ice cold.

Author's notes:

Bal - Cornish word meaning dig.

Wheal - Cornish word meaning a place of work.