Extreme Ghostbusters: A Little Boy Lost
Part 4
FebruaryKylie was at home. She seemed to have developed a slight procrastination problem of late, and she quickly realised that she couldn't concentrate on catching up with her college work when surrounded by the distractions of the firehouse and the people in it. When an entire fruitless morning had flown by without any progress, Kylie had asked Egon if she might be allowed to go home. He had of course given his permission, and warned that he might call her if an important case came up.
When the phone finally rang, Kylie was not sorry. She was beginning to get irritated with the assignment she was working on, and had developed an ever-increasing hatred towards Virginia Woolf. Having spent the entire afternoon reading a novella that fell tragically short of being as clever as it thought it was, Kylie was getting a headache. She had made copious notes in the margin, which she now realised were all nonsense. "Psychological time/S of C – mod tech" – just what the hell did any of it mean? Sure, she'd be able to spin an essay out of it, and then she would eventually be rewarded with a letter of the alphabet for coming up with a load of rubbish. It all seemed rather pointless when she thought about it like that.
"Hello?"
"Kylie, hi. It's me."
"Jack!" exclaimed Kylie, her face breaking into a smile. "Hi! It's so good to hear from you! How have you been getting on?"
"Oh, great," said Jack. "Really well. I'm… I'm really catching up with… well, life, I guess. I'm even starting to feel… I don't know… less like a kid."
"I'm so pleased to hear that." She wondered how he was feeling now about his father's failure to make an appearance, but she had learnt that Jack didn't like to talk about that, and so Daniel was now a taboo subject. "You sound happy."
"I am. I'm ok. So… so when can you come and see us again? I've been… you know… missing you, um, ever since you left."
"It was only December – it wasn't that long ago," said Kylie.
"It seems like ages," Jack persisted. "I've been missing you… I don't know… more than I thought I would. I really want to see you again, Ky."
Kylie smiled. "I want to see you again too. I'll tell you something – I wouldn't mind being where you are right now. It's freezing over here!"
"Yeah, I remember."
They began to discuss New York winters passed, which inevitably led to a further half-hour of reminiscing. This always happened when they talked, and they always seemed to come up with something new to say. They hadn't had many years together, but they certainly seemed to have filled the ones they did have. It saddened Jack to think of all the time he had missed, and what he might have done with it – much of it with Kylie – but he got around that problem by just not thinking about it.
"Mom's still making me see that hypnotist," said Jack.
"She is?" Kylie pulled a face. "Thank God you realised he's full of shit. It's true, you know: if you don't believe you can be hypnotised, you can't."
"Well, it looks that way. I think he's sick of the sight of me, but Mom still makes me go. She's making me go tomorrow, and she said that if I don't start making progress with him soon she's going to send me to a different kind of shrink."
"A different kind of shrink?" echoed Kylie. "She's determined to find out, Jack. I know I said you shouldn't tell her… I still don't think you should, but…"
"What?" asked Jack.
"Well, if you're having such a hard time…"
"It's ok. I don't think I should tell her either."
"Well, you know, you are an adult – you could just refuse to go to these doctors."
"Yeah…" he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I could. I didn't think of that, but like I say, I am beginning to feel more my age…"
"Well, don't go," advised Kylie. "Tell your mom you just want to drop it, ok?"
After that they discussed their paediatrician, whom both Kylie and Jack had all but forgotten before all this talk of doctors. Eventually, however, they hung up, and Kylie was horrified to learn how late it was. Pagan was pushing his head against her arms by this time, so Kylie fed him and then settled down again to work. However she had barely read three of Virginia Woolf's overrated words when the phone rang again.
"Hey babe, it's me," a male voice purred seductively.
"Oh, Mike, hi," Kylie smiled dryly. "Look, I… I'm sorry I haven't been in touch lately. I've been busy."
"Wow, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."
"Mike, come on – we only went out a few times."
"Well," Mike said coolly, "I would like very much to go out with you again. Come on, Kylie – I thought you liked me."
Kylie sighed. "I do."
"So what's the problem?"
"It's not you – I just can't go out. I don't have time to go out. I have to finish reading this stupid 'novella', and then I have to write an essay about it, and then I have to - "
"Babe. There are more important things than study. I've missed you, Kylie. I want to see you tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yes. Please…?"
Kylie thought for a few moments. She and Mike had occasionally gone out together over the last few months, and she had always enjoyed herself, but in spite of her initial curiosity she had quickly discovered that she wasn't as keen as he seemed to be. She hadn't even really given him a proper answer to his suggestion that they see each other as friends, because she felt sure that it was just cover and he hoped it would lead to more. She liked him, of course, but there was something about him that didn't seem right, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She also didn't understand his interest in her; they seemed to have nothing in common except for being Goth, unless you counted the things that Mike would suddenly, and not always convincingly announce fascinated him if Kylie happened to mention them in conversation.
"Come on, Kylie. I'll bet it isn't even a good book."
"No," Kylie had to admit. "No, it isn't. All right – what the hell?" She slammed the book shut in a dramatic gesture. "Let's go out tonight."
"Boodiful," crooned Mike. "I'll pick you up at eight, ok?"
"Ok. Where are we going?"
"I'll take you somewhere very special, sweetheart."
08:30 pm:
Eduardo was at home, even though it was a Friday night. It had been dark for hours now, there was a minor blizzard going on and besides, it was just too cold to go out. The kettle whistled, echoing the wind outside, much to Eduardo's relief. He had been drinking a lot of coffee – enough that he was unlikely to sleep that night – but it was worth it, because he hated the cold. He thought, just as he had done the year before, that he would arrange to spend the next winter with his aunt in Mexico. He was sure she'd be thrilled to let him stay with her – she was extremely fond of her late brother's sons. All he had to do this time was remember to call and ask her.
The coffee was just beginning to warm him from the inside when a sound like a small stampede of elephants crashing against the front door reached his ears. Eduardo sighed deeply. The identity of his visitor was obvious – it could only be one person with a knock like that – but it wasn't at all clear what he might want. There was no music on; there was no girl in there, no illegal substances, not even any sound from the TV. So what the hell was his problem?
"Oh, you're here," barked Eduardo's brother Carl, in full police uniform, his arms folded across his oversized chest. "It's probably nothing, but I found something."
"Huh?"
"I found something!" Carl repeated, much louder this time, apparently under the impression that more volume would clarify his meaning. "For your girlfriend!"
"She's not my girl… you found something?" Eduardo's eyes widened as the meaning of his brother's words finally sunk in.
"Don't get excited," Carl cautioned. "If it was a strong lead somebody would have followed it up. It's probably nothing. Make sure you tell her that."
"I will."
"It's a long shot, Eddie, but it's something if she wants to check it out."
"Ok, ok, great," Eduardo said hurriedly. "What is it?"
"Here." Carl unfolded his arms to reveal a few sheaves of crumpled paper, which he thrust into the hands of his younger brother. "If anyone finds you with that who shouldn't, I never saw it, ok?"
"Sure, sure," Eduardo nodded, running his eyes over the documents in his hand. "Hmm… you're probably right about it being nothing."
Carl cocked an eyebrow. "Worth a try?" he asked.
"Of course." Eduardo's gaze dropped to his feet. "He's somebody's dad."
"Yeah, well."
Carl turned to leave, but paused halfway down the metal staircase when Eduardo called after him, "Carlos!"
Carl turned round sharply. "What?"
"Thanks."
x x x
The restaurant was lavishly decorated, the food exotic and the prices outrages. Every woman in it wore diamonds, with one notable exception. Kylie longed to ask Mike how he could afford all of this on his wage from Tower Records, but it would be incredibly rude to ask.
"Don't you like the wine?" asked Mike, when Kylie's glass had remained untouched for about half an hour.
Kylie shrugged. "It's ok. But the last couple of times I took a sip that waiter came over and filled my glass to the brim. He's trying to get me drunk."
Mike smiled. He had a very charming smile. "Why would he be trying to get you drunk?"
"Perhaps you slipped him ten dollars."
Suddenly Mike's smile faded. He put his elbows on the table (the hovering waiter looked horrified), slotted his fingers together and rested his chin on them.
"You're not enjoying yourself," he said solemnly. "This not your scene?"
"Not really." She sounded apologetic. "And I don't think it's yours either."
"No," agreed Mike, "it's not. I'm sorry. I thought chicks liked this shit."
Kylie cocked an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps they do. But I am not a 'chick'."
"Of course not. Sorry – I shouldn't have said that." He reached across the table and traced a finger along the back of her hand. She looked down, watching the movement, wondering how to react. "So what would you rather do?"
"I don't know." Kylie raised her eyes to look at him. He was smiling at her again, his gaze fixed intently upon her face. "We might as well stick around here. But look, you have to let me pay for my - "
"No way." He raised his hand in a halting gesture. "This is my treat. If it goes against your feminist principles I'll let you pay for the next one, ok?"
They ordered dessert, and Mike kept talking, always able to think of something to say. It amazed Kylie the way he did that. She had nothing to say that she thought would interest him, although he seemed fascinated by her – by everything about her. He was full of questions. Every time she saw him he would ask her about her family, her friends, where she had gone to school… This time it was college.
"It wasn't easy at first," Kylie told him, "moving out of my father's house and living all alone with my cat. My dad helps me out with money and stuff, but it's still not easy looking after yourself when you're not used to it."
"I know," Mike nodded sympathetically. "It must have been hard for you. How long before you went to college did your grandmother die?"
Kylie stared at him. She hadn't expected that. "Did I tell you about that?" she asked.
Mike's smile didn't falter. "You must have done."
"I don't remember mentioning her to you."
"Well, I don't remember every word I've ever said to you either."
"Fair enough," Kylie conceded. "I guess I must have told you."
"Well," said Mike, "mentioned it. I don't remember you telling me much."
"She wasn't my grandmother; she was my great-grandmother."
"Oh well, there you go. I don't know much about it at all."
It sounded like a request for more information, but Kylie didn't particularly want to give it. She had finished eating. She laid down her spoon and said, "Mike, can we get outta here?"
"Um, sure, I'll ask for the bill. You wanna go anywhere else?"
Kylie shook her head. Mike looked disappointed, but he didn't press the issue until he was walking her home.
"Look," he said. "I don't get what the problem is. I thought we'd be great together. Is there someone else?"
"No."
"Really? No one? What about that friend you went to see before Christmas?"
"Jack?" The wind got up considerably, and Kylie pulled her trench coat closer around herself. She felt the weight of Mike's arm around her shoulders, and raised her eyes to look at him. "He's just a friend. Nothing could ever happen between him and me."
"Why not?"
"He… It's complicated, ok?"
"Kylie." He stopped walking and spun her round to face him. His hands on her shoulders, he looked intently into her eyes. They were underneath a lamppost, the harsh yellow light glaring down on them. Kylie wondered if he had stopped just there deliberately. "You can tell me. I remember you were cagey about this Jack when you told me you were going to see him."
"Yeah, I remember too," said Kylie, her eyes narrowing on his face. "I remember you asked a lot of questions about him then as well."
Mike apparently had no answer. He put his arm around her again and continued walking. About ten minutes passed before he finally said, "I don't understand. You and this Jack were friends as kids, right?"
"Right."
"But you hadn't seen him or talked to him for years. So, what happened to him in the meantime? Where has he been all this time? It doesn't make sense."
Kylie let out a deep sigh, her breath spiralling visibly on the icy wind. "Do we have to talk about Jack?" she asked wearily. "Why are you so interested anyway?"
"Kylie, babe, you know my interest in you."
They were at Kylie's building by this time. They ground to a halt outside the front door, and then he kissed her. He'd done that a couple of times before. It was nice. Not earth shattering, but nice.
He pulled gently away from her and smiled. "I guess you wouldn't have let me do that if there was anything between you and Jack."
"Guess not."
Mike moved away, and Kylie shivered. She didn't think he'd notice that, but he moved straight back to her and put his arms around her. He rested his chin on the top of her head and murmured, "Cold night. You should get inside."
"Yeah," said Kylie. "You, er… wanna come up?"
Saturday, 08:30 am:
Mike woke up with a start when a medium-sized cat jumped onto his stomach. Once he had recovered he sat up slowly, pushing the cat gently away, and looked around for Kylie. He quickly spotted her on the window seat, where she was eating the last of a piece of toast and hurriedly jotting down notes in some book or other.
"Sorry," Mike said sheepishly. "Guess I fell asleep."
Kylie looked up. "Guess you did." She closed the book and rose to her feet. "Come on, get up – I have to go to work."
"Oh, you're cruel," grumbled Mike, falling back onto the bed. "I have a hangover, you know."
"I've got some soluble aspirin if you want it."
"I'd rather just go back to sleep."
"Well, tough. Actually I think it's pretty rude to just fall asleep on somebody's bed in the first place."
"Yeah." Mike sat up again. "Sorry."
His black jeans and sweater were hopelessly crumpled, which was hardly surprising, as he had worn them for an entire day before falling asleep in them. He rose to his feet, absently slipping his hands into his pockets, and then looked around for his coat. It was hung neatly over the back of the chair at Kylie's desk. He went to retrieve it, feeling in both pockets before he put it on.
"Hey, where's the receipt?" asked Mike, sounding concerned.
"What?"
"The receipt from the restaurant. What happened to it?"
"It was lying by the door when I woke up. I threw it away. Why?"
"May I have it?"
"Um, sure."
Kylie joined him by the desk, ducked down to retrieve the small bin and then fished around inside it until she pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper.
"Thanks," smiled Mike, taking the receipt from her and stuffing it into his jeans pocket. "Look, I hate to ask, but I don't suppose you'd let me take a shower?"
"There's no time," said Kylie. "I have to go to work."
"So go to work – I'll lock up. I'll bring the keys to the firehouse."
"No way – I'm not leaving you here on your own."
"Why not?"
"You'll snoop around."
"Kylie!" He adopted a look of utter betrayal. "As though I would!"
"I'd just rather you didn't, ok?"
As was his way, Mike didn't push. Kylie saw him out, he kissed her in the doorway and they went their separate ways.
09:20 am:
"Sorry I'm a bit late," said Kylie. She had already given Janine an identical apology downstairs, and was now addressing Roland, Garrett and Eduardo.
"Don't sweat it," Garrett said dismissively.
"Are you ok?" asked Roland.
"Sure," shrugged Kylie. "I got held up, that's all."
"Kylie," ventured Eduardo. He had been slouched in an armchair, but now rose to his feet, wearing a solemn expression. "I tried to call you last night."
"Really?" asked Kylie. "I went out with Mike last night."
"You did?" Eduardo looked surprised. "I thought you dumped him."
"Why would you think that?"
"Well you weren't seeing him anymore."
"Mike and I just see each other sometimes, all right?" Kylie said dismissively, quietly wondering why she had mentioned it. It really wasn't anybody else's business how she had spent her Friday night.
"So what, is he your boyfriend?" Eduardo pressed.
"Ugh, Eduardo, I don't know. What's the big deal?"
"You know I don't trust him."
"Well I don't see why," retorted Kylie, which was quite true: she couldn't see why. Eduardo didn't know that Mike suddenly seemed to have shed loads of cash to spend on dinner, nor that he was strangely anxious to retain a crumpled old receipt, so why be in any way suspicious of him? "And it's got nothing to do with you anyway."
"I know," Eduardo said, to her surprise. Kylie had anticipated a long argument, but apparently he had something more pressing on his mind. "Let me tell you why I tried to call last night."
Kylie folded her arms across her chest and raised impatient eyebrows.
"I didn't tell you before," Eduardo went on slowly, "because I didn't want you to get your hopes up. And I don't want you to get your hopes up now either, because it's probably nothing. Ok?"
"What's probably nothing?" Kylie asked confusedly.
"I asked Carlos to run another search on Jack's dad, just to see what came up."
"You did?"
"Yes."
"And…?"
"Well, it's probably nothing…"
"Jesus, Eduardo – just tell me!"
Eduardo nodded. "Ok. Up until about six years ago, a guy called Ryan Daniels was working at this garage in New Jersey. He was the same age as Daniel Ryan."
Kylie's brow furrowed in thought. "Jack's dad was a mechanic," she said.
"Yeah? Well, this Ryan Daniels just didn't show up for work one day. Carlos called the garage yesterday and asked why he left. The guy said he didn't know, but the place was due for an inspection and he'd said something to his workers about proof of identity. He never saw any ID from Ryan Daniels – he just trusted him and hired him. But it looks like he might not have been who he said he was."
Kylie was silent for several moments. Then she said quietly, "That could be him."
"It's a long shot," said Eduardo.
Kylie nodded. "I know," she said, her words running together in her haste. "I don't care. We have to check it out. Where exactly is this garage? Oh, but we won't pick up his trail there, will we, because no one knows where he went! Oh God – what do we do next? How the hell are we supposed to find him?"
"Kylie," ventured Roland. "Calm down. It probably isn't even him."
"So what if it isn't?" Kylie snapped irritably. "It's worth a try."
"That's what I thought," said Eduardo.
Kylie looked at him sharply. Her heart was racing. She knew she shouldn't get her hopes up, but it was impossible not to. Yes, perhaps it was a long shot, perhaps it was nothing… but on the other hand, perhaps it wasn't. Finally they had something to go on, thanks to Eduardo begging a favour from his brother. Kylie could hardly believe he'd done it.
"You asked your brother to do that for Jack?" she asked. "Why?"
"Because I wouldn't wish what Jack must be going through on anyone," Eduardo replied, somewhat evasively. "And anyway, I… I did it for you more than him."
He began to feel self-conscious under Kylie's wide-eyed gaze. She was incredulous. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She shook her head in amazement, her mouth curving into a small smile as she said, "Thank you."
"Don't sweat it," mumbled Eduardo.
"No, really." Kylie took a step towards him and touched his arm. "Thank you."
x x x
Someone coughed politely, and Sergeant Matthew Trent looked up. He gave an embarrassed little laugh and hastily stowed his magazine under a pile of papers on the desk, saying, "Sorry, um… paperwork. What can I do for you?"
The man looked terrible. He shivered in an old coat that was in too much disrepair to keep out the cold. He had the face of an old man; the rain in his straggly dark hair oozed laboriously down into the cracks and lines framing his tired, sunken eyes. He hadn't shaved for at least a week, probably more. In fact, Trent thought, he looked distinctly like a bum. Now what on earth would a bum be doing at a prison?
"I… I haven't done this for a while," the man said, his voice as tired and as cracked as his complexion. "I'm here to see someone. An inmate."
"Visiting hours start in ten minutes," Trent informed him, glancing at his watch.
"I know," the man nodded. "That's why I'm here now. I… I'm afraid he doesn't know me."
"No?" Trent raised his eyebrows. "Who is it that you want to see?"
"Charles Wright."
Trent's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He hadn't known that he was capable of such a cartoon-like reaction, and yet here he was, staring agape at somebody – God knew who he was – that had just said the last thing he expected to hear.
After a few seconds, however, Trent recovered to some degree and asked guardedly, "Why would anybody in their right mind want to see Charles Wright?"
"Well," the man said quietly, "maybe I'm not in my right mind."
"What?"
"Sorry – nothing. Please – may I see him?"
Trent narrowed his eyes. This didn't feel right at all. Slowly he asked the stranger, "What's your name?"
The man was perhaps just a little too ready with his answer: "Sandy Jackson."
"Are you a journalist?"
"No."
"So who the hell are you?"
"I'm no one," the man who called himself Sandy Jackson replied. "I just want to see Charles Wright."
10:05 am:
"Please, please concentrate," Dr. Mortimer sighed wearily. "Just relax… empty your mind…"
The first time he saw Dr. Mortimer, Jack had been extremely disappointed that he hadn't had a pendulum waved in front of his eyes. All this guy really did was talk, and talk a lot of rubbish at that.
"Jack."
"What?"
"Is your mind empty?"
"Not really."
Jack was leaning back in an armchair with his eyes closed, but he could hear Dr. Mortimer exhaling heavily before going for a little walk around the room. Finally the doctor sat down again, took a deep breath and said, "Jack, do you think perhaps these sessions are… well…"
"A waste of time?" Jack opened one eye. "Well, yeah, kinda."
Dr. Mortimer glanced at his watch. "We have fifty-five minutes left." He sounded very bitter about it. "Shall we try it one more time?"
Jack shrugged. "Might as well."
"All right then. Close your eyes… empty your mind… empty your mind… empty your mind…"
Shut the hell up… shut the hell up… shut the hell up…"All right, Jack. You're six years old. You're playing with your friend Kylie in her house. Her grandma is in the kitchen, making you both dinner. You're throwing a ball to each other over the couch" – he had heard the details quite enough times to memorise them – "and it goes over Kylie's head. When she turns round you run away from her…"
"No!" Suddenly Jack snapped his eyes open and sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry, I… I don't want to talk about that."
Dr. Mortimer blinked at him. "But Jack, that's the whole reason you're - "
"I don't care. I don't want to talk about it. In fact I, I don't want to talk about anything. I'm leaving. Now. Forever." He stood up abruptly and made for the door. "I'm sorry. Sorry I wasted your time. Goodbye."
"Jack, wait!" The doctor was also on his feet, his eyes boring suspiciously into Jack's back. "You've remembered something, haven't you!"
"No, I…" Jack faltered, trying desperately to push the terrifying face of the monster out of his mind.
"Jack, you have to tell me."
"No I don't!" His knuckles blanched as he gripped the door handle tightly.
"Jack, please, if you won't tell me then at least tell your poor mother. She's been going out of her - "
Jack jerked the door open and marched out into the freshly vacuumed corridor.
x x x
Charles Wright was a small, wiry man with mousy hair and pointed features. He had the teeth of an experienced chain smoker, but other than that there was nothing about his appearance to link him to any stereotype of a hardened criminal. Sandy Jackson, as he called himself, wasn't surprised. He had been faintly surprised the first time he came across an average looking man in a place like this – possibly even this very place, now that he thought about it – but had since discovered that there's nothing you can expect from the kinds of people that commit the most despicable deeds imaginable: they looked different every time.
"I don't get many visitors."
Sandy Jackson, staring at Wright through the glass, frowned thoughtfully at him. "You're younger than I expected," he said. "How old are you?"
Wright looked about to argue, but then shrugged and said, "No harm telling you, I guess. I'm thirty-four."
"That's old enough."
"For what?"
"I know what you did," Sandy Jackson said, never breaking eye contact, but his voice shook. "I picked up a paper for the first time in… I don't know. Maybe years – I lose track of time. I read about what you did, and I had to come and see you."
"Why?" Wright looked even more surprised than the desk sergeant had done. "Dude, who the hell are you?"
"I'm looking for my son. He disappeared. I have to know if you…"
Wright cocked an eyebrow. "There are a lot of people like me out there, you know."
"I know. I've met some of them. They all say they never saw him."
Wright ran his eyes slowly over his visitor, scrutinising every little detail. Finally he said, "You sure look like a man who's suffered. How long has he been missing?"
"I don't know." He shook his head despairingly. "I don't know, I…"
"Yeah, ok, you lose track of time. So what if I did? What'll you do to me?"
"What do you think they put glass here for?"
"I think they had people like me in mind, but good point. Look, if I took your son, you don't wanna know. You say you've read about what I did to those kids."
"I know." Jackson nodded. "Believe me, I hope he wasn't one of them. But I have to find out what happened to him."
"Ok." Wright shrugged his shoulders in a manner that suggested he couldn't care less. "So how am I supposed to know if your kid was one of mine or not?"
Jackson scowled at him, disgusted by the convict's choice of words. However he didn't detract from his purpose. "Would you recognise him from a picture?" he asked.
Wright shrugged again. "I might."
Jackson reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled old photograph, which he held up before the glass. Wright obligingly looked at it, his lip curling as he examined the picture of the smiling young boy.
"Nice looking kid," he drawled.
Jackson snatched the picture back and stuffed it into his pocket. "Did you…?"
"Kill him?" suggested Wright. "I don't ever remember seeing his face before."
"So… you didn't…?"
"I don't think so. I don't remember all their faces – you know – off the top of my head. But I think if I saw a picture of a kid I did it to, I'd remember."
"Thank God." Jackson let out a deep sigh, and then just sat for a few moments in a state of catatonia, his eyes no longer on Wright's face. Then quite suddenly he stood up, saying, "I still don't know what happened to him, but I'm relieved it wasn't that."
"What, that's it?" sneered Wright. "You're not going to tell me I never should have been born, I make you sick, stuff like that?"
Jackson gave no answer. He just walked away and didn't look back.
12:00 pm:
Jack could hear his mother on the phone downstairs. He wanted to tell her that he had no intention of seeing any more hypnotists, nor any other kind of head doctor for that matter. However she did not appear to be in a very approachable mood just at that moment.
"That's ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "I know I said I could afford it, but I didn't expect anything like this…! Well that's not good enough!"
Now that he thought about it, Jack realised that money appeared no longer to be as disposable as it had been when he'd first arrived at the house. When Toby asked for sweets, nine times out of ten he was refused. Deborah never asked for anything, but that didn't mean that she was never given anything, until recently. It made no sense to Jack. His mother and stepfather were both earning good money. Perhaps it was something to do with all this hypnotist lark. Perhaps his mother had expected to be finished with Dr. Mortimer by now.
"Sandra!"
Ted Beaumont had just charged into the hall from the kitchen. Jack wandered from his room and hovered at the top of the stairs. He frowned slightly when he heard his mother say, with a deep sigh, "We'll talk about this later. Goodbye."
She put the phone down, for no apparent reason other than that her husband wanted her to. Jack frowned. She was never that submissive to his father. Ted Beaumont was clutching a piece of paper, which he waved in his wife's face as he demanded loudly, "What the hell have you done with all our money?"
"Will you keep your voice down?" hissed Sandra. "It's Jack's hypnotist. He charges a lot."
Ted grunted. "Who was that on the phone? Some other shrink? Sandra, you got the kid back – that's what matters. Is it really worth our entire savings account to try and find out where he's been all this time?"
Sandra looked furious. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "He's my son, Ted!"
"You don't have to worry about it anymore," Jack cut in, slowly descending the stairs, and they both looked up in surprise. "I'm not going to any more doctors."
Sandra frowned at him. "What?"
"You remember what Deb said, Mom, when you first started taking me to that Dr. Mortimer? She said maybe I didn't wanna remember what happened. Well she was right: I don't. So you can spend your money on things we actually need, all right?"
Sandra just stared at him, open-mouthed. Ted looked pleasantly surprised. Jack thought he had better make a quick exit before his mother started to argue.
"I'm going out," he said.
He was out of the front door before Sandra finally found her voice: "I don't believe this! How can he just…? I don't believe this!"
"Thank God for that. Here." Ted snatched up the telephone receiver and thrust it into Sandra's hands. "That call was about him, right? Well you'd better call whoever it was back and tell them their services are no longer required."
"All right then," Sandra nodded, putting the phone to her ear. "I'll call back."
Friday, 11:30 pm:
"Well, great night, huh? Boy, am I tired – better get home. Bye!"
Kylie leaned away from Mike as he stooped to kiss her cheek. Not her lips, oddly enough.
"You wanted to go to a bar just now," she said.
"Yeah, well…"
"So you can't be tired at all. Come in."
Mike looked uncomfortable. "I better not…"
"Fine." Kylie didn't enter the building herself. She just leaned against the doorframe, hugging herself tightly. "I'm going to be away tomorrow."
"Oh? How come?"
"The guys and I are going to New Jersey. We wanted to go like a week ago, but we all had college, so… you know. Well, anyway, Roland's coming because he's the only one of us with a car, and Eduardo's coming because he found… it was… well, he's coming, anyway. And Garrett's coming just because he wants to."
"That doesn't sound like a job," remarked Mike.
"It isn't." Shivering, Kylie looked wistfully up at her window in the roof. "Are you sure you don't wanna come in?"
"I better not."
"Fine. It's not a job, no. Not a ghostbusting job, anyway. We're looking for someone. Someone who's missing, I mean. Eduardo's brother – he's a cop – found something that might help."
"In New Jersey?"
"Yeah."
"Who's missing?"
Kylie saw no harm in telling him, so she did. "You remember my friend Jack I told you about? His dad's gone AWOL."
Mike looked far more surprised than Kylie would have imagined. More than surprised, in fact: shocked would have been a better way to describe his reaction. His eyes widened and he asked incredulously, "Jack's father is missing?"
"Um." Kylie was momentarily stumped by this response. "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think you'd be interested."
"Oh boy…" He went for a little walk to the side of the building, and then returned seconds later wearing a more composed expression. "Ky… can I come in?"
Kylie just stared at him for a moment, before finally saying impatiently, "Yes!"
Once they were in her room, he persuaded her to tell him more or less everything. She said that Jack had been missing for some years, and upon his return the police had been unable to find his father. She didn't mention the Grundle. She told Mike again that Eduardo's brother had helped them out a bit, and now she and her friends were planning a trip to New Jersey that might very well turn out to be a wild goose chase.
Mike pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe not," he said at last.
"Maybe," agreed Kylie. "That's why we're going."
"I'd like to help."
"You'd what?"
"I'd like to help. Would you please let me come with you? Believe it or not I do have some experience with police work," he added.
Kylie frowned. "What kind of experience?"
"I was on the better end of it, if that's what you mean," said Mike. "Please."
He could be very persuasive, and Kylie agreed to take him along on the trip. No sooner had she done so than Mike started heading for the door, saying briskly, "Well, early start tomorrow – I'd better let you get your sleep."
"You can stay," Kylie blurted out.
Mike stopped, his palm hovering over the door handle, and looked at her. She couldn't read his expression.
"I had really, really better not," he said at last.
"Why?" Kylie asked desperately. "I don't understand."
"Aw, Kylie…" He walked over to her and took her chin in his hand, looking down at her with an affectionate smile. "You're a great girl. I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd regret."
Kylie was utterly baffled. Until about a week ago she hadn't made a single move on him; it had been entirely the other way around. Now that she was finally expressing some interest in him, why did he seem to want to run away from her? She could only think of one possible explanation: the age difference. He didn't look as old as all that, but even so, there had to be more than ten years between them.
"I know what I'm doing," she said evenly. "You're welcome to stay, if you want to."
"Know what you're doing?" Mike smiled slightly. "You're just a kid, Kylie. Um, look, I'll… see you tomorrow, ok?"
Kylie nodded, aware that the feeling of dejection was showing on her face, but she couldn't shift it. Mike stooped and brushed his lips lightly against hers. It felt patronising, like a consolation prize.
He started to leave, and turned in the doorway. "'Night, Kylie."
"Yeah."
With that, sleeping cat excluded, she was alone again.
Saturday, 10:40 am:"When can we get something to eat?" demanded Eduardo.
"What did you have for breakfast?" asked Mike.
"Is that any of your business?"
"I guess not. I only wondered. I had a big breakfast so I wouldn't get hungry."
"That's really helpful, Mike, thanks."
"Quiet in the back, you kids," Garrett said from the front seat. He was next to Roland, who as ever was driving.
Mike smiled slightly. "Sorry, Dad."
Eduardo scowled, but he didn't say anything more. Kylie was relieved. She probably had the warmest seat in the car, sitting between Eduardo and Mike, but their bickering was giving her a headache. Garrett had most likely insisted on sitting up front purely for laughs – those three on the backseat was bound to be a bad combination. Kylie supposed it wasn't so much bickering as Eduardo taking exception to everything Mike said. She almost wished Eduardo wasn't there, but she knew she'd had to grant his request to join the excursion. He deserved it. She only had to think of what he had done for her, and for Jack, to feel an overwhelming sense of warmth towards him.
It was Mike who shouldn't be there. He seemed to think he could help, but unlike Eduardo he had yet to prove himself. Kylie let out a small sigh, which seemed to go unnoticed. Why had she told Mike so much? If they had just done this straightaway, as soon as they had the information, he might never even have found out about it.
Kylie had been unable to concentrate on anything all week. Her performance at college had certainly suffered. She'd constantly found herself wishing that she had put her foot down and insisted on driving to this garage immediately. But everyone, it seemed, was against her on that. Egon had protested that he couldn't get cover for the team at such short notice. Roland had insisted on finding out whether this garage was still running, and when he discovered that it was he hadn't bothered to enquire after its opening times, and so reasoned that it was unlikely to operate on Sundays.
"So," Mike interrupted her thoughts. "How long did you say it was since this Ryan Daniels left the garage?"
"Six years," Eduardo said impatiently. "I told you."
"That's a long time."
"Duh."
"Well," Mike persisted, "I hope you're not expecting to find him any time soon. Kylie." His tone softened. "I don't want you to be disappointed. I mean, six years. You do realise that this guy's trail will be cold…?"
"Of course I realise that," Kylie snapped irritably.
"Only… well, maybe this wasn't the best place to start. No one's exactly gonna know where he went. It might be better to look for - "
"We have to start here," Eduardo interrupted sharply. "All we're doing today is trying to find out whether this was the guy we're looking for. Until we know that, there's nothing else we can do."
Mike nodded. "You're right," he said quietly. "You're right…"
"That's why I brought this," added Kylie, pulling a worn photograph out of her pocket, which she handed to Mike. "I know it's not ideal but it's the only one I could find, and I can't exactly ask Jack."
Mike studied the photograph carefully. "Don't want him to know, huh?"
"He'd be far more disappointed than I ever could."
The photo she had given him produced a small smile from Mike. It was cute, showing two children – a boy and a girl of about four or five years – leaning out of the laps of their fathers and building an impressive sandcastle against a charming backdrop of a calm sea and a cloudless sky.
"You were a beautiful little girl," remarked Mike. "Is that your dad?"
It was a pretty dumb question, but Kylie couldn't think of a cutting reply. She simply said, "Yeah."
"Who took the picture?"
"Why do you wanna know that?"
Mike smiled slightly. "I don't know. I always wonder with photos like this, where everyone's having a good time. It's like you know someone's missing."
"I don't know," said Kylie. "I guess either my mom or Jack's. Probably Jack's. Jill spent most of that weekend working on her tan."
When Mike flipped the photo over he saw a small explanatory note scrawled on the back in blue ballpoint pen: "New Jersey, summer 1983".
"Summer nineteen eighty-three," he read aloud. "I guess when this was taken I must have been about the age you guys are now."
"Yeah, you're older than me, I get it," muttered Kylie, snatching the picture back.
"Yeah, well, anyway," Mike went on hastily. "It's a while since I came to New Jersey, but I'm assuming you can buy picture frames here. Because I think that's what we should do."
"Buy picture frames?" Garrett asked confusedly, turning in his seat to look at Mike.
"Well, just one. And it's not the frame we want. It's the demonstrative photo they put in it because whoever makes picture frames assumes we're too stupid to know what to do with them. We need a guy about the age Jack's dad was when this was taken, or maybe a little bit older – something we can show to these garage people."
"I get it," Eduardo cut in. His father had started to use this ploy on people when he realised how insufferably stupid crime witnesses could be. "You show somebody a picture and ask if they recognise the guy, and most of the time they say yes even if they've never seen him before in their life."
Mike nodded. "Exactly. They don't really lie – they just get caught up in the moment and their subconscious mind creates a false memory from the picture."
"You sound like a criminal psychologist," Eduardo said scathingly.
"Sorry. Maybe that's not quite right, but for whatever reason, it happens. So we show them a dummy picture first, and if they say yes it's definitely Ryan Daniels they'd know him anywhere, we move on and find someone with a more reliable memory."
Roland, who was concentrating hard on the road, finally spoke: "Sounds good."
"And," Mike went on, "we might be able to get this picture of Jack's dad enhanced. Hey, look, civilisation!" as a small building appeared on the horizon. "Ok, here's the plan: we stop and feed Eduardo, and I'll find someplace that will enhance this picture and sell us some stranger's photo, agreed?"
01:30 pm:
It was a small garage in a small town, and it took some finding. Still, they managed it eventually, and by the time they got there Kylie's heart was pounding furiously. After Roland had stopped the car she just sat there, dreading what she might hear. Ryan Daniels and Daniel Ryan might not be the same person after all. In spite of a few coincidences – the name, age, vocation and the mysterious disappearance – it hardly seemed likely. Or maybe they were the same person, but none of the current employees had been working there long enough to remember him. Then what would she do? Traipse the country looking for some veteran of this garage, and end up being disappointed anyway? Or not. What if Jack's dad had worked here? No one knew where he was now, so how in God's name was she supposed to find him?
Someone grasped her right hand. Presumably it was whoever was sitting on her right. Kylie couldn't remember which of them it was, so she turned her head to look. It was Eduardo. He gave her an encouraging smile and said simply, "Good luck."
Someone took hold of her left hand. Mike, presumably. "I'll go with you."
Kylie shook her head. "You don't have to."
"Please. I know what to ask. And besides, I think you need the moral support. Come on – let's do this thing."
Mike climbed out of the car, still clutching her hand, and Kylie followed. He pulled two photographs out of his coat pocket: an enlarged close-up of Daniel Ryan's face, smiling with all the happiness of those lost years; and a picture of a woodenly handsome man with an artificial smile and overlarge teeth.
"How much did all that cost?" asked Kylie.
"Not much at all. You don't have to pay me back."
"You can't pay for everything."
"No, Kylie – you can't pay for everything. You're a student."
"I guess Tower Records pays well, huh?"
"Better than being a student. Shall we go in?"
Kylie glanced at the entrance to the building: open double doors beyond which two young men in navy overalls tinkered underneath the bonnet of a mud-streaked white car. She then pulled her eyes away and looked down at her feet.
"What's up?" Mike asked with concern.
"I'm very nervous."
"I know. I'm here, all right?"
He put his hands on her shoulders, and Kylie took a step back from him. She was sick of this. Sometimes he just took the liberty of touching her, but whenever she tried to reciprocate he'd drop her like a hot potato.
She told him: "I'm sick of this, Mike."
"Sick of what?"
"Of you – of all this blowing hot and cold."
Mike sighed. "I'm sorry, Kylie. I only want to comfort you."
"That's it?" She folded her arms across her chest. "That's all you want?"
"Yes."
"I don't get it. I thought you liked me. I thought you wanted me."
Mike looked uncomfortable. "I can see why you might have thought that…"
"After our first date you kept bugging me to see you again. You wouldn't stop calling. You kissed me! Loads of times! What's changed?"
"Nothing." He let out another sigh. "Nothing's changed. I do like you. You're a smart, beautiful girl, and I never should have touched you. I'm so sorry, Kylie."
Kylie just stared at him for a few moments. She couldn't understand a word he was saying. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, which Mike eventually broke.
"I have a confession to make."
"Oh?"
"I'm not really Goth."
Kylie didn't know what to say. That might even be the most puzzling thing he had said so far. Then, finally, she said what was on her mind: "I don't understand."
"That first night you came to my apartment… I guess you could say I was just trying it out," Mike explained – or at least he attempted to explain. "I kept it up… well… because of you, to be honest. I did want to keep seeing you. But I… well, I'm not Goth at heart, if you see what I mean."
"Right," Kylie said slowly. "Ok. Well, thanks for telling me. We should probably go question those mechanics now, huh?"
She wasn't particularly aware of the three pairs of eyes watching from the Mustang. Eduardo, Garrett and Roland sat there in silence, peering out through the windows, all wondering why Kylie and Mike didn't just get on with it.
"What are they talking about?" Eduardo said at last.
"Perhaps he's giving her a crash course in FBI training," Garrett said dryly. "It wouldn't surprise me, you know, after all that other stuff he's come out with. There's something very suspicious about that guy."
Eduardo narrowed his eyes on the back of Garrett's head. "Duh. I've been saying that for months."
"Why did we bring him?" asked Roland.
"Good question," remarked Garrett. "I assume Kylie told us."
"I think she said something about moral support," Eduardo muttered bitterly. "Or help. Maybe both. So like is he her boyfriend or not? I don't get it."
"From here, it looks like not," observed Garrett. "This is all very weird. Remember how we first met Mike – he thought he had a ghost. We told him he didn't, and then we never heard any more about it. All he's done since then is groom Kylie."
"Well whatever they're saying," Roland said soberly, "it looks pretty intense."
"I wonder if she's slept with him." Eduardo let the thought escape through his lips without really meaning to.
Garrett rolled his eyes. "You would wonder that, Eddie."
"Yeah, well, I hope she hasn't. If she has, it'll hurt more." Eduardo's eyes narrowed on Mike's retreating form as he and Kylie made their way into the garage. "She's heading for a fall with him."
They all silently hoped that this venture would lead somewhere, because Kylie must surely by now have had her fair share of disappointment. They watched as Mike officiously summoned two mechanics out from underneath the bonnet of a car and thrust a photograph in their faces. The moment the two men laid eyes on the picture they began nodding firmly, exchanging looks of utter certainty as their minds concocted some fantasy about working with the picture frame model six years earlier.
"People are such morons," Garrett sighed despairingly.
Mike took back the photo and continued talking to the two mechanics. Moments later one of them disappeared from view. Mike continued to chat to the other mechanic while Kylie stood by and watched.
"Why is she letting him do all the talking?" demanded Eduardo. "That ain't like her."
"Well," said Garrett, "he's the FBI agent."
"Wannabe FBI agent, at the very least," mused Roland. "I suppose it's possible that he just watches a lot of TV."
The mechanic reappeared, followed by an older man with greying hair. This one looked a better bet than either of the two younger workers, but of course it was likely that he would also fail the photograph test.
Mike tried it. He showed the older man the picture of the toothy smile. The man took the photo between his fingers, squinted at it and studied it very carefully for a few moments before finally handing it back to Mike with an apologetic shake of the head. He said something – presumably something along the lines of, I've never seen that grinning idiot before in my life.
Mike gave him the second picture: the picture of Daniel. Again the man studied it carefully. He looked uncertain, so Kylie plunged a hand into her coat pocket and offered him a third photo: presumably the original beach picture, which Mike had returned to her following his expedition two towns away.
The older man studied both the pictures in detail. Roland became aware that he was holding his breath, and he realised that Garrett and Eduardo were equally transfixed. Well, at least the windows wouldn't steam up too badly.
Finally the man nodded, and said something fairly lengthy. As she listened, Kylie seemed to sway slightly until she grabbed hold of Mike's arm. The man proffered the photograph to her, but she just stood there immobile, so Mike took it. He then spoke to their benefactor, presumably thanking him, and finally led Kylie back to the car, his arm around her shoulders. She allowed him to guide her, her eyes staring blankly ahead. She looked utterly shell-shocked.
"Well?" Roland asked unnecessarily, when Mike and Kylie were both back in the car.
At last Kylie found her voice. "It was him," she said, shaking her head incredulously. "It was definitely him."
To be continued…