Author's note: Once again, the disclaimer. Vincent, Father and any other tunnel people I may write about in this story are not mine; I'm just borrowing them. The others are my original creations. Now, on with the story.
The taxi dropped Elena off in front of a modern-looking complex. She paid the driver and walked into the main building and up to the desk. The guard sitting behind it asked her how he could help her. She hesitated, unsure of how to answer.
"I'm here to inquire about a couple of employees who worked here about thirty three years ago. Who would I speak to?"
"That would be someone in the Human Resources Department, Miss. If you'll sign in, I'll call up there and see if I can get someone to come down and help you."
Elena signed the logbook and the guard handed her a visitor's badge to clip on her jacket. A few minutes later a woman she judged to be about twenty years older than herself walked up to her. "I understand you are asking about some former employees."
"Yes. I--well, this is going to sound strange, but I believe one of them may have been my father."
"And you are trying to find him?"
"No. I know that he died a long time ago. I'm just looking for a little information about him, maybe find a picture of him."
"Ah. Well then, follow me." She led Elena to the elevators and they went up to the fifth floor. They emerged onto a floor filled with file cabinets and fair sized cubicles. "Now, how long ago did they work here?"
"At least thirty three years ago."
The woman looked at her, then evidently believing her, led her to some file cabinets well away from the main area. "Hopefully, we'll be able to get all these files loaded into computers someday, and get rid of all this. We sure could use the space. Now how many employees are you interested in?"
"Two. The first one is George Stewart."
The woman opened a drawer and started searching. Soon she pulled out a thick file and laid it on top of the cabinet. "And the other?"
"Mark Haskell."
The woman searched again, and found the second file. She pulled it out and noticed some writing on the cover. She glanced searchingly at Elena, then put it underneath the first one. She picked them up and said, "Please come with me."
Elena followed her to an office door, where the woman knocked, then opened it and walked in. She asked Elena to wait just inside and went over to the man sitting at the desk. She showed him the two folders and whispered something to him. He stared at Elena for a minute, then said to the woman, "All right. I'll handle it. You may go."
The woman left the office and the man said, "Please come and sit down," indicating the chairs in front of his desk. Confused, Elena obeyed.
"I'm told you are Elena Kingston. Are you the author?"
"Yes, I am."
"You aren't asking for these files for a story you are writing, are you?"
"Oh, no. This is for personal reasons."
"Go on."
Elena hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. Finally, she began. "I have no memory of my childhood. A series of weird events and some research on my part has led me to believe that George Stewart may be my father. All I really want at the moment, is to see his picture."
"And Mark Haskell?"
"He was mentioned in a news article as possibly having been at the apartment of the Stewarts a couple of hours before the explosion there took place. I thought that if I saw his picture, it might trigger a memory - assuming, of course that I'm right about this."
"And that's all?"
Elena looked at him, confused at his attitude. "I don't know. If they do trigger memories, I may have other questions. Why?"
The man got up and went to the window. After a minute or two, he turned back. "Miss Kingston, there is sensitive information in both of these files; information that competitors would love to get their hands on, even after so many years. Plus, since you read the article about Mark Haskell, you would know that he'd been fired under - as they put it - 'mysterious circumstances'. Many reporters have come here over the years, trying to find out just what those circumstances were, trying to get a story. None have succeeded. I'd hate to find out that you have joined their ranks."
"I assure you I haven't. All my stories are fiction, although the locations are real. I am not about to change that. This is purely personal. If I could just see what they looked like, that may be enough. If I want to know more, I'll tell you my reasons for asking the questions I may have. Then you can decide whether I should know the answers. Fair enough?"
He smiled. "Fair enough." He opened one file and took out an eight by ten photo and laid it on his desk, facing Elena. She studied it and a flash of a memory came to her. She remembered being picked up and hugged by this man. Then a second photo was placed next to the first.
Elena took one look at the photo and knew. Pain once again lanced through her head as more memories surfaced, and she pressed her hands to either side, crying out.
"Miss Kingston!"
She fell off the chair to her knees and held her head tightly as she lowered it to the floor. "Oh, God," she cried. "It's him. He's the one who dragged me away and told me that my parents and brother were dead!"