4

"What do you mean, you think something's happened to Martin?" Carolyn demanded.

"He wasn't talking. He answered his phone, but he wouldn't talk. And then it sounded like he dropped his phone or something, before it went dead. I've tried calling him back now, but no answer. He doesn't have a voicemail set up, so..." Douglas trailed off. "I'm going to go back to the, uhm, the hotel. He was still asleep when I left this morning, but he was outside when I called. I'll see if they know anything."

"Is Skip hurt?" Arthur asked, turning melting Toblerones over in his hands.

"Probably not. He probably just dropped his phone and it broke or something. He can be rather clumsy."

Despite his words, Douglas wasn't so sure. He felt like there was something wrong here. And he wasn't sure which part of the picture he didn't like the most, but... There was something that felt off. Once he figured out where Martin was, he could relax, but not until.

"Well, now we're not going to make the flight for sure," Carolyn muttered. "We might as well all go back, because we're going to have to rent the hotel for another night."

"Oh, how it will break your bank, Carolyn," Douglas muttered. "I'll get a cab," he said louder, turning and walking back to the entrance. In the meantime, he dialled Martin's number again. Still no response.

"Hell..." he muttered, grumpily ending the call. He wanted to throttle their Captain right now. On top of Carolyn's needless griping that would ensue, he was also making him worry. He'd gotten back to the hotel around eight o'clock. Martin had already been passed out in bed, curled up under the blankets. Douglas hadn't taken the sight to mean that he needed to be quiet, but Martin hadn't even woken up throughout his shuffling about their room. He had seemed utterly dead to the world.

At the time, Douglas had chalked it off as a bad day- and it had been a bad day, especially for Carolyn and Martin- and gone to bed.

Now... well, it just didn't sit right. The flight, last night, Martin not speaking but answering his phone, the crash, and now no response at all.

He hailed down a cab just as Carolyn and Arthur joined him. He absently reeled off the name of their hotel to the cabbie, sliding into the backseat.

"That boy will be the death of me, Douglas. I won't live to see the day where I actually have a competent pilot."

"To be fair, Carolyn, you hired him," he replied, glancing at Arthur as he clumsily took a seat, dropping some of his Toblerones.

"Don't remind me, Douglas."

Douglas looked to the window, blinking slowly. Yes, something was definitely wrong. He normally didn't believe in such things like superstitious bad feelings or sixth senses or anything. But since he had actually started to think about it, he had started to wonder... Started to feel a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and wondered just what was going on that he didn't know about.

He looked back at Carolyn. "Carolyn, give me your mobile."

"What? Why? You have a phone."

"Yes, but I want to call him from a number that does not show my name."

"If you won't answer you, why would he answer me?"

"Because he's afraid of you," Douglas said, matter-of-factly. "You can fire him. So, he's scared of you."

"Good point, but my phone's in my bag."

"Oh, here, Douglas! You can use mine!"

"You have a phone?" he questioned, looking between Arthur and Carolyn.

"I've had a phone. Isn't it great, Douglas?" Arthur said, passing his phone to Douglas.

"Carolyn, really?" he muttered, tapping through Arthur's contacts and coming to a stop on 'Skipper'.

"The boy got lost in the middle of the airport on a family thing. He couldn't follow the signs or the announcements to our gate."

"Oh, yes, of course..." he muttered, not paying attention in the least as he waited with trepidation as the phone rang.

Still no answer.

To be honest, he hadn't really expected one.

It was a dull trip to the hotel. Arthur talked about his Toblerones. Carolyn muttered about the money lost on the missed trip. Douglas watched Central London crawl by.

Something was happening. And it was... literally... making him feel sick with worry.

"Won't be a minute," he said as the cab rolled to a stop outside of the hotel. He wrenched the cab door open and jogged the short distance of stairsteps, pushing the hotel doors open. He had already turned in his key, so he wouldn't be getting back into the room. He made a beeline for the lobby desk.

"Can you tell me if my friend that roomed with me last night is still here, by any chance? His name's Martin Crieff." He leaned against the desk, looking around. It was still early; hardly anyone was awake. At least, hardly anyone was wandering about the lobby. "We were in Room 17."

"Right, yeah, I remember you two. But both of the keys have been returned. First yours, Mr. Richardson, and Mr. Crieff's an hour later."

"An hour, huh? Hm..." He looked back around the lobby. If Martin wasn't here... Trying to find someone in Central London was trying to find a needle in a haystack. And that's only if he had stayed in Central London.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Richardson," was the greeting from an employee walking up. He looked up, recognizing the receptionist from last night. "Are you back again for tonight?" she asked, looking at him.

"Actually, I think I might be. Is that room still free?"

"Luckily enough, Mr. Richardson, it is. Shall I give you a key for your friend as well?"

"Yes, but speaking of my friend, have you seen him?" he said, appealing to the employee who had just joined them. "Kind of scrawny, always looks a bit flustered, might have been having a bad day last night... You remember him?"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, he handed in his key to me, but then he headed back upstairs. I thought it was a bit odd, because, you know, you'd gone out and he wouldn't have been able to get back into his room without the key, so I asked him, and he said he didn't need it."

Douglas frowned. She was right- Martin couldn't have gotten anywhere without his key. "And when was this?"

"Couple of hours ago."

"Did either of you see him come back down?"

Both receptionists shook their heads. "Deb was working desk at that time."

Douglas sighed, pushing away from the desk. "Thanks, gals. I'm going to pop up and check... Maybe he's wandering the floors like a lost ghost," he joked, taking the keys from the girls.

He kept a brave face, but there was something definitely wrong. Martin just didn't do this. He was all-proper, always on time Martin. He didn't slink around. He didn't do weird things- he stuck to the normal, society-says-it's-proper route, for the most part.

Douglas took the stairs two at a time, planning to snoop around a bit on the four floors the hotel actually had. Hopefully, he could find Martin. Hopefully Martin was still here. Hopefully...

Oh, hell. He had a really bad feeling about this.